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STAND ABB WORKS PUBLISH ED BY 
 
 New Edition [1880], with a Supplement of upwards of 4600 New Wods 
 
 and Meanings. 
 
 WEBSTEB’S DICTIONARY 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Note. —The only authorized Editions of this Dictionarya re 
 those here described: no others published in En gland 
 contain the Derivations and Etymological Notes of Df 
 Mahn, who devoted several years to this portion of the Wow* 
 See page 4. 
 
 WEBSTER’S GUINEA DICTIONARY 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Thoroughly revised and un¬ 
 proved by Chaunoey A. Goodrich, D.D., LL.XX, and Noah Porter, 
 D.D., of Yale College. 
 
 The peculiar features of this volume, w 
 
 Dictionary for general reference extant, as 
 
 books ever published, are as follows 
 
 1. Completeness.—It contains 114,000 j 
 words—more by 10,000 than any other 
 Dictionary; and these are, for the most 
 part, unusual or technical terms, for the i 
 explanation of which a Dictionary is most ; 
 wanted. 
 
 2. Accuracy of Dehni.tion.~In this 
 department the labours of Dr. Webster 
 were most valuable, in correcting the faulty 
 and redundant definitions of Dr. Johnson, 
 which had previously been almost univer¬ 
 sally adopted. In the prwsent edition all 
 the definitions have been carefully and 
 methodically analysed by W. G. Webster, 
 Esq., the Rev. Chauncey Goodrich, Prof. 
 Lyman, Prof. Whitney, and Prof. Gilman, 
 with the assistance and under the super¬ 
 intendence of Prof. Goodrich. 
 
 3. Scientific and Technics 1 Terms. — j 
 
 In order to secure the utmost completeness j 
 and accuracy of definition, this department 
 has been subdivided among eminent 
 Scholars and Experts, including Prof.Dana, 
 Prof. Lyman, tzc. 
 
 4. Etymology.— The eminent philo¬ 
 logist, Dr. C. F. Mahn, has devoted five 
 years to perfecting this department. 
 
 render it perhaps the most useful 
 
 it is undoubtedly one of the cheapest 
 
 :• The Orthography is based as far 35 
 possible on Fixed Principles. In all • tXSe3 
 qj ‘.ioubt an alternative spelling it g>ven. 
 
 6. Pronunciation.—This has been en¬ 
 treated to Mr. W. G. Wfbstsk and Mr. 
 Wiikklek, assisted by other scholars. The 
 l r <>i. i h iciation of each word is indicated by 
 typographical signs, which are explained 
 by ref e rence to a Kkt printed oA the bottom 
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 7. The Illustrative Citations.—No 
 
 labour has been spared to embody such 
 quotations from standard authors as may 
 throw light od the definitions, or p03- 
 any special Interest of thought 07 
 language. 
 
 The Synonyms.—These are sub¬ 
 joined to the words to which they bepng, 
 and are very complete, i 
 
 b Tji e Illustrations, which exceed3000, 
 
 ■ ( inserted, not for the sake of ornament, 
 but t-o elucidate the meaning of words 
 whirl) i unnot be satisfactorily explained 
 without pictorial aid. 
 
 The Volume contains 1628 pages, more than iOOO illustrations, and is sold 
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UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
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 of 9700 Names. 
 
 WEBSTEK’S COMPLETE DICTIONARY 
 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, AND GENERAL BOOK 
 OF LITERARY REFERENCE. With 3000 Illustrations. Tho¬ 
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 Besides the matter comprised in the Webster’s Guinea Dictionary, this 
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 been spared to make it a complete Literary Reference-book:— 
 
 A Brief History of the English Lan¬ 
 guage. By Professor James Hadley; 
 This Work shows the Philological Rela¬ 
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 the progress and influence of the causes 
 which have brought it to its present con¬ 
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 Principles of Pronunciation. By 
 
 Professor Goodrich and W. A. Wheeler, 
 M.A. Including a Synopsis of Words 
 differently pronounced by different an- ! 
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 A Short Treatise on Orthography. 
 
 By Arthur W. Wright. Including a 
 Complete List of Words that are spelt in 
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 An Explanatory and Pronouncing 
 
 Vocabulary of the Names of Noted Fic¬ 
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 found in the romance writers; Pseu¬ 
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 A Pronouncing Vocabulary of Greek 
 
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 An Etymological Vocabulary of Mo¬ 
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 Pronouncing Vocabularies of Modem 
 
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 A Dictionary of Quotations. Selected 
 
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STANDARD WORKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WEBSTER’S DICTIONARY. 
 
 From the Quakterly Eeyiew, Oct. 1873. 
 
 “Seventy years passed before Johnson was followed by Webster, an 
 American writer, who faced the task of the English Dictionary with a 
 full appreciation of its requirements, leading to better practical results.” 
 
 • I i o 
 
 “ His laborious comparison of twenty languages, though never pub¬ 
 lished, bore fruit in his own mind, and his training placed him both in 
 knowledge and judgment far in advance of Johnson as a philologist. 
 Webster’s ‘American Dictionary of the English Language’ was pub¬ 
 lished in 1828, and of course appeared at once in England, where 
 successive re-editing has as yet kept it in the highest place as a practical 
 Dictionary 
 
 “ The acceptance of an American Dictionary in England has itself 
 had immense elfect in keeping up the community of speech, to break 
 which would be a grievous harm, not to English-speaking nations 
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 “The good average business-like character of Webster’s Dictionary, 
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 Professor Goodrich’s edition of 1847 is not much more than enlarged 
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 as to be described as distinct works.” .... 
 
 “ The American revised Webster’s Dictionary of 1864, published in 
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 provement is in the etymological department, the care of which wa* 
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AMELIA. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
AMELIA. 
 
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 5-/S-42. 
 
CLAY AND TAYLOR, BUNGAY, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 TO RALPH ALLEN, ESQ. . . 
 
 BOOK I.-CHAPTER I. 
 
 Containing the Exordium, etc. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The history sets out. Observations on the excellency of the 
 English Constitution and curious examinations before a Jus- 
 tice of Peace . . 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Containing the inside of a prison . . 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Disclosing further secrets of the prison-house 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Containing certain adventures which befel Mr Booth in the 
 prison •• •• •• •• •• 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Containing the extraordinary behaviour of Miss Matthews on 
 her meeting with Booth, and some endeavours to prove, by 
 reason and authority, that it is possible for a woman to ap¬ 
 pear to be what she really is not 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 In which Miss Matthews begins her history 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 4 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 24 
 
 » • 
 
 28 
 
VI 
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The history of Miss Matthews continued . . . . . . 33 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In which Miss Matthews concludes her relation . . . . 38 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Table-talk, consisting of a facetious discourse that passed in the 
 prison . . • • • • • • • • 
 
 BOOK II.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 In which Captain Booth begins to relate his history. . 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mr Booth continues his story. In this chapter there are some 
 passages that may serve as a kind of touchstone by which a 
 young lady may examine the heart of her lover. I would ad¬ 
 vise, therefore, that every lover be obliged to read it over in 
 the presence of his mistress, and that she carefully watch his 
 emotions while he his reading . . 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The narrative continued. More of the touchstone . . 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The story of Mr Booth continued. In this chapter the reader 
 will perceive a glimpse of the character of a very good divine, 
 with some matters of a very tender kind 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Containing strange revolutions of fortune . . . . . . 66 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Containing many surprising adventures . . . . • • 70 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The story of Booth continued.—More surprising adventures 75 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In which our readers will probably be divided in their opinion 
 of Mr Booths conduct . . • • • • . . 80 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Containing a scene of a different kind from any of the preceding S4 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 BOOK III.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 In which Mr Booth resumes his story 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Containing a scene of the tender kind 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In which Mr Booth sets forward on his journey 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 A sea piece 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 The arrival of Booth at Gibraltar, with what there befel him 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Containing matters which will please some readers . . 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The captain, continuing his story, recounts some particulars 
 which, we doubt not, to many good people, will appear un¬ 
 natural 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The story of Booth continued . . 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Containing very extraordinary matters 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Containing a letter of a very curious kind . . 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 In which Mr Booth relates his return to England 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In which Mr Booth concludes his story 
 
 BOOK IV.—CHAPTER I. 
 Containing very mysterious matter 
 
 PAGE 
 
 89 
 
 92 
 
 93 
 
 101 
 
 106 
 
 no 
 
 114 
 
 119 
 
 127 
 
 132 
 
 137 
 
 142 
 
 • • 
 
 149 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 yin 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The latter part of which we expect will please our reader better 
 than the former . . . . • • • • • • 1^3 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Containing wise observations of the author, and other matters 160 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 In which Amelia appears in no unamiable light . . . . 167 
 
 CHAPTER Y. • : 
 
 i. 
 
 Containing an eulogium upon innocence, and other grave mat¬ 
 ters . . . . . . • . • • • • • • 170 
 
 - .> 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In which may appear that violence is sometimes done to the 
 name of love . . . . . • • • • • • • 177 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Containing a very extraordinary and pleasant incident . . 183 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Containing various matters . . . • • • . . 187 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In which Amelia, with her friend, goes to the Oratorio . . 191 
 
 BOOK V.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 In which the reader will meet with an old acquaintance 
 
 ADDITIONAL CHAPTER. 
 Containing a brace of doctors and much physical matter 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In which Booth pays a visit to the noble lord 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Relating principally to the affairs of Serjeant Atkinson 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Containing matters that require no preface . . 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Containing much heroic matter 
 
 . . 197 
 . . 200 
 
 . . 204 
 
 . . 208 
 
 . . 212 
 
 . . 218 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In which the reader will find matter worthy his consideration . . 
 
 » 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Containing various matters 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The heroic behaviour of Colonel Bath 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Being the last chapter of the fifth book 
 
 BOOK VI.—CHAPTER I 
 
 Panegyrics on beauty, with other grave matters 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Which will not appear, we presume, unnatural to all married 
 readers . • • • • • • • • • • • 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In which the history looks a little backwards 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Containing a very extraordinary incident 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Containing some matters not very unnatural 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A scene in which some ladies will possibly think Amelia’s con¬ 
 duct exceptionable 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A chapter in which there is much learning 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Containing some unaccountable behaviour in Mrs Ellison . . 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Containing a very strange incident 
 
 PAGE 
 
 222 
 
 228 
 
 234 
 
 239 
 
 243 
 
 248 
 
 252 
 
 258 
 
 263 
 
 267 
 
 272 
 
 276 
 
 . . 280 
 
X 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK VII.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 A very short chapter, and consequently requiring no preface . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 286 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The beginning of Mrs Bennet’s history 
 
 • • • • 
 
 288 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Continuation of Mrs Bennet’s story 
 
 • • • • 
 
 296 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Farther continuation 
 
 • • • • 
 
 302 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The story of Mrs Bennet continued 
 
 • • • • 
 
 307 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Farther continued 
 
 • • • • 
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The story farther continued 
 
 • • • • 
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Farther continuation 
 
 • • • • 
 
 324 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The conclusion of Mrs Bennet’s history . . 
 
 • • • • 
 
 329 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Being the last chapter of the seventh book . . 
 
 « • • • 
 
 333 
 
 BOOK VIII.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 Being the first chapter of the eighth book . . . . . . 33S 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Containing an account of Mr Booth’s fellow-sufferers . . 342 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Containing some extraordinary behaviour in Mrs Ellison . . 345 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Containing, among many matters, the exemplary behaviour of 
 Colonel James 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Comments upon authors 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Which inclines rather to satire than panegyric 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 Worthy a very serious perusal 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Consisting of grave matters 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A curious chapter, from which a curious reader may draw sundry 
 observations . . . . . . . . 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In which are many profound secrets of philosophy 
 
 BOOK IX.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 In which the history looks backwards . . 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In which the history goes forward 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A conversation between Hr Harrison and others 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 A dialogue between Booth and Amelia . . 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 A conversation between Amelia and Hr Harrison, with the 
 result 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Containing as surprizing an accident as is perhaps recorded in 
 history 
 
 PAGE 
 
 351 
 
 356 
 
 363 
 
 367 
 
 370 
 
 376 
 
 381 
 
 391 
 
 395 
 
 400 
 
 405 
 
 411 
 
 416 
 
Xll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which the author appears to he master of that profound learn¬ 
 ing called the knowledge of the town 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In which two strangers make their appearance 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A scene of modern wit and humour 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A curious conversation between the doctor, the young clergy¬ 
 man, and the young clergyman’s father . . 
 
 BOOK X.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 To which we will prefix no preface 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 What happened at the masquerade 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Consequences of the masquerade, not uncommon nor surprizing 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Consequences of the masquerade 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In which Colonel Bath appears in great glory 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Read, gamester, and observe 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which Booth receives a visit from Captain Trent . . 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Contains a letter and other matters < 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Containing some tilings worthy observation 
 
 PAGE 
 
 423 
 
 428 
 
 434 
 
 440 
 
 446 
 
 451 
 
 461 
 
 464 
 
 472 
 
 478 
 
 483 
 
 4S8 
 
 • • 
 
 • • 
 
 496 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 BOOK XI.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 Containing a very polite scene 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Matters political 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The history of Mr Trent. . 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 Containing some distress . . _ . . 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Containing more wormwood and other ingredients . . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A scene of the tragic kind 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which Mr Booth meets with more than one adventure 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In which Amelia appears in a light more amiable than gay . 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A very tragic scene 
 
 BOOK XII.—CHAPTER I. 
 
 The book begins with polite history 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In which Amelia visits her husband . . 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Containing matter pertinent to the history . . 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In which Dr Harrison visits Colonel James 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 500 
 
 . 506 
 
 . 514 
 
 . 522 
 
 . 526 
 
 . 530 
 
 . 534 
 
 . 539 
 
 . 543 
 
 . . 547 
 
 . . 550 
 
 . . 557 
 . , 563 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 What passed at the bailiff’s house . . . . . . 568 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What passed between the doctor and the sick man . . . . 574 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which the history draws towards a conclusion . . . . 580 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Thus this history draws nearer to a conclusion . , . . 585 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 In which the history is concluded . . . . . . 592 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 / 
 
 BLEAH-EYED MOLL . . . . . . . . 11 
 
 BOOTH DISCOVERED VIN THE HAMPER . . . . 68 
 
 'CAPTAIN BATH MAKING POSSET . . . . . . 123 
 
 AMELIA’S UNEXPECTED VISIT . . . . . . 158 
 
 mrs Ellison’s rage upon finding herself detected 349 
 SCENE AT VAUXHALL . . . . . . . . 437 
 
 THE MASQUERADE SCENE . . . . . . 454 
 
 THE DOCTOR SEIZING LAWYER MURPHY . . . . 578 
 

 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 
 
 To RALPH ALLEN, Esq. 
 
 Sir, —The following book is sincerely designed to promote the cause 
 of virtue, and to expose some of the most glaring evils, as well public as 
 private, which at present infest the country ; though there is scarce, as I 
 remember, a single stroke of satire aimed at any one person throughout 
 the whole. 
 
 The best man is the properest patron of such an attempt. This, I 
 believe, will be readily granted; nor will the public voice, I tbink, be 
 more divided to whom they shall give that appellation. Should a letter, 
 indeed, be thus inscribed, Detur Optimo, there are few persons who 
 would think it wanted any other direction. 
 
 I will not trouble you with a preface concerning the work, nor endea¬ 
 vour to obviate any criticisms which can be made on it. The good- 
 natured reader, if his heart should be here affected, will be inclined to 
 pardon many faults for the pleasure he will receive from a tender sensa¬ 
 tion : and for readers of a different stamp, the more faults they can dis¬ 
 cover, the more, I am convinced, they will be pleased. 
 
 Nor will I assume the fulsome style of common dedicators. I have 
 not their usual design in this epistle, nor w ill I borrow their language. 
 Long, very long may it be before a most dreadful circumstance shall make 
 it possible for any pen to draw a just and true character of yourself with¬ 
 out incurring a suspicion of flattery in the bosoms of the malignant. 
 This task, therefore, I shall defer till that day (if I should be so unfortu¬ 
 nate as ever to see it) when every good man shall pay a tear for the satis¬ 
 faction of his curiosity; a day which, at present, I believe, there is but 
 one good man in the world w r ho can think of it with unconcern. 
 
 Accept then, sir, this small token of that love, that gratitude, and that 
 respect, with which I shall always esteem it my greatest honour to be, 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged and most obedient humble servant, 
 
 HENRY FIELDING. 
 
 Bow Street, Dec. 12, 1751. 
 
 I 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONTAINING TILE EXORDIUM, ETC. 
 
 The various accidents which befel a very worthy couple after 
 their uniting in the state of matrimony will he the subject 
 of the following history. The distresses which they waded 
 through were some of them so exquisite, and the incidents 
 which produced these so extraordinary, that they seemed to 
 require not only the utmost malice, hut the utmost invention, 
 which superstition hath ever attributed to Fortune : though 
 whether any such being interfered in the case, or, indeed, 
 whether there he any such being in the universe, is a matter 
 which I by no means presume to determine in the affirmative. 
 To speak a hold truth, I am, after much mature deliberation, 
 inclined to suspect that the public voice hath, in all ages, 
 done much injustice to Fortune, and hath convicted her of 
 many facts in which she had not the least concern. I ques¬ 
 tion much whether we may not, by natural means, account 
 for the success of knaves, the calamities of fools, with all the 
 miseries in which men of sense sometimes involve themselves, 
 by quitting the directions of Prudence, and following the 
 blind guidance of a predominant passion; in short, for all 
 the ordinary phenomena which are imputed to fortune; 
 whom, perhaps, men accuse with no less absurdity in life, 
 than a bad player complains of ill luck at the game of chess. 
 
 But if men are sometimes guilty of laying improper blame 
 on this imaginary being, they are altogether as apt to make 
 her amends by ascribing to her honours which she as little 
 deserves. To retrieve the ill consequences of a foolish con¬ 
 duct, and by struggling manfully with distress to subdue it, 
 is one of the noblest efforts of wisdom and virtue. Who- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 3 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 ever, therefore, calls such a man fortunate, is guilty of no 
 less impropriety in speech than lie would he who should call 
 the statuary or the poet fortunate ’who carved a Venus or 
 who writ an Iliad. 
 
 Life may as properly be called an art as any other; and 
 the great incidents in it are no more to he considered as 
 mere accidents than the several members of a fine statue or 
 a noble poem. The critics in all these are not content with 
 seeing anything to be great without knowing why and how 
 it came to be so. By examining carefully the several grada¬ 
 tions which conduce to bring every model to perfection, we 
 learn truly to know that science in which the model is 
 formed : as histories of this kind, therefore, may properly be 
 called models of Human Life, so, by observing minutely the 
 several incidents which tend to the catastrophe or comple¬ 
 tion of the whole, and the minute causes whence those inci¬ 
 dents are produced, we shall best be instructed in this most 
 useful of all arts, which I call the Art of Life. 
 
4 
 
 AMELIA, 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HISTORY SETS OUT. OBSERVATIONS ON THE EXCEL¬ 
 LENCY OE THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION AND CURIOUS 
 EXAMINATIONS BEEORE A JUSTICE OE PEACE. 
 
 On tlie first of April, in the year-, the watchmen of a 
 
 certain parish (I know not particularly which) within the 
 liberty of Westminster brought several persons whom they had 
 apprehended the preceding night before Jonathan Thrasher, 
 Esq., one of the justices of the peace for that liberty. 
 
 But here, reader, before we proceed to the trials of these 
 offenders, we shall, after our usual manner, premise some 
 things which it may be necessary for thee to know. 
 
 It hath been observed, I think, by many, as well as the 
 celebrated writer of three letters, that no human institution 
 is capable of consummate perfection. An observation which, 
 perhaps, that writer at least gathered from discovering some 
 defects in the polity even of this well-regulated nation. 
 And, indeed, if there should be any such defect in a consti¬ 
 tution which my Lord Coke long ago told us 4 the wisdom of 
 all the wise men in the world, if they had all met together 
 at one time, could not have equalled,’ which some of our 
 wisest men who were met together long before said was too 
 good to be altered in any particular, and which, nevertheless, 
 hath been mending ever since, by a very great number of the 
 said wise men : if, I say, this constitution should be imper¬ 
 fect, we may be allowed, I think, to doubt whether any 
 such faultless model can be found among the institutions of 
 men. 
 
 It will probably be objected, that the small imperfections 
 which I am about to produce do not lie in the laws them¬ 
 selves, but in the ill execution of them; but, with submis¬ 
 sion, this appears to me to be no less an absurdity than to 
 say of any machine that it is excellently made, though in¬ 
 capable of performing its functions. Good laws should exe¬ 
 cute themselves in a well-regulated state; at least, if the 
 same legislature which provides the laws doth not provide 
 for the execution of them, they act as Graham would do, if 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 5 
 
 lie sliould form all the parts of a clock in the most exquisite 
 manner, yet put them so together that the clock could not 
 go. In this case, surely, we might say that there was a 
 small defect in the constitution of the clock. 
 
 To say the truth, Graham would soon see the fault, and 
 would easily remedy it. The fault, indeed, could be no other 
 than the parts were improperly disposed. 
 
 Perhaps, reader, I have another illustration, which will set 
 my intention in a still clearer light before you. Figure to 
 yourself then a family, the master of which should dispose of 
 the several economical offices in the following manner ; viz. 
 should put his butler in the coach-box, his steward behind 
 his coach, his coachman in the butlery, and his footman in 
 the stewardship, and in the same ridiculous manner should 
 misemploy the talents of every other servant; it is easy to 
 see what a figure such a family must make in the world. 
 
 As ridiculous as this may seem, I have often considered 
 some of the lower officers in our civil government to be dis¬ 
 posed in this very manner. To begin, I think, as low as I 
 well can, with the watchmen in our metropolis, who, being 
 to guard our streets by night from thieves and robbers, an 
 office which at least requires strength of body, are chosen out 
 of those poor old decrepit people who are, from their want of 
 bodily strength, rendered incapable of getting a livelihood by 
 work. These men, armed only with a pole, which some of 
 them are scarce able to lift, are to secure the persons and 
 houses of his majesty’s subjects from the attacks of gangs of 
 young, bold, stout, desperate, and well-armed villains. 
 
 Owe non viribus istis 
 Munera conveniunt. 
 
 If the poor old fellows should run away from such enemies, 
 no one I think can wonder, unless it be that they were able 
 to make their escape. 
 
 The higher we proceed among our public officers and* 
 magistrates, the less defects of this kind will, perhaps, be 
 observable. Mr Thrasher, however, the justice before whom 
 the prisoners above mentioned were now brought, had some 
 few imperfections in his magistratical capacity. I own, I 
 have been sometimes inclined to think that this office of a 
 justice of peace requires some knowledge of the law: for this 
 
6 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 simple reason; because, in every case which coines before 
 him, lie is to judge and act according to law. Again, as 
 these laws are contained in a great variety of books, the 
 statutes which relate to the office of a justice of peace making 
 themselves at least two large volumes in folio ; and that part 
 of his jurisdiction which is founded on the common law being 
 dispersed in above a hundred volumes, I cannot conceive 
 how this knowledge should be acquired without reading; 
 and yet certain it is, Mr Thrasher never read one syllable of 
 the matter. 
 
 This, perhaps, was a defect; but this was not all: for 
 where mere ignorance is to decide a point between two liti¬ 
 gants, it will always be an even chance whether it decides 
 right or wrong: but sorry am I to say, right was often in a 
 much worse situation than this, and wrong hath often had 
 five hundred to one on his side before that magistrate ; who, 
 if he was ignorant of the laws of England, was yet well 
 versed in the laws of nature. . He perfectly well understood 
 that fundamental principle so strongly laid down in the in¬ 
 stitutes of the learned Eochefoucault, by which the duty of 
 self-love is so strongly enforced, and every man is taught to 
 consider himself as the centre of gravity, and to attract all 
 things thither. To speak the truth plainly, the justice was 
 never indifferent in a cause but when he could get nothing 
 on either side. 
 
 Such was the justice to whose tremendous bar Mr Goto- 
 bed the constable, on the day above mentioned, brought 
 several delinquents, who, as we have said, had been appre¬ 
 hended by the watch for diverse outrages. 
 
 The first w T ho came upon his trial was as bloody a spectre 
 as ever the imagination of a murderer or a tragic poet con¬ 
 ceived. This poor wretch was charged with a battery by a 
 much stouter man than himself ; indeed the accused person 
 bore about him some evidence that he had been in an affray, 
 •his clothes being very bloody, but certain open sluices on his 
 own head sufficiently showed whence all the scarlet stream 
 had issued : whereas the accuser had not the least mark or 
 appearance of any wound. The justice asked the defendant, 
 
 Tv hat he meant by breaking the king’s peace 1 -To which 
 
 he answered-‘ Upon my slioul I do love the king very 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 7 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 well, and I have not been after breaking anything of his that 
 I do know; but upon my shout this man hath brake my 
 head, and my head did brake his stick ; that is all, gra.’ He 
 then offered to produce several witnesses against this impro¬ 
 bable accusation ; but the j ustice presently interrupted him, 
 saying, ‘ Sirrah, your tongue betrays your guilt. You are an 
 Irishman, and that is always sufficient evidence with me.’ 
 
 The second criminal was a poor woman, who was taken up 
 by the watch as a street-walker. It was alleged against her 
 that she was found walking the streets after twelve o’clock, 
 and the watchman declared he believed her to be a common 
 strumpet. She pleaded in her defence (as was really the 
 truth) that she was a servant, and was sent by her mistress, 
 who was a little shopkeeper and upon the point of ‘delivery, 
 to fetch a midwife; which she offered to prove by several of 
 the neighbours, if she was allowed to send for them. The 
 justice asked her why she had not done it before 1 to which 
 she answered, she had no money, and could get no mes¬ 
 senger. The justice then called her several scurrilous names, 
 and, declaring she was guilty within the statute of street-walk¬ 
 ing, ordered her to Bridewell for a month. 
 
 A genteel young man and woman were then set forward, 
 and a very grave-looking person swore he caught them in a 
 situation which we cannot as particularly describe here as he 
 did before the magistrate ; who, having received a wink from 
 his clerk, declared with much warmth that the fact was in¬ 
 credible and impossible. He presently discharged the accused 
 parties, and was going, without any evidence, to commit the 
 accuser for perjury; but this the clerk dissuaded him from, 
 saying he doubted whether a justice of peace had any such 
 power. The justice at first differed in opinion, and said, 
 
 ‘ He had seen a man stand in the pillory about perjury; nay, 
 he had known a man in gaol for it too; and how came he 
 there if he was not committed thither ? ’ ‘ Why, that is true, 
 sir,’ answered the clerk ; ‘ and yet I have been told by a very 
 great lawyer that a man cannot be committed for perjury 
 before he is indicted ; and the reason is, I believe, because it 
 is not against the peace before the indictment makes it so.’ 
 
 ‘ Why, that may be,’ cries the justice, ‘ and indeed perjury is 
 but scandalous words, and I know a man cannot have no 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 8 
 
 I. 
 
 warrant for those, unless you put for rioting * them into the 
 warrant.’ 
 
 The witness was now about to he discharged, when the 
 lady whom he had accused declared she would swear the 
 peace against him, for that he had called her a whore several 
 times. ‘ Oho ! you will swear the peace, madam, will you]’ 
 cries the justice : ‘ Give her the peace, presently ; and pray, 
 Mr Constable, secure the prisoner, now we have him, while 
 a warrant is made to take him up.’ All which was immedi¬ 
 ately performed, and the poor witness, for want of sureties, 
 was sent to prison. 
 
 A young fellow, whose name was Booth, was now charged 
 with heating the watchman in the execution of his office and 
 breaking his lantern. This was deposed by two witnesses; 
 and the shattered remains of a broken lantern, which had 
 been long preserved for the sake of its testimony, were pro¬ 
 duced to corroborate the evidence. The justice, perceiving 
 the criminal to be but shabbily drest, was going to commit 
 him without asking any further questions. At length, how¬ 
 ever, at the earnest request of the accused, the worthy magis¬ 
 trate submitted to hear his defence. The young man then 
 alleged, as was in reality the case, * That as he was walking 
 home to his lodging he saw two men in the street cruelly 
 beating a third, upon which he had stopt and endeavoured to 
 assist the person who was so unequally attacked; that the 
 watch came up during the affray, and took them all four into 
 custody; that they were immediately carried to the round¬ 
 house, where the two original assailants, who appeared to be 
 men of fortune, found means to make up the matter, and 
 were discharged by the constable, a favour which he him¬ 
 self, having no money in his pocket, was unable to obtain. 
 He utterly denied having assaulted any of the watchmen, and 
 
 * Opus est interprete. By the laws of England abusive words are not 
 punishable by the magistrate ; some commissioners of the peace, there¬ 
 fore, when one scold hath applied to them for a warrant against another, 
 from a too eager desire of doing justice, have construed a little harmless 
 scolding into a riot, which is in law an outrageous breach of the peace 
 committed by several persons, by three at the least, nor can a less number 
 be convicted of it. Under this word rioting, or dotting (for I have seen 
 it spelt both ways), many thousands of old women have been arrested and 
 put to expense, sometimes in prison, for a little intemperate use of their 
 tongues. This practice began to decrease in the year 1749, 
 
CH. II.J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 9 
 
 solemnly declared tliat he was offered his liberty at the price 
 of half a crown.’ 
 
 Though the hare word of an offender can never he taken 
 against the oath of his accuser, yet the matter of this defence 
 was so pertinent, and delivered with such an air of truth and 
 sincerity, that, had the magistrate been endued with much 
 sagacity, or had he been very moderately gifted with another 
 quality very necessary to all who are to administer justice, 
 he would have employed -some labour in cross-examining the 
 watchmen; at least he would have given the defendant the 
 time he desired to send for the other persons who were pre¬ 
 sent at the affray; neither of which he did. In short, the 
 magistrate had too great an honour for Truth fo suspect that 
 she ever appeared in sordid apparel; nor did he ever sully 
 his sublime notions of that virtue by uniting them with the 
 mean ideas of poverty and distress. 
 
 There remained now only one prisoner, and that was the 
 poor man himself in whose defence the last-mentioned cul¬ 
 prit was engaged. His trial took but a very short time. A 
 cause of battery and broken lantern was instituted against 
 him, and proved in the same manner; nor would the justice 
 hear one word in defence; but, though his patience was ex¬ 
 hausted, his breath was not; for against this last wretch he 
 poured forth a great many volleys of menaces and abuse. 
 
 The delinquents were then all despatched to prison under 
 a guard of watchmen, and the justice and the constable ad¬ 
 journed to a neighbouring alehouse to take their morning 
 repast. 
 
10 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONTAINING THE INSIDE OE A PRISON. 
 
 Mr Booth (for we sliall not trouble you with the rest) was 
 no sooner arrived in the prison than a number of persons 
 gathered around him, all demanding garnish; to which Mr 
 Booth not making a ready answer, as indeed he did not 
 understand the word, some were going to lay hold of him, 
 when a person of apparent dignity came up and insisted that 
 no one should affront the gentleman. This person then, who 
 was no less than the master or keeper of the prison, turning 
 towards Mr Booth, acquainted him that it was the custom of 
 the place for every prisoner upon his first arrival there to 
 give something to the former prisoners to make them drink. 
 This, he said, was what they call garnish, and concluded 
 with advising his new customer to draw his purse upon the 
 present occasion. Mr Booth answered that he would very 
 readily comply with this laudable custom, was it in his 
 power; but that in reality he had not a shilling in his 
 pocket, and, what was worse, he had not a shilling in the 
 world .— 4 Oho ! if that be the case/ cries the keeper, 4 it is 
 another matter, and I have nothing to say.’ Upon which he 
 immediately departed, and left poor Booth to the mercy of 
 his companions, who without loss of time applied themselves 
 to uncasing, as they termed it, and witli such dexterity, that 
 his coat was not only stript olf, but out of sight in a minute. 
 
 Mr Booth was too weak to resist and too wise to complain 
 of this usage. As soon, therefore, as he was at liberty, and 
 declared free of the place, he summoned his philosophy, of 
 which he had no inconsiderable share, to his assistance, and 
 resolved to make himself as easy as possible under his pre¬ 
 sent circumstances. 
 
 Could his own thoughts indeed have suffered him a 
 moment to forget where he was, the dispositions of the 
 other prisoners might have induced him to believe that he 
 had been in a happier place : for much the greater part of 
 his fellow-sufferers, instead of wailing and repining at their 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 11 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 conditions, were laughing, singing, and diverting themselves 
 with various kinds of sports and gambols. 
 
 The first person who accosted him was called Blear-eyed 
 Moll, a woman of no very comely appearance. Her eye 
 (for she had hut one), whence she derived her nickname, 
 -was such as that nickname bespoke; besides which, it had 
 two remarkable qualities; for first, as if Hature had been 
 careful to provide for her own defect, it constantly looked 
 towards her blind side; .and secondly, the ball consisted 
 almost entirely of white, or rather yellow, with a little grey 
 spot in the corner, so small that it was scarce discernible. 
 Hose she had none; for Venus, envious perhaps at her 
 former charms, had carried off the gristly part; and some 
 earthly damsel, perhaps, from the same envy, had levelled 
 the bone with the rest of her face : indeed it was far beneath 
 the bones of her cheeks, which rose proportionally higher 
 than is usual. About half a dozen ebony teeth fortified 
 that large and long canal which nature had cut from ear to 
 ear, at the bottom of which was a chin preposterously short, 
 nature having turned up the bottom, instead of suffering it 
 to grow to its due length. 
 
 Her body was well adapted to her face; she measured 
 full as much round the middle as from head to foot; for, 
 besides the extreme breadth of her back, her vast breasts 
 had long since forsaken their native home, and had settled 
 themselves a little below the girdle. 
 
 I wish certain actresses on the .stage, when they are to 
 perform characters of no amiable cast, would study to dress 
 themselves with the propriety with which Blear-eyed Moll 
 was now arrayed. Bor the sake of our squeamish reader, 
 we shall not descend to particulars; let it suffice to say, 
 nothing more ragged or more dirty was ever emptied out of 
 the roundhouse at St Giles’s. 
 
 We have taken the more pains to describe this person, 
 for two remarkable reasons; the one is, that this unlovely 
 creature was taken in the fact with a very pretty young 
 fellow; the other, which is more productive of moral 
 lesson, is, that however wretched her fortune may appear 
 to the reader, she was one of the merriest persons in the 
 whole prison. 
 
 Blear-eyed Moll then came up to Mr Booth with a smile, 
 
12 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 or rather grin, on her countenance, and asked him for a 
 dram of gin; and when Booth assured her that he had not 
 a penny of money, she replied,—‘ D —n your eyes, I thought 
 by your look you had been a clever fellow, and upon the 
 snaffling lay * at least; but, d—n your body and eyes, I 
 fin d you are some sneaking budget rascal.’ She then 
 launched forth a volley of dreadful oaths, interlarded with 
 some language not proper to be repeated here, and was 
 going to lay hold on poor Booth, when a tall prisoner, who 
 had been very earnestly eyeing Booth for some time, came 
 up, and, taking her by the shoulder, flung her off at some 
 distance, cursing her for a b—h, and bidding her let the 
 gentleman alone. 
 
 This person was not himself of the most inviting aspect. 
 He was long visaged, and pale, with a red beard of above a 
 fortnight’s growth. He was attired in a brownish-black 
 coat, which would have showed more holes than it did, had 
 not the linen, which appeared through it, been entirely of 
 the same colour with the cloth. 
 
 This gentleman, whose name was Robinson, addressed 
 himself very civilly to Mr Booth, and told him he was sorry 
 to see one of his appearance in that place : ‘For as to your 
 being without your coat, sir,’ says he, ‘ I can easily account 
 for that; and, indeed, dress is the least part which dis¬ 
 tinguishes a gentleman.’ At which words he cast a signifi¬ 
 cant look on his own coat, as if he desired they should be 
 applied to himself. He then proceeded in the following 
 manner: 
 
 ‘ I perceive, sir, you are but just arrived in this dismal 
 place, which is, indeed, rendered more detestable by the 
 wretches who inhabit it than by any other circumstance; 
 but even these a wise man will soon bring himself to bear 
 with indifference; for what is, is ; and what must be, must 
 be. The knowledge of this, which, simple as it appears, is 
 in truth the height of all philosophy, renders a wise man 
 superior to every evil which can befal him. I hope, sir, 
 no very dreadful accident is the cause of your coming hither; 
 but, whatever it was, you may be assured it could not be 
 otherwise; for all things happen by an inevitable fatality; 
 
 * A cant terra for robbery on the highway, 
 f Another cant terra for pilfering. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 13 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 and a man can no more resist the impulse of fate than a 
 wheelbarrow can the force of its driver. 
 
 Besides the obligation which Mr Bobinson had conferred 
 on Mr Booth in delivering him from the insults of Blear- 
 eyed Moll, there was something in the manner of Bobinson 
 which, notwithstanding the meanness of his dress, seemed 
 to distinguish him from the crowd of wretches who swarmed 
 in those regions; and, above all, the sentiments which he 
 had just declared very nearly coincided with those of Mr 
 Booth : this gentleman was what they call a freethinker; 
 that is to say, a deist, or, perhaps, an atheist; for, though 
 he did not absolutely deny the existence of a God, yet he 
 entirely denied his providence. A doctrine w^hich, if it is 
 not downright atheism, hath a direct tendency towards it; 
 and, as Dr Clarke observes, may soon be driven into it. 
 And as to Mr Booth, though he was in his heart an extreme 
 well-wisher to religion (for he was an honest man), yet his 
 notions of it were very slight and uncertain. To say truth, 
 he was in the wavering condition so finely described by 
 Claudian; 
 
 labefacta caclebat 
 
 Iteligio , causaque viam non sponte seqnebar 
 Alterius ; vacuo qua currere semina motu 
 Affirmat ; magnumque novas per inane Jiguras 
 Fortuna , non arte , regi ; qua numina sensu 
 Ambiguo , vel nulla putat, vel nescia nostri. 
 
 This way of thinking, or rather of doubting, he had con¬ 
 tracted from the same reasons which Claudian assigns, and 
 which had induced Brutus in his latter days to doubt the 
 existence of that virtue which he had all his life cultivated. 
 In short, poor Booth imagined that a larger share of mis¬ 
 fortunes had fallen to his lot than he had merited; and this 
 led him, who (though a good classical scholar) was not 
 deeply learned in religious matters, into a disadvantageous 
 opinion of Providence. A dangerous way of reasoning, in 
 which our conclusions are not only too hasty, from an 
 imperfect view of things, but we are likewise liable to much 
 error from partiality to ourselves; viewing our virtues and 
 vices as through a perspective, in which we turn the glass 
 always to our own advantage, so as to diminish the one, and 
 as greatly to magnify the other. 
 
14 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK 1 . 
 
 From the above reasons, it can he no wonder that Mr 
 Booth did not decline the acquaintance of this person, in a 
 place which could not promise to afford him any better. 
 He answered him, therefore, with great courtesy, as indeed 
 lie was of a very good and gentle disposition, and, after 
 expressing a civil surprize at meeting him there, declared 
 himself to be of the same opinion with regard to the neces¬ 
 sity of human actions; adding, however, that he did not 
 believe men were under any blind impulse or direction of 
 fate, but that every man acted merely from the force of that 
 passion which was uppermost in his mind, and could do no 
 otherwise. 
 
 A discourse now ensued between the two gentlemen on 
 the necessity arising from the impulse of fate, and the 
 necessity arising from the impulse of passion, which, as it 
 will make a pretty pamphlet of itself, we shall reserve for 
 some future opportunity. When this was ended they set 
 forward to survey the gaol and the prisoners, with the 
 several cases of whom Mr Robinson, who had been some 
 time under confinement, undertook to make Mr Booth 
 acquainted. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DISCLOSING FUETHEE SECEETS OF THE PEISON-HOUSE. 
 
 The first persons whom they passed by -were three men in 
 fetters, who were enjoying themselves very merrily over a 
 bottle of wine and a pipe of tobacco. These, Mr Robinson 
 informed his friend, were three street-robbers, and were all 
 certain of being hanged the ensuing sessions* So incon¬ 
 siderable an object, said he, is'misery to light minds, when 
 it is at any distance. 
 
 A little farther they beheld a man prostrate on the ground, 
 whose heavy groans and frantic actions plainly indicated the 
 highest disorder of mind. This person was, it seems, com¬ 
 mitted for a small felony; and his wife, who then lay-in, 
 upon hearing the news, had thrown -herself from a window 
 two pair of stairs high, by which means he had, in all pro¬ 
 bability, lost both her and his child. 
 
 A very pretty girl then advanced towards them, whose 
 beauty Mr Booth could not help admiring the moment he 
 saw her; declaring, at the same time, he thought she had 
 great innocence in her countenance. Robinson said she was 
 committed thither as an idle and disorderly person, and a 
 common street-walker. As she passed by Mr Booth, she 
 damned his eyes, and discharged a volley of words, every 
 one of which was too indecent to be repeated. 
 
 They now beheld a little creature sitting by herself in a 
 corner, and crying bitterly. This girl, Mr Robinson said, 
 was committed because her father-in-law, who was in the 
 grenadier guards, had sworn that he was afraid of his life, or 
 of some bodily harm which she would do him, and she could 
 get no sureties for keeping the peace; for which reason 
 justice Thrasher had committed her to prison. 
 
 A great noise now arose, occasioned by the prisoners all 
 flocking to see a fellow wliipt for petty larceny, to which he 
 was condemned by the court of quarter-sessions; but this 
 soon ended in the disappointment of the spectators; for the 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 16 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 fellow, after being stript, having advanced another sixpence, 
 was discharged untouched. 
 
 This was immediately followed by another bustle; Blear- 
 eyed Moll, and several of her companions, having got 
 possession of a • man who was committed for certain odious 
 unmanlike practices, not fit to be named, were giving him 
 various kinds of discipline, and would probably have put an 
 end to him, had lie not been rescued out of their hands by 
 authority. 
 
 When this bustle was a little allayed, Mr Booth took 
 notice of a young woman in rags sitting on the ground, and. 
 supporting the head of an old man in her lap, who appeared 
 to be giving up the ghost. These, Mr Bobinson informed 
 him, were father and daughter; that the latter was committed 
 for stealing a loaf, in order to support the former, and the 
 former for receiving it, knowing it to be stolen. 
 
 A well-drest man then walked surlily by them, whom Mr 
 Bobinson reported to have been committed on an indictment 
 found against him for a most horrid perjury; but, says he, 
 we expect him to be bailed to-day. Good Heaven ! cries 
 Booth, can such villains find bail, and is no person charitable 
 enough to bail that poor father and daughter 'l Oh ! sir, 
 answered Bobinson, the offence of the daughter, being 
 felony, is held not to be bailable in law; whereas perjury is 
 a misdemeanour only; and therefore persons who are even 
 indicted for it are, nevertheless, capable of being bailed. 
 Hay, of all perjuries, that of which this man is indicted is 
 the worst; for it was with an intention of taking away the 
 life of an innocent person by form of law. As to perjuries 
 in civil matters, they are not so very criminal. They are 
 not, said Booth ; and yet even these are a most flagitious 
 offence, and worthy the highest punishment. Surely they 
 ought to be distinguished, answered Bobinson, from the 
 others : for what is taking away a little property from a 
 man, compared to taking away his life and his reputation, 
 and ruining his family into the bargain 1—I hope there can 
 be no comparison in the crimes, and I think there ought to 
 be none in the punishment. However, at present, the 
 punishment of all perjury is only pillory and transportation 
 for seven years; and, as it is a traversable and bailable 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 17 
 
 offence, methods are found to escape any punishment at all.'* 
 
 Booth exprest great astonishment at this, when his atten¬ 
 tion was suddenly diverted by the most miserable object 
 that he had yet seen. This was a wretch almost naked, and 
 who bore in his countenance, joined to an appearance of 
 honesty, the marks of poverty, hunger, and disease. He 
 had, moreover, a wooden leg, and two or three scars on his 
 forehead. The case of this poor man is, indeed, unhappy 
 enough, said Robinson. He hath served his country, lost 
 his limb, and received several, wounds at the siege of Gib¬ 
 raltar. When he was discharged from the hospital abroad 
 he came over to get into that of Chelsea, but could not 
 immediately, as none of his officers were then in England. 
 In the mean time, he was one day apprehended and com¬ 
 mitted hither on suspicion of stealing three herrings from a 
 fishmonger. He was tried several months ago for this 
 offence, and acquitted; indeed, his innocence manifestly 
 appeared at the trial; but he was brought back again for 
 his fees, and here he hath lain ever since. 
 
 Booth exprest great horror at this account, and declared, 
 if he had only so much money in his pocket, he would pay 
 his fees for him; but added that he was not possessed of a 
 single farthing in the world. 
 
 Robinson hesitated a moment, and then said, with a 
 smile, * I am going to make you, sir, a very odd proposal 
 after your last declaration; but what say you to a game at 
 cards 1 it will serve to pass a tedious hour, and may divert 
 your thoughts from more unpleasant speculations.’ 
 
 I do not imagine Booth would have agreed to this; for, 
 though some love of gaming had been formerly amongst his 
 faults, yet he was not so egregiously addicted to that vice as 
 to be tempted by the shabby plight of Robinson, who had, 
 if I may so express myself, no charms for a gamester. If lie 
 had, however, any such inclinations, he had no opportunity 
 to follow them, for, before he could make any answer to 
 Robinson’s proposal, a strapping wench came up to Booth, 
 
 * By removing the indictment by certiorari into the King’s Bench, 
 the trial is so long postponed, and the costs are so highly increased, that 
 prosecutors are often tired out, and some incapacitated from pursuing. 
 Verbum sapienti. 
 
 $> 
 
18 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 and, taking hold of liis arm, asked him to walk aside with 
 her ; saying, ‘ What a pox, are you such a fresh cull that you 
 do not know this fellow 1 why, he is a gambler, and com¬ 
 mitted for cheating at play. There is not such a pickpocket 
 in the whole quad.’* 
 
 A scene of altercation now ensued between Eobinson and 
 the lady, which ended in a bout at fisticuffs, in which the 
 lady was greatly superior to the philosopher. 
 
 While the two combatants were engaged, a grave-looking 
 man, rather better drest than the majority of the company, 
 came up to Mr Booth, and, taking him aside, said, ‘ I am sorry, 
 sir, to see a gentleman, as you appear to be, in such intimacy 
 with that rascal, who makes no scruple of disowning all re¬ 
 vealed religion. As for crimes, they are human errors, and 
 signify but little ; nay, perhaps the worse a man is by nature, 
 the more room there is for grace.. The spirit is active, and 
 loves best to inhabit those minds where it may meet with the 
 most work. Whatever your crime be, therefore, I would not 
 have you despair, but rather rejoice at it; for perhaps it may 
 be the means of your being called.’ He ran on for a con¬ 
 siderable time with this cant, without waiting for an answer, 
 and ended in declaring himself a methodist. 
 
 Just as the methodist had finished his discourse, a beauti¬ 
 ful young woman was ushered into the gaol. She was genteel 
 and well drest, and did not in the least resemble those 
 females whom Mr Booth had hitherto seen. The constable 
 had no sooner delivered her at the gate than she asked with 
 a commanding voice for the keeper; and, when he arrived, 
 she said to him, f Well, sir, whither am I to be conducted ? 
 I hope I am not to take Up my lodging with these creatures.’ 
 The keeper answered, with a kind of surly respect, ‘ Madam, 
 we have rooms for those who can afford to pay for them.’ 
 At these words she pulled a handsome purse from her pocket, 
 in which many guineas chinked, saying, with an air of in¬ 
 dignation, ‘ That she was not come thither on account of 
 poverty.’ The keeper no sooner viewed the purse than his 
 features became all softened in an instant; and, with all 
 the courtesy of which he was master, he desired the lady to 
 walk with him, assuring her that she should have the best 
 apartment in his house. 
 
 * A cant word for a prison. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 19 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 Mr Booth was now left alone ; for the methodist had for¬ 
 saken him, having, as the phrase of the sect is, searched him 
 to the bottom. In fact, he had thoroughly examined every 
 one of Mr Booth’s pockets ; from which he had conveyed 
 away a penknife and an iron snuff-box, these being all the 
 moveables which were to be found. 
 
 Booth was standing near the gate of the prison when the 
 young lady above mentioned was introduced into the yard. 
 He viewed her features very attentively, and was persuaded 
 that he knew her. She was indeed so remarkably handsome, 
 that it was hardly possible for any who had ever seen her to 
 forget her. He inquired of one of the under-keepers if the 
 name of the prisoner lately arrived was not Matthews; to 
 which he was answered that her name was not Matthews hut 
 Vincent, and that she was committed for murder. 
 
 The latter part of this information made Mr Booth suspect 
 his memory more than the former; for it was very possible 
 that she might have changed her name; but he hardly 
 thought she could so far have changed her nature as to be 
 guilty of a crime so very incongruous with her former gentle 
 manners : for Miss Matthews had both the birth and educa¬ 
 tion of a gentlewoman. He concluded, therefore, that he 
 was certainly mistaken, and rested satisfied without any 
 further inquiry. 
 
20 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 CIIAPTEB Y. 
 
 CONTAINING CERTAIN ADVENTURES WHICH BEFEL MR 
 
 BOOTH IN THE PRISON. 
 
 The remainder of the day Mr Booth spent in melancholy 
 contemplation on his present condition. He was destitute 
 of the common necessaries of life, and consequently unable 
 to subsist Avhere he was; nor was there a single person in 
 town to whom he could, with any reasonable hope, apply for 
 his delivery. Grief for some time banished the thoughts of 
 food from his mind; but in the morning nature began to 
 grow uneasy for want of her usual nourishment: for he had 
 not ate a morsel during the last forty hours. A penny loaf, 
 which is it seems the ordinary allowance to the prisoners in 
 Bridewell, was now delivered him; and while he was eating 
 this a man brought him a little packet sealed up, informing 
 him that it came by a messenger, who said it required no 
 answer. 
 
 Mr Booth now opened his packet, and, after unfolding 
 several pieces of blank paper successively, at last discovered 
 a guinea, wrapt with great care in the inmost paper. He 
 was vastly surprised at this sight, as he had few if any 
 friends from whom he could expect such a favour, slight as it 
 was ; and not one of his friends, as he was apprized, knew of 
 his confinement. As there was no direction to the packet, 
 nor a word of writing contained in it, he began to suspect 
 that it was delivered to the wrong person; and being one of 
 the most untainted honesty, he found out the man who gave 
 it him, and again examined him concerning the person who 
 brought it, and the message delivered with it. The man as¬ 
 sured Booth that he had made no mistake; saying, ‘ If your 
 name is Booth, sir, I am positive you are the gentleman to 
 whom the parcel I gave you belongs.’ 
 
 The most scrupulous honesty would, perhaps, in such a 
 situation, have been well enough satisfied in finding no owner 
 for the guinea ; especially when proclamation had been made 
 in the prison that Mr Booth had received a packet without 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 21 
 
 any direction, to which, if any person had any claim, and 
 would discover the contents, he was ready to deliver it to 
 such claimant. No such claimant being found (I mean none 
 who knew the contents; for many swore that they expected 
 just such a packet, and believed it to be their property), Mr 
 Booth very calmly resolved to apply the money to his own 
 use. 
 
 The first thing after redemption of the coat, which Mr 
 Booth, hungry as he was, thought of, was to supply himself 
 with snuff, which he had long, to his great sorrow, been 
 without. On this occasion he presently missed that iron box 
 which the methodist had so dextrously conveyed out of his 
 pocket, as we mentioned in the last chapter. 
 
 He no sooner missed this box than ho immediately sus¬ 
 pected that the gambler was the person who had stolen it; 
 nay, so well was he assured of this man’s guilt, that it may, 
 perhaps, be improper to say he barely suspected it. Though 
 Mr Booth was, as we have hinted, a man of very sweet dis¬ 
 position, yet was he rather overwarm. Having, therefore, 
 no doubt concerning the person of the thief, he eagerly sought 
 him out, and very bluntly charged him with the fact. 
 
 The gambler, whom I think we should now call the phi¬ 
 losopher, received this charge without the least visible emo¬ 
 tion either of mind or muscle. After a short pause of a few 
 moments, he answered, with great solemnity, as follows : 
 ‘ Young man, I am entirely unconcerned at your groundless 
 suspicion. He that censures a stranger, as I am to you, 
 without any cause, makes a worse compliment to himself 
 than to the stranger. You know yourself, friend; you know 
 not me. It is true, indeed, you heard me accused of being 
 a cheat and a gamester ; but who is my accuser 1 Look at my 
 apparel, friend ; do thieves and gamesters wear such clothes 
 as these 1 play is my folly, not my vice; it is my impulse, 
 and I have been a martyr to it. Would a gamester have 
 asked another to play when he could have lost eighteen-pence 
 and won nothing 1 however, if you are not satisfied, you may 
 search my pockets ; the outside of all but one will serve your 
 turn, and in that one there is the eighteen-pence I told you 
 of.’ He then turned up his clothes ; and his pockets entirely 
 resembled the pitchers of the Belides. 
 
 Booth was a little staggered a t this defence. He said the 
 
22 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 real value of the iron hox was too inconsiderable to mention ; 
 but that be bad a capricious value for it, for the sake of tlie 
 person who gave it him \ ‘ for, though it is not, said be, 
 
 ‘ worth sixpence, I would willingly give a crown to any 
 
 one who would bring it me again.’ 
 
 Robinson answered, 1 If that be tlie case, you have nothing 
 more to do but to signify your intention in the prison, and I 
 am well convinced you will not be long without regaining the 
 possession of your snuff-box. 
 
 This advice was immediately followed, and with success, 
 tlie methodist presently producing the box, which, be said, 
 he bad found, and should have returned it before, bad be 
 known the person to whom it belonged; adding, with up¬ 
 lifted eyes, that the spirit would not suffer him knowingly to 
 detain the goods of another, however inconsiderable tlie value 
 was. ‘ Why so, friend ? ’ said Robinson. ‘ Have I not beard 
 you often say, the wickeder any man was the better, provided 
 be was what you call a believer ? i You mistake me, ciies 
 Cooper (for that was the name of tlie methodist): ‘ no man 
 can be wicked after be is possessed by tlie spirit. There is 
 a wide difference between the days of sin and the days of 
 grace. I have been a sinner myself.’ ‘ I believe tliee,’ cries 
 Robinson, with a sneer. ‘ I care not,’ answered tlie other, 
 
 ‘ wliat an atheist believes. I suppose you would insinuate 
 that I stole the snuff-box ; but I value not your malice ; the 
 Lord knows my innocence.’ He then walked oft with the 
 reward ) and Rooth, returning to Robinson, very earnestly 
 asked pardon for bis groundless suspicion; which tlie other, 
 without any hesitation, accorded him, saying, ‘ You never 
 accused me, sir; you suspected some gambler, with whose 
 character I have no concern. I should be angry with a friend 
 or acquaintance who should give a hasty credit to any allega¬ 
 tion against me; but I have no reason to be offended with 
 you for believing what the woman, and the rascal who is just 
 gone, and who is committed here for a pickpocket, which 
 you did not perhaps know, told you to my disadvantage. 
 And if you thought me to be a gambler you had just reason 
 to suspect any ill of me; for I myself am confined here by 
 the perjury of one of those villains, who, having cheated me 
 of my money at play, and hearing that I intended to apply 
 to a magistrate against him, himself began the attack, and 
 obtained^ warrant against me of Justice Thrasher, who, with- 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 out hearing one speech in my defence, committed me to this 
 place.’ 
 
 Booth testified great compassion at this account; and, he 
 having invited Robinson to dinner, they spent that day to¬ 
 gether. In the afternoon Booth indulged his friend with a 
 game at cards ; at first for halfpence and afterwards for shil¬ 
 lings, when fortune so favoured Robinson that he did not 
 leave the other a single shilling in his pocket. 
 
 A surprizing run of luck in a gamester is often mistaken 
 for somewhat else by persons who are not ove^-zealous be¬ 
 lievers in the divinity of fortune. I have known a stranger 
 at Bath, who hath happened fortunately (I rni^ht almost say 
 unfortunately) to have four by honours in his hand almost 
 every time he dealt for a whole evening, shunned universally 
 by the whole company the next day. And certain it is, that 
 Mr Booth, though of a temper very little inclined to sus¬ 
 picion, began to waver in his opinion whether the character 
 given by Mr Robinson of himself, or that which the others 
 gave of him, was the truer. 
 
 In the morning hunger paid him a second visit, and found 
 him again in the same- situation as before. After some de¬ 
 liberation, therefore, he resolved to ask Robinson to lend him 
 a shilling or two of that money which was lately his own. 
 And this experiment, he thought, would confirm him either 
 in a good or evil opinion of that gentleman. 
 
 To this demand Robinson answered, with great alacrity, 
 that he should very gladly have complied, had not fortune 
 played one of her jade tricks with him : ‘ for since my win¬ 
 ning of you/ said he, ‘ I have been stript not only of your 
 money but my own. He was going to harangue farther ; 
 but Booth, with great indignation, turned from him. 
 
 This poor gentleman had very little time to reflect on his 
 own misery, or the rascality, as it appeared to him, of the 
 other, when the same person who had the day before de¬ 
 livered him the guinea from the unknown hand, again ac¬ 
 costed him, and told him a lady in the house (so he expressed 
 himself) desired the favour of his company. 
 
 Mr Booth immediately obeyed the message, and was con¬ 
 ducted into a room in the prison, where he was presently 
 convinced that Mrs Vincent was no other than his old 
 acquaintance Miss Matthews. 
 
24 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 |_BK I. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTAINING TIIE EXTRAORDINARY BEHAVIOUR OE MISS 
 MATTHEWS ON HER MEETING WITH BOOTH, AND SOME 
 ENDEAVOURS TO PROVE, BY REASON AND AUTHORITY, 
 THAT IT*? IS POSSIBLE EOR A WOMAN TO APPEAR TO 
 BE WnAT SHE REALLY IS NOT. 
 
 Eight or nine years had passed since any interview between 
 Mr Booth and Miss Matthews; and their meeting now in so 
 extraordinary a place affected both of them with an equal 
 surprize. 
 
 After some immaterial ceremonies, the lady acquainted Mr 
 Booth that, having heard there was a person in the prison 
 who knew her by the name of Matthews, she had great curi¬ 
 osity to inquire who lie was, whereupon he had been shown 
 to her from the window of the house'; that she immediately 
 recollected him, and, being informed of his distressful situa¬ 
 tion, for which she expressed great concern, she had sent him 
 that guinea which he had received the day before; and then 
 proceeded to excuse herself for not having desired to see him 
 at that time, when she was under the greatest disorder and 
 hurry of spirits. 
 
 Booth made many handsome acknowledgments of her 
 favour; and added that he very little wondered at the dis¬ 
 order of her spirits, concluding that he was heartily concerned 
 at seeing her there; ‘ but I hope, madam,’ said he— 
 
 Here he hesitated ; upon which, bursting into an agony 
 of tears, she cried out, ‘ O captain ! captain ! many extra¬ 
 ordinary things have passed since last I saw you. 0 gracious 
 heaven ! did 1 ever expect that this would be the next place 
 of our meeting 1 ’ 
 
 She then Hung herself into her chair, where she gave loose 
 to her passion, whilst he, in the most affectionate and tender 
 manner, endeavoured to soothe and comfort her; but passion 
 itself did probably more for its own relief than all his friendly 
 consolations. Having vented this in a large flood of tears, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 25 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 she became pretty well composed ; but Booth unhappily 
 mentioning her father, she again relapsed into an agony, and 
 cried out, ‘ Why 1 why will you repeat the name of that dear 
 man % I have disgraced him, Mr Booth, I am unworthy the 
 name of his daughter/—Here passion again stopped hei 
 words, and discharged itself in tears. 
 
 After this second vent of sorrow or shame, or, if the reader 
 pleases, of rage, she once more recovered from her agonies. 
 To say the truth, these are, I believe, as critical discharges of 
 nature as any of those which are so called by the physicians, 
 and do more effectually relieve the mind than any remedies 
 with which the whole materia medica of philosophy can 
 supply it. 
 
 'When Mrs Vincent had recovered her faculties, she per¬ 
 ceived Booth standing silent, with a mixture of concern and 
 astonishment in his countenance; then addressing herself to 
 him with an air of most bewitching softness, of which she 
 was a perfect mistress, she said, ‘ I do not wonder at your 
 amazement, Captain Booth, nor indeed at the concern which 
 you so plainly discover for me ; for I well know the good¬ 
 ness of your nature : but, 0, Mr Booth ! believe me, when 
 you know what hath happened since our last meeting, 
 your concern will be raised, however your astonishment 
 may cease. 0, sir ! you are a stranger to the cause of my 
 sorrows.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope I am, madam,’ answered he ; ‘ for I cannot believe 
 what I have heard in the prison—surely murder ’—at which 
 words she started from her chair, repeating, murder ! Oh ! 
 it is music in my ears !—You have heard then the cause of 
 my commitment, my glory, my delight, my reparation! 
 Yes, my old friend, this is the arm that drove the penknife 
 to his heart. Unkind fortune, that not one drop of his blood 
 reached my hand.—Indeed, sir, I would never have washed 
 it from it.—But, though I have not the happiness to see it 
 on my hand, I have the glorious satisfaction of remembering 
 I saw it run in rivers on the floor; I saw it forsake his cheeks, 
 I saw him fall a martyr to my revenge. And is the. killing 
 a villain to be called murder 1 perhaps the law calls it so. 
 
 Let it call it what it will, or punish me as it pleases.- 
 
 Punish me !— no, no—that is not in the power of man—not of 
 that monster man, Mr Booth. I am undone, am revenged, 
 
26 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 and have now no more business for life; let them take it 
 from me when they will.* 
 
 Our poor gentleman turned pale with horror at this speech, 
 and the ejaculation of Good heavens ! what do I hear 1 hurst 
 spontaneously from his lips; nor can we wonder at this, 
 though he was the bravest of men ; for her voice, her looks, 
 her gestures, Avere properly adapted to the sentiments she 
 exprest. Such indeed was her image, that neither could 
 Shakspeare describe, nor Hogarth paint, nor Clive act, a fury 
 in higher perfection. 
 
 ‘ What do you hear 1 ’ reiterated she. 1 You hear the 
 resentment of the most injured of women. You have heard, 
 you say, of the murder; but do you know the cause, Mr 
 Booth 1 Have you since your return to England visited 
 that country where we formerly knew one another 1 tell me, 
 do you know my wretched story h tell me that, my friend.’ 
 
 Booth hesitated for an answer ; indeed, he had heard some 
 imperfect stories, not much to her advantage. She waited 
 not till he had formed a speech ; but cried, ‘ Whatever you 
 may have heard, you cannot be acquainted with all the 
 strange accidents which have occasioned your seeing me in 
 a place which at our last parting was so unlikely that I should 
 ever have been found in ; nor can you know the cause of all 
 that I have uttered, and which, I am convinced, you never 
 expected to have heard from my mouth. If these circum¬ 
 stances raise your curiosity, I will satisfy it.’ 
 
 He answered, that curiosity was too mean a word to ex¬ 
 press his ardent desire of knowing her story. Upon which, 
 with very little previous ceremony, she began to relate what 
 is written in the following chapter. 
 
 But before we put an end to this it may be necessary to 
 whisper a word or two to the critics, who have, perhaps, be¬ 
 gun to express no less astonishment than Mr Booth, that a 
 lady in whom we had remarked a most extraordinary power 
 of displaying softness should, the very next moment after 
 the words were out of her mouth, express sentiments becoming 
 the lips of a Dalila, Jezebel, Medea, Semiramis, Parysatis, 
 Tanaquil, Livilla, Messalina, Agrippina, Brunichilde, Elfrida, 
 Lady Macbeth, Joan of Naples, Christina of Sweden, Katha¬ 
 rine Hays, Sarah Malcolm, Con Philips,* or any other 
 
 * Though last not least. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 27 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 heroine of the tender sex, which history, sacred or profane, 
 ancient or modern, false or true, hath recorded. 
 
 We desire such critics to remember that it is the same 
 English climate in which, on the lovely 10th of June, under 
 a serene sky, the amorous Jacobite, kissing the odoriferous 
 zephyr’s breath, gathers a nosegay of white roses to deck the 
 whiter breast of Celia ; and in which, on the lltli of June, 
 the very next day, the boisterous Boreas, roused by the hol¬ 
 low thunder, rushes horrible through the air, and, driving 
 the wet tempest before him, levels the hope of the husband¬ 
 man with the earth, dreadful remembrance of the conse- 
 quences of the revolution. 
 
 Again, let it he remembered that this is the selfsame 
 Celia, all tender, soft, and delicate, who with a voice, the 
 sweetness of which the Syrens might envy, warbles the 
 harmonious song in praise of the young adventurer ; and 
 again, the next day, or, perhaps the next hour, with fiery 
 eyes, wrinkled brows, and foaming lips, roars forth treason 
 and nonsense in a political argument with some fair one of 
 a different principle. 
 
 Or, if the critic be a whig, and consequently dislikes such 
 kind of similes, as being too favourable to Jacobitism, let him 
 be contented with the following story : 
 
 I happened in my youth to sit behind two ladies in a side- 
 box at a play, where, in the balcony on the opposite side, 
 
 was placed the inimitable B-y C-s, in company with 
 
 a young fellow of no very formal, or indeed sober, appear¬ 
 ance. One of the ladies, I remember, said to the other— 
 ‘ Did you ever see anything look so modest and so innocent 
 as that girl over the way 1 what pity it is such a creature 
 should be in the way of ruin, as I am afraid she is, by her 
 being alone with that young fellow ! ’ blow this lady was 
 no bad physiognomist, for it was impossible to conceive a 
 greater appearance of modesty, innocence, and simplicity, 
 than what nature had displayed in the countenance of that 
 girl; and yet, all appearances notwithstanding, I myself (re¬ 
 member, critic, it was in my youth) had a few mornings 
 before seen that very identical picture of all those engaging 
 qualities in bed with a rake at a bagnio, smoking tobacco, 
 drinking punch, talking obscenity, and swearing and cursing 
 with all the impudence and impiety of the lowest and most 
 abandoned trull of a soldier. 
 
28 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS MATTHEWS BEGINS HER HISTORY. 
 
 Miss Matthews, having barred the door on the inside as 
 securely as it was before barred on the outside, proceeded as 
 follows : 
 
 ‘ You may imagine I am going to begin my history at the 
 time when you left the country; but I cannot help remind¬ 
 ing you of something which happened before. You will soon 
 recollect the incident; but I believe you little know the 
 consequence either at that time or since. Alas ! I could keep 
 a secret then ! now I have no secrets ; the world knows all; 
 and it is not worth my while to conceal anything. Well ! 
 —You will not wonder, I believe.—I protest I can hardly 
 
 tell it you, even now.-But I am convinced you have too 
 
 good an opinion of yourself to be surprised at any conquest 
 
 you may have made.-Few men want that good opinion 
 
 —and perhaps very few had ever more reason for it. In¬ 
 deed, Will, you was a charming fellow in those days ; nay, 
 you are not much altered for the worse now, at least in the 
 opinion of some women ; for your complexion and features 
 are grown much more masculine than they were/ Here 
 Booth made her a low bow, most probably with a compli¬ 
 ment ; and after a little hesitation she again proceeded.- 
 
 ‘Do you remember a contest which happened at an assembly, 
 betwixt myself and Miss Jolinson, about standing uppermost 'l 
 you was then my partner ; and young Williams danced with 
 the other lady. The particulars are not now worth mention¬ 
 ing, though I suppose you have long since forgot them. Let 
 it suffice that you supported my claim, and Williams very 
 sneakingly gave up that of his partner, who was, with much 
 difficulty, afterwards prevailed to dance with him. You said 
 —I am sure I repeat the words exactly—that ‘ you would 
 not for the world affront any lady there ; but that you 
 thought you might, without any such danger declare, that 
 there was no assembly in which that lady, meaning your 
 
CII. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 29 
 
 humble servant, was not worthy of the uppermost place; nor 
 will I,’ said you, ‘ suffer the first duke in England, when she 
 is at the uppermost end of the room, and hath called her 
 dance, to lead his partner above her.’ 
 
 ‘What made this the more pleasing to me was, that I 
 secretly hated Miss Johnson. Will you have the reason ? 
 why, then, I will tell you honestly, she was my rival. That 
 word perhaps astonishes you, as you never, I believe, heard 
 of any one who made his addresses to me ; and indeed my 
 heart was, till that night, entirely indifferent to all mankind : 
 I mean, then, that she was my rival for praise, for beauty, 
 for dress, for fortune, and consequently for admiration. My 
 triumph on this conquest is not to he expressed any more 
 than my delight in the person to whom I chiefly owed it. 
 The former, I fancy, was visible to the whole company ; and 
 I desired it should be so; but the latter was so well con¬ 
 cealed, that no one, I am confident, took any notice of it. 
 And yet you appeared to me that night to be an angel. You 
 looked, you danced, you spoke—everything charmed me.’ 
 
 ‘ Good heavens! ’ cries Booth, ‘ is it possible you should 
 do me so much unmerited honour, and I should be dunce 
 enough not to perceive the least symptom 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I assure you,’ answered she, ‘ I did all I could to prevent 
 you; and yet I almost hated you for not seeing through 
 what I strove to hide. Why, Mr Booth, was you not more 
 quick-sighted 1—I will answer for you—your affections were 
 more happily disposed of to a much better woman than my 
 self, whom you married soon afterwards. I should ask you 
 for her, Mr Booth; I should have asked you for her before ; 
 but I am unworthy of asking for her, or of calling her my 
 acquaintance.’ 
 
 Booth stopt her short, as she was running into another fit 
 of passion, and begged her to omit all former matters, and 
 acquaint him with that part of her history to which lie was 
 an entire stranger. 
 
 She then renewed her discourse as follows : ‘ You know, 
 Mr Booth, I soon afterwards left that town, upon the death 
 of my grandmother, and returned home to my father’s house ; 
 where I had not been long arrived before some troops of dragoons 
 came to quarter in our neighbourhood. Among the officers 
 there was a cornet whose detested name was Iiebbers, a name 
 
30 
 
 AT.IELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 I could scarce repeat, had I not at the same time the pleasure 
 to reflect that he is now no more. My father, you know, who 
 is a hearty well-wisher to the present government, used always 
 to invite the officers to his house ; so did he these. Nor was 
 it long before this cornet in so particular a manner recommend¬ 
 ed himself to the poor old gentleman (I cannot think of him 
 without tears), that our house became his principal habitation, 
 and he was rarely at his quarters, unless when his superior 
 officers obliged him to be there. I shall say nothing of his 
 person, nor could that be any recommendation to a man; it 
 was such, however, as no woman could have made an objec¬ 
 tion to. Nature had certainly wrapt up her odious work in 
 a most beautiful covering. To say the truth, he was the 
 handsomest man, except one only, that I ever saw—I assure 
 you, I have seen a handsomer-but—well.—He had, be¬ 
 
 sides, all the qualifications of a gentleman ; was genteel and 
 extremely*polite; spoke French well, and danced to a miracle; 
 but what chiefly recommended him to my father was his 
 skill in music, of which you know that dear man was the 
 most violent lover. I wish he was not too susceptible of 
 flattery on that head ; for I have heard Iiebbers often greatly 
 commend my father’s performance, and have observed that 
 the good man was wonderfully pleased with such commend¬ 
 ations. To say the truth, it is the only way I can account 
 for the extraordinary friendship which my father conceived 
 for this person ; such a friendship, that he at last became a 
 part of our family. 
 
 ‘ This very circumstance, which, as I am convinced, 
 strongly recommended him to my father, had the very con¬ 
 trary effect with me: I had never any delight in music, and 
 it was not without much difficulty I was prevailed on to learn 
 to play on the harpsichord, in which I had made a very 
 slender progress. As this man, therefore, was frequently 
 the occasion of my being importuned to play against my will, 
 I began to entertain some dislike for him on that account; 
 and as to his person, I assure you, I long continued to look 
 on it with great indifference. 
 
 ‘ How strange will the art of this man appear to you pre¬ 
 sently, who had sufficient address to convert that very cir¬ 
 cumstance which had at first occasioned my dislike into the 
 first seeds of affection for him ! 
 
 
CU. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 31 
 
 * 
 
 ‘ You have often, I believe, heard my sister Betty play on 
 the harpischord; she was, indeed, reputed the best performer 
 in the whole country. 
 
 ( I was the farthest in the world from regarding this per¬ 
 fection of hers with envy. In reality, perhaps, I despised 
 all perfection of this kind : at least, as I had neither skill 
 nor ambition to excel this way, I looked upon it as a matter 
 of mere indifference. 
 
 ‘ Ilebbers first put this emulation in my head. He took 
 great pains to persuade me that I had much greater abilities 
 of the musical kind than my sister, and that I might with 
 the greatest ease, if I pleased, excel her ; offering me, at the 
 same time, his assistance if I would resolve to undertake it. 
 
 ‘ When he had sufficiently inflamed my ambition, in which, 
 perhaps, he found too little difficulty, the continual praises 
 of my sister, which before I had disregarded, became more 
 and more nauseous in my ears ; and the rather, as, music 
 being the favourite passion of my father, I became apprehen¬ 
 sive (not without frequent hints from Ilebbers of that nature) 
 that she might gain too great a preference in his favour. 
 
 ‘ To my harpsichord then I applied myself night and day, 
 with such industry and attention, that I soon began to per¬ 
 form in a tolerable manner. I do not absolutely say I ex¬ 
 celled my sister, for many were of a different opinion; but, in¬ 
 deed, there might be some partiality in all that. 
 
 ‘ Ilebbers, at least, declared himself on my side, and no¬ 
 body could doubt his judgment. lie asserted openly that I 
 played in the better manner of the two ; and one day, when 
 I was playing to him alone, he affected to burst into a rap¬ 
 ture of admiration, and, squeezing me gently by the hand, 
 said, There, madam, I now declare you excel your sister as 
 much in music as, added he in a whispering sigh, you do her, 
 and all the world, in every other charm. 
 
 ‘ Ho woman can bear any superiority in whatever thing 
 she desires to excel in. I now began to hate all the admirers 
 of my sister, to be uneasy at every commendation bestowed 
 on her skill in music, and consequently to love Hebbers for 
 the preference which he gave to mine. 
 
 ‘ It was now that I began to survey the handsome person 
 of Hebbers with pleasure. And here, Mr Booth, I will be¬ 
 tray to you the grand secret of our sex.-Many women, I 
 
32 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 believe, do, with great innocence, and even with, great in¬ 
 difference, converse with men of the finest persons ; but this 
 I am confident may be affirmed with truth, that, when once 
 a woman comes to ask this question of herself, Is the man 
 whom I like for some other reason, handsome h her fate, and 
 his too, very strongly depend on her answering in the affirm¬ 
 ative. 
 
 ‘ Hebbers no sooner perceived that he made an impression 
 on my heart, of which I am satisfied I gave him too undeni¬ 
 able tokens, than he affected on a sudden to shun me in the 
 most apparent manner. He wore the most melancholy air 
 in my presence, and, by his dejected looks and sighs, firmly * 
 persuaded me that there was some secret sorrow labouring 
 in his bosom ; nor will it be difficult for you to imagine to 
 what cause I imputed it. 
 
 ‘ Whilst I was wishing for his declaration of a passion in 
 which I thought I could not be mistaken, and at the same 
 time trembling whenever we met with the apprehension of 
 this very declaration, the widow Carey came from London to 
 make us a visit, intending to stay the whole summer at our 
 house. 
 
 ‘ Those who know Mrs Carey will scarce think I do her an 
 injury in saying she is far from being handsome ; and yet she 
 is as finished a coquette as if she had the highest beauty to 
 suppport that character. But perhaps you have seen her; 
 and if you have I am convinced you will readily subscribe to 
 my opinion.’ 
 
 Booth answered he had not; and then she proceeded as in 
 the following chapter. 
 
CII. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HISTORY OE MISS MATTHEWS COHTIHUED. 
 
 ‘ This young lady had not been three days with us before 
 Hebbers grew so particular with her, that it was generally 
 observed; and my poor father, who, I believe, loved the 
 cornet as if he had been his son, began to jest on the occa¬ 
 sion, as one who would not be displeased at thrbwing a good 
 jointure into the arms of his friend. 
 
 ‘ You will easily guess, sir, the disposition of my mind on 
 this occasion ; but I was not permitted to suffer long under it; 
 for one day, when Hebbers was alone with me, he took an 
 opportunity of expressing his abhorrence at the thoughts of 
 marrying for interest, contrary to his inclinations. I was 
 warm on the subject, and, I believe, went so far as to say that 
 none but fools and villains did so. He replied, with a sigh, 
 Yes, madam, but what would you think of a man whose heart 
 is all the while bleeding for another woman, to whom he 
 would willingly sacrifice the world ; but, because he must 
 sacrifice her interest as well as his own, never durst even give 
 her a hint of that passion which was preying on his very 
 vitals ? Do you believe, Miss Fanny, there is such a wretch 
 on earth 'l I answered, with an assumed coldness, I did not 
 believe there was. He then took me gently by the hand, 
 and, with a look so tender that I cannot describe it, vowed 
 he was himself that wretch. Then starting, as if conscious 
 of an error committed, he cried with a faltering voice, What 
 am I saying h Pardon me, Miss Fanny ; since I beg only 
 your pity, I never will ask for more.—At these words, hearing 
 my father coming up, I betrayed myself entirely, if, indeed, 
 I had not done it before. I hastily withdrew my hand, cry¬ 
 ing, Hush ! for heaven’s sake, my father is just coming in ; 
 my blushes, my look, and my accent, telling him, I suppose, 
 all which he wished to know. 
 
 ‘A few days now brought matters to an eclaircissement 
 between us ; the being undeceived in what had given me so 
 much uneasiness gave me a pleasure too sweet to be resisted. 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 To triumph over the widow, for whom I had in a very short 
 time contracted a most inveterate hatred, was a pride not to 
 be described. Hebbers appeared to me to be the cause of all 
 this happiness. I doubted not but that he had the most 
 disinterested passion for me, and thought him every way 
 worthy of its return. I did return it, and accepted him as 
 my lover. 
 
 ‘ He declared the greatest apprehensions of my father’s 
 suspicion, though I am convinced these were causeless had 
 his designs been honourable. To blind these, I consent¬ 
 ed that he should carry on sham addresses to the widow, 
 who was now a constant jest between us ; and he pretended, 
 from time to time, to acquaint me faithfully with everything 
 that passed at his interviews with her; nor was this faithless 
 woman wanting in her part of the deceit. She carried her¬ 
 self to me all the while with a show of affection, and pre¬ 
 tended to have the utmost friendship for me. But such are 
 the friendships of women ! ’ 
 
 At this remark, Booth, though enough affected at some 
 parts of the story, had great difficulty to refrain from laughter; 
 but, by good luck, he escaped being perceived ; and the lady 
 went on without interruption. 
 
 ‘ I am come now to a part of my narrative in which it is 
 impossible to be particular without being tedious; for, as to 
 the commerce between lovers, it is, I believe, much the same 
 in all cases ; and there is, perhaps, scarce a single phrase that 
 hath not been repeated ten millions of times. 
 
 * One thing, however, as I strongly remarked it then, so I 
 will repeat it to you now. In all our conversations, in mo¬ 
 ments when he fell into the warmest raptures, and exprest 
 the greatest uneasiness at the delay of his joys, he seldom 
 mentioned the word marriage ; and never once solicited a day 
 for that purpose. Indeed, women cannot be cautioned too 
 much against such lovers ; for though I have heard, and per¬ 
 haps truly, of some of our sex, of a virtue so exalted, that it 
 is proof against every temptation; yet the generality, I am 
 afraid, are too much in the power of a man to whom they 
 have owned an affection. What is called being upon a good 
 footing is, perhaps, being upon a very dangerous one; and a 
 woman who hath given her consent to marry can hardly be 
 said to be safe till she is married. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 35 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 ‘ And now, sir, I hasten to the period of my ruin. We 
 had a wedding in our family ; my musical sister was married 
 to a young fellow as musical as herself. Such a match, you 
 may he sure, amongst other festivities, must have a hall. 
 Oh ! Mr Booth, shall modesty forbid me to remark to you 
 what passed on that occasion f But why do I mention 
 modesty, who have no pretensions to it h Everything was 
 said and practised on that occasion, as if the purpose had 
 been to inflame the mind of. every woman present. That 
 effect, I freely own to you, it had with me. Music, dancing, 
 wine, and the most luscious conversation, in which my poor 
 dear father innocently joined, raised ideas in me of which I 
 shall for ever repent; and I wished (why should I deny it 1) 
 that it had been my wedding instead of my sister’s. 
 
 ‘ The villain Hebbers danced with me that night, and he 
 lost no opportunity of improving the occasion. In short, 
 the dreadful evening came. My father, though it was a very 
 unusual thing with him, grew intoxicated with liquor ; most 
 of the men were in the same condition ; nay, I myself drank 
 more than I was accustomed to, enough to inflame, though 
 not to disorder. I lost my former bed-fellow, my sister, and, 
 —you may, I think, guess the rest,—the villain found means 
 to steal to my chamber, and I was undone. 
 
 * Two months I passed in this detested commerce, buying, 
 even then, my guilty, half-tasted pleasures at too dear a rate, 
 with continual horror and apprehension; but what have I 
 paid since—what do I pay now, Mr Booth 1 0 may my fate 
 
 be a warning to every woman to keep her innocence, to resist 
 every temptation, since she is certain to repent of the foolish 
 bargain. May it be a warning to her to deal with mankind 
 with care and caution; to shun the least approaches of dis¬ 
 honour, and never to confide too much in the honesty of a 
 man, nor in her own strength, where she has so much at 
 stake ; let her remember she walks on a precipice, and tlie 
 bottomless pit is to receive her if she slips; nay, if she makes 
 but one false step. 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon, Mr Booth ; I might have spared these 
 exhortations, since no woman hears me ; but you will not 
 wonder at seeing me affected on this occasion.’ 
 
 Booth declared he was much more surprised at her being 
 able so well to preserve her temper in recounting her story. 
 
36 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 1 0 sir,’ answered she, ‘ I am at length reconciled to my 
 fate ; and I can now die with pleasure, since I die revenged. 
 I am not one of those mean wretches who can sit down and 
 lament their misfortunes. If I ever shed tears, they are the 
 tears of indignation.—But I will proceed. 
 
 ‘ It was my fate now to solicit marriage ; and I failed not 
 to do it in the most earnest manner. He answered me at 
 first with procrastinations, declaring, from time to time, he 
 .vould mention it to my father; and still excusing himself 
 for not doing it. At last he thought on an expedient to ob¬ 
 tain a longer reprieve. This was by pretending that he should, 
 in a very few weeks, be preferred to the command of a troop; 
 and then, he said, he could with some confidence propose the 
 match. 
 
 ‘ In this delay I was persuaded to acquiesce, and was in¬ 
 deed pretty easy, for I had not yet the least mistrust of his 
 honour; but what words can paint my sensations, when one 
 morning he came into my room, with all the marks of dejec¬ 
 tion in his countenance, and, throwing an open letter on the 
 table, said, There is news, madam, in that letter which I am 
 unable to tell you ; nor can it give you more concern than it 
 hath given me. 
 
 ‘ This letter was from his captain, to acquaint him that the 
 rout, as they call it, was arrived, and that they were to march 
 within two days. And this, I am since convinced, was what 
 he expected, instead of the preferment which had been made 
 the pretence of delaying our marriage. 
 
 ‘ The shock which I felt at reading this was inexpressible, 
 occasioned indeed principally by the departure of a villain 
 whom I loved. However, I soon acquired sufficient presence 
 of mind to remember the main point; and I now insisted 
 peremptorily on his making me immediately his wife, what¬ 
 ever might be the consequence. 
 
 i He seemed thunderstruck at this proposal, being, I sup¬ 
 pose, destitute of any excuse : but I was too impatient to. 
 wait for an answer, and cried out with much eagerness, Sure 
 you cannot hesitate a moment upon this matter — Hesi¬ 
 tate ! madam ! replied he—what you ask is impossible. Is 
 this a time for me to mention a thing of this kind to your 
 father 1— My eyes were now opened all at once—I fell into 
 a rage little short of madness. Tell not me, I cried, of im- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 37 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 possibilities, nor times, nor of my father,-my honour, my 
 
 reputation, my all are at stake.—I will have no excuse, no 
 delay—make me your wife this instant, or I will proclaim 
 you over the face of the whole earth for the greatest of vil¬ 
 lains. He answered, with a kind of sneer, What will you 
 proclaim, madam 1—whose honour will you injure ^ My 
 tongue faltered when I offered to reply, and I fell into a 
 violent agony, which ended in a fit; nor do I remember any 
 thing more that passed till I found myself in the arms of my 
 poor affrighted father. 
 
 ‘ 0, Mr Booth, what was then my situation ! I tremble 
 even now from the reflection.—I must stop a moment. I 
 can go no farther.’ Booth attempted all in his power to 
 soothe her; and she soon recovered her powers, and pro¬ 
 ceeded in her story. 
 
38 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS MATTHEWS CONCLUDES HER RELATION. 
 
 1 Before I had recovered my senses I had sufficiently 
 betrayed myself to the best of men, who, instead of upbraiding 
 me, or exerting any anger, endeavoured to comfort me all he 
 could with assurances that all should yet he well. This good¬ 
 ness of his affected me with inexpressible sensations; I pros¬ 
 trated myself before him, embraced and kissed his knees, and 
 almost dissolved in tears, and a degree of tenderness hardly 
 
 to be conceived-But I am running into too minute 
 
 descriptions. 
 
 ‘ Hebbers, seeing me in a fit, had left me, and sent one 
 of the servants to take care of me. He then ran away like 
 a thief from the house, without taking his leave of my father, 
 or once thanking him for all his civilities. He did not stop 
 at his quarters, but made directly to London, apprehensive, 
 I believe, either of my father or brother’s resentment; for I 
 am convinced.he is a coward. Indeed his fear of my brother 
 was utterly groundless; for I believe he would rather have 
 thanked any man who had destroyed me ; and I am sure I 
 am not in the least behindhand with him in good wishes. 
 
 ‘ All his inveteracy to me had, however, no effect on my 
 father, at least at that time; for, though the good man took 
 sufficient occasions to reprimand me for my past offence, he 
 could not be brought to abandon me. A treaty of marriage 
 was now set on foot, in which my father himself offered me 
 to Hebbers, with a fortune superior to that which had been 
 given with my sister; nor could all my brother’s remon¬ 
 strances against it, as an act of the highest injustice, avail. 
 
 ‘ Hebbers entered into the treaty, though not with much 
 warmth. He had even the assurance to make additional 
 demands on my father, which being complied with, every¬ 
 thing was concluded, and the villain once more received into 
 the house. He soon found means to obtain my forgiveness 
 of his former behaviour; indeed, he convinced me, so 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 39 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 foolishly blind is female love, that he had never been to 
 blame. 
 
 4 When everything was ready for our nuptials, and the 
 day of the ceremony was to be appointed, in the midst of 
 my happiness I received a letter from an unknown hand, 
 acquainting me (guess, Mr Booth, how I was shocked at re¬ 
 ceiving it) that Mr Hebbers was already married to a woman 
 in a distant part of the kingdom. 
 
 ‘ I will not tire you with all that passed at our next inter¬ 
 view. I communicated .the letter to Hebbers, who, after 
 some little hesitation, owned the fact, and not only owned 
 it, but had the address to improve it to his own advantage, 
 to make it the means of satisfying me concerning all his 
 former delay's \ which, to say the truth, I was not so much 
 displeased at imputing to any degree of villany, as I should 
 have been to impute it to the want of a sufficient warmth of 
 affection; and though the disappointment of all my hopes, 
 at the very instant of their expected fruition, threw me into 
 the most violent disorders ; yet, when I came a little to my¬ 
 self, he had no great difficulty to persuade me that in every 
 instance, with regard to me, Hebbers had acted from no other 
 motive than from the most ardent and ungovernable love. 
 And there is, I believe, no crime which a woman will not 
 forgive, when she can derive it from that fountain. In short, 
 X forgave him all, and am willing to persuade myself I am 
 r ot weaker than the rest of my sex. Indeed, Mr Booth, he 
 hath a bewitching tongue, and is master of an address that 
 no woman could resist. I do assure you the charms of his 
 person are his least perfection, at least in my eye. 
 
 Xlere Booth smiled, but happily without her perceiv- 
 
 ing it. . 
 
 < A fresh difficulty (continued she) now arose. I his was 
 
 to excuse the delay of the ceremony to my father, who eveiy 
 day very earnestly urged it. This made me so very uneasy, 
 that I at last listened to a proposal, which, if any one in the 
 days of my innocence, or even a few days before, had 
 assured me I could have submitted to have thought of, 
 should have treated the supposition with the highest contempt 
 and indignation; nay, I scarce reflect on it now with more 
 horror than astonishment. In short, I agreed to run away 
 with him—to leave my father, my reputation, everything 
 
40 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK 1. 
 
 which was or ought to have been dear to me, and to live with 
 this villain as a mistress, since I could not be his wife. 
 
 ‘ Was not this an obligation of the highest and tenderest 
 kind, and had I not reason to expect every return in the 
 man’s power on whom I had conferred it ? 
 
 ‘I will make short of the remainder of my story, for 
 what is there of a woman worth relating, after what I have 
 told you ] 
 
 ‘ Above a year I lived with this man in an obscure court 
 in London, during which time I had a child by him, whom 
 Heaven, I thank it, hath been pleased to take to itself. 
 
 ‘ During many months he behaved to me with all the 
 apparent tenderness and even fondness imaginable; but, alas ! 
 how poor was my enjoyment of this compared to what it 
 would have been in another situation 1 When he was pre¬ 
 sent, life was barely tolerable; but, when he was absent, 
 nothing could equal the misery I endured. I passed my 
 hours almost entirely alone ; for no company but what I 
 despised, would consort with me. Abroad, I scarce ever 
 went, lest I should meet any of my former acquaintance ; 
 for their sight would have plunged a thousand daggers in my 
 soul. My only diversion was going very seldom to a play, 
 where I hid myself in the gallery, with a daughter of the 
 woman of the house. A girl, indeed, of good sense and many 
 good qualities; but how much beneath me was it to be the 
 companion of a creature so low ! 0 heavens ! when I have 
 
 seen my equals glittering in a side-box, how have the thoughts 
 of my lost honour torn my soul ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, dear madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ for interrupting 
 you; but I am under the utmost anxiety to know whac 
 became of your poor father, for whom I have. so great a 
 respect, and who, I am convinced, must so bitterly feel your 
 loss.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 Mr Booth,’ answered she, ‘ he was scarce ever out of my 
 thoughts. His dear image still obtruded itself in my mind, 
 and I believe would have broken my heart, had I not taken 
 a very preposterous way to ease myself. I am, indeed, al¬ 
 most ashamed to tell you ; but necessity put it in my head. 
 —You will think the matter too trifling to have been remem¬ 
 bered, and so it surely was ; nor should I have remem¬ 
 bered it on any other occasion. You must know then, sir, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 41 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 that my brother was always my inveterate enemy, and alto¬ 
 gether as fond of my sister.—He once prevailed with my 
 father to let him take my sister with him in the chariot, and 
 by that means I was disappointed of going to a ball which I 
 had set my heart on. The disappointment, I assure you, 
 was great at the time; but I had long since forgotten it. I 
 must have been a very bad woman if I had not, for it was 
 the only thing in which I can remember that my father ever 
 disobliged me. However, I now revived this in my mind, 
 which I artificially worked up into so high an injury, that I 
 assure you it afforded me no little comfort. Wlieq any tender 
 idea intruded into my bosom, I immediately raised this 
 phantom of an injury in my imagination, and it consider¬ 
 ably lessened the fury of that sorrow which I should have 
 otherwise felt for the loss of so good a father, who died within 
 a few months of my departure from him. 
 
 1 And now, sir, to draw to a conclusion. One night, as I 
 was in the gallery at Drury-lane playhouse, I saw below me 
 in a side-box (she was once below me in every place), that 
 widow whom I mentioned to you before. I had scarce cast 
 my eyes on this woman before I was so shocked with the 
 sight that it almost deprived me of my senses; for the 
 villain Hebbers came presently in and seated himself behind 
 her. 
 
 ‘ He had been almost a month from me, and I believed 
 him to be at his quarters in Yorkshire. Guess what were 
 my sensations when I beheld him sitting by that base 
 woman, and talking to her with the utmost familiarity. I 
 could not long endure this sight, and having acquainted my 
 companion that I was taken suddenly ill, I forced her to go 
 home with me at the end of the second act. 
 
 ‘ After a restless and sleepless night, when I rose the next 
 morning I had the comfort to receive a visit from the woman 
 of the house, who, after a very short introduction, asked me 
 when I had heard from the captain and when I expected to 
 see him? I had not strength or spirits to make her any 
 answer, and she proceeded thus :—Indeed I did not think 
 the captain would have used me so. My husband was an 
 officer of the army as well as himself; and if a body is a 
 little low in the world, I am sure that is no reason for folks to 
 trample on a body. I defy the world to say as I ever was 
 
42 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK I. 
 
 guilty of an ill thing. For heaven’s sake, madam, says T, 
 what do yon mean ? Mean ? cries she ; I am sure, if I had 
 not thought you had been Captain Hebbers* lady, his 
 lawful lady too, you should never have set footing in my 
 house. I would have Captain Hebbers know, that though I 
 am reduced to let lodgings, I never have entertained any but 
 persons of character.—In this manner, sir, she ran on, saying 
 many shocking things not worth repeating, till my anger at 
 last got the better of my patience as well as my sorrow, and 
 I pushed her out of the room. 
 
 ‘ She had not been long gone before her daughter came to 
 me, and, after many expressions of tenderness and pity, 
 acquainted me that her mother had just found out, by means 
 of the captain’s servant, that the captain was married to 
 another lady ; which, if you did not know before, madam, 
 said she, I am sorry to be the messenger of such ill news. 
 
 ‘ Think, Mr Booth, what I must have endured to see my¬ 
 self humbled before such a creature as this, the daughter of 
 a woman who lets lodgings ! However, having recollected 
 myself a little, I thought it would be in vain to deny any¬ 
 thing ; so, knowing this to be one of the best-natured and 
 most sensible girls in the world, I resolved to tell her my 
 whole story, and for the future to make her my confidante. 
 I answered her, therefore, with a good deal of assurance, that 
 she need not regret telling me this piece of ill news, for I 
 had known it before I came to her house. 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, madam, replied the girl, you cannot possibly 
 have known it so long, for he hath not been married above 
 a week ; last night was the first time of his appearing in 
 public with his wife at the play. Indeed, I knew very 
 well the cause of your uneasiness there; but would not 
 mention- 
 
 £ His wife at the play ! answered I eagerly. What wife 1 
 whom do you mean ? 
 
 ‘ I mean the widow Carey, madam, replied she, to whom 
 the captain was married a few days since. His servant was 
 here last night to pay for your lodging, and he told it my 
 mother. 
 
 ‘ I know not what answer I made, or whether I made any. 
 I presently fell dead on the floor, and it was with great diffi¬ 
 culty I was brought back to life by the poor girl, for neither 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 43 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 the mother nor the maid of the house would lend me any 
 assistance, both seeming to regard me rather as a monster 
 than a woman. 
 
 * Scarce had I recovered the use of my senses when I 
 received a letter from the villain, declaring he had not assur¬ 
 ance to see my face, and very kindly advising me to endeavour 
 to reconcile myself to my family, concluding with an offer, 
 in case I did not succeed, to allow me twenty pounds a-year 
 to support me in some remote part of the kingdom. 
 
 ‘ I need not mention my indignation at these proposals. 
 In the highest agony of rage, I went in a chair to the detested 
 house, where I easily got access to the wretch I liad devoted 
 to destruction, whom I no sooner found within my reach 
 than I plunged a drawn penknife, which I had prepared in 
 my pocket for the purpose, into his accursed heart, dor 
 this fact I was immediately seized and soon after committed 
 hither ; and for this fact I am ready to die, and shall with 
 pleasure receive the sentence of the law. 
 
 ‘ Thus, sir/ said she, ‘ I have related to you my unhappy 
 story, and if I have tired your patience, by dwelling too 
 long on those parts which affected me the most, I ask your 
 pardon.’ 
 
 Booth made a proper speech on this occasion, and, having 
 exprest much concern at her present situation, concluded that 
 he hoped her sentence would be milder than she seemed to 
 expect. 
 
 Her reply to this was full of so much bitterness and indig¬ 
 nation, that we do not think proper to record the speech at 
 length, in which having vented her passion, she all at once 
 put on a serene countenance, and with an air of great com¬ 
 placency said, ‘ Well, Mr Booth, I think I have now a right 
 to satisfy my curiosity at the expense of your breath. I may 
 say it is not altogether a vain curiosity, for perhaps I have 
 had inclination enough to interest myself in whatever con¬ 
 cerns you ) but no matter for that: those days (added she 
 with a sigh) are now over.’ 
 
 Booth, who was extremely good-natured and well-bred, 
 told her that she should not command him twice whatever 
 was in his power ; and then, after the usual apology, was 
 going to begin his history, when the keeper arrived, and 
 acquainted the lady that dinner was ready, at the same time 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 44 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 saying, ‘ I suppose, madam, as the gentleman is an acquaint¬ 
 ance of jours, he must dine with us too.’ 
 
 Miss Matthews told the keeper that she had only one word 
 to mention in private to the gentleman, and that then they 
 would both attend him. She then pulled her purse from her 
 pocket, in which were upwards of twenty guineas, being the 
 remainder of the money for which she had sold a gold 
 repeating watch, her father’s present, with some other trin¬ 
 kets, and desired Mr Booth to take what he should have 
 occasion for, saying, ‘ You know, I believe, dear Will, I 
 never valued money; and now I am sure I shall have very 
 little use for it.’ Booth, with much difficulty, accepted of 
 two guineas, and then they both together attended the 
 keeper. 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 45 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TARI/E-TALK, CONSISTING OE A FACETIOUS DISCOURSE THAT 
 
 PASSED IN THE PRISON. 
 
 There were assembled at the table tlie governor of these 
 (not improperly called infernal) regions ; the lieutenant- 
 governor, vulgarly named the first turnkey ; Miss Matthews, 
 Mr Booth, Mr Robinson the gambler, several other prisoners 
 of both sexes, and one Murphy, an attorney. 
 
 The governor took the first opportunity to bring the affair 
 of Miss Matthews upon the carpet, and, then turning to 
 Murphy, he said, ‘ It is very lucky this gentleman happens 
 to be present; I do assure you, madam, your cause cannot 
 be in abler hands. He is, I believe, the best man in Eng¬ 
 land at a defence ; I have known him often succeed against 
 the most positive evidence.’ 
 
 ‘ Fye, sir,’ answered Murphy ; c you know I hate all this ; 
 but, if the lady will trust me with her cause, I will do the 
 best in my power. Come, madam, do not be discouraged ; 
 a bit of manslaughter and cold iron, I hope, will be the worst: 
 or perhaps we may come off better with a slice of chance- 
 medley, or se defsndendo .’ 
 
 ‘ I am very ignorant of the law, sir,’ cries the lady. 
 
 ‘ Yes, madam,’ answered Murphy ; ‘it can’t be expected 
 you should understand it. There are very few of us who 
 profess it that understand the whole, nor is it necessary we 
 should. There is a great deal of rubbish of little use, about 
 indictments, and abatements, and bars, and ejectments, and 
 trovers, and such stuff, with which people cram their heads 
 to little purpose. The chapter of evidence is the main busi¬ 
 ness ; that is the sheet-anchor; that is the rudder, which 
 brings the vessel safe in portum. Evidence is, indeed, the 
 whole, the summa totidis, for de non apparentibus et non in- 
 sistentibus eandem est ratio.' 
 
 1 If you address yourself to me, sir,’ said the lady, 1 you are 
 much too learned, I assure you, for my understanding.’ 
 
iC> 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 4 Tace, madam,’ answered Murphy, 1 is Latin for a candle : 
 I commend your prudence. I shall know the particulars of 
 your case when we are alone.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope the lady,’ said Kobinson, ‘ hath no suspicion of 
 any person here. I hope we are all persons of honour at 
 this table.’ 
 
 ‘ b)—n my eyes ! ’ answered a well-dressed woman, ‘ I can 
 answer for myself and the other ladies ; though I never saw 
 the lady in my life, she need not be shy of us, d—n my 
 eyes ! I scorn to rap* against any lady.’ 
 
 4 b)—n me, madam!’ cried another female, 1 1 honour what 
 you have done. I once put a knife into a cull myself—so 
 my service to you, madam, and I wish you may come off with 
 se diffidenclo with all my heart.’ 
 
 4 1 beg, good woman,’ said Miss Matthews, c you would 
 talk on some other subject, and give yourself no concern 
 about my affairs.’ 
 
 4 se ©> ladies,’ cried Murphy, ‘the gentlewoman doth 
 not care to talk on this matter before company : so pray do 
 not press her.’ 
 
 4 -Nay, I value the lady’s acquaintance no more than she 
 values mine,’ cries the first woman who spoke. ‘ I have kept 
 as good company as the lady, I believe, every day in the 
 week. Good woman ! I don’t use to be so treated. If the 
 lady says such another word to me, d—n me, I will darken her 
 daylights. Marry, come up ! Good woman !—the lady’s a 
 whore as well as myself; and, though I am sent hither to 
 milldoll, d—n my eyes, I have money enough to buy it off 
 as well as the lady herself.’ 
 
 Action might perhaps soon have ensued this speech, had 
 not the keeper interposed his authority, and put an end to 
 any further dispute. Soon after which, the company broke 
 up, and none but himself, Mr Murphy, Captain Booth, and 
 Miss Matthews, remained together. 
 
 Miss Matthews then, at the entreaty of the keeper, began 
 to open her case to Mr Murphy, whom she admitted to be 
 her solicitor, though she still declared she was indifferent as 
 to the event of the trial. 
 
 Mr Murphy, having heard all the particulars with which 
 the reader is already acquainted (as far as related to the 
 
 * A cant word, meaning to swear, or rather to perjure yourself. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 47 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 murder), shook his head and said, £ There is but one circum¬ 
 stance, madam, which I wish was out of the case; and that 
 we must put out of it; I mean the carrying the penknife 
 drawn into the room with you ; for that seems to imply malice 
 prepensive, as we call it in the law : this circumstance, there¬ 
 fore, must not appear against you; and, if the servant who 
 was in the room observed this, he must be bought off at all 
 hazards. All here you say are friends ; therefore I tell you 
 openly, you must furnish me with money sufficient for this 
 purpose. Malice is all we have to guard against.’ 
 
 ‘ I would not presume, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘ to inform you in 
 the law ; but I have heard, in case of stabbing, a man may 
 be indicted upon the statute; and it is capital, though no 
 malice appears.’ 
 
 £ You say true, sir,’ answered Murphy ; ‘ a man may be 
 indicted contra formamstatutis; and that method, I will allow 
 you, requires no malice. I presume you are a lawyer, sir 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ No, indeed, sir,’ answered Booth, ‘I know, nothing of 
 the law.’ 
 
 ‘ Then, sir, I will tell you—If a man be indicted contra 
 formam statutis , as we say, no malice is necessary, because 
 the form of the statute makes malice; and then what we have 
 to guard against is having struck the first blow. Pox on’t, it 
 is unlucky this was done in a room : if it had been in 
 the street we could have had five or six witnesses to have 
 proved the first blow, cheaper than, 1 am afraid, we shall get 
 this one; for when a man knows, from the unhappy circum¬ 
 stances of the case, that you can procure no other witness 
 but himself, he is always dear. It is so in all other ways of 
 business. I am very implicit, you see ; but we are all among 
 friends. The safest way is to furnish me with money enough 
 to offer him a good round sum at once ; and I think (it is for 
 your good I speak) fifty pounds is the least that can be offered 
 him. I do assure you I would offer him no less was it my 
 own case.’ 
 
 £ And do you think, sir,’ said she, 1 that I would save my 
 life at the expense of hiring another to perjure himself 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, surely do I,’ cries Murphy; ‘ for where is the fault, 
 admitting there is some fault in perjury, as you call it 1 and, to 
 be sure, it is such a matter as every man would rather wish 
 to avoid than not: and yet, as it may be managed, there is 
 
48 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk I. 
 
 not so much as some people are apt to imagine in it; for he 
 need not kiss the hook, and then pray where’s the perjury ] 
 hut if the crier is sharper than ordinary, what is it he kisses ? 
 is it anything hut a bit of calf’s-skin 1 I am sure a man 
 must he a very had Christian himself who would not do so 
 much as that to save the life of any Christian whatever, 
 much more of so pretty a lady. Indeed, madam, if we can 
 make out hut a tolerable case, so much beauty will go a great 
 way with the judge and the jury too.’ 
 
 The latter part of this speech, notwithstanding the mouth, 
 it came from, caused Miss Matthews to suppress much of the 
 indignation which began to arise at the former; and she 
 answered with a smile, ‘Sir, you are a great casuist in 
 these matters ; hut we need argue no longer concerning them; 
 for, if fifty pounds would save my life, I assure you I could 
 not command that sum. The little money I have in my 
 pocket is all I can call my own ; and I apprehend, in the 
 situation I am in, I shall have very little of that to spare.’ 
 
 ‘ Come, come, madam,’ cries Murphy, ‘ life is sweet, let me 
 tell you, and never sweeter than when we are near losing it. 
 I have known many a man very brave and undaunted at his 
 first commitment, who, when business began to thicken a 
 little upon him, hath changed his note. It is no time to he 
 saving in your condition.’ 
 
 The keeper, who, after the liberality of Miss Matthews, and 
 on seeing a purse of guineas in her hand, had conceived a 
 great opinion of her wealth, no sooner heard that the sum 
 which he had in intention entirely confiscated for his own 
 use was attempted to be broke in upon, thought it high time 
 to be upon his guard. ‘ To be sure,’ cries he, ‘Mr Murphy, life 
 is sweet, as you say, that must be acknowledged ; to be sure, 
 life is sweet; but, sweet as it is, no persons can advance 
 more than they are worth to save it. And indeed, if the lady 
 can command no more money than that little she mentions, 
 she is to be commended for her unwillingness to part with 
 any of it; for, to be sure, as she says, she will want every 
 farthing of that to live like a gentlewoman till she comes to 
 her trial. And, to be sure, as sweet as life is, people ought 
 to take care to be able to live sweetly while they do live; 
 besides, I cannot help saying the lady shows herself to be 
 what she is, by her abhorrence of perjury, which is certainly 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 49 
 
 a very dreadful crime. And, though the not kissing the 
 hook doth, as you say, make a great deal of difference; and, 
 if a man had a great while to live and repent, perhaps he 
 might swallow it well enough ; yet, when people comes to 
 be near their end (as who can venture to foretel what will 
 be the lady’s case?) they ought to take care not to overburthen 
 their conscience. I hope the lady’s case will not be found 
 murder ; for I am sure X always Avish well to all my prisoners 
 who show themselves to be gentlemen or gentlewomen ; yet 
 one should always fear the worst.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir, you speak like an oracle,’ answered the lady; 
 ‘ and one subornation of perjury would sit heavier on my 
 conscience than twenty such murders as I am guilty of.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, to be sure, madam,’ answered the keeper, ‘ nobody 
 can pretend to tell what provocation you must have had; 
 and certainly it can never be imagined that a lady who be¬ 
 haves herself so handsomely as you have done ever since you 
 have been under my keys should be guilty of killing a man 
 without being very highly provoked to do it.’ 
 
 Mr Murphy was, I believe, going to answer when he was 
 called out of the room ; after which nothing passed between 
 the remaining persons worth relating, till Booth and the lady 
 retired back again into the lady’s apartment. 
 
 Here they fell immediately to commenting on the foregoing 
 discourse; but, as their comments were, I believe, the same 
 with what most readers have made on the same occasion, we 
 shall omit them. At last, Miss Matthews reminding her 
 companion of his promise of relating to her what had befallen 
 him since the interruption of their former acquaintance, he 
 began as is written in the next book of this history. 
 
 4 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN'WHICH CAPTAIN BOOTH BEGINS TO RELATE HIS HISTORY. 
 
 The tea-table being removed, and Mr Booth and the lady 
 left alone, he proceeded as follows : 
 
 ‘ Since you desire, madam, to know the particulars of my 
 courtship to that best and dearest of women whom I after¬ 
 wards married, I will endeavour to recollect them as well as I 
 can, at least all those incidents which are most worth relating 
 to you. 
 
 1 If the vulgar opinion of the fatality in marriage had ever 
 any foundation, it surely appeared in my marriage with my 
 Amelia. I knew her in the first dawn of her beauty; and, 
 I believe, madam, she had as much as ever fell to the share 
 of a woman ; but, though I always admired her, it was long 
 without any spark of love. Perhaps the general admiration 
 which at that time pursued her, the respect paid her by per¬ 
 sons of the highest rank, and the numberless addresses which 
 were made her by men of great fortune, prevented my aspir¬ 
 ing at the possession of those charms which seemed so abso¬ 
 lutely out of my reach. However it was, I assure you the 
 accident which deprived her of the admiration of others made 
 the first great impression on my heart in her favour. The 
 * injury done to her beauty by the overturning of a chaise, by 
 which, as you may well remember, her lovely nose was beat 
 all to pieces, gave me an assurance that the woman who had 
 been so much adored for the charms of her person deserved 
 a much higher adoration to be paid to her mind ; for that 
 she was in the latter respect infinitely more superior to the 
 rest of her sex than she had ever been in the former.’ 
 
 ‘ I admire your taste extremely,’ cried the lady; ‘ I remem- 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 51 
 
 "her perfectly well the great heroism with which your Amelia 
 bore that misfortune.’ 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! madam,’ answered he ; ‘ what a magnan¬ 
 imity of mind did her behaviour demonstrate ! if the world 
 have extolled the firmness of soul in a man who can support 
 the loss of fortune ; of a general who can be composed after 
 the loss of a victory ; or of a king who can he contented with 
 the loss of a crown ; with what astonishment ought we to 
 behold, with what praises to honour, a young lady, who can 
 with patience and resignation submit to the loss of exquisite 
 beauty, in other words to the loss of fortune, power, glory, 
 everything which human nature is apt to court and rejoice in ! 
 what must be the mind which can bear to be deprived of all 
 these in a moment, and by an unfortunate trifling accident; 
 which could support all this, together with the most exquisite 
 torments of body, and with dignity, with resignation, without 
 complaining, almost without a tear, undergo the most painful 
 and dreadful operations of surgery in such a situation! ’ Here 
 he stopt, and a torrent of tears gushed from his eyes ; such 
 tears as are apt to flow from a truly noble heart at the hear¬ 
 ing of anything surprisingly great and glorious. As soon as 
 he was able he again proceeded thus : 
 
 ‘ Would you think, Miss Matthews, that the misfortune of 
 my Amelia was capable of any aggravation 1 I assure you, she 
 hath often told me it was aggravated with a circumstance 
 which outweighed all the other ingredients. This was the 
 cruel insults she received from some of her most intimate ’ 
 acquaintance, several of whom, after many distortions and 
 grimaces, have turned their heads aside, unable to support 
 their secret triumph, and burst into a loud laugh in her hear- 
 ing.’ 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! ’ cried Miss Matthews ; ‘ what detestable 
 actions will this contemptible nassion of envy prevail on our 
 sex to commit ! ’ 
 
 ‘ An occasion of this kind, as she hath since told me, 
 made the first impression on her gentle heart in my favour. 
 
 I was one day in company with several young ladies, or 
 rather young devils, where poor Amelia’s accident was the 
 subject of much mirth and pleasantry. One of these said 
 she hoped miss would not hold her head so high for the 
 future. Another answered, I do not know, madam, what 
 
52 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK II. 
 
 she may do with her head, hut I am convinced she will 
 never more turn up her nose at her betters. Another cried, 
 What a very proper match might now be made between 
 Amelia and a certain captain, who had unfortunately received 
 an injury in the same part, though from no shameful cause. 
 Many other sarcasms were thrown out, very unworthy to be 
 repeated. I was hurt with perceiving so much malice in 
 human shape, and cried out very bluntly, Indeed, ladies, 
 you need not express such satisfaction at poor Miss Emily’s 
 accident; for she will still be the handsomest woman in 
 England. This speech of mine was afterwards variously 
 repeated, by some to my honour, and by others represented 
 in a contrary light; indeed, it was often reported to be much 
 ruder than it was. However, it at length reached Amelia’s 
 ears. She said she was very much obliged to me, since I 
 could have so much compassion for her as to be rude to a 
 lady on her account. 
 
 ‘ About a month after the accident, when Amelia began 
 to see company in a mask, I had the honour to drink tea 
 with her. We were alone together, and I begged her to 
 indulge my curiosity by showing me her face. She answered 
 in a most obliging manner, Perhaps, Mr Booth, you will as 
 little know me when my mask is off as when it is on ; and 
 at the same instant unmasked.—The surgeon’s skill was the 
 least I considered. A thousand tender ideas rushed all at 
 < once on my mind. I was unable to contain myself, and, 
 eagerly kissing her hand, I cried—Upon my soul, madam, 
 you never appeared to me so lovely as at this instant. 
 Nothing more remarkable passed at this visit; but I sincerely 
 believe we were neither of us hereafter indifferent to each 
 other. 
 
 ‘ Many months,-however, passed after this, before I ever 
 thought seriously of making her my wife. Not that I 
 wanted sufficient love for Amelia. Indeed it arose from the 
 vast affection I bore -her. I considered my own as a des¬ 
 perate fortune, hers as entirely dependent on her mother, 
 who was a woman, you know, of violent passions, and very 
 unlikely to consent to a match so highly contrary to the 
 interest of her daughter. The more I loved Amelia, the 
 more firmly I resolved within myself never to propose love 
 to her seriously. Such a dupe was my understanding to my 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 53 
 
 OH. I.] 
 
 heart, and so foolishly did I imagine I could be master of a 
 flame to which I was every day adding fuel. 
 
 ‘ 0, Miss Matthews! we have heard of men entirely 
 masters of their passions, and of hearts which can carry this 
 fire in them, and conceal it at their pleasure. Perhaps there 
 may he such: hut, if there are, those hearts may he com¬ 
 pared, I believe, to damps, in which it is more difficult to 
 keep fire alive than to prevent its blazing : in mine it was 
 placed in the midst of combustible matter. 
 
 ‘ After several visits, in which looks and sighs had been 
 interchanged on both sides, but without the least Mention of 
 passion in private, one day the discourse between us when 
 alone happened to turn on love ; I say happened, for I pro¬ 
 test it was not designed on my side, and I am as firmly con¬ 
 vinced not on hers. I was now no longer master of myself j 
 I declared myself the most wretched of all martyrs to this 
 tender passion ; that I had long concealed it from its object. 
 At length, after mentioning many particulars, suppressing, 
 however, those which must have necessarily brought it home 
 to Amelia, I concluded with begging her to be the confidante 
 of my amour, and to give me her advice on that occasion. 
 
 ‘ Amelia (0, I shall never forget the dear perturbation !) 
 appeared all confusion at this instant. She trembled, turned 
 pale, and discovered how well she understood me, by a 
 thousand more symptoms than I could take notice of, in a state 
 of mind so very little different from her own. Af last, with 
 faltering accents, she said I had made a very ill choice of a 
 counsellor in a matter in which she was so ignorant.—Add¬ 
 ing, at last, I believe, Air Booth, you gentlemen want very 
 little advice in these affairs, which you all understand better 
 than we do. 
 
 ‘ I will relate no more of our conversation at present; 
 indeed, I am afraid I tire you with too many particulars.’ 
 
 i 0, no ! ’ answered she ; i I should be glad to hear every 
 step of an amour which had so tender a beginning. Tell 
 me everything you said or did, if you can remember it.’ 
 lie then proceeded, and so will we in the next chapter. 
 
54 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MB BOOTH CONTINUES HIS STOUT. IN THIS CHAPTER 
 THERE ARE SOME PASSAGES THAT MAY SERVE AS A 
 KIND OE TOUCHSTONE BY WHICH A YOUNG LADY MAY 
 EXAMINE THE HEART OE HER LOVER. I WOULD ADVISE, 
 THEREFORE, THAT EVERY LOVER BE OBLIGED TO READ 
 IT OYER IN THE PRESENCE OF HIS MISTRESS, AND THAT 
 SHE CAREFULLY WATCH HIS EMOTIONS WHILE HE IS 
 READING. 
 
 M was under the utmost concern,’ cries Booth, 4 when I 
 retired from my visit, and had reflected coolly on what I had 
 said. I now saw plainly that I had made downright love to 
 Amelia; and I feared, such was my vanity, that I had 
 already gone too far, and been too successful. Feared ! do 
 I say ] could I fear what I hoped ? how shall I describe the 
 anxiety of my mind ! ’ 
 
 4 You need give yourself no great pain, cried Miss 
 Matthews, 4 to describe what I can so easily guess. To be 
 honest with you, Mr Booth, I do not agree with your lady’s 
 opinion tlpit the men have a superior understanding in the 
 matters of love. Men are often blind to the passions of 
 women : but every woman is as quick-sighted as a hawk on 
 these occasions ; nor is there one article in the whole science 
 which is not understood by all our sex.’ 
 
 4 However, madam,’ said Mr Booth, 4 1 now undertook to 
 deceive Amelia. I abstained three days from seeing her ; to 
 say the truth, I endeavoured to work myself up to a resolu¬ 
 tion of leaving her for ever: but when I could not so far 
 subdue my passion-But why do I talk nonsense of sub¬ 
 
 duing passion 1 —I should say, when no other passion could 
 surmount my love, I returned to visit her; and now I at¬ 
 tempted the strangest project which ever entered into the 
 silly head of a lover. This was to persuade Amelia that I was 
 really in love in another place, and had literally expressed 
 my meaning when I asked her advice and desired her to be 
 my confidante. 
 
OH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 55 
 
 I therefore forged a meeting to have been between me 
 and my imaginary mistress since I had last seen Amelia, and 
 related the particulars, as well as I could invent them, which 
 had passed at our conversation. 
 
 ‘ Poor Amelia presently swallowed this bait; and, as she 
 hath told me since, absolutely believed me to be in earnest. 
 Poor dear love ! how should the sincerest of hearts have any 
 idea of deceit 1 ? for, with all her simplicity, I assure you she 
 is the most sensible woman in the world.’ 
 
 ‘ It is highly generous and good in you,’ said Miss 
 Matthews, with a sly sneer, ‘ to impute to honesty what 
 others would, perhaps, call credulity.’ 
 
 ‘ I protest, madam,’ answered he , i I do her no more than 
 justice. A good heart will at all times betray the best head 
 
 in the world.-Well, madam, my angel was now, if possible, 
 
 more confused than before. She looked so silly, you can 
 hardly believe it.’ 
 
 4 Yes, yes, I can,’ answered the lady, with a laugh, * I can 
 believe it.—Well, well, go on.’—‘ After some hesitation,’ 
 cried he, ‘ my Amelia said faintly to me, Mr Booth, you 
 use me very ill • you desire me to be your confidante, and 
 conceal from me the name of your mistress.’ 
 
 ‘ Is it possible then, madam,’ answered I, ‘ that you cannot 
 guess her, when I tell you she is one of your accpiaintance, 
 and lives in this town h ’ 
 
 1 My acquaintance ! ’ said she : £ La ! Mr Booth,—In this 
 town ! I—I—I thought I could have guessed for once ; but 
 I have an ill talent that way—I will never attempt to guess 
 anything again.’ 1 Indeed I do her an injury when I pre¬ 
 tend to represent her manner. Her manner, look, voice, 
 everything was inimitable; such sweetness, softness, inno¬ 
 cence, modesty!—Upon my soul, if ever man could boast 
 of his resolution, I think I might now, that I abstained from 
 falling prostrate at her feet, and adoring her. However, I 
 triumphed; pride, I believe, triumphed, or perhaps love 
 got the better of love. We once more parted, and I 
 promised, the next time I saw her, to reveal the name of my 
 mistress. 
 
 ‘ I now had, I thought, gained a complete victory over 
 myself; and no small compliments did I pay to my own 
 resolution. In short, I triumphed as cowards and niggards 
 
56 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK II. 
 
 clo when they flatter themselves with having given some 
 supposed instance of courage or generosity ; and my triumph 
 lasted as long; that is to say, till my ascendant passion had 
 a proper opportunity of displaying itself in its true and 
 natural colours. 
 
 ‘ Having hitherto succeeded so well in my own opinion, 
 and obtained this mighty self-conquest, I now entertained a 
 design of exerting the most romantic generosity, and of 
 curing that unhappy passion which I perceived I had raised 
 in Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Among the ladies who had expressed the greatest satis¬ 
 faction at my Amelia’s misfortune, Miss Osborne had dis¬ 
 tinguished herself in a very eminent degree; she was, 
 indeed, the next in beauty to my angel, nay, she had disputed 
 the preference, and had some among her admirers who were 
 blind enough to give it in her favour.’ 
 
 ‘ Well,’ cries the lady, ‘ I will allow yon to call them 
 blind ; but Miss Osborne was a charming girl.’ 
 
 ‘ She certainly was handsome,’ answered he, ‘ and a very 
 considerable fortune ; so I thought my Amelia would have 
 little difficulty in believing me when I fixed on her as my 
 mistress. And I concluded that my thus placing my affec¬ 
 tions on her known enemy would be the surest method of 
 eradicating every tender idea with which I had been ever 
 honoured by Amelia. 
 
 1 Well, then, to Amelia I went ; she received me with 
 more than usual coldness and reserve ; in which, to confess 
 the truth, there appeared to me more of anger than indiffer¬ 
 ence, and more of dejection than of either. After some short 
 introduction, I revived the discourse of my amour, and 
 presently mentioned Miss Osborne as the lady whose name I 
 had concealed ; adding, that the true reason why I did not 
 mention her before was, that I apprehended there was some 
 little distance between them, which I hoped to have the hap¬ 
 piness of accommodating. 
 
 ‘ Amelia answered with much gravity, “ If you know, sir, 
 that there is any distance between us, I suppose you know 
 the reason of that distance; and then, I think, I could not 
 have expected to be affronted by her name. I would not 
 have you think, Mr Booth, that I hate Miss Osborne. No ! 
 Heaven is my witness, I despise her too much.—Indeed, 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 57 
 
 when I reflect how much I loved the woman who hath 
 treated me so cruelly, I own it gives me pain—when I lay, 
 as I then imagined, and as all about me believed, on my 
 death-bed, in all the agonies of pain and misery, to become 
 the object of laughter to my dearest friend.—0, Mr Booth, it 
 is a cruel reflection ! and could I after this have expected 
 from you—but why not from you, to whom I am a person 
 entirely indifferent, if such a friend could treat me so bar¬ 
 barously 1 ” 
 
 4 During the greatest part of this speech the tears streamed 
 from her bright eyes. I could endure it no longer. I 
 caught up the word indifferent, and repeated it, saying, Do 
 you think then, madam, that Miss Emily is indifferent to 
 me'? ’ 
 
 4 Yes, surely, I do/ answered she : 4 1 know I am; indeed, 
 why should I not be indifferent to you % 1 
 
 4 Have my eyes,’ said I, 4 then, declared nothing 1 ’ 
 
 4 0 ! there is no need of your eyes/ answered she ; 4 your 
 tongue hath declared that you have singled out of all 
 womankind my greatest, I will say, my basest enemy. I 
 own I once thought that character would have been no 
 recommendation to you ;—but why did I think so h I was 
 born to deceive myself.’ 
 
 4 1 then fell on my knees before her ; and, forcing her hand, 
 cried out, 0, my Amelia ! I can bear no longer. You are 
 the only mistress of my affections ; you are the deity I adore. 
 In this style I ran on for above two or three minutes, what 
 it is impossible to repeat, till a torrent of contending 
 passions, together with the surprize, overpowered her gentle 
 spirits, and she fainted awajf in my arms. 
 
 4 To describe my sensation till she returned to herself is 
 not in my power.’— 4 You need not,’ cried Miss Matthews. 
 — 4 Oh, happy Amelia ! why had I not been blest with 
 such a passion 1 ’— 4 1 am convinced, madam,’ continued he, 
 
 4 you cannot expect all the particulars of the tender scene 
 which ensued. I was not enough in my senses to remember 
 it all. Let it suffice to say, that that behaviour with which 
 Amelia, while ignorant of its motive, had been so much 
 displeased, Avhen she became sensible of that motive, proved 
 the strongest recommendation to her favour, and she was 
 pleased to call it generous.’ 
 
58 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 ‘ Generous ! ’ repeated the lady, ‘ and so it was, almost 
 beyond the reach of humanity. I question whether you 
 ever had an equal/ 
 
 Perhaps the critical reader may have the same doubt with 
 Miss Matthews ; and lest he should, we will here make a 
 gap in our history, to give him an opportunity of accurately 
 considering whether this conduct of Mr Booth was natural 
 or no; and consequently, whether we have, in this place, 
 maintained or deviated from that strict adherence to truth 
 which we profess above all other historians. 
 
ch. ill] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TIIE NARRATIVE CONTINUED. MORE OF THE TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 Booth made a proper acknowledgment of Miss Matthews’s 
 civility, and tlien renewed his story. 
 
 ‘ We were upon the footing of lovers; and Amelia threw 
 off her reserve more and more, till at length I found all that 
 return of my affection which the tenderest lover can require. 
 
 ‘ My situation would now have been a paradise, had not 
 my happiness been interrupted with the same reflections I 
 have already mentioned; had I not, in short, concluded, 
 that I must derive all my joys from the almost certain ruin 
 of that dear creature to whom I should owe them. 
 
 ‘ This thought haunted me night and day, till I at last 
 grew unable to support it : I therefore resolved in the 
 strongest manner, to lay it before Amelia. 
 
 ‘ One evening then, after the highest professions of the 
 most disinterested love, in which Heaven knows my sincerity, 
 I took an occasion to speak to Amelia in the following 
 manner :— 
 
 ‘ Too true it is, I am afraid, my dearest creature, that the 
 highest human happiness is imperfect. How rich would be 
 my cup, was it not for one poisonous drop which embitters 
 the whole ! 0, Amelia ! what must he the consequence of 
 
 my ever having the honour to call you mine !—You know 
 my situation in life, and you know your own : I have nothing 
 more than the poor provision of an ensign’s commission to 
 depend on ; your sole dependence is on your mother ; should 
 any act of disobedience defeat your expectations, how wretched 
 must your lot he with me ! 0, Amelia ! how ghastly an ob¬ 
 ject to my mind is the apprehension of your distress ! Can 
 I bear to reflect a moment on the certainty of your foregoing 
 all the conveniencies of life 1 on the possibility of your suf¬ 
 fering all its most dreadful inconveniences 1 what must be 
 my misery, then, to see you in such a situation, and to up¬ 
 braid myself with being the accursed cause of bringing you 
 
60 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 to it ? Suppose too in such a season I should he summoned 
 from you. Could I submit to see you encounter all the haz¬ 
 ards, the fatigues of war, with me % you could not yourself, 
 however willing, support them a single campaign. What 
 then ; must I leave you to starve alone, deprived of the 
 tenderness of a husband, deprived too of the tenderness of the 
 best of mothers, through my means 1 a woman most dear to 
 me, for being the parent, the nurse, and the friend of my 
 
 Amelia.-But oh ! my sweet creature, carry your thoughts 
 
 a little farther. Think of the tenderest consequences, the 
 dearest pledges of our love. Can I hear to think of entail¬ 
 ing beggary on the posterity of my Amelia 1 on our-Oh, 
 
 Heavens ! on our children !—On the other side, is it possible 
 even to mention the word—I will not, must not, cannot, 
 
 cannot part with you.-What must we do, Amelia 1 It 
 
 is now I sincerely ask your advice.’ . 
 
 4 4 4 What advice can I give you, said she, in such an alter¬ 
 native 1 Would to Heaven we had never met! ” 
 
 4 These words were accompanied with a sigh, and a look 
 inexpressibly tender, the team at the same time overflowing 
 all her lovely cheeks. I was endeavouring to reply when I 
 was interrupted by what soon put an end to the scene. 
 
 4 Our amour had already been buzzed all over the town ; 
 and it came at last to the ears of Mrs Harris : I had, indeed, 
 observed of late a great alteration in that lady’s behaviour 
 towards me whenever I visited at the house ; nor could I, 
 for a long time before this evening, ever obtain a private in¬ 
 terview with Amelia ; and now, it seems, I owed it to her 
 mother’s intention of overhearing all that passed between us. 
 
 4 At the period then above mentioned, Mrs Harris burst 
 from the closet where she had hid herself, and surprised her 
 daughter, reclining on my bosom in all that tender sorrow I 
 have just described. I will not attempt to paint the rage of 
 the mother, or the daughter’s confusion, or my own. 44 Here 
 are very fine doings, indeed,” cries Mrs Harris ; 44 you have 
 made a noble use, Amelia, of my indulgence, and the trust 
 I reposed in you.—As for you, Mr Booth, I will not accuse 
 you; you have used my child as I ought to have expected ; 
 I may thank myself for what hath happened ; ” with much 
 more of the same kind, before she would suffer me to speak ; 
 but at last I obtained a hearing, and offered to excuse my 
 
CII. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 61 
 
 poor Amelia, who was ready to sink into the earth under the 
 oppression of grief, by taking as much blame as I could on 
 myself. Mrs Harris answered, dSTo, sir, I must say you are 
 innocent in comparison of her ; nay, I can say I have heard 
 you use dissuasive arguments ; and I promise you they are 
 of weight. I have, I thank Heaven, one dutiful child, and 
 I shall henceforth think her my only one.”—She then forced 
 the poor, trembling, fainting Amelia out of the room ; which 
 when she had done, she began very coolly to reason with me 
 on the folly, as well as iniquity, which I had been guilty of; 
 and repeated to me almost every word I had before urged to 
 her daughter. In fine, she at last obtained of me a promise 
 that I would soon go to my regiment, and submit to any 
 misery rather than that of being the ruin of Amelia. 
 
 ‘ I now, for many days, endured the greatest torments 
 which the human mind is, I believe, capable of feeling ; and 
 I can honestly say I tried all the means, and applied every 
 argument which I could raise, to cure - me of my love. And 
 to make these the more effectual, I spent every night in 
 walking backwards and forwards in the sight of Mrs Harris’s 
 house, where I never failed to find some object or other 
 which raised some tender idea of my lovely Amelia, and 
 almost drove me to distraction.’ 
 
 ‘ And don’t you think, sir,’said Miss Matthews, ‘you took 
 a most preposterous method to cure yourself ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Alas, madam/ answered he, ‘ you cannot see it in a more 
 absurd light than I do ; but those know little of real love or 
 grief who do not know how much we deceive ourselves when 
 we pretend to aim at the cure of either. It is with these, as 
 it is with some distempers of the body, nothing is in the 
 least agreeable to us but what serves to heighten the disease. 
 
 ‘ At the end of a fortnight, when I was driven almost to 
 the highest degree of despair, and could contrive no method 
 of conveying a letter to Amelia, how was I surprised when 
 Mrs Harris’s servant brought me a card, with an invitation 
 from the mother herself to drink tea that evening at her 
 house ! 
 
 * You will easily believe, madam, that I did not fail so 
 agreeable an appointment : on my arrival I was introduced 
 into a large company of men and women, Mrs Harris and 
 my Amelia being part of the company. 
 
62 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 4 Amelia seemed in my eyes to look more beautiful than 
 ever, and behaved with all the gaiety imaginable. The old 
 lady treated me with much civility, but the young lady took 
 little notice of me, and addressed most of her discourse to 
 another gentleman present. Indeed, she now and then gave 
 me a look of .no discouraging kind, and I observed her colour 
 change more than once when her eyes met mine; circum¬ 
 stances which, perhaps, ought to have afforded me sufficient 
 comfort, but they could not allay the thousand doubts and 
 fears with which I was alarmed, for my anxious thoughts 
 suggested no less to me than that Amelia had made her peace 
 with her mother at the price of abandoning me for ever, and 
 of giving her ear to some other lover. All my prudence now 
 vanished at once ; and I would that instant have gladly run 
 awxiy with Amelia, and have married her without the least 
 consideration of any consequences. . 
 
 4 "With such thoughts I had tormented myself for near 
 two hours, till most of the company had taken their leave. 
 This I was myself incapable of doing, nor do I know when 
 I should have put an end to my visit, had not Dr Harrison 
 taken me away almost by force, telling me in a whisper that 
 he had something to say to me of great consequence.—You 
 know the doctor, madam—•’ 
 
 ‘Very well, sir,’ answered Miss Matthews, 4 and one of 
 the best men in the world he is, and an honour to the sacred 
 order to which he belongs.’ 
 
 4 You will judge,’ replied Booth, 4 by the sequel, whether 
 I have reason to think him so.’—He then proceeded as in the 
 next chapter. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 G3 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STOUT OF ME BOOTH CONTINUED. IN THIS CHAPTEE 
 
 THE EEADEE "WILL PERCEIVE A GLIMPSE OE THE 
 
 CHAEACTEIl OE A YEET GOOD DTYINE, WITH SOME 
 
 MATTEES OE A YEET TENDEE KIND. 
 
 ‘ The doctor conducted me into Ins study, and then, 
 desiring me to sit down, began, as near as I can remember, 
 in these words, or at least to this purpose : 
 
 ‘ “ You cannot imagine, young gentleman, that your love 
 for Miss Emily is any secret in this place ; I have known it 
 some time, and have been, I assure you, very much your 
 enemy in this affair.” 
 
 ‘ I answered, that I was very much obliged to him. 
 
 “‘Why, so you are,” replied he; “and so, perhaps, you 
 will think yourself when you know all.—I went about a 
 fortnight ago to Mrs Harris, to acquaint her with my appre¬ 
 hensions on her daughter’s account; for, though the matter 
 was much talked of, I thought it might possibly not have 
 reached her ears. I will be very plain with you. I advised 
 her to take all possible care of the young lady, and even to 
 send her to some place, where she might be effectually kept 
 out of your reach while you remained in the town.” 
 
 ‘ “ And do you think, sir,” said I, u that this was acting 
 a kind part by me 1 or do you expect that I should thank 
 you on this occasion h ” 
 
 c “ Young man,” answered he, “ I did not intend you any 
 kindness, nor do I desire any of your thanks. My intention 
 was to preserve a worthy lady from a young fellow of whom 
 I had heard no good character, and whom I imagined to have 
 a design of stealing a human creature for the sake of her 
 fortune.” 
 
 1 “ It was very kind of you, indeed,” answered I, “ to en¬ 
 tertain such an opinion of me.” 
 
 * “ Why, sir,” replied the doctor, “ it is the opinion which, 
 I believe, most of you young gentlemen of the order of the 
 
G4 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 rag deserve. I have known some instances, and have heard 
 of more, where such young fellows have committed robbery 
 under the name of marriage.” 
 
 ‘ I was going to interrupt him with some anger when he 
 desired me to have a little patience, and then informed me 
 that he had visited Mrs Harris with the above-mentioned 
 design the evening after the discovery I have related ; that 
 Mrs Harris, without waiting for his information, had re¬ 
 counted to him all which had happened the evening before ; 
 and, indeed, she must have an excellent memory, for I think 
 she repeated every word I said, and added, that she had con¬ 
 fined her daughter to her chamber, where she kept her a close 
 prisoner, and had not seen her since. 
 
 ‘ I cannot express, nor would modesty suffer me if I could, 
 all that now passed. The doctor took me by the hand and 
 burst forth into the warmest commendations of the sense and 
 generosity which he was pleased to say discovered themselves 
 in my speech. You know, madam, his strong and singular 
 way of expressing himself on all occasions, especially when 
 he is affected with anything. “ Sir,” said he, “ if I knew 
 half a dozen such instances in the army, the painter should 
 put red liveries upon all the saints in my closet.” 
 
 ‘ Erom this instant, the doctor told me, he had become my 
 friend and zealous advocate with Mrs Harris, on whom he 
 had at last prevailed, though not without the greatest diffi¬ 
 culty, to consent to my marrying Amelia, upon condition that 
 I settled every penny which the mother should lay down, 
 and that she would retain a certain sum in her hands which 
 she would at any time deposit for my advancement in the 
 army. 
 
 ‘ You will, I hope, madam, conceive that I made no hesi¬ 
 tation at these conditions, nor need I mention the joy which 
 I felt on this occasion, or the acknowledgment I paid the 
 doctor, who is, indeed, as you say, one of the best of men. 
 
 ‘ The next morning I had permission to visit Amelia, who 
 received me in such a manner, that I now concluded my 
 happiness to be complete. 
 
 ‘ Everything was now agreed on all sides, and lawyers 
 employed to prepare the writings, whon an unexpected cloud 
 arose suddenly in our serene sky, and all our joys were ob¬ 
 scured in a moment. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 65 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 * When matters were, as I apprehended, drawing near a 
 conclusion, I received an express, that a sister whom I ten¬ 
 derly loved was seized with a violent fever, and earnestly 
 desired me to come to her. I immediately obeyed the sum¬ 
 mons, and, as it was then about two in the morning, without 
 staying even to take leave of Amelia, for whom I left a short 
 billet, acquainting her with the reason of my absence. 
 
 1 -^ ie gentleman’s house where my sister then was stood 
 at fifty miles distance, and, though I used the utmost expe¬ 
 dition, the unmerciful distemper had, before my arrival, en 
 
 tirely deprived the poor girl of her senses, as it soon after did 
 of her life. 
 
 ISTot all the love I bore Amelia, nor the tumultuous delight 
 with which the approaching hour of possessing her filled my 
 heart, could, for a while, allay my grief at the loss of my 
 beloved Nancy. Upon my soul, I cannot yet mention her 
 name without tears. Never brother and sister had, I believe, 
 a higher friendship for each other. Poor dear girl ! whilst 
 I sat by her in her light-head fits, she repeated scarce any other 
 name but mine ) and it plainly appeared that, when her dear 
 reason was ravished away from her, it had left my image on 
 her fancy, and that the last use she made of it was to think 
 on me. “ Send for my dear Billy immediately,” she cried ; 
 “ I know he will come to me in a moment. Will nobody 
 fetch him to me ? pray don t kill me before I see him once 
 more. \ou durst not use me so if he was here.”—Every 
 accent still rings in my ears. Oh, heavens ! to hear this, 
 and at the same time to see the poor delirious creature deriv¬ 
 ing the greatest horrors from my sight, and mistaking me 
 for a highwayman who had a little before robbed her. ° But 
 I ask your pardon * the sensations I felt are to be known 
 only from experience, and to you must appear dull and in¬ 
 sipid. At last, she seemed for a moment to know me, and 
 cried, “ 0 heavens ! my dearest brother ! ” upon which she 
 fell into immediate convulsions, and died away in my arms.’ 
 
 Here Mr Booth stopped a moment, and wiped his eyes • 
 
 and Miss Matthews, perhaps out of complaisance, wiped 
 hers. 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK II. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CONTAINING STRANGE REVOLUTIONS OE EORTUNE. 
 Booth proceeded thus : 
 
 ‘ This loss, perhaps, madam, you will think had made me 
 miserable enough; but Fortune did not think so; for, on 
 the day when my Haney was to be buried, a courier arrived 
 from Dr Harrison with a letter, in which the doctor ac¬ 
 quainted me that he was just come from Mrs Harris when 
 he despatched the express, and. earnestly desired me to 
 return the very instant I received his letter, as I valued my 
 Amelia. “ Though if the daughter,” added he, “ should take 
 after her mother (as most of them do) it will be, perhaps, 
 wiser in you to stay away.” 
 
 ‘ I presently sent for the messenger into my room, and 
 with much difficulty extorted from him that a great squire 
 in his coach and six was come to Mrs Harris’s, and that the 
 whole town said he was shortly to be married to Amelia. 
 
 ‘I now soon perceived how much superior my love for 
 Amelia was to every other passion ; poor Haney’s idea dis¬ 
 appeared in a moment; I quitted the dear lifeless corpse, over 
 which I had shed a thousand tears, left the care of her 
 funeral to others, and posted, I may almost say flew, back to 
 Amelia, and alighted at the doctor’s house, as he had desired 
 me in his letter. 
 
 i The good man presently acquainted me with what had 
 happened in my absence. Mr Winckworth had, it seems, 
 arrived the very day of my departure, with a grand equi¬ 
 page, and, without delay, had made formal proposals to Mrs 
 Harris, offering to settle any part of his vast estate, in what¬ 
 ever manner she pleased, on Amelia. These proposals the 
 old lady had, without any deliberation, accepted, and had in¬ 
 sisted, in the most violent manner, on her daughter’s com¬ 
 pliance, which Amelia had as peremptorily refused to give ; 
 insisting, on her part, on the consent which her mother had 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 67 
 
 before given to our marriage, in which she was heartily- 
 seconded by the doctor, who declared to her, as he now did 
 to me, “ that we ought as much to be esteemed man and 
 wife as if the ceremony had already passed between us.” 
 
 ‘ These remonstrances, the doctor told me, had worked no 
 effect on Mrs Harris, who still persisted in her avowed 
 resolution of marrying her daughter to Winckworth, whom 
 the doctor had likewise attacked, telling him that he was 
 paying his addresses to another man’s wife ; but all to no 
 purpose; the young gentleman was too much in love to 
 hearken to any dissuasives. 
 
 ‘ We now entered into consultation what means to employ. 
 The doctor earnestly protested against any violence to be 
 offered to the person of Winckworth, which, I believe, I had 
 rashly threatened; declaring that, if I made any attempt of 
 that kind, he would for ever abandon my cause. I made 
 him a solemn promise of forbearance. At last he determined 
 to pay another visit to Mrs Harris, and, if he found her ob¬ 
 durate, he said he thought himself at liberty to join us to¬ 
 gether without any further consent of the mother, which 
 every parent, he said, had a right to refuse, but not retract 
 when given, unless the party himself, by some conduct of 
 his, gave a reason. 
 
 ‘ The doctor having made his visit with no better success 
 than before, the matter now debated was, how to get 
 possession of Amelia by stratagem, for she was now a closer 
 prisoner than ever; was her mother’s bedfellow by night, 
 and never out of her sight by day. 
 
 1 While we were deliberating on this point a wine-merchant 
 of the town came to visit the doctor, to inform him that he 
 had just bottled off a hogshead of excellent old port, of which 
 he ottered to spare him a hamper, saying that he was that 
 day to send in twelve dozen to Mrs Harris. 
 
 ‘ The doctor now smiled at a conceit which came into his 
 head; and, taking me aside, asked me if I had love enough 
 for the young lady to venture into the house in a hamper. 
 
 I joyfully leapt at the proposal, to which the merchant, at 
 the doctor’s intercession, consented; for I believe, madam, 
 you know the great -authority which that worthy man had 
 over the whole town. The doctor, moreover, promised to 
 procure a licence, and to perform the office for us at his 
 
68 AMELIA. [BK II. 
 
 house, if I could find any means of conveying Amelia 
 thither. 
 
 ‘ In this hamper, then, I was carried to the house, and 
 deposited in the entry, where I had not lain long before I 
 was again removed and packed up in a cart in order to he 
 sent live miles into the country; for I heard the orders 
 given as I lay in the entry; and there I likewise heard 
 that Amelia and her mother were to follow me the next 
 morning. 
 
 ‘ I was unloaded from my cart, and set down with the rest 
 of the lumber in a great hall. Here I remained above three 
 hours, impatiently waiting for the evening, when I deter¬ 
 mined to quit a posture which was become very uneasy, and 
 break my prison ; but Fortune contrived to release me sooner, 
 by the following means : The house where I now was had 
 been left in the care of one maid-servant. This faithful 
 creature came into the hall with the footman who had driven 
 the cart. A scene of the highest fondness having passed 
 between them, the fellow proposed, and the maid consented, 
 to open the hamper and drink a bottle together, which, they 
 agreed, their mistress would hardly miss in such a quantity. 
 They presently began to execute their purpose. They 
 opened the hamper, and, to their great surprise, discovered 
 the contents. 
 
 £ I took an immediate advantage of the consternation 
 which appeared in the countenances of both the servants, 
 and had sufficient presence of mind to improve the know¬ 
 ledge of those secrets to which I was privy. I told them 
 that it entirely depended on their behaviour to me whether 
 their mistress should ever be acquainted, either with what 
 they had done or with what they had intended to do; for 
 that if they would keep my secret I would reciprocally 
 keep theirs. I then acquainted them with my purpose of 
 lying concealed in the house, in order to watch an oppor¬ 
 tunity of obtaining a private interview with Amelia. 
 
 ‘ In the situation in which these two delinquents stood, you 
 may be assured it was not difficult for me to seal up their 
 lips. In short they agreed to whatever I proposed. I lay 
 that evening in my dear Amelia’s bedchamber, and was in 
 the morning conveyed into an old lumber-garret, where I was 
 to wait till Amelia (whom the maid promised, on her arrival, 
 

 
 4 
 
 y 
 
 S' ■/■/// , ' V , , ' // /'//, , 4v/ /// 
 
 / 
 
 rt£ 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 69 
 
 ch. v.] 
 
 to inform of my place of concealment) could find some 
 opportunity of seeing me.’ 
 
 * I ask pardon for interrupting you,’ cries Miss Matthews, 
 but you bring to my remembrance a foolish story which I 
 heard at that time, though at a great distance from you: 
 lhat an officer had, in confederacy with Miss Harris, broke 
 open her mother’s cellar and stole away a great quantity of 
 her wine. I mention it only to show you what sort of 
 foundations most stories have.’ 
 
 Booth told her he had heard some such thing himself and 
 then continued his story as in the next chapter. 
 
70 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTAINING MANY SURPRISING ADVENTURES. 
 
 ‘ Here/ continued lie, ‘ I remained tlie whole day in hopes of 
 a happiness, the expected approach of which gave me such 
 a delight that I would not have exchanged my poor lodgings 
 for the finest palace in the universe. 
 
 ‘ A little after it was dark Mrs Harris arrived, together 
 with Amelia and her sister. I cannot express how much 
 my heart now began to flutter; for, as my hopes every 
 moment increased, strange fears, which I had not felt before, 
 began now to intermingle with them. 
 
 ‘ When I had continued full two hours in these circum¬ 
 stances, I heard a woman’s step tripping up-stairs, which I 
 fondly hoped was my Amelia ; but all on a sudden the door 
 flew open, and Mrs Hams herself appeared at it, with a 
 countenance pale as death, her whole body trembling, I sup¬ 
 pose with anger; she fell upon me in the most bitter language. 
 It is not necessary to repeat what she said, nor indeed can I, 
 I was so shocked and confounded upon this occasion. In a 
 word, the scene ended with my departure without seeing 
 Amelia/ 
 
 ‘ And pray/ cries Miss Matthews, ‘ how happened this 
 unfortunate discovery I ’ 
 
 Booth answered, ‘ That the lady at supper ordered a bottle 
 of wine, which neither myself,’ said he, ‘ nor the servants 
 had presence of mind to provide. Being told there was none 
 in the house, though she had been before informed that the 
 things came all sale, she had sent for the maid, who being 
 unable to devise any excuse, had fallen on her knees, and, 
 alter confessing her design of opening a bottle, which she 
 imputed to the fellow, betrayed poor me to her mistress. 
 
 ‘ Well, madam, after a lecture of about a quarter of an 
 hour’s duration from Mrs Harris, I suffered her to conduct 
 me to the outward gate of her courtyard, whence I set for¬ 
 ward in a disconsolate condition of mind towards my lodgings. 
 
CH. VI.J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 71 
 
 I had five miles to walk in a dark and rainy night: hut how 
 can I mention these trifling circumstances as any aggravation 
 of my disappointment! ’ 
 
 ‘ How was it possible,’ cried Miss Matthews, ‘ that you 
 could he got out of the house without seeing Miss Harris 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I assure you, madam,’ answered Booth, ‘ I have often 
 wondered at it myself; hut my spirits were so much sunk at 
 the sight of her mother, that no man was ever a greater 
 coward than I was at that instant. Indeed, I believe my 
 tender concern for the terrors of Amelia were the principal 
 cause of my submission. However it was, I left the house, 
 and walked about a hundred yards, when, at the corner of 
 the garden-wall, a female voice, in a whisper, cried out, 
 “ Mr Booth.” The person was extremely near me, hut it 
 was so dark I could scarce see her; nor did I, in the confu¬ 
 sion I was in, immediately recognize the voice. I answered 
 in a line of Congreve’s, which burst from my lips spontane¬ 
 ously ; for I am sure I had no intention to quote plays at 
 that time 
 
 1 Who calls the wretched thing that was Alplionso 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Upon which a woman leapt into my arms, crying out— 
 “ 0 ! it is indeed my Alphonso, my only Alplionso ! ”—0 
 Miss Matthews! guess what I felt when I found I had my 
 Amelia in my arms. I embraced her with an ecstasy not to 
 be described, at the same instant pouring a thousand tender¬ 
 nesses into her ears ; at least, if I could express so many to 
 her in a minute, for in that time the alarm began at the house; 
 Mrs Harris had missed her daughter, and the court was 
 presently full of lights and noises of all kinds. 
 
 ‘ I now lifted Amelia over a gate, and, jumping after, we 
 crept along together by the side of a hedge, a different way 
 from what led to the town, as I imagined that would be the 
 road through which they would pursue us. In this opinion 
 I was right; for we heard them pass along that road, and 
 the voice of Mrs Harris herself, who ran with the rest, not¬ 
 withstanding the darkness and the rain. By these means 
 we luckily made our escape, and clambering over hedge and 
 ditch, my Amelia performing the part of a heroine all the 
 way, we at length arrived at a little green lane, where stood 
 a vast spreading oak, under which we sheltered ourselves 
 from a violent storm. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 [BE II. 
 
 72 
 
 ‘When this was over and the moon began to appear, 
 Amelia declared she knew very well where she was; and, a 
 little farther striking into another lane to the right, she said 
 that would lead us to a house where we would be both safe 
 and unsuspected. I followed her directions, and we at 
 length came to a little cottage about three miles distant from 
 Mrs Harris’s house. 
 
 4 As it now rained very violently, we entered this cottage, 
 in which we espied a light, without ceremony. Here we 
 found an elderly woman sitting by herself at a little fire, 
 who had no sooner viewed us than she instantly sprung 
 from her seat, and starting back gave the strongest tokens of 
 amazement; upon which Amelia said, “ Be not surprised, 
 nurse, though you see me in a strange pickle, I own.” The 
 old woman, after having several times blessed herself, and 
 expressed the most tender concern for the lady who stood 
 dripping before her, began to bestir herself in making up 
 the fire ; at the same time entreating Amelia that she might 
 be permitted to furnish her with some clothes, which, she 
 said, though not fine, were clean and wholesome and much 
 drier than her own. I seconded this motion so vehemently, 
 that Amelia, though she declared herself under no appre¬ 
 hension of catching cold (she hath indeed the best constitu-. 
 tion in the world), at last consented, and I retired without 
 doors under a shed, to give my angel an opportunity of 
 dressing herself in the only room which the cottage afforded 
 below-stairs. 
 
 ‘ At my return into the room, Amelia insisted on my ex¬ 
 changing my coat for one which belonged to the old woman’s 
 son,’ ‘I am very glad,’ cried Miss Matthews, 1 to find she 
 did not forget you. I own I thought it somewhat cruel to 
 turn you out into the rain.’—‘ 0, Miss Matthews ! ’ continued 
 he, taking no notice of her observation, 4 1 had now an 
 opportunity of contemplating the vast power of exquisite 
 beauty, which nothing almost can add to or diminish. 
 Amelia, in the poor rags of her old nurse, looked scarce less 
 beautiful than I have seen her appear at a ball or an assembly.’ 
 ‘ Well, well,’ cries Miss Matthews, ‘ to be sure she did ; but 
 pray go on with your story.’ 
 
 ‘ The old woman,’ continued he, ‘ after having equipped 
 us as well as she could, and placed our wet clothes before 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 73 
 
 cn. vl] 
 
 the fire, began to grow inquisitive; and, after some ejacula¬ 
 tions, she cried,—“ 0, my dear young madam ! my mind 
 misgives me hugeously; and pray who is this fine young 
 gentleman 1 Oh ! Miss Emmy, Miss Emmy, I am afraid 
 madam knows nothing of all this matter.” “ Suppose he 
 should he my husband, nurse,” answered Amelia. “ Oh! goo<]! 
 and if he he,” replies the nurse, “ I hope he is some great 
 gentleman or other, with a vast estate and a coach and six : 
 for to he sure, if an he was the greatest lord in the land, you 
 would deserve it all.” But why do I attempt to mimic the 
 honest creature 1 In short, she discovered the greatest 
 affection for my Amelia ; with which I was much more 
 delighted than I was offended at the suspicions she showed 
 of me, or the many hitter curses which she denounced 
 against me, if I ever proved a had husband to so sweet a 
 young lady. 
 
 ‘ I so well improved the hint given me by Amelia, that 
 the old woman had no doubt of our being really married ; 
 and, comforting herself that, if it was not as well as it might 
 have been, yet madam had enough for us both, and that 
 happiness did not always depend on great riches, she began 
 to rail at the old lady for having turned us out of doors, which 
 I scarce told an untruth in asserting. And when Amelia 
 said, “ She hoped her nurse would not betray her,” the good 
 woman answered with much warmth—“ Betray you, my dear 
 young madam ! no, that I would not, if the king would give 
 me all that he is worth : no, not if madam herself would 
 give me the great house, and the whole farm belonging to it. 
 
 £ The good woman then went out and fetched a chicken 
 from the roost, which she killed, and began to pick, without 
 asking any questions. Then, summoning her son, who w as 
 in bed, to her assistance, she began to prepare this chicken 
 for our supper. This she afterwards set before us in so neat, 
 I may almost say elegant, a manner, that whoever would have 
 disdained it either doth not know the sensation of hunger, 
 or doth not deserve to have it gratified. Our food was at¬ 
 tended with some ale, which our kind hostess said she in¬ 
 tended not to have tapped till Christmas; “ but,” added she, 
 “ I little thought ever to have the honour of seeing my dear 
 honoured lady in this poor place.” 
 
 ‘ Eor my own part, no human being was then an object 
 
74 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 of envy to me, and even Amelia seemed to be in pretty good 
 spirits; she softly whispered to me that she perceived there 
 might be happiness in a cottage.’ 
 
 ‘ A cottage ! ’ cries Miss Matthews, sighing, ‘ a cottage, 
 with the man one loves, is a palace.’ 
 
 ‘ When supper was ended,’ continued Booth, ‘ the good 
 woman began to think of our further wants, and very earn¬ 
 estly recommended her bed to us, saying, it was a very neat, 
 though homely one, and that she could furnish us with a 
 pair of clean sheets. She added some persuasives which 
 painted my angel all over with vermilion. As for myself, I 
 behaved so awkwardly and foolishly, and so readily agreed 
 to Amelia’s resolution of sitting up all night, that, if it did 
 not give the nurse any suspicion of our marriage, it ought to 
 have inspired her with the utmost contempt for me. 
 
 ‘ We both endeavoured to prevail with nurse to retire to 
 her own bed, but found it utterly impossible to succeed ; she 
 thanked Heaven she understood breeding better than that. 
 And so well bred was the good woman, that we could scarce 
 get her out of the room the whole night. Luckily for us, 
 we both understood French, by means of which we consulted 
 together, even in her presence, upon the measures we were 
 to take in our present exigency. At length it was resolved 
 that I should send a letter by this young lad, whom I have 
 just before mentioned, to our worthy friend the doctor, de¬ 
 siring his company at our hut, since we thought it utterly 
 unsafe to venture to the town, which we knew would be in 
 an uproar on our account before the morning.’ 
 
 Here Booth made a full stop, smiled, and then said he was 
 going to mention so ridiculous a distress, that he could scarce 
 think of it without laughing. What this was the reader 
 shall know in the next chapter 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 75 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE STORY OF BOOTH CONTINUED.-MORE SURPRISING 
 
 ADVENTURES. 
 
 ‘From what trifles, dear Miss Matthews/ cried Booth, 1 may- 
 some of our greatest distresses arise ! Do you not perceive 
 I am going to tell you we had neither pen, ink, nor paper, 
 in our present exigency 1 
 
 ‘ A verbal message was now our only resource; however, 
 we contrived to deliver it in such terms, that neither nurse 
 nor her son could possibly conceive any suspicion from it of 
 the present situation of our affairs. Indeed, Amelia whis¬ 
 pered me, I might safely place any degree of confidence in the 
 lad; for he had been her foster-brother, and she had a great 
 opinion of his integrity. He was in truth a boy of very good 
 natural parts; and Dr Harrison, who had received him into 
 his family, at Amelia’s recommendation, had bred him up to 
 write and read very well, and had taken some pains to infuse 
 into him the principles of honesty and religion. He was not, 
 indeed, even now discharged from the doctor’s service, but 
 had been at home with his mother for some time, on account 
 of the small-pox, from which he was lately recovered. 
 
 J I have said so much,’ continued Booth, ‘ of the boy’s 
 character, that you may not be surprised at some stories which 
 I shall tell you of him hereafter. 
 
 4 1 am going now, madam, to relate to you one of those 
 strange accidents which are produced by such a train of cir¬ 
 cumstances, that mere chance hath been thought incapable 
 of bringing them together : and which have therefore given 
 birth, in superstitious minds, to Fortune, and to several other 
 imaginary beings. 
 
 ‘We were now impatiently expecting the arrival of the 
 doctor; our messenger had been gone much more than a 
 sufficient time, which to us, you may be assured, appeared 
 not at all shorter than it was, when nurse, who had gone out 
 
76 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 of doors on some errand, came running hastily to us, crying 
 out, “ 0 my dear young madam, her ladyship’s coach is just 
 at the door! ” Amelia turned pale as death at these 
 words ; indeed, I feared she would have fainted, if I could 
 be said to fear, who had scarce any of my senses left, and 
 was in a condition little better than my angel’s. 
 
 ‘ While we were both in this' dreadful situation, Amelia 
 fallen back in her chair with the countenance in which ghosts 
 are painted, myself at her feet with a complexion of no very 
 different colour, and nurse screaming out and throwing water 
 in Amelia’s face, Mrs Harris entered the room. At the sight 
 of this scene she threw herself likewise into a chair, and 
 called immediately for a glass of water, which Miss Betty 
 her daughter supplied her with ; for, as to nurse, nothing 
 was capable of making any impression on her whilst she ap¬ 
 prehended her young mistress to be in danger. 
 
 ‘ The doctor had now entered the room, and, coming im¬ 
 mediately up to Amelia, after some expressions of surprize, 
 he took her by the hand, called her his little sugar-plum, 
 and assured her there were none but friends present. He 
 then led her tottering across the room to Mrs Harris. Amelia 
 then fell upon her knees before her mother; but the doctor 
 caught her up, saying, “ Use that posture, child, only to the 
 Almighty : ” but I need not mention this singularity of his 
 to you who know him so well, and must have heard him 
 often dispute against addressing ourselves to man in the 
 humblest posture which we use towards the Supreme Being. 
 
 ‘ I wih tire you with no more particulars : we were soon 
 satisfied that the doctor had reconciled us and our affairs to 
 Mrs Harris ; and we now proceeded directly to church, the 
 doctor having before provided a licence for us.’ 
 
 ‘ Tut where is the strange accident ? ’ cries Miss Matthews; 
 ‘ sure you have raised more curiosity than you have satis¬ 
 fied.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, madam,’ answered he, ‘ your reproof is just; I 
 had like to have forgotten it; but you cannot wonder at me 
 when you reflect on that interesting part of my story which 
 I am now relating.—But before I mention this accident I 
 must tell you what happened after Amelia’s escape from her 
 mother’s house. Mrs Harris at first ran out into the lane 
 among her servants, and pursued us (so she imagined) along 
 
OH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 77 
 
 the road leading to the town ; hut that being very dirty, and 
 a violent storm of rain coming, she took shelter in an ale¬ 
 house about half a mile from her own house, whither she 
 sent for her coach; she then drove, together with her daugh¬ 
 ter, to town, where, soon after her arrival, she sent for the 
 doctor, her usual privy counsellor in all her affairs. They 
 sat up all night together, the doctor endeavouring, by argu¬ 
 ments and persuasions, to bring Mrs Harris to reason; but 
 all to no purpose, though, as he hath informed me, Miss 
 Betty seconded him with the warmest entreaties/ 
 
 Here Miss Matthews laughed ; of which Booth begged to 
 know the reason : she, at last, after many apologies, said, 
 4 It was the first good thing she ever heard of Miss Betty; 
 nay,’ said she, ‘ and asking your pardon for my opinion of 
 your sister, since you will have it, I always conceived her to 
 be the deepest of hypocrites.’ 
 
 Booth fetched a sigh, and said he was afraid she had not 
 always acted so kindly ;—and then, after a little hesitation, 
 proceeded: 
 
 ‘You will be pleased, madam, to remember the lad was 
 sent with a verbal message to the doctor : which message 
 was no more than to acquaint him where we were, and to 
 desire the favour of his company, or that he would send a 
 coach to bring us to whatever place he would please to meet 
 us at. This message was to be delivered to the doctor him¬ 
 self, and the messenger was ordered, if he found him not at 
 home, to go to him wherever he was. He fulfilled his orders 
 and told it to the doctor in the presence of Mrs Harris.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, the idiot ! ’ cries Miss Matthews. 4 Hot at all,’ an¬ 
 swered Booth : ‘ lie is a very sensible fellow, as you will, 
 perhaps, say hereafter. He had not the least reason to sus¬ 
 pect that any secresy was necessary; for we took the utmost 
 care he should not suspect it.—Well, madam, this accident, 
 which appeared so unfortunate, turned in the highest degree 
 to our advantage. Mrs Harris no sooner heard the message 
 delivered than she fell into the most violent passion imagin¬ 
 able, and accused the doctor of being in the plot, and of 
 having confederated with me in the design of carrying off her 
 daughter. 
 
 4 The doctor, who had hitherto used only soothing methods 
 now talked in a different strain. He confessed the accusa- 
 
78 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 tion and justified his conduct. He said he was no meddler 
 in the family affairs of others, nor should he have concerned 
 himself with hers, hut at her own request ; hut that, since 
 Mrs Harris herself had made him an agent in this matter, he 
 would take care to acquit himself with honour, and above all 
 things to preserve a young lady for whom he had the highest 
 esteem ; “ for she is,” cries he, and, by heavens, he said true, 
 “ the most worthy, generous, and noble of all human beings. 
 You have yourself, madam,” said he, “ consented to the 
 match. I have, at your request, made-the match ; ” and then 
 he added some particulars relating to his opinion of me, which 
 my modesty forbids me to repeat.’—‘ Nay, hut,’ cries Miss 
 Matthews, ‘ I insist on your conquest of that modesty for 
 once. We women do not love to hear one another’s praises, 
 and I will he made amends by hearing the praises of a man, 
 and of a man whom, perhaps,’ added she with a leer, ‘ I shall 
 not think much the better of upon that account.’— 4 In obe¬ 
 dience to your commands, then, madam,’ continued he, ‘ the 
 doctor was so kind to say he had inquired into my character 
 and had found that I had been a dutiful son and an affect¬ 
 ionate brother. Relations, said he, in which whoever dis¬ 
 charges his duty well, gives us a well-grounded hope that he 
 will behave as properly in all the rest. He concluded with 
 saying that Amelia’s happiness, her heart, nay, her very re¬ 
 putation, w r ere all concerned in this matter, to which, as he 
 had been made instrumental, he was resolved to carry her 
 through it; and then, taking the licence from his pocket, 
 declared to Mrs Harris that he would go that instant and 
 marry her daughter wherever he found her. This speech, the 
 doctor’s voice, his look, and his behaviour, all which are 
 sufficiently calculated to inspire awe, and even terror, when 
 he pleases, frightened poor Mrs Harris, and wrought a more 
 sensible effect than it was in his power to produce by all his 
 arguments and entreaties; and 1 have already related what 
 followed. 
 
 ‘ Thus the strange accident of our wanting pen, ink, and 
 paper, and our not trusting the boy with our secret, occa¬ 
 sioned the discovery to Mrs Harris; that discovery put the 
 doctor upon his metal, and produced that blessed event which 
 I have recounted to you, and which, as my mother hath 
 
cn. VII.] AMELIA. 79 
 
 since confessed, nothing but the spirit which he had exerted 
 after the discovery could have brought about. 
 
 ‘Well, madam, you now see me married to Amelia; in 
 which situation you will, perhaps, think my happiness in¬ 
 capable of addition. Perhaps it was so ; and yet I can with 
 truth say that the love which I then bore Amelia was not 
 comparable to what I hear her now.’ ‘ Happy Amelia ! ’ 
 cried Miss Matthews. ‘ If all men were like you, all women 
 would be blessed ; nay, the whole world would he so in a 
 great measure; for, upon- my soul, I believe that from the 
 damned inconstancy of your sex to ours proceeds half the 
 miseries of mankind.’ 
 
 That we may give the reader leisure to consider well the 
 foregoing sentiment, we will here put an end to this chap¬ 
 ter. 
 
80 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN WHICH OUR READERS WILL PROBABLY EE DIVIDED IN 
 THEIR OPINION OE MR BOOTH’S CONDUCT. 
 
 Booth proceeded as follows :— 
 
 ‘ The first months of our marriage produced nothing re¬ 
 markable enough to mention. I am sure I need not tell 
 Miss Matthews that I found in my Amelia every perfection 
 of human nature. Mrs Harris at first gave us some little 
 uneasiness. She had rather yielded to the doctor than given 
 a willing consent to the match; however, by degrees, she 
 became more and more satisfied, and at last seemed perfectly 
 reconciled. This we ascribed a good deal to the kind offices 
 of Miss Betty, who had always appeared to be my friend. 
 She had been greatly assisting to Amelia in making her 
 escape, which I had no opportunity of mentioning to you be¬ 
 fore, and in all things behaved so well, outwardly at least, 
 to myself as well as her sister, that we regarded her as our 
 sincerest friend. 
 
 ‘ About half a year after our marriage two additional 
 companies were added to our regiment, in one of which I 
 was preferred to the command of a lieutenant. Upon this 
 occasion Miss Betty gave the first intimation of a disposition 
 which we have since too severely experienced.’ 
 
 ‘ Your servant, sir,’ says Miss Matthews ; ‘ then I find I 
 was not mistaken in my opinion of the lady.—Uo, no, show 
 me any goodness in a censorious prude, and—’ 
 
 As Miss Matthews hesitated for a simile or an execration, 
 Booth proceeded : ‘ You will please to remember, madam, 
 there was formerly an agreement between myself and Mrs 
 Harris that I should settle all my Amelia’s fortune on her, 
 except a certain sum, which was to be laid out in mv ad¬ 
 vancement in the army ; but, as our marriage was carried on 
 in the manner you have heard, no such agreement was ever 
 executed. And since I was become Amelia’s husband not a 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 81 
 
 word of this matter was ever mentioned by the old lady; 
 and as for myself, I declare I had not yet awakened from 
 that delicious dream of bliss in which the possession of 
 Amelia had lulled me.’ 
 
 Here Miss Matthews sighed, and cast the tenderest of 
 looks on Booth, who thus continued his story :— 
 
 4 Soon after my promotion Mrs Harris one morning took 
 an occasion to speak to me on this affair. She said, that, as 
 I had been promoted gratis to a lieutenancy, she would assist 
 me with money to carry me yet a step higher; and, if more 
 was required than was formerly mentioned, it should not be 
 wanting, since she was so perfectly satisfied with my be¬ 
 haviour to her daughter. Adding that she hoped I had still 
 the same inclination to settle on my wife the remainder of 
 her fortune. 
 
 4 I answered with very warm acknowledgments of my 
 mother’s goodness, and declared, if I had the world, I was 
 ready to lay it at my Amelia’s feet.—And so, Heaven knows, 
 I would ten thousand worlds. 
 
 4 Mrs Harris seemed pleased with the warmth of my sen¬ 
 timents, and said she would immediately send to her lawyer 
 and give him the necessary orders ; and thus ended our con¬ 
 versation on this subject. 
 
 4 From this time there was a very visible alteration in 
 Miss Betty’s behaviour. She grew reserved to her sister as 
 well as to me. She was fretful and captious on the slightest 
 occasion; nay, she affected much to talk on the ill conse¬ 
 quences of an imprudent marriage, especially before her 
 mother; and if ever any little tenderness or endearments 
 escaped me in public towards Amelia, she never failed to 
 make some malicious remark on the short duration of violent 
 passions; and, when I have expressed a fond sentiment for 
 my wife, her sister would kindly wish she might hear as 
 much seven years hence. 
 
 4 All these matters have been since suggested to us by re¬ 
 flection ; for, while they actually passed, both Amelia and 
 myself had our thoughts too happily engaged to take notice 
 of what discovered itself in the mind of any other person. 
 
 4 Unfortunately for us, Mrs Harris’s lawyer happened at 
 this time to be at London, where business detained him up¬ 
 wards of a month ; and, as Mrs Harris would on no occasion 
 
 6 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 82 
 
 [bk IT. 
 
 employ any other, our affair was under an entire suspension 
 till his return. 
 
 ‘ Amelia, who was now big with child, had often expressed 
 the deepest concern at her apprehensions of my being some 
 time commanded abroad ; a circumstance, which she declared 
 if it should ever happen to her, even though she should not 
 then be in the same situation as at present, would infallibly 
 break her heart. These remonstrances were made with such 
 tenderness, and so much affected me, that, to avoid any 
 probability of such an event, I endeavoured to get an ex¬ 
 change into the horse-guards, a body of troops which very 
 rarely goes abroad, unless where the king himself commands 
 in person. I soon found an officer for my purpose, the 
 terms were agreed on, and Mrs Harris had ordered the money 
 which I was to pay to be ready, notwithstanding the oppo¬ 
 sition made by Miss Betty, who openly dissuaded her mother 
 from it; alleging that the exchange was highly to my dis¬ 
 advantage ; that I could never hope to rise in the army after 
 it; not forgetting, at the same time, some insinuations very 
 prejudicial to my reputation as a soldier. 
 
 ‘ When everything was agreed on, and the two commissions 
 were actually made out, but not signed by the king, one 
 day, at my return from hunting, Amelia flew to me, and 
 eagerly embracing me, cried out, “ 0 Billy, I have news for 
 you which delights my sold. Nothing sure was ever so for¬ 
 tunate as the exchange you have made. The regiment you 
 was formerly in is ordered for Gibraltar.” 
 
 ‘ I received this news with far less transport than it was 
 delivered. I answered coldly, since the case was so, I heartily 
 hoped the commissions might be both signed. “ What do 
 you say ? ” replied Amelia eagerly; “ sure you told me 
 everything w^as entirely settled. That look of your? 
 frightens me to death.”—But I am running into too minute 
 particulars. In short, I received a letter by that very post 
 from the officer with whom I had exchanged, insisting that, 
 though his majesty had not signed the commissions, that still 
 the bargain ivas valid, partly urging it as a right, and partly 
 desiring it as a favour, that he might go to Gibraltar in my 
 room. 
 
 ‘ This letter convinced me in every point. I was now 
 informed that the commissions were not signed, and conse- 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 83 
 
 quently that the exchange was not completed; of consequence 
 the other could have no right to insist on going ; and, as for 
 granting him such a favour, I too clearly saw I must do it 
 at the expense of my honour. I was now reduced to a 
 dilemma, the most dreadful which I think any man can ex¬ 
 perience ; in which, I am not ashamed to own, I found love 
 was not so overmatched by honour as he ought to have been. 
 The thoughts of leaving Amelia in her present condition to 
 misery, perhaps to death or madness, were insupportable ; 
 nor could any other consideration but that which now 
 tormented me on the other side have combated them a mo¬ 
 ment.’ 
 
 ‘¥o woman upon earth,’ cries Miss Matthews, ‘can 
 despise want of spirit in a man more than myself; and yet 
 I cannot help thinking you was rather too nice on this oc¬ 
 casion.’ 
 
 ‘ You will allow, madam,’ answered Booth, ‘that whoever 
 offends against the laws of honour in the least instance is 
 treated as the highest delinquent. Here is no excuse, no 
 pardon ; and he doth nothing who leaves anything undone. 
 But if the conflict was so terrible with myself alone, what 
 was my situation in the presence of Amelia ? how could I 
 support her sighs, her tears, her agonies, her despaircould 
 I bear to think myself the cruel cause of her sufferings 1 
 for so I was : could I endure the thought of having it in 
 my power to give her instant relief, for so it was, and refuse 
 it her'? 
 
 ‘ Miss Betty was now again become my friend. She had 
 scarce been civil to me for a fortnight last past, yet now she 
 commended me to the skies, and as severely blamed her 
 sister, whom she arraigned of the most contemptible weak¬ 
 ness in preferring my safety to my honour : she said many 
 ill-natured things on the occasion, which I shall not now 
 repeat. 
 
 ‘ In the midst of this hurricane the good doctor came to 
 dine with Mrs Harris, and at my desire delivered his opinion 
 on the matter.’ 
 
 Here Mr Booth was interrupted in his narrative by the 
 arrival of a person whom we shall introduce in the next 
 chapter. 
 
84 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK II. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONTAINING- A SCENE OF A DIFFERENT KIND FROM ANY 
 
 OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 The gentleman who now arrived was the keeper ; or, if you 
 please (for so he pleased to call himself), the governor of the 
 prison. 
 
 He used so little ceremony at his approach, that the holt, 
 which was very slight on the inside, gave way, and the door 
 immediately flew open. He had no sooner entered the 
 room than he acquainted Miss Matthews that lie had brought 
 her very good news, for which he demanded a bottle of wine 
 as his due. 
 
 This demand being complied with, he acquainted Miss 
 Matthews that the wounded gentleman was not dead, nor 
 was his wound thought to be mortal : that loss of blood, 
 and perhaps his fright, had occasioned his fainting away; 
 ‘ but I believe, madam,’ said he, ‘ if you take the proper 
 measures you may be bailed to-morrow. I expect the lawyer 
 here this evening, and if you put the business into his hands 
 I warrant it will be done. Money to be sure must be parted 
 with, that’s to be sure. People to be sure will expect to 
 touch a little in such cases. Eor my own part, I never 
 desire to keep a prisoner longer than the law allows, not I; 
 I always inform them they can be bailed as soon as I know 
 it; I never make any bargain, not I; I always love to leave 
 those things to the gentlemen and ladies themselves. I 
 never suspect gentlemen and ladies of wanting generosity.’ 
 
 Miss Matthews made a very slight answer to all these 
 friendly professions. She said she had done nothing she 
 repented of, and was indifferent as to the event. ‘ All I can 
 say,’ cries she, ‘ is, that if the wretch is alive there is no 
 greater villain in life than himself; ’ and, instead of men¬ 
 tioning anything of the bail, she begged the keeper to 
 leave her again alone with Mr Booth. The keeper replied, 
 ‘Xay, madam, perhaps it may be better to stay a little 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 85 
 
 longer here, if you nave not bail ready, tlian to buy them 
 too dear. Besides, a day or two lienee, when the gentleman 
 is past all danger of recovery, to be sure some folks that 
 would expect an extraordinary fee now cannot expect to 
 touch anything. And to be sure you shall want nothing here. 
 The best of all things are to be had here for money, both 
 eatable and drinkable: though I say it, I shan’t turn my 
 back to any of the taverns for either eatables or wind. The 
 captain there need not have been so shy of owning himself 
 when he first came in ; we have had captains and other 
 great gentlemen here before now; and no shame to them, 
 though I say it. Many a great gentleman is sometimes found 
 in places that don’t become them half so well, let me tell 
 them that, Captain Booth, let me tell them that.’ 
 
 ‘ I see, sir,’ answered Booth, a little discomposed, 1 that 
 you are acquainted with my title as well as my name.’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, sir,’ cries the keeper, ‘ and I honour you the more 
 for it. I love the gentlemen of the army. I was in the 
 army myself formerly ; in the Lord of Oxford’s horse. It 
 is true I rode private ; but I had money enough to have 
 bought in quarter-master, when I took it into my head to 
 marry, and my wife she did not like that I should continue 
 a soldier, she was all for a private life; and so I came to 
 this business.’ 
 
 1 Upon my word, sir,’ answered Booth, 1 you consulted 
 your wife’s inclinations very notably; but pray will you 
 satisfy my curiosity in telling me how you became acquainted 
 that I was in the army 1 for my dress I think could not be¬ 
 tray me.’ 
 
 ‘ Betray ! ’ replied the keeper ; ‘ there is no betraying here, 
 I hope—I am not a person to betray people-—But you are 
 so shy and peery, you would almost make one suspect there 
 was more in the matter. And if there be, I promise you, 
 you need not be afraid of telling it me. You will excuse 
 me giving you a hint \ but the sooner the better, that s all. 
 Others may be beforehand with you, and first come first 
 served on these occasions, that’s all. Informers are odious, 
 there’s no doubt of that, and no one would care to be an 
 informer if he could help it, because of the ill-usage they 
 always receive from the mob : yet it is dangerous to trust 
 too much; and when safety and a good part of the reward 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 86 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 too are on one side and tlie gallows on the other—I know 
 which a wise man would choose.’ ’ 
 
 ‘ What the devil do you mean by all this h ’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘No offence, I hope,’answered the keeper: ‘ I speak for 
 your good ; and if you have been upon the snaffling lay— 
 you understand me, I am sure.’ 
 
 ‘ Not I,’ answered Booth, ‘ upon my honour.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, nay,’ replied the keeper, with a contemptuous 
 sneer, ‘ if you are so peery as that comes to, you must take 
 the consequence.—But for my part, I knoAV I would not 
 trust Robinson with twopence untold.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean ? ’ cries Booth ; ‘ who is Robinson % ’ 
 
 ‘ And you don’t know Robinson ! ’ answered the keeper 
 with great emotion. To which Booth replying in the nega¬ 
 tive, the keeper, after some tokens of amazement, cried out, 
 
 ‘ Well, captain, I must say you are the best at it of all the 
 gentlemen I ever saw. However, I will tell you this : the 
 lawyer and Mr Robinson have been laying their heads to¬ 
 gether about you above half an hour this afternoon. I 
 overheard them mention Captain Booth several times, and, 
 for my part, I would not answer that Mr Murphy is not now 
 gone about the business ; but if you will impeach any to 
 me of the road, or anything else, I will step away to his 
 worship Thrasher this instant, and I am sure I have interest 
 enough with him to get you admitted an evidence.’ 
 
 ‘ And so,’ cries Booth, ‘ you really take me for a highway¬ 
 man 1 ’ 
 
 ‘No offence, captain, I hope,’ said the keeper; ‘as times 
 go, there are many worse men in the world than those. 
 Gentlemen may be driven to distress, and when they are, I 
 know no more genteeler way than the road. It hath been 
 many a brave man’s case, to my knowledge, and men of as 
 much honour too as any in the world.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, sir,’ said Booth, ‘ I assure you I am not that 
 gentleman of honour you imagine me.’ 
 
 Miss Matthews, who had long understood the keeper no 
 better than Mr Booth, no sooner heard his meaning explained 
 than she was fired with greater indignation than the gentle¬ 
 man had expressed. ‘ How dare you, sir,’ said she to the 
 keeper, ‘ insult a man of fashion, and who hath had the 
 honour to bear his majesty’s commission in the army \ as you 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 87 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 vou yourself own you know. If liis misfortunes liave sent 
 him hither, sure we have no laws that will protect such a 
 fellow as you in insulting him.’ ‘ Fellow ! ’ muttered the 
 keeper—‘ I would not advise you, madam, to use such 
 language to me.’—‘ Do you dare threaten me ? ’ replied Miss 
 Matthews in a rage. * Venture in the least instance to 
 exceed your authority with regard to me, and I will prose¬ 
 cute you with the utmost vengeance.’ 
 
 A scene of very high altercation now ensued, till Booth 
 interposed and quieted the-keeper, who was, perhaps, enough 
 inclined to an accommodation; for, in truth, he Avaged un¬ 
 equal war. He was besides unwilling to incense Miss Mat¬ 
 thews, whom he expected to be bailed out the next day, 
 and who had more money left than he intended she should 
 carry out of the prison Avith her ; and as for any violent or 
 unjustifiable methods, the lady had discovered much too great 
 a spirit to be in danger of them. The governor, therefore, 
 in a very gentle tone, declared that, if he had given any 
 offence to the gentleman, he heartily asked his pardon; 
 that, if he had known him to be really a captain, he 
 should not have entertained any such suspicions ; but 
 the captain was a very common title in that place, and 
 belonged to several gentlemen that had never been in 
 the army, or, at most, had rid private like himself. Io 
 be sure, captain,’ said lie, ‘ as you yourself oavii, your dress 
 is not very military ’ (for he had on a plain fustian suit) ; 
 and besides, as the laAvyer says, noscitur a sosir, is a very 
 good rule. And I don’t believe there is a greater rascal upon 
 earth than that same Bobinson that I was talking of. Nay, 
 I assure you, I Avish there may be no mischief hatching 
 against you. But if there is I Avill do all I can with ^ the 
 lawyer to prevent it. To be sure, Mr Murphy is one of the 
 cleverest men in the Avorld at the larv ; that even his enemies 
 must oavii, and as I recommend him to all the business I can 
 (and it is not a little to be sure that arises in this place), AAdiy 
 one good turn deserves another. And I may expect that he 
 will not be concerned in any plot to ruin any friend of mine, 
 at least Avhen I desire him not. I am sure he could not be 
 an honest man if he Avould.’ 
 
 Booth Avas then satisfied that Mr Bobinson, Avhom he did 
 not yet know by name, Avas the gamester who had Avon his 
 
88 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk II. 
 
 money at play. And now Miss Matthews, who had very 
 impatiently borne this long interruption, jDrevailed on the 
 keeper to withdraw. As soon as he was gone Mr Booth be¬ 
 gan to felicitate her upon the news of the wounded gentle¬ 
 man being in a fair likelihood of recovery. To which, after 
 a short silence, she answered, 4 There is something, perhaps, 
 which you will not easily guess, that makes your congratu¬ 
 lations more agreeable to me than the first account I heard 
 of the villain’s having escaped the fate he deserves ; for I do 
 assure you, at first, it did not make me amends for the inter¬ 
 ruption of my curiosity. Now I hope we shall be disturbed 
 no more till you have finished your whole story.—You left 
 off, I think, somewhere in the struggle about leaving Amelia, 
 —the happy Amelia.’ 4 And can you call her happy at such 
 a period ] ’ cries Booth. 4 Happy, ay, happy, in any situation,’ 
 answered Miss Matthews, 4 with such a husband. I, at least, 
 may well think so, who have experienced the very reverse 
 of her fortune ; but I was not born to be happy. I may say 
 with the poet, 
 
 4 The blackest ink of fate was sure my lot, 
 
 And when fate writ my name, it made a blot.’ 
 
 4 Nay, nay, dear Miss Matthews,’ answered Booth, 4 you 
 must and shall banish such gloomy thoughts. Bate hath, I 
 hope, many happy days in store for you .’— 4 Ho you believe 
 it, Mr Booth % ’ replied she ; 4 indeed you know the contrary 
 —you must know—for you can’t have forgot. No Amelia 
 in the world can have quite obliterated—forgetfulness is not 
 in our own power. If it was, indeed, I have reason to think 
 —but I know not what I am saying.—Pray do proceed in 
 that story.’ 
 
 Booth so immediately complied with this request that it is 
 possible he was pleased with it. To say the truth, if all 
 which unwittingly dropt from Miss Matthews was put to¬ 
 gether, some conclusions might, it seems, be drawn from the 
 whole, which could not convey a very agreeable idea to a 
 constant husband. Booth, therefore, proceeded to relate 
 what is written in the third book of this history. 
 
CH. 1.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 89 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN WHICH ME BOOTH KESTJMES HIS STOEY. 
 
 4 If I am not mistaken, madam,’ continued Booth, 4 1 was 
 just going to acquaint you with the doctor’s opinion when 
 we were interrupted by the keeper. 
 
 4 The doctor, having heard counsel on both sides, that is 
 to say, Mrs Harris for my staying, and Miss Betty for my 
 going, at last delivered his own sentiments. As for Amelia, 
 she sat silent, drowned in her tears; nor was I myself in a 
 much better situation. 
 
 4 44 As the commissions are not signed,” said the doctor, 
 44 1 think you may he said to remain in your former regiment; 
 and therefore I think you ought to go on this expedition; 
 your duty to your king and country, whose bread you have 
 eaten, requires it; and this is a duty of too high a nature to 
 admit the least deficiency. Regard to your character, like¬ 
 wise, requires you to go ; for the world, which might justly 
 blame your staying at home if the case was even fairly stated, 
 will not deal so honestly by you : you must expect to have 
 every circumstance against you heightened, and most of what 
 makes for your defence omitted; and thus you will be. stig¬ 
 matized as a coward without any palliation. As the malicious 
 disposition of mankind is too well known, and the cruel 
 pleasure which they take in destroying the reputations of 
 others, the use we are to make of this knowledge is to ailord 
 no handle to reproach ; for, had as the world is, it seldom 
 falls on any man who hath not given some slight cause for 
 
90 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 censure, though this, perhaps, is often aggravated ten thou¬ 
 sand-fold ; and, when we blame the malice of the aggravation 
 we ought not to forget our own imprudence in giving the 
 occasion. Remember, my boy, your honour is at stake; and 
 you know how nice the honour of a soldier is in these cases. 
 This is a treasure which he must be your enemy, indeed, who 
 would attempt to rob you of. Therefore, you ought to con¬ 
 sider every one as your enemy who, by desiring you to stay, 
 would rob you of your honour.” 
 
 ‘ “ Do you hear that, sister 1” cries Miss Betty.—“ Yes, I 
 do hear it,” answered Amelia, with more spirit than I ever 
 saw her exert before, “ and would preserve his honour at the 
 expense of my life. I will preserve it if it should be at that 
 expense ; and since it is Dr Harrison’s opinion that he ought 
 to go, I give my consent. Go, my dear husband,” cried she, 
 falling upon her knees ; “ may every angel of heaven guard 
 and preserve you ! ”—I cannot repeat her words without 
 being affected,’ said he, wiping his eyes, ‘the excellence of that 
 woman no words can paint-: Miss Matthews, she hath every 
 perfection in human nature. 
 
 ‘ I will not tire you with the repetition of any more that 
 passed on that occasion, nor with the quarrel that ensued 
 between Mrs Harris and the doctor; for the old lady could 
 not submit to my leaving her daughter in her present con¬ 
 dition. She fell severely on the army, and cursed the day 
 in which her daughter was married to a soldier, not sparing 
 the doctor for having had some share in the match. I will 
 omit, likewise, the tender scene which passed between Amelia 
 and myself previous to my departure.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I beg you will not,’ cries Miss Matthews ; 1 no- 
 thinsr delights me more than scenes of tenderness. I should 
 be glad to know, if possible, every syllable which was uttered 
 on both sides.’ 
 
 ‘ I will indulge you then,’ cries Booth, ‘ as far as is in my 
 power. Indeed, 1 believe I am able to recollect much the 
 greatest part; for the impression is never to be effaced from 
 my memory.’ 
 
 He then proceeded as Miss Matthews desired ; but, lest all 
 our readers should not be of her opinion, we will, according 
 to our usual custom, endeavour to accommodate ourselves to 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 91 
 
 every taste, and shall, therefore, place this scene in a chapter 
 by itself, which we desire all our readers who do not love, or 
 who, perhaps, do not know the pleasure of tenderness, to 
 pass over ; since they may do this without any prejudice to 
 the thread of the narrative. 
 
92 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONTAINING A SCENE OE THE TENDER KIND. 
 
 1 The doctor, madam/ continued Booth, 1 spent his evening 
 at Mrs Harris’s house, where I sat with hint whilst he smoked 
 his pillow pipe, as his phrase is. Amelia was retired about 
 half an hour to her chamber before I went to her. At my 
 entrance I found her on her knees*, a posture in which I never 
 disturbed her. In a few minutes she arose, came to me, and 
 embracing me, said she had been praying for resolution to 
 support the cruellest moment she had ever undergone or 
 could possibly undergo. I reminded her how much more 
 bitter a farewell would be on a death-bed, when we never 
 could meet, in this world at least, again. I then endeavoured 
 to lessen all those objects which alarmed her most, and par¬ 
 ticularly the danger I was to encounter, upon which head I 
 seemed a little to comfort her; but the probable length of 
 my absence and the certain length of my voyage were cir¬ 
 cumstances which no oratory of mine could even palliate. 
 “ 0 heavens ! ” said she, bursting into tears, “ can I bear to 
 think that hundreds, thousands for aught I know, of miles 
 or leagues, that lands and seas are between us 1 What is the 
 prospect from that mount in our garden where I have sat so 
 many happy hours with my Billy 1 what is the distance be¬ 
 tween that and the farthest hill which we see from thence 
 compared to the distance which will be between us 1 You 
 cannot wondei at this idea; you must remember, my Billy, 
 at this place, this very thought came formerly into my fore¬ 
 boding mind. I then begged you to leave the army. Why 
 would you not comply ?—did I not tell you then that the 
 smallest cottage we could survey from the mount would be, 
 with you, a paradise to me ? it would be so still—why can’t 
 my Billy think so ? am I so much his superior in love 1 
 where is the dishonour, Billy ? or, if there be any, will it 
 reach our ears in our little hut ] are glory and fame, and not 
 his Amelia, the happiness of my husband ? go then, purchase 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 93 
 
 them at my expense. Yon will pay a few sighs, perhaps a 
 few tears, at parting, and then new scenes will drive away 
 the thoughts of poor Amelia from your bosom; but what 
 assistance shall I have in my affliction ? not that any change 
 of scene could drive you one moment from my remembrance; 
 yet here every object I behold will place your loved idea in 
 the liveliest manner before my eyes. This is the bed in 
 which you have reposed ; that is the chair on which you sat. 
 Upon these boards you have stood. These books you have 
 read to me. Can I walk among our beds of flowers without 
 viewing your favourites, nay, those which you have planted 
 with your own hands ? can I see one beauty from our be¬ 
 loved mount which you have not pointed out to me 1 ”— 
 Thus she went on, the woman, madam, you see, still prevail¬ 
 ing.’—‘ Since you mention it,’ says Miss Matthews, with a 
 smile, 1 I own the same observation occurred to me. It is 
 too natural to us to consider ourselves only, Mr Booth.’— 
 1 You shall hear,’ he cried. ‘At last the thoughts of her 
 present condition suggested themselves .—“ But if,” said she, 
 “ my situation, even in health, will be so intolerable, how 
 shall I, in the danger and agonies of childbirth, support your 
 absence 1 ”—Hero she stopt, and, looking on me with all the 
 tenderness imaginable, cried out, “ And am I then such a 
 wretch to wish for your presence at such a season 1 ought I 
 not to rejoice that you are out of the hearing of my cries or 
 the knowledge of my pains ? if I die, will you not have 
 escaped the horrors of a parting ten thousand times more 
 dreadful than this 1 Go, go my Billy; the very circumstance 
 which made me most dread your departure hath perfectly 
 reconciled me to it. I perceive clearly now that I was only 
 wishing to support my own weakness with your strength, 
 and to relieve my own pains at the price of yours. Believe 
 me, my love, I am ashamed of myself.”—I caught her in my 
 arms with raptures not to be exprest in words, called her my 
 heroine ; sure none ever better deserved that name ; after 
 which we remained for some time speechless, and locked in 
 each other’s embraces .’—‘ I am convinced,’ said Miss Mat¬ 
 thews, with a sigh, 4 there are moments in life worth pur¬ 
 chasing with worlds.’ 
 
 ‘ At length the fatal morning came. I endeavoured to 
 hide every pang of my heart, and to wear the utmost gaiety 
 
94 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 in my countenance. Amelia acted the same part. In these 
 assumed characters we met the family at breakfast; at their 
 breakfast, I mean, for we were both full already. The doctor 
 had spent above an hour that morning in discourse with Mrs 
 Harris, and had, in some measure, reconciled her to my de¬ 
 parture. He now made use of every art to relieve the poor 
 distressed Amelia; not by inveighing against the folly of grief, 
 or by seriously advising her not to grieve ; both of which 
 were sufficiently performed by Miss Betty. The doctor, on 
 the contrary, had recourse to every means which might cast 
 a veil over the idea of grief, and raise comfortable images in 
 my angel’s mind. He endeavoured to lessen the supposed 
 length of my absence by discoursing on matters which were 
 more distant in time. He said he intended next year to re¬ 
 build a part of his parsonage-house. “ And you, captain,” 
 says he, “ shall lay the corner-stone, I promise you : ” with 
 many other circumstances of the like nature, which produced, 
 I believe, some good effect on us both. 
 
 4 Amelia spoke but little ; indeed, more tears than words 
 dropt from her; however, she seemed resolved to bear her 
 affliction with resignation. But when the dreadful news ar¬ 
 rived that the horses were ready, and I, having taken my 
 leave of all the rest, at last approached her, she was unable 
 to support the conflict with nature any longer, and, clinging 
 round my neck, she cried, “ Farewell, farewell for ever ; for 
 I shall never, never see you more.” At which words the 
 blood entirely forsook her lovely cheeks, and she became a 
 lifeless corpse in my arms. 
 
 4 Amelia continued so long motionless, that the doctor, as 
 'well as Mrs Harris, began to be under the most terrible ap¬ 
 prehensions ; so they informed me afterwards, for at that 
 time I was incapable of making any observation. I had in¬ 
 deed very little more use of my senses than the dear creature 
 whom I supported. At length, however, we were all deli¬ 
 vered from our fears; and life again visited the loveliest man¬ 
 sion that human nature ever afforded it. 
 
 4 I had been, and yet was, so terrified with what had 
 happened, and Amelia continued yet so weak and ill, that I 
 determined, whatever might be the consequence, not to leave 
 her that day ; which resolution she was no sooner acquainted 
 with than she fell on her knees, crying, “ Good Heaven ! I 
 
cn. il] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 95 
 
 tliank thee for this reprieve at least. Oh ! that every hour of 
 my future life could he crammed into this dear day ! ” 
 
 ‘ Our good friend the doctor remained with us. He said 
 he had intended to visit a family in some affliction; “ but I 
 don’t know,” says he, “ Avhy I should ride a dozen miles after 
 affliction, when we have enough here.” Of all mankind the 
 doctor is the best of comforters. As his excessive good¬ 
 nature makes him take vast delight in the office, so his great 
 penetration into the human mind, joined to his great ex¬ 
 perience, renders him tire most wonderful proficient in it; 
 and he so well knows when to soothe, when to reason, and 
 when to ridicule, that he never applies any of those arts im¬ 
 properly, which is almost universally the case with the 
 physicians of the mind, and which it requires very great 
 judgment and dexterity to avoid. 
 
 ‘ The doctor principally applied himself to ridiculing the 
 dangers of the siege, in which he succeeded so well, that he 
 sometimes forced a smile even into the face of Amelia. But 
 what most comforted her were the arguments he used to 
 convince her of the probability of my speedy if not imme¬ 
 diate return. He said the general opinion was that the 
 place would be taken before our arrival there; in which case 
 we should have nothing more to do than to make the best of 
 our way home again. 
 
 ‘Amelia was so lulled by these arts that she passed the 
 day much better than I expected. Though the doctor could 
 not make pride strong enough to conquer love, yet he exalted 
 the former to make some stand against the latter; insomuch 
 that my poor Amelia, I believe, more than once flattered 
 herself, to speak the language of the world, that her reason 
 had gained an entire victory over her passion; till love 
 brought up a reinforcement, if I may use that term, of tender 
 ideas, and bore down all before him. 
 
 ‘ In the evening the doctor and I passed another half-hour 
 together, when he proposed to me to endeavour to leave 
 Amelia asleep in the morning, and promised me to be at 
 hand when she awaked, and to support her with all the 
 assistance in his power. He added that nothing was more 
 foolish than for friends to take leave of each other. It is 
 true, indeed, says he, in the common acquaintance and 
 friendship of the world, this is a very harmless ceremony ; 
 
06 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 but between two persons who really love each other the 
 church of Rome never invented a penance half so severe as 
 this which we absurdly impose on ourselves. 
 
 ‘ I greatly approved the doctor’s proposal; thanked him, 
 and promised, if possible, to put it in execution. He then 
 shook me by the hand, and heartily wished me well, saying, 
 in his blunt way, “ Well, boy, I hope to see thee crowned 
 with laurels at thy return ; one comfort I have at least, that 
 stone walls and a sea will prevent thee from running 
 away.” 
 
 ‘ When I had left the doctor I repaired to my Amelia, 
 v T hom I found in her chamber, employed in a very different 
 manner from what she had been the preceding night; she 
 was busy in packing up some trinkets in a casket, which 
 she desired me to carry with me. This casket was her own 
 work, and she had just fastened it as I came to her. 
 
 ‘ Her eyes very plainly discovered what had passed while 
 she w r as engaged in her work : however^ her countenance was 
 now serene, and she spoke, at least, with some cheerfulness. 
 But after some time, u You must take care of this casket, 
 Billy,” said she. “ You must, indeed, Billy—for—” here 
 passion almost choked her, till a flood of tears gave her 
 relief, and then she proceeded—“ For I shall be the happiest 
 woman that ever was born when I see it again.” I told her, 
 with the blessing of God, that day would soon come. 
 “ Soon! ” answered she. “ Ho, Billy, not soon ; a week is 
 an age;—but yet the happy day may come. It shall, it 
 must, it will! Yes, Billy, we shall meet never to part 
 again, even in this world, I hope.” Pardon my weakness, 
 Miss Matthews, but upon my soul I cannot help it,’ cried he, 
 wiping his eyes. 4 Well, I wonder at your patience, and I 
 will try it no longer. Amelia, tired out with so long a 
 struggle between variety of passions, and having not closed 
 her eyes during three successive nights, towards the morning 
 fell into a profound sleep. In which sleep I left her, and, 
 having drest myself with all the expedition imaginable, 
 singing, whistling, hurrying, attempting by every method to 
 banish thought, I mounted my horse, which I had over¬ 
 night ordered to be ready, and galloped away from that 
 house where all my treasure was deposited. 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 97 
 
 * Thus, madam, I have, in obedience to your commands, 
 run through a scene which, if it hath been tiresome to you, 
 you must yet acquit me of having obtruded upon you. This 
 I am convinced of, that no one is capable of tasting such a 
 scene who hath not a heart full of tenderness, and perhaps 
 not even then, unless he hath been in the same situation.’ 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN WIIICII MR BOOTH SETS FORWARD ON HIS JOURNEY. 
 
 ‘ Well, madam, we have now taken our leave of Amelia 
 I rode a full mile before I once suffered myself to look back ; 
 but now being come to the top of a little bill, the last spot 
 I knew which could give me a prospect of Mrs Harris’s bouse, 
 my resolution failed : I stopped and cast my eyes backward. 
 Shall I tell you what I felt in that instant 1 I do assure you 
 I am not able. So many tender ideas crowded at once into 
 my mind, that, if I may use the expression, they almost 
 dissolved my heart. And now, madam, the most unfortunate 
 accident came first into my bead. This was, that I bad in 
 the burry and confusion left the dear casket behind me. 
 The thought of going back at first suggested itself; but the 
 consequences of that were too apparent. I therefore re¬ 
 solved to send my man, and in the mean time to ride on 
 softly on my road. He immediately executed my orders, 
 and after some time, feeding my eyes with that delicious 
 and yet heartfelt prospect, I at last turned my horse to 
 descend the hill, and proceeded about a hundred yards, 
 when, considering with myself that I should lose no time 
 by a second indulgence, I again turned back, and once more 
 feasted my sight with the same painful pleasure till my man 
 returned, bringing me the casket, and an account that Amelia 
 still continued in the sweet sleep I left her. I now suddenly 
 turned my horse for the last time, and with the utmost reso¬ 
 lution pursued my journey. 
 
 1 1 perceived my man at his return,—But before I mention 
 anything of him it may be proper, madam, to acquaint you 
 who he was. He was the foster-brother of my Amelia. 
 This young fellow had taken it into his head to go into the 
 army; and be was desirous to serve under my commandv 
 The doctor consented to discharge him ; his mother at last 
 consented to his importunities, and I was very easily pre¬ 
 vailed on to list one of the handsomest young fellows in 
 England. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 00 
 
 CH. HI.] 
 
 ‘ You will easily believe I bad some little partiality to one 
 whose milk Amelia had sucked; but, as he had never seen 
 the regiment, I had no opportunity to show him any great 
 mark of favour. Indeed he waited on me as my servant; 
 and I treated him with all the tenderness which can be used 
 to one in that station. 
 
 ‘ When I was about to change into the horse-guards the 
 poor fellow began to droop, fearing that he should no longer 
 be in the same corps with me, though certainly that would 
 not have been the case. However, lie had never mentioned 
 one word of his dissatisfaction. He is indeed a fellow of a 
 noble spirit; but when he heard that I was to remain where 
 I was, and that we were to go to Gibraltar together, he fell 
 into transports of joy little short of madness. In short, 
 the poor fellow had imbibed a very strong affection for me; 
 though this was what I knew nothing of till long after. 
 
 f When he returned to me then, as I was saying, with the 
 casket, I observed his eyes all over blubbered with tears. I 
 rebuked him a little too rashly on this occasion. “ Heyday ! ” 
 says I, “ what is the meaning of this ? I hope I have not a 
 milk-sop with me. If I thought you would show such a 
 face to the enemy I would leave you behind/'—“ Your 
 honour need not fear that, answered he ; I shall find nobody 
 there that I shall love well enough to make me cry.” I was 
 highly pleased with this answer, in which I thought I could 
 discover both sense and spirit. I then asked him what had 
 occasioned those tears since he had left me (for he had no 
 sign of any at that time), and whether he had seen his 
 mother at Mrs Harris’s 1 He answered in the negative, and 
 begged that I would ask him no more questions ) adding 
 that he was not very apt to cry, and he hoped he should 
 never give me such another opportunity of blaming him. 
 I mention this only as an instance of his affection towards 
 me ; for I never could account for those tears any otherwise 
 than by placing them to the account of that distress in 
 which he left me at that time. We travelled full forty 
 miles that day without baiting, when, arriving at the inn 
 where I intended to rest that night, I retired immediately 
 to my chamber, with my dear Amelia’s casket, the opening 
 of which was the nicest repast, and to which every other 
 hunger gave way. 
 
100 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ BK III. 
 
 1 It is impossible to mention to you all the little matters 
 with which Amelia had furnished this casket. It contained 
 medicines of all kinds, which her mother, who was the lady 
 Bountiful of that country, had supplied her with. The 
 most valuable of all to me was a lock of her dear hair, which 
 I have from that time to this worn in my bosom. What 
 would I have then given for a little picture of my dear 
 angel, which she had lost from her chamber about a month 
 before ! and which we had the highest reason in the world 
 to imagine her sister had taken away \ for the suspicion lay 
 only between her and Amelia’s maid, who was of all creatures 
 the honestest, and whom her mistress had often trusted with 
 things of much greater value ; for the picture, which was 
 set in gold, and had two or three little diamonds round it, 
 was worth about twelve guineas only ; whereas Amelia left 
 jewels in her care of much greater value.’ 
 
 ‘ Sure,’ cries Miss Matthews, ‘ she could not be such a 
 paltry pilferer.’ 
 
 ‘ Not on account of the gold or the jewels,’ cries Booth. 
 1 We imputed it to mere spite, with which, I assure you, she 
 abounds ) and she knew that, next to Amelia herself, there 
 was nothing which I valued so much as this little picture ] 
 for such a resemblance did it bear of the original, that 
 Hogarth himself did never, I believe, draw a stronger like¬ 
 ness. Spite, therefore, was the only motive to this cruel 
 depredation \ and indeed her behaviour on the occasion 
 sufficiently convinced us both of the justice of our suspicion, 
 though we neither of us durst accuse her \ and she herself 
 had the assurance to insist very strongly (though she could 
 not prevail) with Amelia to turn away her innocent maid, 
 saying, she would not live in the house with a thief.’ 
 
 Miss Matthews now discharged some curses on Miss Betty, 
 not much worth repeating, and then Mr Booth proceeded in 
 his relation. 
 
OH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTEB IV. 
 
 A SEA PIECE. 
 
 * The next day we joined the regiment, which was soon after 
 to embark. Nothing but' mirth and jollity were in the 
 countenance of every officer and soldier \ and as I now met 
 several friends whom I had not seen for above a year before, 
 I passed several happy hours, in which poor Amelia’s image 
 seldom obtruded itself to interrupt my pleasure. To confess 
 the truth, dear Miss Matthews, the tenderest of passions is 
 capable of subsiding; nor is absence from our dearest friends 
 so insupportable as it may at first appear. Distance of time 
 and place do really cure what they seem to aggravate ; and 
 taking leave of our friends resembles taking leave of the 
 world; concerning which it hath been often said that it is 
 not death, but dying, which is terrible.’ — Here Miss 
 Matthews burst into a fit of laughter, and cried, ‘ I sincerely 
 ask your pardon ; but I cannot help laughing at the gravity 
 of your philosophy.’ Booth answered, That the doctrine of 
 the passions had been always his favourite study; that he 
 was convinced every man acted entirely from that passion 
 which was uppermost. ‘ Can I then think,’ said he, ‘ with¬ 
 out entertaining the utmost contempt for myself, that any 
 pleasure upon earth could drive the thoughts of Amelia one 
 instant from my mind ] 
 
 ‘ At length we embarked aboard a transport, and sailed 
 for Gibraltar; but the wind, which was at first fair, soon 
 chopped about; so that we were obliged, for several days, 
 to beat to windward, as the sea phrase is. During this time 
 the taste which I had of a seafaring life did not appear 
 extremely agreeable. We rolled up and down in a little 
 narrow cabin, in which were three officers, all of us extremely 
 sea-sick ; our sickness being much aggravated by the motion 
 of the ship, by the view of each other, and by the stench 
 of the men. But this was but a little taste indeed of the 
 misery which was to follow; for we were got about six 
 
102 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 leagues to the westward of Scilly, when a violent storm 
 arose at north-east, which soon raised the waves to the 
 height of mountains. The horror of this is not to be ade¬ 
 quately described to those who have never seen the like. 
 The storm began in the evening, and, as the clouds brought 
 on the night apace, it was soon entirely dark; nor had we, 
 during many hours, any other light than what was caused 
 by the jarring elements, which frequently sent forth flashes, 
 or rather streams of fire ; and whilst these presented the 
 most dreadful objects to our eyes, the roaring of the winds, 
 the dashing of the waves against the ship and each other, 
 formed a sound altogether as horrible for our ears ; while 
 our ship, sometimes lifted up, as it were, to the skies, and 
 sometimes swept away at once as into the lowest abyss, 
 seemed to be the sport of the winds and seas. The captain 
 himself almost gave up all for lost, and exprest his appre¬ 
 hension of being inevitably cast on the rocks of Scilly, and 
 beat to pieces. And now, while some on board were ad¬ 
 dressing themselves to the Supreme Being, and others ap¬ 
 plying for comfort to strong liquors, my whole thoughts were 
 entirely engaged by my Amelia. A thousand tender ideas 
 crowded into my mind. I can truly say that I had not a single 
 consideration about myself in which she was not concerned. 
 Dying to me was leaving her; and the fear of never 
 seeing her more was a dagger stuck in my heart. Again, 
 all the terrors with which this storm, if it reached her ears, 
 must fill her gentle mind on my account, and the agonies 
 which she must undergo when she heard of my fate, gave me 
 such intolerable pangs, that I now repented my resolution, 
 and wished, I own I wished, that I had taken her advice, 
 and preferred love and a cottage to all the dazzling charms 
 of honour. 
 
 ‘ While I was tormenting myself with those meditations, 
 and had concluded myself as certainly lost, the master came 
 into the cabin, and with a cheerful voice assured us that we 
 had escaped the danger, and that we had certainly passed to 
 the westward of the rock. This was comfortable news to all 
 present; and my captain, who had been some time on his 
 knees, leapt suddenly up, and testified his joy with a great 
 oath. 
 
 ‘ A person unused to the sea would have been astonished 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 103 
 
 cn. iv.] 
 
 at the satisfaction which now discovered itself in the master 
 or in any on board ; for the storm still raged with great vio¬ 
 lence, and the daylight, which now appeared, presented us 
 with sights of horror sufficient to terrify minds which were 
 not absolute slaves to the passion of fear; but so great is the 
 force of habit, that what inspires a landman with the highest 
 apprehension of danger gives not the least concern to a sailor, 
 to whom rocks and quicksands are almost the only objects 
 of terror. 
 
 ‘ The master, however, was a little mistaken in the pre¬ 
 sent instance ; for he had not left the cabin above an hour 
 before my man came running to me, and acquainted me that 
 the ship was half full of water; that the sailors were going 
 to hoist out the boat and save themselves, and begged me to 
 come' that moment along with him, as I tendered my preserv¬ 
 ation. With this account, which was conveyed to me in a 
 whisper, I acquainted both the captain and ensign \ and we 
 all together immediately mounted the deck, where we found 
 the master making use of all his oratory to persuade the 
 sailors that the ship was in no danger ; and at the same time 
 employing all his authority to set the pumps a-going, which 
 he assured them would keep the water under, and save his 
 dear Lovely Peggy (for that was the name of the ship), which 
 he swore he loved as dearly as his own soul. 
 
 £ Indeed this sufficiently appeared ; for the leak was so 
 great, and the water flowed in so plentifully, that his Lovely 
 Peggy was half filled before he could be brought to think of 
 quitting her ; but now the boat was brought alongside the 
 ship, and the master himself, notwithstanding all his love 
 for her, quitted his ship, and leapt into the boat. Every 
 man present attempted to follow his example, when I heard 
 the voice of my servant roaring forth my name in a kind of 
 agony. I made directly to the ship-side, but was too late; 
 for the boat, being already overladen, put directly ofl. And 
 now, madam, I am going to relate to you an instance ol he¬ 
 roic affection in a poor fellow towards his master, to which 
 love itself, even among persons of superior education, can pro¬ 
 duce but few similar instances. My poor man, being unable 
 to get me with him into the boat, leapt suddenly into the 
 sea, and swam back to the ship ; and, when I gently rebuked 
 him for his rashness, he answered, lie chose rather to die with 
 
104 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 me than to live to carry the account of my death to my 
 Amelia : at the same time bursting into a flood of tears, he 
 cried, “ Good Heavens ! what will that poor lady feel when 
 she hears of this ! ” This tender concern for my dear 
 love endeared the poor fellow more to me than the gallant 
 instance which he had just before given of his affection to¬ 
 wards myself. 
 
 ‘ And now, madam, my eyes were shocked with a sight, 
 the horror of which can scarce be imagined ; for the boat had 
 scarce got four hundred yards from the ship when it was 
 swallowed up by the merciless waves, which now ran so high, 
 that out of the number of persons which were in the boat 
 none recovered the ship, though many of them we saw miser¬ 
 ably perish before our eyes, some of them very near us, 
 without any possibility of giving them the least assistance. 
 
 ‘ But, whatever we felt for them, we felt, I believe, more 
 for ourselves, expecting every minute when we should share 
 the same fate. Among the rest, one of our officers appeared 
 quite stupified with fear. I never, indeed, saw a more miser¬ 
 able example of the great power of that passion: I must 
 not, however, omit doing him justice, by saying that I after¬ 
 wards saw the same man behave well in an engagement, in 
 which he was wounded; though there likewise he was said 
 to have betrayed the same passion of fear in his counte¬ 
 nance. 
 
 ‘ The other of our officers was no less stupified (if I may 
 so express myself) with fool-liardiness, and seemed almost 
 insensible of his danger. To say the truth, I have, from this 
 and some other instances which I have seen, been almost in¬ 
 clined to think that the courage as well as cowardice of fools 
 proceeds from not knowing what is or what is not the proper 
 object of fear; indeed, we may account for the extreme 
 hardiness of some men in the same manner as for the terrors 
 of children at a bugbear. The child knows not but that the 
 bugbear is the proper object of fear, the blockhead knows 
 not that a cannon-ball is so. 
 
 1 As to the remaining part of the ship’s crew and the sol¬ 
 diery, most of them were dead drunk, and the rest were en¬ 
 deavouring, as fast as they could, to prepare for death in the 
 same manner. 
 
 ‘ In this dreadful situation we were taught that no human 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 105 
 
 condition sliould inspire men with absolute despair; for, as 
 the storm had ceased for some time, the swelling of the sea 
 began considerably to abate ; and we now perceived the man 
 of war which convoyed us, at no great distance astern. 
 Those aboard her easily perceived our distress, and made to¬ 
 wards us. When they came pretty near they hoisted out 
 two boats to our assistance. These no sooner approached 
 the ship than they were instantaneously filled, and I myself 
 got a place in one of them, chiefly by the aid of my honest 
 servant, of whose fidelity to me on all occasions I cannot 
 speak or think too highly. Indeed, I got into the boat so 
 much the more easily, as a great number on board the ship 
 were rendered, by drink, incapable of taking any care for 
 themselves. There was time, however, for the boat to pass 
 and repass ; so that, when we came to call over names, three 
 only, of all that remained in the ship after the loss of her 
 own boat, were missing. 
 
 ‘ The captain, ensign, and myself, were received with many 
 congratulations by our officers on board the man of war.— 
 The sea-officers too, all except the captain, paid us their 
 compliments, though these were of the rougher kind, and 
 not without several jokes on our escape. As for the 
 captain himself, we scarce saw him during many hours ; 
 and, when he appeared, he presented a view of majesty 
 beyond any that I had ever seen. The dignity which he 
 preserved did indeed give me rather the idea of a Mogul, 
 or a Turkish emperor, than of any of the monarchs of Christ¬ 
 endom. To say the truth, I could resemble his walk on the 
 ’ deck to nothing but the image of Captain Gulliver strutting 
 among the Lilliputians; he seemed to think himself a being 
 of an order superior to all around him, and more especially 
 to us of the land service. Hay, such was the behaviour of 
 all the sea-officers and sailors to us and our soldiers, that, in¬ 
 stead of appearing to be subjects of the same prince, engaged 
 in one quarrel, and joined to support one cause, we landsmen 
 rather seemed to be captives on board an enemy’s vessel. 
 This is a grievous misfortune, and often proves so fatal to 
 the service, that it is great pity some means could not be 
 found of curing it.’ 
 
 Here Mr Booth stopt a while to take breath. We will 
 therefore give the same refreshment to the reader. 
 
106 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [be III. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF BOOTH AT GIBRALTAR, WITH WHAT 
 
 THERE BEFEL HIM. 
 
 4 The adventures/ continued Booth, 4 which happened to 
 me from this day till my arrival at Gibraltar are not worth 
 recounting to you. After a voyage the remainder of which 
 was tolerably prosperous, we arrived in that garrison, the na¬ 
 tural strength of which is so well known to the whole world. 
 
 4 About a week after my arrival it was my fortune to be 
 ordered on a sally party, in which my left leg was broke 
 with a musket-bah ; and I should most certainly have either 
 perished miserably, or must have owed my preservation to 
 some of the enemy, had not my faithful servant carried me 
 off on his shoulders, and afterwards, with the assistance of 
 one of his comrades, brought me back into the garrison. 
 
 4 The agony of my wound was so great, that it threw me 
 into a fever, from whence my surgeon apprehended much 
 danger. I now began again to feel for my Amelia, and for 
 myself on her account; and the disorder of my mind, occa¬ 
 sioned by such melancholy contemplations, very highly ag¬ 
 gravated the distemper of my body; insomuch that it would 
 probably have proved fatal, had it not been for the friend- ' 
 ship of one Captain James, an officer of our regiment, and an 
 old acquaintance, who is undoubtedly one of the pleasantest 
 companions and one of the best-natured men in the world. 
 This worthy man, who had a head and a heart perfectly ade¬ 
 quate to every office of friendship, stayed with me almost 
 day and night during my illness ; and by strengthening my 
 hopes, raising my spirits, and cheering my thoughts, preserv¬ 
 ed me from destruction. 
 
 4 The behaviour of this man alone is a sufficient proof of 
 the truth of my doctrine, that all men act entirely from their 
 passions ; for Bob James can never be supposed to act from 
 any motives of virtue or religion, since he constantly laughs 
 
CH. Y.] 
 
 AMELIA.. 
 
 107 
 
 at both : and vet his conduct towards me alone demonstrates 
 
 / %j 
 
 a degree of goodness which, perhaps, few of the votaries of 
 either virtue or religion can equal.’ 
 
 ‘ You need not take much pains,’ answered Miss Matthews, 
 with a smile, ‘ to convince me of your doctrine. I have been 
 always an advocate for the same. I look upon the two woi'ds 
 you mention to serve only as cloaks, under which hypocrisy 
 may be the better enabled to cheat the world. I have been 
 of that opinion ever since I read that charming fellow Man- 
 devil.’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, madam,’ answered Booth ; ‘ I hope you do 
 not agree with Mandevil neither, who hath represented hu¬ 
 man nature in a picture of the highest deformity. He hath 
 left out of his system the best passion which the mind can 
 possess, and attempts to derive the effects or energies of that 
 passion from the base impulses of pride or fear. Whereas 
 it is as certain that love exists in the mind of man as that 
 its opposite hatred doth ; and the same reasons will equally 
 prove the existence of the one as the existence of the other.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know, indeed,’ replied the lady, ‘ I never thought 
 much about the matter. This I know, that when I read 
 Mandevil I thought all he said was true ; and I have been 
 often told that he proves religion and virtue to be only mere 
 names. However, if he denies there is any such thing as 
 love, that is most certainly wrong.—I am afraid I can give 
 him the lie myself.’ 
 
 ‘ I will join with you, madam, in that,’ answered Booth, 
 ‘ at any time.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you join with me V answered she, looking eagerly 
 at him—‘ 0, Mr Booth ! I know not what I was going 
 to say—What—Where did you leave off]—I would not in¬ 
 terrupt you—but I am impatient to know something.’ 
 
 1 What, madam ] ’ cries Booth ; ‘ if I can give you any 
 satisfaction—’ 
 
 ‘ No, no,’ said she, ‘ I must hear all; I would not for the 
 world break the thread of your story. Besides, I am afraid 
 to ask—Pray, pray, sir, go on.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, madam,’ cries Booth, £ I think I was mentioning 
 the extraordinary acts of friendship done me by Captain 
 James ; nor can I help taking notice of the almost unparal¬ 
 leled fidelity of poor Atkinson (for that was my man’s name), 
 
108 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 who was not only constant in the assiduity of his attendance, 
 hut during the time of my danger demonstrated a concern 
 for me which I can hardly account for, as my prevailing on 
 his captain to make him a serjeant was the first favour he 
 ever received at my hands, and this did not happen till I was 
 almost perfectly recovered of my broken leg. Poor fellow ! 
 I shall never forget the extravagant joy his halbert gave 
 him; I remember it the more because it was one of the hap¬ 
 piest days of my own life ; for it was upon this day that I 
 received a letter from my dear Amelia, after a long silence, 
 acquainting me that she was out of all danger from her ly¬ 
 ing-in. 
 
 ‘ I was now once more able to perform my duty; when 
 (so unkind was the fortune of war), the second time I 
 mounted the guard, I received a violent contusion from the 
 bursting of a bomb. I was felled to the ground, where I 
 lay breathless by the blow, till honest Atkinson came to my 
 assistance, and conveyed me to my room, where a surgeon 
 immediately attended me. 
 
 ‘The injury I had now received was much more dangerous 
 in my surgeon’s opinion than the former; it caused me to 
 spit blood, and was attended with a fever, and other bad 
 symptoms ; so that very fatal consequences were appre¬ 
 hended. 
 
 ‘ In this situation, the image of my Amelia haunted me 
 day and night; and the apprehensions of never seeing her 
 more were so intolerable, that I had thoughts of resigning 
 my commission, and returning home, weak as I was, that I 
 might have, at least, the satisfaction of dying in the arms of 
 my love. Captain Janies, however, persisted in dissuading 
 me from any such resolution. He told me my honour was 
 too much concerned, attempted to raise my hopes of re¬ 
 covery to the utmost of his power; but chiefly he prevailed 
 on me by suggesting that, if the worst which I apprehended 
 should happen, it was much better for Amelia that she 
 should be absent than present in so melancholy an hour. 
 “ I know,” cried be, “ the extreme joy which must arise in 
 you from meeting again with Amelia, and the comfort of 
 expiring in her arms ; but consider what she herself must 
 endure upon the dreadful occasion, and you would not wish 
 to purchase any happiness at the price of so much pain to 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 100 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 her.” This argument at length prevailed on me; and it was 
 after many long debates resolved, that she should not even 
 know my present condition till my doom either for life or 
 death was absolutely fixed.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh ! Heavens ! how great! how generous ! ’ cried Miss 
 Matthews. i Booth, thou art a noble fellow ; and X scarce 
 think there is a woman upon earth worthy so exalted a 
 passion.’ 
 
 Booth made a modest answer to the compliment which 
 Miss Matthews had paid him. This drew more civilities 
 from the lady, and these again more acknowledgments ; all 
 which we shall pass by, and proceed with our history. 
 
110 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTAINING MATTERS WHICH WILL PLEASE SOME 
 
 READERS. 
 
 ‘ Two months and more had I continued in a state of un¬ 
 certainty, sometimes with more flattering, and sometimes 
 with more alarming symptoms; when one afternoon poor 
 Atkinson came running into my room, all pale and .out of 
 breath, and begged me not to be surprized at his news. I 
 asked him eagerly what was the matter, and if it was any¬ 
 thing concerning Amelia 1 I had scarce uttered the dear 
 name when she herself rushed into the room, and ran 
 hastily to me, crying, “ Yes, it is, it is your Amelia herself.” 
 
 ‘ There is nothing so difficult to describe, and generally so 
 dull when described, as scenes of excessive tenderness/ 
 
 ‘ Can you think so 1 ’ says Miss Matthews ; ‘ surely there 
 is nothing so charming 1—0 ! Mr Booth, our sex is d—ned 
 by the want of tenderness in yours. 0, were they all like 
 you—certainly no man was ever your equal.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘you honour me too much. 
 But—well—when the first transports of our meeting were 
 over, Amelia began gently to chide me for having concealed 
 my illness from her ; for, in three letters which I had writ 
 her since the accident had happened, there was not the least 
 mention of it, or any hint given by which she could possibly 
 conclude I was otherwise than in perfect health. And when 
 I had excused myself, by assigning the true reason, she cried 
 
 _“ 0 Mr Booth ! and do you know so little of your Amelia 
 
 as to think I could or would survive youl Would it not 
 be better for one dreadful sight to break my heart all at 
 once than to break it by degrees 1—0 Billy ! can anything 
 
 pay me for the loss of this embrace 1 ”-But I ask your 
 
 pardon—how ridiculous doth my fondness appear in your 
 eyes ! ’ 
 
 * How often,’ answered she, ‘ shall I assert the contrary 1 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 CH, VI.] 
 
 What would you have me say, Mr Booth 1 Shall I tell you 
 I envy Mrs Booth of all the women in the world 1 would 
 you believe me if I did 1 I hope you—what am I saying ] 
 Pray make no farther apology, but go on.’ 
 
 * After a scene/ continued he, ‘ too tender to be conceived 
 by many, Amelia informed me that she had received a letter 
 from an unknown hand, acquainting her with my mis¬ 
 fortune, and advising her, if she ever desired to see me 
 more, to come directly to Gibraltar. She said she should 
 not have delayed a moment after receiving this letter, had 
 not the same ship brought her one from me written with 
 rather more than usual gaiety, and in which there was not 
 the least mention of my indisposition. This, she said, greatly 
 puzzled her and her mother, and the worthy divine en¬ 
 deavoured to persuade her to give credit to my letter, and 
 to impute the other to a species of wit with which the world 
 greatly abounds. This consists entirely in doing various 
 kinds of mischief to our fellow-creatures, by belying one, 
 deceiving another, exposing a third, and drawing in a fourth 
 to expose himself; in short, by making some the objects of 
 laughter, others of contempt; and indeed not seldom by 
 subjecting them to very great inconveniences, perhaps to 
 ruin, for the sake of a jest. 
 
 ‘ Mrs Harris and the doctor derived the letter from this 
 species of wit. Miss Betty, however, was of a different 
 opinion, and advised poor Amelia to apply to an officer 
 whom the governor had sent over in the same ship, by 
 whom the report of my illness was so strongly confirmed, 
 that Amelia immediately resolved on her voyage. 
 
 i I had a great curiosity to know the author of this letter, 
 but not the least trace of it could be discovered. The only 
 person with whom I lived in any great intimacy was 
 Captain James, and he, madam, from what I have already 
 told you, you will think to be the last person I could 
 suspect; besides, he declared upon his honour that he knew 
 nothing of the matter, and no man’s honour is, I believe, 
 more sacred. There was indeed, an ensign of another regi¬ 
 ment who knew my wife, and who had sometimes visited 
 me in my illness; but he was a very unlikely man to 
 interest himself much in any affairs which did not concern 
 him; and he too declared he knew nothing of it.’ 
 
112 AMELIA. [BK III. 
 
 ‘And did you never discover this secret?’ cried Miss 
 Matthews. 
 
 ‘ Never to this day,’ answered Booth. 
 
 ‘ I fancy,’ said she, ‘ I could give a shrewd guess. What 
 so likely as that Mrs Booth, when you left her, should have 
 given her foster-brother orders to send her word of whatever 
 befel you? Yet stay—that could not be neither ; for then 
 she would not have doubted whether she should leave dear 
 England on the receipt of the letter. No, it must have 
 been by some other means;—yet that I own appeared ex¬ 
 tremely natural to me ; for if I had been left by such a 
 husband I thiAk X should have pursued the same method. 
 
 ‘No, madam,’ cried Booth, ‘it must have been conveyed 
 by some other channel ; for my Amelia, I am certain, was 
 entirely ignorant of the manner ; and as for poor Atkinson, 
 I am convinced he would not have ventured to take such a 
 step without acquainting me. Besides, the poor fellow had, 
 I believe, such a regard for my wife, out of gratitude for the 
 favours she hath done his mother, that I make no doubt he 
 was highly rejoiced at her absence from my melancholy 
 scene. Well, whoever writ it is a matter very immaterial; 
 yet, as it seemed so odd and unaccountable an incident, I 
 could not help mentioning it. 
 
 ‘ From the time of Amelia’s arrival nothing remarkable 
 happened till my perfect recovery, unless I should observe 
 her remarkable behaviour, so full of care and tenderness, 
 that it was perhaps without a parallel.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 no, Mr Booth,’ cries the lady; ‘ it is fully equalled, I 
 am sure, by your gratitude. There is nothing, I believe, so 
 rare as gratitude in your sex, especially in husbands. So 
 kind a remembrance is, indeed, more than a return to such 
 an obligation; for where is the mighty obligation which a 
 woman confers, who, being possessed of an inestimable jewel, 
 is so kind to herself as to be careful and tender of it ? I do 
 not say this to lessen your opinion of Mrs Booth. I have 
 no doubt but that she loves you as well as she is capable.’ 
 But I would not have you think so meanly of our sex as to 
 imagine there are not a thousand women susceptible of true 
 tenderness towards a meritorious man. Believe me, Mr 
 Booth, if I had received such an account of an accident 
 having happened to such a husband, a mother and a parson 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 113 
 
 on. vi.] 
 
 would not have held me a moment. I should have leapt 
 into the first fishing-boat I could have found, and hid 
 defiance to the winds and waves.—Oh ! there is no true 
 tenderness hut in a woman of spirit. I would not he under¬ 
 stood all this while to reflect on Mrs Booth. I am only 
 defending the cause of my sex; for, upon my soul, such 
 compliments to a wife are a satire on all the rest of woman¬ 
 kind.’ 
 
 ‘ Sure you jest, Miss Matthews,’ answered Booth, with a 
 smile j ‘ however, if you please, I will proceed in my story. 
 
 8 
 
[bk III. 
 
 114 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN, CONTINUING HIS STOEY, EECOUNTS SOME 
 PAETICULAES WHICH, WE DOUBT NOT, TO MANY GOOD 
 PEOPLE, WILL APPEAE UNNATUEAL. 
 
 ‘ I was scarce sooner recovered from my indisposition 
 than Amelia herself fell ill. This, I am afraid, was oc¬ 
 casioned by the fatigues which I could not prevent her from 
 undergoing on my account; for, as my disease went of! with 
 violent sweats, during which the surgeon strictly ordered 
 that I should lie by myself, my Amelia could not he pre¬ 
 vailed upon to spend many hours in her own bed. During 
 my restless tits she would sometimes read to me several 
 hours together ; indeed it was not without difficulty that she 
 ever quitted my bedside. These fatigues, added to the 
 uneasiness of her mind, overpowered her weak spirits, and 
 threw her into one of the worst disorders that can possibly 
 attend a woman; a disorder very common among the ladies, 
 and our physicians have not agreed upon its name. Some 
 call it the fever on the spirits, some a nervous fever, some 
 the vapours, and some the hysterics.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 say no more,’ cries Miss Matthews; 1 1 pity you, I 
 pity you from my soul. A man had better be plagued with 
 all the curses of Egypt than with a vapourish wife.’ 
 
 ‘ Pity me ! madam,’ answered Booth ; ‘ pity rather that 
 dear creature who, from her love and care of my unworthy 
 self, contracted a distemper, the horrors of which are scarce 
 to be imagined. It is, indeed, a sort of complication of all 
 diseases together, with almost madness added to them. In 
 this situation, the siege being at an end, the governor gave 
 me leave to attend my wife to Montpelier, the air of which 
 was judged to be most likely to restore her to health. Upon 
 this occasion she wrote to her mother to desire a remittance, 
 and set forth the melancholy condition of her health, and her 
 necessity for money, in such terms as would have touched 
 any bosom not void of humanity, though a stranger to the 
 
CH. TII.] 
 
 AMELIA.. 
 
 115 
 
 unhappy sufferer. Her sister answered it, and I believe I 
 have a copy of the answer in my pocket. I keep it by me 
 as a curiosity, and you would think it more so could I show 
 you my Amelia’s letter.’ He then searched his pocket-book, 
 and finding the letter among many others, he read it in the 
 following words: 
 
 ‘ “ Dear Sister, —My mamma being much disordered, 
 hath commanded me to tell you she is both shocked and 
 surprised at your extraordinary request, or, as she chooses to 
 call it, order for money. You know, my dear, she says that 
 your marriage with this red-coat man was entirely against 
 her consent and the opinion of all your family (I am sure I 
 may here include myself in that number); and yet, after 
 this fatal act of disobedience, she was prevailed on to receive 
 you as her child; not, however, nor are you so to under¬ 
 stand it, as the favourite which you was before. She for¬ 
 gave you; but this was as a Christian and a parent; still 
 preserving in her own mind, a just sense of your disobedience, 
 and a just resentment on that account. And yet, notwith¬ 
 standing this resentment, she desires you to remember that, 
 when you a second time ventured to oppose her authority, 
 and nothing would serve you but taking a ramble (an 
 indecent one, I can’t help saying) after your fellow, she 
 thought fit to show the excess of a mother’s tenderness, and 
 furnished you with no less than fifty pounds for your foolish 
 voyage. How can she, then, be otherwise than surprized at 
 your present demand? which, should she be so weak to 
 comply with, she must expect to be every month repeated, 
 in order to supply the extravagance of a young rakish 
 officer. You say she will compassionate your sufferings ; 
 yes, surely she doth greatly compassionate them, and so do 
 I too, though you was neither so kind nor so civil as to 
 suppose I should. But I forgive all your slights to me, as 
 well now as formerly. Hay, I not only forgive, but I pray 
 daily for you. But, dear sister, what could you expect less 
 than what hath happened ? you should have believed your 
 friends, who were wiser and older than you. I do not here 
 mean myself, though I own I am eleven months and some 
 odd weeks your superior; though, had I been younger, I 
 might, perhaps, have been able to advise you; for wisdom 
 and what some may call beauty do not always go together. 
 
116 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 You will not be offended at this; for I know, in your heart, 
 you have always held your head above some people, whom, 
 perhaps, other people have thought better of ; but why do I 
 mention what I scorn so much ? Ho, my dear sister, Heaven 
 forbid it should ever be said of me that I value myself upon 
 my face—not but if I could believe men perhaps—but 1 
 hate and despise men—you know I do, my dear, and I wish 
 vou had despised them as much ; but jada est jcdaa , as the 
 doctor says. You are to make the best of your fortune 
 what fortune, I mean, my mamma may please to give you, 
 for you know all is in her power. Let me advise you, then, 
 to bring your mind to your circumstances, and remember 
 (for I can’t help writing it, as it is for your own good) the 
 vapours are a distemper which very ill become a knapsack. 
 Remember, my dear, what you have done ; remember what 
 my mamma hath done ; remember we have something of 
 yours to keep, and do not consider yourself as an only child, 
 no, nor as a favourite child; but be pleased to remember, 
 
 Dear sister, 
 
 Your most affectionate sister, 
 
 and most obedient humble servant, 
 
 E. Harris.” ’ 
 
 1 0 brave Miss Hetty ! ’ cried Miss Matthews ; ‘ I always 
 held her in high esteem ; but I protest she exceeds even 
 what I could have expected from her.’ 
 
 ‘ This letter, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ you will believe, was 
 an excellent cordial for my poor wife’s spirits. So dreadful 
 indeed was the effect it had upon her, that, as she had read 
 it in my absence, I found her, at my return home, in the 
 most violent fits ; and so long was it before she recovered 
 her senses, that I despaired of that blest event ever hap¬ 
 pening; and my own senses very narrowly escaped from 
 being sacrificed to my despair. However, she came at last 
 to herself, and I began to consider of every means of carry 
 ing her immediately to Montpelier, which was now become 
 much more necessary than before. 
 
 < Though I was greatly shocked at the barbarity of the 
 letter, yet I apprehended no very ill consequence from it; 
 for, as it was believed all over the army that I had married 
 a great fortune, I had received oilers of money, if I wanted 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 117 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 it, from more than one. Indeed, I might have easily carried 
 my wife to Montpelier at any time; but she was extremely 
 averse to the voyage, being desirous of our returning to 
 England, as I had leave to do; and she grew daily so much 
 better, that, had it not been for the receipt of that cursed 
 which I have jnst read to you, I am persuaded she might 
 have been able to return to England in the next ship. 
 
 1 Among others there was a colonel in the garrison who 
 had not only offered but importuned me to receive money of 
 him \ I now, therefore, repaired to him; and, as a reason tor 
 altering my resolution, I produced the letter, and, at the 
 same time, acquainted him with the true state of my affairs. 
 The colonel read the letter, shook his head, and, after some 
 silence, said he was sorry I had refused to accept his offer 
 before; but that he had now so ordered matters, and disposed 
 of his money, that he had not a shilling left to spare from 
 his own occasions. 
 
 ( Answers of the same kind I had from several others, but 
 not one penny could I borrow of any \ for I have been since 
 firmly persuaded that the honest colonel was not content 
 with denying me himself, but took effectual means, by 
 spreading the secret I had so foolishly trusted him with, to 
 prevent me from succeeding elsewhere \ for such is the 
 nature of men, that whoever denies himself to do you a 
 favour is unwilling that it should be done to you by any 
 other. 
 
 ( This was the first time I had ever felt that distress which 
 arises from the want of money ; a distress very dreadful in¬ 
 deed in a married state; for what can be more miseraole 
 than to see anything necessary to the preservation of a 
 beloved creature, and not be able to supply iff? 
 
 * Perhaps you may wonder, madam, that I have not men¬ 
 tioned Captain James on this occasion \ but he was at that 
 time laid up at Algiers (whither he had been sent by the 
 governor) in a fever However, he returned time enough to 
 supply me, which he did with the utmost readiness on the 
 very first mention of my distress; and the good colonel, 
 notwithstanding his having disposed of his money, discounted 
 the captain’s draft. You see, madam, an instance in the 
 generous behaviour of my friend James, how false are all 
 universal satires against humankind. He is indeed one of 
 the worthiest men the world ever produced. 
 
118 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 ‘ But, perhaps, you will he more pleased still with the ex¬ 
 travagant generosity of my sergeant. The day before the 
 return of Mr James, the poor fellow came to me with tears 
 in his eyes, and begged I would not be offended at what he 
 was going to mention. He then pulled a purse from his 
 pocket, which contained, he said, the sum of twelve pounds, 
 and which he begged me to accept, crying, he was sorry it 
 was not in his power to lend me whatever I wanted. I was 
 so struck with this instance of generosity and friendship in 
 such a person, that I gave him an opportunity of pressing 
 me a second time before I made him an answer. Indeed, I 
 was greatly surprised how he came to be worth that lit fie 
 sum, and no less at his being acquainted with my own 
 wants. In both which points he presently satisfied me. 
 As to the first, it seems he had plundered a Spanish officer 
 of fifteen pistoles; and as to the second, he confessed he 
 had it from my wife’s maid, who had overheard some dis¬ 
 course between her mistress and me. Indeed people, I be¬ 
 lieve, always deceive themselves, who imagine they can con¬ 
 ceal distrest circumstances from their servants ; for these are 
 always extremely quicksighted on such occasions.’ 
 
 4 Good Heavens ! ’ cries Miss Matthews, ‘ how astonishing 
 is such behaviour in so low a fellow ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I thought so myself,’ answered Booth; ‘ and yet I know 
 not, on a more strict examination into the matter, why Ave 
 should be more surprised to see greatness of mind discover 
 itself in one degree or rank of life than in another. Love, 
 benevolence, or what you will please to call it, may be the 
 reigning passion in a beggar as well as in a prince ; and 
 wherever it is, its energies will be the same. 
 
 4 To confess the truth, I am afraid we often compliment 
 what we call upper life, with too much injustice, at the ex¬ 
 pense of the lower. As it is no rare thing to see instances 
 which degrade human nature in persons of the highest birth 
 and education, so I apprehend that examples of whatever is 
 really great and good have been sometimes found amongst 
 those who have wanted all such advantages. In reality, 
 palaces, I make no doubt, do sometimes contain nothing but 
 dreariness and darkness, and the sun of righteousness hath 
 shone forth with all its glory in a cottage.' 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 110 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE STORY OF BOOTH CONTINUED. 
 
 Mr Booth thus went on : 
 
 ‘ We now took leave of the garrison, and, having landed 
 at Marseilles, arrived at Montpelier, without anything hap¬ 
 pening to us worth remembrance, except the extreme sea¬ 
 sickness of poor Amelia; but I was afterwards well repaid 
 for the terrors which it occasioned me by the good conse¬ 
 quences which attended it; for I believe it contributed even 
 more than the air of Montpelier, to the perfect re-establish¬ 
 ment of her health/ 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon for interrupting you,’ cries Miss 
 Matthews, * but you never satisfied me whether you took the 
 sergeant’s money. You have made me half in love with 
 that charming fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ How can you imagine, madam,’ answered Booth, 1 1 
 should have taken from a poor fellow what was of so little 
 consequence to me, and at the same time of so much to him ? 
 Perhaps, now, you will derive this from the. passion of pride.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed,’ says she, ‘ I neither derive it from the passion 
 of pride nor from the passion of folly : but methinks you 
 should have accepted the offer, and I am convinced you hurt 
 him very much when you refused it. But pray proceed in 
 your story.’ Then Booth went on as follows: 
 
 ‘ As Amelia recovered her health and spirits daily, we 
 began to pass our time very pleasantly at Montpelier; for 
 the greatest .enemy to the French will acknowledge that they 
 are the best people in the world to live amongst for a little 
 while. In some countries it is almost as easy to get a good 
 estate as a good acquaintance. In England, particularly, 
 acquaintance is of almost as slow growth as an oak ; so 
 that the age of man scarce suffices to bring it to any per¬ 
 fection, and families seldom contract any great intimacy till 
 the third, or at least the second generation. So shy indeed 
 are w T e English of letting a stranger into our houses, that 
 
120 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 one would imagine we regarded all sucli as thieves. Now 
 the French are the very reverse. Being a stranger among 
 them entitles you to the better place, and to the greater 
 degree of civility; and if you wear but the appearance of a 
 gentleman, they never suspect you are not one. Their 
 friendship indeed seldom extends as far as their purse ; nor 
 is such friendship usual in other countries. To say the truth, 
 politeness carries friendship far enough in the ordinary occa¬ 
 sions of life, and those who want this accomplishment rarely 
 make amends for it by their sincerity; for bluntness, or 
 rather rudeness, as it commonly deserves to be called, is not 
 always so much a mark of honesty as it is taken to be. 
 
 ‘ The day after our arrival we became acquainted with 
 Mons. Bagillard. He was a Frenchman of great wit and 
 vivacity, with a greater share of learning than gentlemen are 
 usually possessed of. As he lodged in the same house with 
 us, we were immediately acquainted, and I liked his con¬ 
 versation so well that I never thought I had too much of his 
 company. Indeed, I spent so much of my time with him, 
 that Amelia (I know not whether I ought to mention it) 
 grew uneasy at our familiarity, and complained of my being 
 too little with her, from my violent fondness for my new 
 acquaintance; for, our conversation turning chiefly upon 
 books, and principally Latin ones (for we read several of the 
 classics together), she could have but little entertainment by 
 being with us. When my wife had once taken it into her 
 head that she was deprived of my company by M. Bagillard, 
 it was impossible to change her opinion ; and, though I now 
 spent more of my time with her than I had ever done before, 
 she still grew more and more dissatisfied, till at last she very 
 earnestly desired me to quit my lodgings, and insisted upon 
 it with more vehemence than I had ever known her express 
 before. To say the truth, if that excellent woman could 
 ever be thought unreasonable, I thought she was so on this 
 occasion. 
 
 ‘ But in what light soever her desires appeared to me, as 
 they manifestly arose from an affection of which I had daily 
 the most endearing proofs, I resolved to comply with her, 
 and accordingly removed to a distant part of the town; for 
 it is my opinion that we can have but little love for the per¬ 
 son whom we will never indulge in an unreasonable demand. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 121 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 Indeed, I was under a difficulty with regard to Mons. 
 Bagillard; for, as I could not possibly communicate to him 
 the true reason for quitting my lodgings, so I found it as 
 difficult to deceive nim by a counterfeit one ; besides, I was 
 apprehensive I should have little less of his company than 
 before. I could, indeed, have avoided this dilemma by 
 leaving Montpelier, for Amelia had perfectly recovered her 
 health ; but I bad faithfully promised Captain James to wait 
 his return from Italy, whither he was gone some time before 
 from Gibraltar; nor was it proper for Amelia to take any 
 long journey, she being now near six months gone with 
 child. 
 
 ‘ This difficulty, however, proved to be less than I had 
 imagined it; for my French friend, whether he suspected 
 anything from my wife’s behaviour, though she never, as I 
 observed, showed him the least incivility, became suddenly 
 as cold on his* side. After our leaving the lodgings he never 
 made above two or three formal visits; indeed his tune was 
 soon after entirely taken up by an intrigue with a certain 
 countess, which blazed all over Montpelier. 
 
 i We had not been long in our new apartments before an 
 English officer arrived at Montpelier, and came to lodge in 
 the same house with us. This gentleman, whose name was 
 Bath, was of the rank of a major, and had so much singu¬ 
 larity in his character, that, perhaps, you never heard of any 
 like him. He was far from having any of those bookish 
 qualifications which had before caused my Amelia’s disquiet. 
 It is true, his discourse generally turned on matters of no 
 feminine kind ; war and martial exploits being the ordinary 
 topics of his conversation: however, as he had a sister with 
 whom Amelia was greatly pleased, an intimacy presently 
 grew between us, and we four lived in one family. 
 
 ‘ The major was a great dealer in the marvellous, and was 
 constantly the little hero of his own tale. This made him 
 very entertaining to Amelia, who, of all persons in the world, 
 hath the truest taste and enjoyment of the ridiculous; for, 
 whilst no one sooner discovers it in the character of another, 
 no one so well conceals her knowledge of it from the 
 ridiculous person. I cannot help mentioning a sentiment of 
 hers on this head, as I think it doth her great honour. “ If 
 I had the same neglect,” said she, “ for ridiculous people 
 
122 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk nr. 
 
 with, the generality of the world, I should rather think them 
 the objects of tears than laughter; but, in reality, I have 
 known several who, in some parts of their characters, have 
 been extremely ridiculous, in others have been altogether as 
 amiable. For instance,” said she, “here is the major, who 
 tells us of many things which he has never seen, and of 
 others which he hath never done, and both in the most ex¬ 
 travagant excess; and yet how amiable is his behaviour to 
 his poor sister, whom he hath not only brought over hither 
 for her health, at his own expense, but is come to bear her 
 company.” I believe, madam, I repeat her very words; for 
 I am very apt to remember what she says. 
 
 ‘ You will easily believe, from a circumstance I have just 
 mentioned in the major’s favour, especially when I have told 
 you that his sister was one of the best of girls, that it was 
 entirely necessary to hide from her all kind of laughter at 
 any part of her brother’s behaviour. To say the truth, this 
 was easy enough to do ; for the poor girl was so blinded with 
 love and gratitude, and so highly honoured and reverenced 
 her brother, that she had not the least suspicion that there 
 was a person in the world capable of laughing at him. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I am certain she never made the least discovery 
 of our ridicule; for I am well convinced she would have 
 resented it: for, besides the love she bore her brother, she 
 had a little family pride, which would sometimes appear. 
 To say the truth, if she had any fault, it was that of vanity, 
 but she was a very good girl upon the whole; and none of 
 us are entirely free from faults.’ 
 
 ‘ You are a good-natured fellow, Will,’ answered Miss 
 Matthews; 1 but vanity is a fault of the first magnitude in 
 a woman, and often the occasion of many others.’ 
 
 To this Booth made no answer, but continued his story. 
 
 ‘ In this company we passed two or three months very 
 agreeably, till the major and I both betook ourselves to our 
 several nurseries; my wife being brought to bed of a girl, 
 and Miss Bath confined to her chamber by a surfeit, which 
 had like to have occasioned her death.’ 
 
 Here Miss Matthews burst into a loud laugh, of which 
 when Booth asked the reason, she said she could not forbear 
 at the thoughts of two such nurses. * And did you really,’ 
 says she, ‘ make your wife’s caudle yourself.’ 
 
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AMELIA. 
 
 123 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 4 Indeed, madam,’ said lie, 4 I did; and do you think that 
 so extraordinary 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed I do,’ answered she ; 4 I thought the best husbands 
 had looked on their wives’ lying-in as a time of festival and 
 jollity. What! did you not even get drunk in the time of 
 your wife’s delivery 1 tell me honestly how you employed 
 yourself at this time.’ 
 
 4 Why, then, honestly,’ replied he, 4 and in defiance of 
 your laughter, I lay behind her bolster, and supported her 
 in my arms ; and, upon my soul, I believe I felt more pain 
 in my mind than she underwent in her body. And now 
 answer me as honestly: Do you really think it a proper 
 time of mirth, when the creature one loves to distraction is 
 undergoing the most racking torments, as well as in the most 
 
 imminent danger ? and-but I need not express any more 
 
 tender circumstances.’ 
 
 4 1 am to answer honestly,’ cried she; 4 Yes, and sincerely,’ 
 cries Booth. 4 Why, then, honestly and sincerely,’ says she, 
 4 may I never see heaven if I don’t think you an angel of 
 a man ! ’ 
 
 4 Hay, madam,’ answered Booth,— 4 but, indeed, you do 
 me too much honour ; there are many such husbands. Hay, 
 have we not an example of the like tenderness in the major h 
 though as to him, I believe, I shall make you laugh. While 
 my wife lay in, Miss Bath being extremely ill, I went one 
 day to the door of her apartment, to inquire after her health, 
 as well as for the major, whom I had not seen during a whole 
 week. I knocked softly at the door, and being bid to open 
 it, I found the major in his sister’s ante-chamber warming 
 her posset. His dress was certainly whimsical enough, having 
 on a woman’s bedgown and a very dirty flannel nightcap, 
 which, being added to a very odd person (for he is a very 
 awkward thin man, near seven feet high), might have formed, 
 in the opinion of most men, a very proper object of laughter. 
 The major started from his seat at my entering into the 
 room, and, with much emotion, and a great oath, cried out, 
 44 Is it you, sir 1 ” I then inquired after his and his sister’s 
 health. He answered, that his sister was better, and he was 
 very well, 44 though I did not expect, sir,” cried he, with not 
 a little confusion, 44 to be seen by you in this situation.” I 
 told him I thought it impossible he could appear in a situa- 
 
124 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 tion more becoming his character. “ You do not ! ” answered 
 he. “ By G— I am very much obliged to you for that 
 opinion ; but, I believe, sir, however my weakness may pre¬ 
 vail on me to descend from it, no man can be more con¬ 
 scious of his own dignity than myself.” His sister then called 
 to him from an inner room ; upon which he rang the bell for 
 her servant, and then, after a stride or two across the room, 
 he said, with an elated aspect, “ I would not have you think, 
 Mr Booth, because you have caught me in this deshabille, 
 by coming upon me a little too abruptly—I cannot help 
 saying a little too abruptly—that I am my sister’s nurse. 
 I know better what is due to the dignity of a man, and 
 I have shown it in a line of battle. I think I have made 
 a figure there, Mr Booth, and becoming my character; by 
 G— I ought not to be despised too much if my nature is 
 not totally without its weaknesses.” He uttered this, and 
 some more of the same kind, with great majesty, or, as 
 he called it, dignity. Indeed, he used some hard words that 
 I did not understand ; for all his words are not to be found 
 in a dictionary. Upon the whole, I could not easily refrain 
 from laughter ; however, I conquered myself, and soon after 
 retired from him, astonished that it was possible for a man 
 to possess true goodness, and be at the same time ashamed 
 of it. 
 
 ‘ But, if I was surprized at what had past at this visit, how 
 much more was I surprized the next morning, when he came 
 very early to my chamber, and told me he had not been able 
 to sleep one wink at what had past between us ! “ There 
 were some words of yours,” says he, “ which must be further 
 explained before we part. You told me, sir, when you found 
 me in that situation, which I cannot bear to recollect, that 
 you thought I could not appear in one more becoming my 
 character ; these were the words—I shall never forget them. 
 Do you imagine that there is any of the dignity of a man 
 wanting in my character! do you think that I have, during 
 my sister’s illness, behaved with a weakness that savours too 
 much of effeminacy ? I know how much it is beneath a man 
 to whine and whimper about a trifling girl as well as you or 
 any man ; and, if my sister had died, I should have behaved 
 like a man on the occasion. I would not have you think I 
 confined myself from company merely upon her account. I 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 125 
 
 was very much, disordered myself. And when you surprized 
 me in that situation—I repeat again, in that situation— 
 her nurse had not left the room three minutes, and I 
 was blowing the fire for fear it should have gone out.” 
 —In this manner he ran on almost a quarter of an hour 
 before he would suffer me to speak. At last, looking 
 steadfastly in his face, I asked him if I must conclude 
 that he was in earnest ? “ In earnest! ” says he, repeat¬ 
 
 ing my words, “ do you then take my character for a jest ? 
 
 —Lookee, sir, said I, very gravely* I think we know one 
 another very well; and i have no reason to suspect you 
 should impute it to fear when I tell you I was so far from 
 intending to affront you, that I meant you one of the highest 
 compliments. Tenderness for women is so far from lessen¬ 
 ing, that it proves a true manly character. The manly 
 Brutus showed the utmost tenderness to his Portia ; and the 
 great king of Sweden, the bravest, and even fiercest of men, 
 shut himself up three whole days in the midst of a campaign, 
 and would see no company, on the death of a favourite sister. 
 At these words I saw his features soften ; and he cried out, 
 “ D—n me, I admire the king of Sweden of all the men in 
 the world; and he is a rascal that is ashamed of doing any¬ 
 thing which the king of Sweden did.—And yet, if any king 
 of Sweden in France was to tell me that his sister had more 
 merit than mine, by G— I’d knock his brains about his ears. 
 Poor little Betsey ! she is the honestest, worthiest girl that 
 ever was born. Heaven be praised, she is recovered j for, if 
 I had lost her, I never should have enjoyed another happy 
 moment.” In this manner he ran on some time, till the tears 
 began to overflow ) which when he perceived, he stopt; 
 perhaps he was unable to go on \ for he seemed almost 
 choaked : after a short silence, however, having wiped his 
 eyes with his handkerchief, he fetched a deep sigh, and cried, 
 il I am ashamed you should see this, Mr Booth ) but d n 
 me, nature will get the better of dignity. ’ I now comforted 
 him with the example of Xerxes, as I had before done with 
 that of the king of Sweden; and soon after we sat down to 
 breakfast together with much cordial friendship ; for I assure 
 you, with all his oddity, there is not a better-natured man 
 
 in the world than the major.’ 
 
 * Good-natured, indeed ! ’ cries Miss Matthews, with great 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 126 
 
 |bk iii. 
 
 scorn. ‘ A fool! how can you mention such a fellow with 
 commendation 1 ’ 
 
 Booth spoke as much as he could in defence of his friend ; 
 indeed, he had represented him in as favourable a light as 
 possible, and had particularly left out those hard words with 
 •which, as he hath observed a little before, the major inter¬ 
 larded his discourse. Booth then proceeded as in the next 
 chapter. 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONTAINING VERY EXTRAORDINARY MATTERS. 
 
 ‘ Miss Bath/ continued Booth, ‘ now recovered so fast, that 
 she was abroad as soon as my wife. Our little partie quarree 
 began to grow agreeable again ; and we mixed with the com¬ 
 pany of the place more than we had done before. Mons. 
 Bagillard now again renewed his intimacy, for the countess, 
 his mistress, was gone to Paris ; at which my wife, at first, 
 showed no dissatisfaction; and I imagined that, as she had 
 a friend and companion of her Own sex (for Miss Bath and 
 she had contracted the highest fondness for each other), that 
 she would the less miss my company. However, I was dis¬ 
 appointed in this expectation ; for she soon began to express 
 her former uneasiness, and her impatience for the arrival of 
 Captain James, that we might entirely quit Montpelier. 
 
 ‘ I could not avoid conceiving some little displeasure at 
 this humour of my wife, which I was forced to think a little 
 unreasonable.’— 4 A little, do you call it ] ’ says Miss Mat¬ 
 thews : ‘ Good Heavens ! what a husband are you ! ’—‘ How 
 little worthy/ answered he, ‘ as you will say hereafter, of 
 such a wife as my Amelia. One day, as we were sitting 
 together, I heard a violent scream; upon which my wife, 
 starting up, cried out, “ Sure that’s Miss Bath’s voice ; ” and 
 immediately ran towards the chamber whence it proceeded. 
 I followed her; and when we arrived, we there beheld the 
 most shocking sight imaginable ; Miss Bath lying dead on 
 the floor, and the major all bloody kneeling by her, and 
 roaring out for assistance. Amelia, though she was herself 
 in little better condition than her friend, ran hastily to her, 
 bared her neck, and attempted to loosen her stays, while I 
 ran up and down, scarce knowing what I did, calling for 
 water and cordials, and despatching several servants one after 
 another for doctors and surgeons. 
 
 ‘Water, cordials, and all necessary implements being 
 brought, Miss Bath was at length recovered, and placed in 
 
128 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 her chair, when the major seated himself by her. And now, 
 the young lady being restored to life, the major, who, till 
 then, had engaged as little of his own as of any other per¬ 
 son’s attention, became the object of all our considerations, 
 especially his poor sister’s, who had no sooner • recovered 
 sufficient strength than she began to lament her brother, 
 crying out that he was killed; and bitterly bewailing her 
 fate, in having revived from her swoon to behold so dreadful 
 a spectacle. While Amelia applied herself to soothe the 
 agonies of her friend, I began to inquire into the condition 
 of the major, in which I was assisted by a surgeon, who now 
 arrived. The major declared, with great cheerfulness, that 
 he did not apprehend his wound to be in the least dangerous, 
 and therefore begged his sister to be comforted, saying he 
 was convinced the surgeon would soon give her the same 
 assurance ; but that good man was not so liberal of assurances 
 as the major had expected; for as soon as he had probed the 
 wound he afforded no more than hopes, declaring that it was 
 a very ugly wound; but added, by way of consolation, that 
 he had cured many much worse. 
 
 1 When the major was drest his sister seemed to possess 
 his whole thoughts, and all his care was to relieve her grief. 
 He solemnly protested that it was no more than a flesh 
 wound, and not very deep, nor could, as he apprehended, be 
 in the least dangerous; and as for the cold expressions of 
 the surgeon, he very well accounted for them from a motive 
 too obvious to be mentioned. From these declarations of 
 her brother, and the interposition of her friends, and, above 
 all, I believe, from that vast vent which she had given to her 
 fright, Miss Bath seemed a little pacified: Amelia, therefore, 
 at last prevailed; and, as terror abated, curiosity became the 
 superior passion. I therefore now began to inquire what had 
 occasioned that accident whence all the uproar arose. 
 
 ‘ The major took me by the hand, and, looking very kindly 
 at me, said, “ My dear Mr Booth, I must begin by asking 
 your pardon; for I have done you an injury for which no¬ 
 thing but the height of friendship in me can be an excuse; 
 and therefore nothing but the height of friendship in you can 
 forgive. ” This preamble, madam, you will easily believe, great¬ 
 ly alarmed all the company, but especially me. I answered, 
 Dear major, I forgive you, let it be what it will; but what is 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 129 
 
 it possible you can have done to injure me ? “ That,” replied 
 
 lie, “ which I am convinced a man of your honour and dig¬ 
 nity of nature, by G—, must conclude to be one of the high¬ 
 est injuries. I have taken out of your own hands the doing 
 yourself justice. I am afraid I have killed the man who 
 hath injured your honour. I mean that villain Bagillard— 
 but I cannot proceed; for you, madam,” said he to my wife, 
 “ are concerned, and I know what is due to the dignity of 
 your sex.” Amelia, I observed, turned pale at these words, 
 but eagerly begged him to proceed. “ Nay, madam,” an¬ 
 swered he, “ if I am commanded by a lady, it is a part of 
 my dignity to obejn” He then proceeded to tell us that 
 Bagillard had rallied him upon a supposition that he was pur¬ 
 suing my wife with a view of gallantry ; telling him that he 
 could never succeed; giving hints that, if it had been possi¬ 
 ble, he should have succeeded himself; and ending with 
 calling my poor Amelia an accomplished prude; upon which 
 the major gave Bagillard a box on the ear, and both imme¬ 
 diately drew their swords. 
 
 ‘ The major had scarce ended his speech when a servant 
 came into the room, and told me there was a friar below who 
 desired to speak with me in great haste. I shook the major 
 by the hand, and told him I not only forgave him, but was 
 extremely obliged to his friendship ; and then, going to the 
 friar, I found that he was Bagillard’s confessor, from whom 
 be came to me, with an earnest desire of seeing me, that he 
 might ask my pardon and receive my forgiveness before he 
 died for the injury he had intended me. My wife at first 
 opposed my going, from some sudden fears on my account; 
 but when she was convinced they were groundless she con¬ 
 sented. 
 
 * I found Bagillard in his bed ; for the major’s sword had 
 passed up to the very hilt through his body. After having 
 very earnestly asked my pardon, he made me many compli¬ 
 ments on the possession of a woman who, joined to the most 
 exquisite beauty, was mistress of the most impregnable vir¬ 
 tue ; as a proof of which he acknowledged the vehemence 
 as well as ill success of his attempts : and, to make Amelia’s 
 virtue appear the brighter, his vanity was so predominant he 
 could not forbear running over the names of several women 
 of fashion who had yielded to his passion, which, he said, 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 had never raged so violently for any other as for my poor 
 Amelia; and that this violence, which he had found wholly 
 unconquerable, he hoped would procure his pardon at my 
 hands. It is unnecessary to mention what I said on the 
 occasion. I assured him of my entire forgiveness; and so 
 we parted. To say the truth, I afterwards thought myself 
 almost obliged to him for a meeting with Amelia the most 
 luxuriously delicate that can be imagined. 
 
 ‘ I now ran to my wife, whom I embraced with raptures 
 of love and tenderness. When the first torrent of these was 
 a little abated, “ Confess to me, my dear,” said she, “ could 
 your goodness prevent you from thinking me a little unrea¬ 
 sonable in expressing so much uneasiness at the loss of your 
 company, while I ought to have rejoiced in the thoughts of 
 your being so well entertained; I know you must; and then 
 consider what I must have felt, while I knew I was daily 
 lessening myself in your esteem, and forced into a conduct 
 which I was sensible must appear to you, who was ignorant 
 of my motive, to be mean, vulgar, and selfish. And yet, 
 what other course had I to take with a man whom no denial, 
 no scorn could abash 1 But, if this was a cruel task, how 
 much more wretched still was the constraint I was obliged 
 to wear in his presence before you, to show outward civility 
 to the man whom my soul detested, for fear of any fatal con¬ 
 sequence from your suspicion; and this too while I was 
 afraid he would construe it to be an encouragement 1 Do 
 you not pity your poor Amelia when you reflect on her situ¬ 
 ation 1 ” ‘ Pity ! ’ cried I; ‘my love ! is pity an adequate 
 
 expression for esteem, for adoration 1 But how, my love, 
 could he carry this on so secretly 1—by letters V “0 no, 
 he offered me many ; but I never wonld receive but one, 
 and that I returned him. Good G— ! I would not have 
 such a letter in my possession for the universe ; I thought 
 my eyes contaminated with reading it.” ’ ‘ 0 brave ! ’ cried 
 
 Miss Matthews; ‘ heroic, I protest. 
 
 ‘ “ Had I a wish that did not bear 
 The stamp and image of my dear, 
 
 I’d pierce my heart thi'ough ev’ry vein, 
 
 And die to let it out again.” ’ 
 
 ‘And can you really,’ cried he, ‘ laugh at so much tender¬ 
 ness V ‘I laugh at tenderness ! 0, Mr Booth !’ answered 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 131 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 she, ‘ thou knowest hut little of Calista.’ ‘ I thought 
 formerly/ cried he, ‘ I knew a great deal, and thought you, 
 
 of all women in the world, to have the greatest-of all 
 
 women ! ’ 1 Take care, Mr Booth,’ said she. ‘ By Heaven ! 
 
 if you thought so, you thought truly. But what is the ob¬ 
 ject of my tenderness — such an object as-’ ‘ Well, 
 
 madam,’ says he, ‘ I hope you will find one.’ ( I thank you 
 for that hope, however,’ says she, ‘ cold as it is. But pray 
 go on with your story; ’ which command he immediately 
 obeyed. 
 
132 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONTAINING A LETTER OF A VERY CURIOUS KIND. 
 
 ‘ The major’s wound,’ continued Booth, ‘ was really as 
 slight as he believed it; so that in a very few days he was 
 perfectly well; nor was Bagillard, though run through the 
 body, long apprehending to be in any danger of his life. 
 The major then took me aside, and, wishing me heartily joy 
 of Bagillard’s recovery, told me I should now, by the gift 
 (as it were) of Heaven, have an opportunity of doing myself 
 justice. I answered I could not think of any such thing ; 
 for that when I imagined he was on his death-bed I had 
 heartily and sincerely forgiven him. “ Very right,” replied 
 the major, “ and consistent with your honour, when he was 
 on his death-bed; but that forgiveness was only conditional, 
 and is revoked by his recovery.” I told him I could not 
 possibly revoke it; for that my anger was really gone.— 
 “ What hath anger,” cried he, “ to do with the matter? the 
 dignity of my nature hath been always my reason for draw¬ 
 ing my sword; and when that is concerned I can as readily 
 fight with the man I love as with the man I hate.”—I will 
 not tire you with the repetition of the whole argument, in 
 which the major did not prevail; and I really believe I sunk 
 a little in his esteem upon that account, till Captain James, 
 who arrived soon after, again perfectly reinstated me in his 
 favour. 
 
 ‘ When the captain was come there remained no cause of 
 our longer stay at Montpelier; for, as to my wife, she was 
 in a better state of health than I had ever known her; and 
 Miss Bath had not only recovered her health but her bloom, 
 and from a pale skeleton was become a plump, handsome 
 young woman. James was again my cashier; for, far from 
 receiving any remittance, it was now a long time since I had 
 received any letter from England, though both myself and 
 my dear Amelia had written several, both to my mother and 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 133 
 
 sister; and now, at our departure from Montpelier, I be¬ 
 thought myself of writing to my good friend the doctor, ac¬ 
 quainting him with our journey to Paris, whither I desired 
 he would direct his answer. 
 
 ‘ At Paris we all arrived without encountering any ad¬ 
 venture on the road worth relating; nor did anything of 
 consequence happen here during the first fortnight; for, as 
 you know neither Captain James nor Miss Bath, it is scarce 
 worth telling you that an affection, which afterwards ended 
 in a marriage, began now to appear between them, in which 
 it may appear odd to you that I made the first discovery of 
 the lady’s flame, and my wife of the captain’s. 
 
 The seventeenth day after our arrival at Paris I received 
 a letter from the doctor, which I have in my pocket-book; 
 and, if you please, I will read it you; for I would not will¬ 
 ingly do any injury to his words.’ 
 
 The lady, you may easily believe, desired to hear the 
 letter, and Booth read it as follows : 
 
 4 “ My dear Children, —Por I will now call you so, as 
 you have neither of you now any other parent in this world. 
 Of this melancholy news I should have sent you earlier 
 notice if I had thought you ignorant of it, or indeed if I had 
 known whither to have written. If your sister hath re¬ 
 ceived any letters from you she hath kept them a secret, and 
 perhaps out of affection to you hath reposited them in the 
 same place where she keeps her goodness, and, what I am, 
 afraid is much dearer to her, her money. The reports con¬ 
 cerning you have been various; so is always the case in 
 matters where men are ignorant; for, when no man knows 
 what the truth is, every man thinks himself at liberty to 
 report what he pleases. Those who wish you well, son 
 Booth, say simply that you are dead: others, that you ran 
 away from the siege, and was cashiered. As for my daughter, 
 all agree that she is a saint above; and there are not want¬ 
 ing those who hint that her husband sent her thither. From 
 this beginning you will expect, I suppose, better news than 
 I am going to tell you; but pray, my dear children, why 
 may not I, who have always laughed at my own afflictions, 
 laugh at yours, without the censure of much malevolence 1 
 I wish you could learn this temper from me; for, take my 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 134 
 
 [bk in. 
 
 word for it, nothing truer ever came from the mouth of a 
 heathen than that sentence : 
 
 ‘- Leve fit quod bene fertur onus.’’ * 
 
 And though I must confess I never thought Aristotle 
 (whom I do not take for so great a blockhead as some who 
 have never read him) doth not very well resolve the doubt 
 which he hath raised in his Ethics, viz., How a man in the 
 midst of King Priam’s misfortunes can be called happy 1 yet 
 I have long thought that there is no calamity so great that a 
 Christian philosopher may not reasonably laugh at it. If 
 the heathen Cicero, doubting of immortality (for so wise a 
 man must have doubted of that which had such slender 
 arguments to support it), could assert it as the office of wis¬ 
 dom, Humanas res despicere atque infra se positas arbitrari.\ 
 
 ‘ “ Which passage, with much more to the same purpose, 
 you will find in the third book of his Tusculan Questions. 
 
 4 “ With how much greater confidence may a good Christian 
 despise, and even deride, all temporary and short transitory 
 evils ! If the poor wretch, who is trudging on to his miserable 
 cottage, can laugh at the storms and tempests, the rain and 
 whirlwinds, which surround him, while his richest hope is 
 only that of rest; how much more cheerfully must a man 
 pass through such transient evils, whose spirits are buoyed 
 up with the certain expectation of finding a noble palace and 
 the most sumptuous entertainment ready to receive him ! I 
 do not much like the simile ; but I cannot think of a better. 
 And yet, inadequate as the simile is, we may, I think, from 
 the actions of mankind, conclude that they will consider it 
 as much too strong; for, in the case I have put of the enter¬ 
 tainment, is there any man so tender or poor-spirited as not to 
 despise, and often to deride, the fiercest of these inclemencies 
 which I have mentioned h but in our journey to the glorious 
 mansions of everlasting bliss, how severely is every little rub, 
 every trifling accident, lamented ! and if Fortune showers 
 down any of her heavier storms upon us, how wretched do 
 we presently appear to ourselves and to others ! The reason 
 of this can be no other than that we are not in earnest in 
 our faith; at the best, we think with too little attention on 
 
 * The burthen becomes light by being well borne. 
 
 t To look down on all human affairs as matters below his consideration. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 135 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 this our great concern. While the most paltry matters of 
 this world, even those pitiful trifles, those childish gewgaws, 
 riches and honours, are transacted with the utmost earnest¬ 
 ness and most serious application, the grand and weighty 
 affair of immortality is postponed and disregarded, nor ever 
 brought into the least competition with our affairs here. If 
 one of my cloth should begin a discourse of heaven in the 
 scenes of business or pleasure ; in the court of requests, at 
 Garraway’s, or at 'White’s; would he gain a healing, unless, 
 perhaps, of some sorry jester who would desire to ridicule 
 him ? would he not presently acquire the name of the mad 
 parson, and be thought by all men worthy of Bedlam? or 
 would he not be treated as the Bomans treated their Areta- 
 logi,* and considered in the light of a buffoon ? But why 
 should I mention those places of hurry and worldly pursuit? 
 What attention do we engage even in the pulpit ? Here, if 
 a sermon be prolonged a little beyond the usual hour, doth 
 it not set half the audience asleep ? .as I question not I have 
 by this time both my children. Well, then, like a good- 
 natured surgeon, who prepares his patient for a painful opera¬ 
 tion by endeavouring as much as he can to deaden his sensa¬ 
 tion, I will now communicate to you, in your slumbering 
 condition, the news with which I threatened you. Yom good 
 mother, you are to know, is dead at last, and hath left her 
 'whole fortune to her elder daughter.—I his is all the ill news 
 I have to tell you. Confess now, if you are awake, did you 
 not expect it was much worse ; did not you apprehend that 
 your charming child was dead? bar from it, he is in per¬ 
 fect health, and the admiration of everybody : what is more, 
 he will be taken care of, with the tenderness of a parent, till 
 your return. Wdiat pleasure must this give you ! if indeed 
 anything can add to the happiness of a married couple who 
 are extremely and deservedly fond of each other, and, as \ oil 
 write me, in perfect health. A superstitious heathen would 
 have dreaded the malice of Nemesis in your situation; but 
 as I am a Christian, I shall venture to add another ciicum- 
 stance to your felicity, by assuring you that you have, besides 
 your wife, a faithful and zealous friend. Do not, therefore, 
 my dear children, fall into that fault which the excellent 
 
 * A set of beggarly philosophers who diverted great men at their table 
 with burlesque discourses on virtue. 
 
136 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 Thucydides observes is too common in human nature, to bear 
 heavily the being deprived of the smaller good, without con¬ 
 ceiving, at the same time, any gratitude for the much greater 
 blessings which we are suffered to enjoy. I have only far¬ 
 ther to tell you, my son, that, when you call at Mr Morand’s, 
 Eue Dauphine, you will find yourself worth a hundred 
 pounds. Good Heaven ! how much richer are you than 
 millions of people who are in want of nothing ! farewell, and 
 know me for your sincere and affectionate friend.” 
 
 1 There, madam/ cries Booth, ‘ how do you like the letter % 9 
 
 1 Oh ! extremely/ answered she : 4 the doctor is a charm¬ 
 ing man ; I always loved dearly to hear him preach. I re¬ 
 member to have heard of Mrs Harris’s death above a year 
 before I left the country, but never knew the particulars of 
 her will before. I am extremely sorry for it, upon my hon¬ 
 our.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, fie ! madam/ cries Booth; 1 have you so soon forgot 
 the chief purport of the doctor’s letter 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, ay,’ cried she ; ‘ these are very pretty things to read, 
 I acknowledge ; but the loss of fortune is a serious matter; 
 and I am sure a man of Mr Booth’s understanding must 
 think so.’ ‘ One consideration, I must own, madam,’ answered 
 he, ‘ a good deal baffled all the doctor’s arguments. This 
 was the concern for my little growing family, who must one 
 day feel the loss ; nor was I so easy upon Amelia’s account 
 as upon my own, though she herself put on the utmost cheer¬ 
 fulness, and stretched her invention to the utmost to comfort 
 me. But sure, madam, there is something in the doctor’s 
 letter to admire beyond the philosophy of it; what think you 
 of that easy, generous, friendly manner, in which he sent me 
 the hundred pounds 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Very noble and great indeed/ replied she. ‘ But pray 
 go on with your story ; for I long to hear the whole.’ 
 
CH. XI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN WHICH Mil BOOTH RELATES HIS RETURN TO ENGLAND. 
 
 ‘ Nothing remarkable, as I remember, happened during our 
 stay at Paris, which we left soon after and came to London. 
 Here we rested only two days, and then, taking leave of our 
 fellow-travellers, we set out for Wiltshire, my wife being so 
 impatient to see the child which she had left behind her, that 
 the child she carried with her was almost killed with the 
 fatigue of the journey. 
 
 ‘We arrived at our inn late in the evening. Amelia, 
 though she had no great reason to be pleased with any part 
 of her sister’s behaviour, resolved to behave to her as if 
 nothing wrong had ever happened. She therefore sent a kind 
 note to her the moment of our arrival, giving her her option, 
 whether she would come to us at the inn, or whether we 
 should that evening wait on her. The servant, after waiting 
 an hour, brought us an answer, excusing her from coming to 
 us so late, as she was disordered with a cold, and desiring 
 my wife by no means to think of venturing out after the 
 fatigue of her journey ; saying, she would, on that account, 
 defer the great pleasure of seeing her till the morning, with¬ 
 out taking any more notice of your humble servant than if 
 no such person had been in the world, though I had very 
 civilly sent my compliments to her. I should not mention 
 this trifle, if it was not to show you the nature of the woman, 
 and that it will be a kind of key to her future conduct. 
 
 ‘ When the servant returned, the good doctor, who had 
 been with us almost all the time of his absence, hurried us 
 away to his house, where we presently found a supper and a 
 bed prepared for us. My wife was eagerly desirous to see 
 her child that night; but the doctor would not suffer it; 
 and, as he was at nurse at a distant part of the town, and 
 the doctor assured her he had seen him in perfect health that 
 evening, she suffered herself at last to be dissuaded. 
 
 ‘ We spent that evening in the most agreeable manner; 
 
133 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 for the doctor’s wit and humour, joined to the highest cheer¬ 
 fulness and good nature, made him the most agreeable com¬ 
 panion in the world : and he was now in the highest spirits, 
 which he was pleased to place to our account. We sat to¬ 
 gether to a very late hour; for so excellent is my wife’s con¬ 
 stitution, that she declared she was scarce sensible of any 
 fatigue from her late journeys. 
 
 ‘ Amelia slept not a wink all night, and in the morning 
 early the doctor accompanied us to the little infant. The 
 transports we felt on this occasion were really enchanting, nor 
 can any hut a fond parent conceive, I am certain, the least 
 idea of them. Our imaginations suggested a hundred agree¬ 
 able circumstances, none of which had, perhaps, any found¬ 
 ation. We made words and meaning out of every sound, 
 and in every feature found out some resemblance to my 
 Amelia, as she did to me. 
 
 ‘ But I ask your pardon for dwelling on such incidents, 
 and will proceed to scenes which, to most persons, will he 
 more entertaining. 
 
 ‘ We went hence to pay a visit to Miss Harris, whose re¬ 
 ception of us was, I think, truly ridiculous; and, as you 
 know the lady, I will endeavour to describe it particularly. 
 At our first arrival we were ushered into a parlour, where we 
 were suffered to wait almost an hour. At length the lady 
 of the house appeared in deep mourning, with a face, if pos¬ 
 sible, more dismal than her dress, in which, however, there 
 was every appearance of art. Her features were indeed 
 screwed uj) to the very height of grief. With this face, and 
 in the most solemn gait, she approached Amelia, and coldly 
 saluted her. After which she made me a very distant formal 
 courtesy, and we all sat down. A short silence now ensued, 
 which Miss Harris at length broke with a deep sigh, and 
 said, “ Sister, here is a great alteration in this place since 
 you saw it last; Heaven hath been pleased to take my poor 
 mother to itself.”—(Here she wiped her eyes, and then con¬ 
 tinued.)—“I hope I know my duty, and have learned a 
 proper resignation to the divine will; but something is to be 
 allowed to grief for the best of mothers; for so she was to 
 us both; and if at last she made any distinction, she must 
 have had her reasons for so doing. I am sure I can truly 
 say I never wished, much less desired it.” The tears now 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 139 
 
 CH. XI.] 
 
 stood in poor Amelia’s eyes; indeed, she had paid too many 
 already for the memory of so unnatural a parent. She 
 answered, with the sweetness of an angel, that she was far 
 from blaming her sister’s emotions on so tender an occasion; 
 that she heartily joined with her in her grief; for that 
 nothing which her mother had done in the latter part of her 
 life could efface the remembrance of that tenderness which 
 she had formerly shown her. Her sister caught hold of the 
 word efface, and rung the changes upon it.—“ Efface ! ” cried 
 she, “ 0 Miss Emily (for you must not expect me to repeat 
 names that will he for ever odious), I wish indeed everything 
 could he effaced.—Effaced! 0 that that was possible! we 
 might then have still enjoyed my poor mother ; for I am 
 convinced she never recovered her grief on a certain occa¬ 
 sion.”—Thus she ran on, and, after many hitter strokes upon 
 her sister, at last directly charged her mother’s death on my 
 marriage w T ith Amelia. I could he silent then no longer. I 
 reminded her of the perfect reconciliation between us before 
 my departure, and the great fondness which she expressed 
 for me; nor could I help saying, in very plain terms, that 
 if she had ever changed her opinion of me, as I was not 
 conscious of having deserved such a change by my own be¬ 
 haviour, I was well convinced to whose good offices I owed 
 it. Guilt hath very quick ears to an accusation. Miss Harris 
 immediately answered to the charge. She said, such 
 suspicions were no more than she expected; that they were 
 of a piece with every other part of my conduct, and gave 
 her one consolation, that they served to account for her sister 
 Emily’s unkindness, as ivell to herself as to her poor deceased 
 mother, and in some measure lessened the guilt of it with 
 regard to her, since it was not easy to know how far a woman 
 is in the power of her husband. My dear Amelia reddened 
 at this reflection on me, and begged her sister to name any 
 single instance of unkindness or disrespect in which she had 
 ever offended. To this the other answered (I am sure I 
 repeat her words, though I cannot mimic either the voice or 
 air with which they were spoken)—“Pray, Miss Emily, which 
 is to he the judge, yourself or that gentleman 1 I remember 
 the time when I could have trusted to your judgment many 
 affair; hut you are now no longer mistress of yourself, and 
 are not answerable for your actions. Indeed, it is my con- 
 
140 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 stant prayer that your actions may not be imputed to you. 
 It was the constant prayer of that blessed woman, my dear 
 mother, who is now a saint above ; a saint whose name I can 
 never mention without a tear, though I find you can hear it 
 without one. I cannot help observing some concern on so 
 melancholy an occasion ; it seems due to decency ; but, per¬ 
 haps, (for I always wish to excuse you) you are forbid to 
 cry.” The idea of being bid or forbid to cry struck so 
 strongly on my fancy, that indignation only could have pre¬ 
 vented me from laughing. But my narrative, I am afraid, 
 begins to grow tedious. In short, after hearing, for near an 
 hour, every malicious insinuation which a fertile genius could 
 invent, we took our leave, and separated as persons who 
 would never willingly meet again. 
 
 ‘ The next morning after this interview Amelia received a 
 long letter from Miss Harris; in which, after many bitter 
 invectives against me, she excused her mother, alleging that 
 she had been driven to do as she did in order to prevent 
 Amelia’s ruin, if her fortune had fallen into my hands. She 
 likewise very remotely hinted that she would be only a 
 trustee for her sister’s children, and told her that on one 
 condition only she would consent to live with her as a sister. 
 This was, if she could by any means be separated from that 
 man, as she was pleased to call me, who had caused so much 
 mischief in the family. 
 
 ‘ I was so enraged at this usage, that, had not Amelia in¬ 
 tervened, I believe I should have applied to a magistrate for 
 a search-warrant for that picture, which there was so much 
 reason to suspect she had stolen ; and which I am convinced, 
 upon a search, we should have found in her possession.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, it is possible enough,’ cries Miss Matthews ; ‘ for I 
 believe there is no wickedness of which the lady is not 
 capable.’ 
 
 ‘ This agreeable letter was succeeded by another of the like 
 comfortable kind, which informed me that the company in 
 which I was, being an additional one raised in the beginning 
 of the war, was reduced ; so that I was now a lieutenant on 
 half-pay. 
 
 ‘ Whilst we were meditating on our present situation the 
 good doctor came to us. When we related to him the man- 
 
CH. XI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 141 
 
 ner in which my sister had treated us, he cried out, “ Poor 
 soul! I pity her heartily ; ” for this is the severest resentment 
 he ever expresses; indeed, I have often heard him say that 
 a wicked soul is the greatest object of compassion in the 
 world.’—A sentiment which we shall leave the reader a little 
 time to digest. 
 
142 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR BOOTH CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 
 
 f The next clay tlie doctor set out for his parsonage, which 
 was about thirty miles distant, whither Amelia and myself 
 accompanied him, and where we stayed with him all the 
 time of his residence there, being almost three months. 
 
 ‘ The situation of the parish under my good friend’s care 
 is very pleasant. It is placed among meadows, washed by a 
 clear trout-stream, and flanked on both sides with downs. 
 His house, indeed, would not much attract the admiration of 
 the virtuoso. He built it himself, and it is remarkable only 
 for its plainness; with which the furniture so well agrees, 
 that there is no one thing in it that may not be absolutely 
 necessary, except books, and the prints of Mr Hogarth, whom 
 he calls a moral satirist. 
 
 ‘ Nothing, however, can be imagined more agreeable than 
 the life that the doctor leads in this homely house, which he 
 calls his earthly paradise. All his parishioners, whom he 
 treats as his children, regard him as their common father. 
 Once in a week he constantly visits every house in the 
 parish, examines, commends, and rebukes, as he finds occa¬ 
 sion. This is practised likewise by his curate in his absence; 
 and so good an effect is produced by this their care, that no 
 quarrels ever proceed either to blows or law-suits ; no beggar 
 is to be found in the whole parish; nor did I ever hear a 
 very profane oath all the time I lived in it. 
 
 ‘ But to return from so agreeable a digression, to my own 
 affairs, that are much less worth your attention. In the midst 
 of all- the pleasures I tasted in this sweet pla§e and in the 
 most delightful company, the woman and man whom I loved 
 above all things, melancholy reflexions concerning my un¬ 
 happy circumstances would often steal into my thoughts. 
 My fortune was now reduced to less than forty pounds a-yeaiq 
 I had already two children, and my dear Amelia was again 
 with child. 
 
CH. XII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 143 
 
 ‘ One day the doctor found me sitting by myself, and em¬ 
 ployed in melancholy contemplations on this subject. . He 
 told me he had observed me growing of late very serious; 
 that he knew the occasion, and neither wondered at nor 
 blamed me. He then asked me if I had any prospect of 
 going again into the army ; if not, what scheme of life I 
 proposed to myself % 
 
 ‘ I told him that, as I had no powerful friends, I could 
 have but little expectations in a military way; that I was as 
 incapable of thinking of any other scheme, as all business 
 required some knowledge or experience, and likewise money 
 to set up with; of all which I was destitute. 
 
 i a you must know then, child,” said the doctor, u that I 
 have been thinking on this subject as well as you; for I can 
 think, I promise you, with a pleasant countenance. ’ These 
 were his words. “ As to the army, perhaps means might be 
 found of getting you another commission; but my daughter 
 seems to have a violent objection to it; and to be plain, I 
 fancy you yourself will find no glory make you amends for 
 your absence from her. And for my part, said he, “ I never 
 think those men wise who, for any worldly interest, forego 
 the greatest happiness of their lives. If I mistake not, says 
 he, “ a country life, where you could be always together, 
 would make you both much happier people.”. 
 
 ‘ I answered, that of all things I preferred it most; and I 
 believed Amelia was of the same opinion. 
 
 ‘ The doctor, after a little hesitation, proposed to me to 
 turn farmer, and offered to let me his parsonage, which was 
 then become vacant. He said it was a farm which required 
 but little stock, and that little should not be wanting. 
 
 ‘ I embraced this offer very eagerly, and with great thank¬ 
 fulness, and immediately repaired to Amelia to communicate 
 it to her, and to know her sentiments. 
 
 ‘ Amelia received the news with the highest transports of 
 joy ; she said that her greatest fear had always been of my 
 entering again into the army. She was so kind as to say 
 that all stations of life were equal to her, unless as one 
 afforded her more of my company than another. “ And as 
 to our children,” said she, ‘‘let us breed them up to an 
 humble fortune, and they will be contented with it; for 
 none,” added my angel, “ deserve happiness, or, indeed, are 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 144 
 
 [bk iit: 
 
 capable of it, who make any particular station a necessary 
 ingredient.” 
 
 ‘ Thus, madam, you see me degraded from my former rank 
 in life; no longer Captain Booth, but farmer Booth at your 
 service. 
 
 ‘ During my first year’s continuance in this new scene of 
 life, nothing, I think, remarkable happened ; the history of 
 one day would, indeed, be the history of the whole year.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, pray then,’ said Miss Matthews, ‘ do let us hear 
 the history of that day ; I have a strange curiosity to know 
 how you could kill your time; and do, if possible, find out 
 the very best day you can.’ 
 
 ‘ If you command me, madam,’ answered Booth, ‘ you mu^t 
 yourself be accountable for the dulness of the narrative. 
 Nay, I believe, you have imposed a very difficult task on 
 me ; for the greatest happiness is incapable of description. 
 
 ‘I rose, then, madam-’ 
 
 ‘ 0, the moment you waked, undoubtedly,’ said Miss 
 Matthews. 
 
 ‘ Usually,’ said he, * between five and six.’ 
 
 ‘ I will have no usually,’ cried Miss Matthews, ‘ you are 
 confined to a day, and it is to be the best and happiest in 
 the year.’ 
 
 * Nay, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ then I must tell you the day 
 in which Amelia was brought to bed, after a painful and 
 dangerous labour; for that I think was the happiest day of 
 my life.’ 
 
 ‘ I protest,’ said she, 1 you are become farmer Booth, in¬ 
 deed. What a happiness have you painted to my imagina¬ 
 tion ! you put me in mind of a newspaper, where my lady 
 such-a-one is delivered of a son, to the great joy of some 
 illustrious family.’ 
 
 1 Why then, I do assure you} Miss Matthews,’ cries Booth, 
 ‘ I scarce know a circumstance that distinguished one day 
 from another. The whole was one continued series of love, 
 health, and tranquillity. Our lives resembled a calm sea.’— 
 
 ‘ The dullest of all ideas,’ cries the lady. 
 
 ‘ I know,’ said he, ‘ it must appear dull in description, for 
 who can describe the pleasures which the morning air gives 
 to one in perfect health ; the flow of spirits which springs up 
 from exercise; the delights which parents feel from the 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 145 
 
 OH. XII.] 
 
 prattle and innocent follies of their children; the joy with 
 which the tender smile of a wife inspires a husband; or 
 lastly, the cheerful, solid comfort which a fond couple enjoy 
 in each other’s conversation 1—All these pleasures and every 
 other of which our situation was capable we tasted in the 
 highest degree. Our happiness was, perhaps, too great; for 
 fortune seemed to grow envious of it and interposed one of 
 the most cruel accidents that could have befallen us bv rob¬ 
 bing us of our dear friend the doctor.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry for it,’ said Miss Matthews. < He was indeed 
 a valuable man, and I never heard of his death before.’ 
 
 ‘ Long may it be before any one hears of it ! ’ cries Booth. 
 
 1 is, indeed, dead to us; but will, I hope, enjoy many happy 
 years of life. You know, madam, the obligations he had to 
 his patron the earl ) indeed, it was impossible to be once in 
 his company without hearing of them. I am sure you will 
 neither wonder that he was chosen to attend the young lord 
 in his travels as his tutor, nor that the good man, however 
 disagreeable it might be (as in fact it was) to his inclination, 
 should comply with the earnest request of his friend and 
 patron. 
 
 ‘ By this means I was bereft not only of the best com¬ 
 panion in the world, but of the best counsellor; a loss of 
 which I have since felt the bitter consequence • for no greater 
 advantage, I am convinced, can arrive to a young man, who 
 hath any degree of understanding, than an intimate converse 
 with one of riper years, who is not only able to advise, but 
 who knows the manner of advising. By this means alone, 
 youth can enjoy the benefit of the experience of age, and 
 that at a time of life when such experience will be of more 
 service to a man than when he hath lived long enough to 
 acquire it of himself. 
 
 ‘From want of my sage counsellor, I now fell into many 
 errors. The first of these was in enlarging my business, by 
 adding a farm of one hundred a year to the parsonage, in 
 renting which I had also as bad a bargain as the doctor had 
 before given me a good one. The consequence of which was, 
 that whereas, at the end of the first year, I was worth up¬ 
 wards of fourscore pounds • at the end of the second I was 
 near half that sum worse (as the phrase is) than nothing. 
 
 ‘A second folly I was guilty of in uniting families with 
 
 10 
 
14G 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 the curate of the parish, who had just married, as my wife 
 and I thought, a very good sort of a woman. We had not* 
 however, lived one month together before I plainly perceived 
 this good sort of a woman had taken a great prejudice against 
 my Amelia, for which, if I had not known something of the 
 human passions, and that high place which envy holds among 
 
 them, I should not have been able to account, for, so far was 
 my angel from having given her any cause of dislike, that 
 she had treated her not only with civility, but kindness. 
 
 ‘ Besides superiority in beauty, which, I believe, all the 
 world would have allowed to Amelia, there was another 
 cause of this envy, which I am almost ashamed to mention, 
 as it may well be called my greatest folly. You are to know 
 
 then, madam, that from a boy I had been always fond of 
 driving a coach, in which I valued myself on having some 
 skill. This, perhaps, was an innocent, but I allow it to have 
 been a childish vanity. As I had an opportunity, therefore, 
 of buying an old coach and harness very cheap (indeed they 
 cost me but twelve pounds), and as I considered that the 
 same horses which drew my waggons would likewise draw my 
 coach, I resolved on indulging myself in the purchase. 
 
 ‘ The consequence of setting up this poor old coach is in¬ 
 conceivable. Before this, as my wife and myself had very 
 little distinguished ourselves from the other farmers and their 
 wives, either in our dress or our way of living, they treated 
 us as their equals ; but now they began to consider us as 
 elevating ourselves into a state of superiority, and immedi¬ 
 ately began to envy, hate, and declare war against us. The 
 neighbouring little squires, too, were uneasy to see a poor 
 renter become their equal in a matter in which they placed 
 so much dignity ; and, not doubting but it arose in me 
 from tire same ostentation, they began to hate me likewise, 
 and to turn my equipage into ridicule, asserting that my 
 horses, which were as well matched as any in the kingdom, 
 were of different colours and sizes, with much more of that 
 kind of wit, the only basis of which is lying. 
 
 4 But what will appear most surprizing to you, madam, 
 was, that the curate’s wife, who, being lame, had more use 
 of the coach than my Amelia (indeed she seldom went to 
 church in any other manner), was one of my bitterest enemies 
 on the occasion. If she had ever any dispute with Amelia, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 147 
 
 CH. XII.] 
 
 which all the sweetness of my poor girl could not sometimes 
 avoid, she was sure to introduce with a malicious sneer, 
 “Though my husband doth not keep a coach, madam.” 
 Nay, she took this opportunity to upbraid my wife with the 
 loss of her fortune, alleging that some folks might have had 
 as good pretensions to a coach as other folks, and a better 
 too, as they brought a better fortune to their husbands, but 
 that all people had not the art of making brick without 
 straw. 
 
 ‘ You will wonder, perhaps, madam, how I can remember 
 such stuff, which, indeed, was a long time only matter of 
 amusement to both Amelia and myself; but we at last ex¬ 
 perienced the mischievous nature of envy, and that it tends 
 rather to produce tragical than comical events. My neigh¬ 
 bours now began to conspire against me. They nicknamed 
 me in derision, the Squire Farmer. Whatever I bought, I 
 was sure to buy dearer, and when I sold I was obliged to sell 
 cheaper, than any other. In fact, they were all united, and, 
 while they every day committed trespasses on my lands with 
 impunity, if any of my cattle escaped into their fields, I was 
 either forced to enter into a law-suit or to make amends 
 fourfold for the damage sustained. 
 
 ‘ The consequences of all this could be no other than that 
 ruin which ensued. Without tiring you with particulars, 
 before the end of four years I became involved in debt near 
 three hundred pounds more than the value of all my effects. 
 My landlord seized my stock for rent, and, to avoid imme¬ 
 diate confinement in prison, I was forced to leave the coun¬ 
 try with all that I hold dear in the world, my wife and my 
 poor little family. 
 
 ‘ In this condition I arrived in town five or six days ago. 
 I had just taken a lodging in the verge of the court, and had 
 writ my dear Amelia word where she might find me, when 
 she had settled her affairs in the best manner she could. That 
 very evening, as I was returning home from a coffee-house, a 
 fray happening in the street, I endeavoured to assist the in¬ 
 jured party, when I was seized by the watch, and, after being 
 confined all night in the round-house, was conveyed in the 
 morning before a justice of peace, who committed me hither ; 
 where I should probably have starved, had I not from your 
 hands found a most unaccountable preservation.—And here, 
 
148 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk III. 
 
 give me leave to assure you, my dear Miss Matthews, that, 
 whatever advantage I may have reaped from your misfortune, 
 I sincerely lament it; nor would I have purchased any relief 
 to myself at the price of seeing you in this dreadful place.’ 
 
 He spake these last words with great tenderness ; for he 
 was a man of consummate good nature, and had formerly 
 had much affection for this young lady; indeed, more than 
 the generality of people are capable of entertaining for any 
 person whatsoever. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONTAINING YEEY MYSTERIOUS MATTER. 
 
 Miss Matthews did not in tlie least fall short of Mr Booth 
 in expressions of tenderness. Her eyes, the most eloquent 
 orators on such occasions, exerted their utmost force \ and at 
 the conclusion of his speech she cast a look as languishingly 
 sweet as ever Cleopatra gave to Antony. In real fact, this 
 Mr Booth had been her first love, and had made those im¬ 
 pressions on her young heart, which the learned in this branch 
 of philosophy affirm, and perhaps truly, are never to be era¬ 
 dicated. 
 
 When Booth had finished his story a silence ensued. of 
 some minutes ; an interval which the painter would describe 
 much better than the writer. Some readers may, however, 
 be able to make pretty pertinent conjectures by what I have 
 said above, especially when they are told that Miss Mat¬ 
 thews broke the silence by a sigh, and cried, ‘ Why is Mr 
 Booth unwilling to allow me the happiness of thinking my 
 misfortunes have been of some little advantage to him % sure 
 the happy Amelia would not be so selfish to envy me that 
 pleasure. No j not if she was as much the fondest as she is 
 the happiest of women.’ ‘ Good heavens ! madam/ said he, 
 ‘ do you call my poor Amelia the happiest of women % 
 ‘Indeed I do/ answered she briskly. ‘ 0 Mr Booth ! there 
 is a speck of white in her fortune, which, ■when it falls to 
 the lot of a sensible woman, makes her full amends for all 
 the crosses which can attend her. Perhaps she may not be 
 sensible of it j but if it had been my blessed fate 0 Mr 
 Booth ! could I have thought, when we were first acquainted, 
 
150 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 that the moat agreeable man in the world had been capable 
 of making the kind, the tender, the affectionate husband— 
 the happy Amelia, in those days, was unknown; Heaven 
 had not then given her a prospect of the happiness it in¬ 
 tended her; but yet it did intend it her; for sure there is a 
 fatality in the affairs of love; and the more I reflect on my 
 own life, the more I am convinced of it.—0 heavens ! how 
 a thousand little circumstances crowd into my mind ! When 
 you fir st marched into our town, you had then the colours in 
 your hand ; as you passed under the window where I stood, 
 my glove, by accident, dropt into the street; you stopped, 
 took up my glove, and, putting it upon the spike belonging 
 to your colours, lifted it up to the window. Upon this a 
 young lady who stood by said, ‘ So, miss, the young officer 
 hath accepted your challenge.’ I blushed then, and I blush 
 now, when I confess to you I thought you the prettiest 
 young fellow I had ever seen ; and, upon my soul, I believe 
 you was then the prettiest fellow in the world.’ Booth here 
 made a low bow, and cried, ‘ 0 dear madam, how ignorant 
 was I of my own happiness ! ’ ‘ Would you really have 
 
 thought so 1 ’ answered she. ‘ However, there is some polite¬ 
 ness if there be no sincerity in what you say.’—Here the 
 governor of the enchanted castle interrupted them, and, 
 entering the room without any ceremony, acquainted the 
 lady and gentleman that it was locking-up time ; and, ad¬ 
 dressing Booth by the name of captain, asked him if he 
 would not please to have a bed ; adding, that he might have 
 one in the next room to the lady, but that it would come 
 dear ; for that he never let a bed in that room under a guinea, 
 nor could he afford it cheaper to his father. 
 
 Ho answer was made to this proposal; but Miss Matthews, 
 who had already learnt some of the ways of the house, said 
 she believed Mr Booth would like to drink a glass of some¬ 
 thing ; upon which the governor immediately trumpeted 
 forth the praises of his rack-punch, and, without waiting for 
 any farther commands, presently produced a large bowl of 
 that liquor. 
 
 The governor, having recommended the goodness of his 
 punch by a hearty draught, began to revive the other matter, 
 saying that he was just going to bed, and must first lock up.— 
 ‘ But suppose,’ said Miss Matthews, with a smile, ‘ the cap- t 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 151 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 tain and I should have a mind to sit up all night.’— 4 With 
 all my heart,’ said the governor; ‘ hut I expect a consider¬ 
 ation for those matters. For my part, I don’t inquire into 
 what doth not concern me; hut single and double are two 
 things. If I lock up double I expect half a guinea, and I’m 
 sure the captain cannot think that’s out of the way ; it is 
 hut the price of a bagnio.’ 
 
 Miss Matthews’s face became the colour of scarlet at those 
 words. However, she mustered up her spirits, and, turning 
 to Booth, said, ‘ What say you, captain 1 for my own part, 
 
 I had never less inclination to' sleep ; which hath the greater 
 charms for you, the punch or the pillow 1 - - I hope, 
 madam,’ answered Booth, ‘ you have a better opinion of me 
 than to doubt my preferring Miss Matthews’s conversation to 
 either.’—‘ I assure you,’ replied she, ‘ it is no compliment to 
 you to say I prefer yours to sleep at this time.’ 
 
 The governor, then, having received his fee, departed; 
 and, turning the key, left the gentleman and the lady to 
 themselves. 
 
 In imitation of him we will lock up likewise a scene which 
 we do not think proper to expose to the eyes of the public. 
 If any over-curious readers should be disappointed on this 
 occasion, we will recommend such readers to the apologies 
 with which certain gay ladies have lately been pleased to 
 oblige the world, where they will possibly find everything 
 
 recorded that passed at this interval. 
 
 But, though we decline painting the scene, it is not our in¬ 
 tention to conceal from the world the frailty of Mr Booth, 
 or of his fair partner, who certainly passed that evening in 
 a manner inconsistent with the strict rules of virtue and 
 chastity. 
 
 To say the truth, we are much more concerned tor the 
 behaviour of the gentleman than of the lady, not only for 
 his sake, but for the sake of the best woman in the world, 
 whom we should be sorry to consider as yoked to a man of 
 no worth nor honour. 
 
 We desire, therefore, the good-natured and candid reader 
 will be pleased to weigh attentively the several unlucky 
 circumstances which concurred so critically, that Fortune 
 seemed to have used her utmost endeavours to ensnare poor 
 Booth’s constancy. Let the reader set before his eyes a 
 
152 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 fine young woman, in a manner, a first love, conferring ob¬ 
 ligations and using every art to soften, to allure, to win, and 
 to enflame; let him consider the time and place; let him 
 remember that Mr Booth was a young fellow in the highest 
 vigour of life; and, lastly, let him add one single circum¬ 
 stance, that the parties were alone together; and then, if he 
 will not acguit the defendant, he must, be convicted, for I 
 have nothing more to say in his defence. 
 
CH, II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 153 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE LATTEE PAET OE "WHICH WE EXPECT WILL PLEASE 
 OUE EEADEE BETTEE THAN THE EOEMEE. 
 
 A whole week did our lady and gentleman live in this 
 criminal conversation, in which the happiness of the former 
 was much more perfect than that of the latter ; for, though 
 the charms of Miss Matthews, and her excessive endear¬ 
 ments, sometimes lulled every thought in the sweet lethargy 
 of pleasure, yet in the intervals of his fits his virtue alarmed 
 and roused him, and brought the image of poor injured 
 Amelia to haunt and torment him. In fact, if we regard 
 this world only, it is the interest of every man to he either 
 perfectly good or completely had. He had better destroy 
 his conscience than gently "wound it. The many hitter re¬ 
 flections which every had action costs a mind in which there 
 are any remains of goodness are not to ho compensated by 
 the highest pleasures which such an action can produce. 
 
 So it happened to Mr Booth. Repentance never failed to 
 follow his transgressions; and yet so perverse is our judg¬ 
 ment, and so slippery is the descent of vice when once we 
 are entered into it, the same crime which he now repented 
 of became a reason for doing that which was to cause his 
 future repentance ; and he continued to sin on because he 
 had begun. His repentance, however, returned still heavier 
 and heavier, till, at last, it flung him into a melancholy, 
 which Miss Matthews plainly perceived, and at which she 
 could not avoid expressing some resentment in obscure hints 
 and ironical compliments on Amelia’s superiority to her 
 whole sex, who could not cloy a gay young fellow by many 
 years’ possession. She would then repeat the compliments 
 which others had made to her own beauty, and could not 
 forbear once crying out, ‘ Upon my soul, my dear Billy, I 
 believe the chief disadvantage on my side is my superior 
 fondness; for love, in the minds of men, hath one quality, 
 at least, of a fever, which is to prefer coldness in the object. 
 
154 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 Confess, dear Will, is there not something vastly refreshing 
 in the cool air of a prude 1 ’ Booth fetched a deep sigh, and 
 begged her never more to mention Amelia’s name. ‘ 0 
 Will,’ cries she, ‘ did that request proceed from the motive 
 I could wish, I should be the happiest of womankind.’— 
 ‘You would not, sure, madam,’ said Booth, ‘ desire a sacri¬ 
 fice which I must be a villain to make to any 1 ’—‘ Desire ! ’ 
 answered she, ‘ are there any bounds to the desire of love 1 
 have not I been sacrificed ] hath not my first love been tom 
 from my bleeding heart 1 I claim a prior right. As for 
 sacrifices, I can make them too, and would sacrifice the whole 
 world at the least call of my love.’ 
 
 Here she delivered a letter to Booth, which she had re¬ 
 ceived within an hour, the contents of which were these :— 
 
 ‘ Dearest Madam, —Those only who truly know what 
 love is, can have any conception of the horrors I felt at 
 hearing of your confinement at my arrival in town, which 
 was this morning. I immediately sent my lawyer to inquire 
 into the particulars, who brought me the agreeable news 
 that the man, whose heart’s blood ought not to be valued at 
 the rate of a single hair of yours, is entirely out of all 
 danger, and that you might be admitted to bail. I presently 
 ordered him to go v r ith two of my tradesmen, who are to be 
 bound in any sum for your appearance, if he should be mean 
 enough to prosecute you. Though you may expect my at¬ 
 torney with you soon, I would not delay sending this, as I 
 hope the news will be agreeable to you. My chariot will 
 attend at the same time to carry you wherever you please. 
 You may easily guess what a violence I have done to my¬ 
 self in not waiting on you in person; but I, who know your 
 delicacy, feared it might offend, and that you might think 
 me ungenerous enough to hope from your distresses that 
 happiness which I am resolved to owe to your free gift alone, 
 when your good nature shall induce you to bestow on me 
 what no man living can merit. I beg you will pardon all 
 the contents of this hasty letter, and do me the honour of 
 believing me, 
 
 Dearest madam, 
 
 Your most passionate admirer, 
 
 and most obedient humble servant, 
 
 Damon.’ 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 155 
 
 Booth thought he had somewhere before seen the same 
 hand, hut in his present hurry of spirits could not recollect 
 whose it was, nor did the lady give him any time for reflec¬ 
 tion ; for he had scarce read the letter when she produced a 
 little bit of paper and cried out, ‘ Here, sir, here are the con¬ 
 tents which he fears will offend me.’ She then put a bank- 
 bill of a hundred pounds into Mr Booth’s hands, and asked 
 him with a smile if he did not think she had reason to be 
 offended with so much insolence 1 
 
 Before Booth could return any answer the governor ar¬ 
 rived, and introduced Mr Bogers the attorney, who ac¬ 
 quainted the lady that he had brought her discharge from 
 her confinement, and that a chariot waited at the door to 
 attend her wherever she pleased. 
 
 She received the discharge from Mr Rogers, and said she 
 was very much obliged to the gentleman who employed him, 
 but that she would not make use of the chariot, as she had 
 no notion of leaving that wretched place in a triumphant 
 manner; in which resolution when the attorney found her 
 obstinate he withdrew, as did the governor, with many bows 
 and as many ladyships. 
 
 They were no sooner gone than Booth asked the lady why 
 she would refuse the chariot of a gentleman who had be¬ 
 haved with such excessive respect ] She looked earnestly 
 upon him, and cried, ‘ How unkind is that question ! do 
 you imagine I would go and leave you in such a situation % 
 thou knowest but little of Calista. Why, do you think I 
 would accept this hundred pounds from a man I dislike 
 unless it was to be serviceable to the man I love 1 I insist 
 on your taking it as your own and using whatever you want 
 of it.’ 
 
 Booth protested in the solemnest manner that he would 
 not touch a shilling of it, saying, he had already received too 
 many obligations at her hands, and more than ever he should 
 be able he feared to repay. ‘ How unkind,’ answered she, 
 ‘ is every word you say, why will you mention obligations 1 
 love never confers any. It doth everything for its own 
 sake. I am not therefore obliged to the man whose passion 
 makes him generous ; for I feel how inconsiderable the 
 whole world would appear to me if I could throw it after 
 my heart.’ 
 
156 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 Much more of this kind passed, she still pressing the 
 bank-note upon him, and he as absolutely refusing, till Booth 
 left the lady to dress herself, and went to walk in the area 
 of the prison. 
 
 Miss Matthews now applied to the governor to know by 
 what means she might procure the captain his liberty. The 
 governor answered, ‘ As he cannot get bail, it will be a 
 difficult matter ; and money to be sure there must be; for 
 people no doubt expect to touch on these occasions. When 
 prisoners have not wherewithal as the law requires to entitle 
 themselves to justice, why they must be beholden to other 
 people to give them their liberty; and people will not, to 
 be sure, suffer others to be beholden to them for nothing, 
 whereof there is good reason ; for how should we all live 
 if it was not for these things 1 ’ ‘ Well, well,’ said she, ‘ and 
 
 how much will it cost?’ ‘How much!’ answered he,— 
 ‘ How much !—why, let me see.’—Here he hesitated some 
 time, aud then answered ‘That for five guineas he would 
 undertake to procure the captain his discharge.’ That being 
 the sum which he computed to remain in the lady’s pocket; 
 for, as to the gentleman’s, he had long been acquainted with 
 the emptiness of it. 
 
 Miss Matthews, to whom money was as dirt (indeed she 
 may be thought not to have known the value of it), delivered 
 him the bank-bill, and bid him get it changed; for if the 
 whole, says she, will procure him his liberty, he shall have 
 it this evening. 
 
 ‘ The whole, madam ! ’ answered the governor, as soon as 
 he had recovered his breath, for it almost forsook him at 
 the sight of the black word hundred—‘Ho, no ; there might 
 be people indeed—but I am not one of those. A hundred! 
 no, nor nothing like it.—As for myself, as I said, I will be 
 content with five guineas, and I am sure that’s little enough. 
 What other people will expect I cannot exactly say. To be 
 sure his worship’s clerk will expect to touch pretty hand¬ 
 somely ; as for his worship himself, he never touches any¬ 
 thing, that is, not to speak of; but then the constable will 
 expect something, and the watchmen must have something, 
 and the lawyers on both sides, they must have their fees 
 for finishing.’—‘ Well,’ said she, ‘ I leave all to you. If it 
 costs me twenty pounds I will have him discharged this 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 157 
 
 CE. II.] 
 
 afternoon.—But you must give his discharge into my hands 
 without letting the captain know anything of the matter.’ 
 
 The governor promised to obey her commands in every 
 particular; nay, he was so very industrious, that, though 
 dinner was just then coming upon the table, at her earnest 
 request he set out immediately on the purpose, and went as 
 he said in pursuit of the lawyer. 
 
 All the other company assembled at table as usual, where 
 poor Booth was the only person out of spirits. This was 
 imputed by all present to a wrong cause; nay, Miss Mat¬ 
 thews herself either could not or would not suspect that there 
 was anything deeper than the despair of being speedily dis¬ 
 charged that lay heavy on his mind. . 
 
 However, the mirth of the rest, and a pretty liberal 
 quantity of punch, which he swallowed after dinner (for 
 Miss Matthews had ordered a very large bowl at her own 
 expense to entertain the good company at her farewell), so 
 far exhilarated his spirits, that when the young lady and he 
 retired to their tea he had all the marks of gaiety in his 
 countenance, and his eyes sparkled with good humour. 
 
 The gentleman and lady had spent about two hours in tea 
 and conversation, when the governor returned, and privately 
 delivered to the lady the discharge for her friend, and the 
 sum of eiglity-two pounds five shillings ; the rest having 
 been, he said, disbursed in the business, of w T hich he was 
 ready at any time to render an exact account. 
 
 Miss Matthews, being again alone with Mr Booth, she put 
 the discharge into his hands, desiring him to ask her no 
 questions ; and adding, ‘ I think, sir, we have neither of us 
 now anything more to do at this place.’ She then sum¬ 
 moned the governor, and ordered a bill of that day’s expense, 
 for long scores were not usual there ; and at the same time 
 ordered a hackney coach, without having yet determined 
 whither she would go, but fully determined she was, wher¬ 
 ever she went, to take Mr Booth with her. 
 
 The- governor was noAV approachiug with a long roll of 
 paper, when a faint voice was heard to cry out hastily, 
 ‘ Where is he 1 ’—and presently a female spectre, all pale and 
 breathless, rushed into the room, and fell into Mr Booth’s 
 arms, where she immediately fainted away. 
 
 Booth made a shift to support his lovely burden; though 
 
158 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 he was himself in a condition very little different from hers. 
 Miss Matthews likewise, who presently recollected the face 
 of Amelia, was struck motionless with the surprize, nay, the 
 governor himself, though not easily moved at sights of 
 horror, stood aghast, and neither offered to speak noi stir. 
 
 Happily for Amelia, the governess of the mansions had, 
 out of curiosity, followed her into the room, and was the 
 only useful person present on this occasion : she immediately 
 called for water, and ran to the lady’s assistance, fell to 
 loosening her stays, and performed all the offices proper at 
 such a season; which had so good an effect, that Amelia 
 soon recovered the disorder which the violent agitation of 
 her spirits had caused, and found herself alive and awake in 
 her husband’s arms. 
 
 Some tender caresses and a soft whisper or two passed 
 privately between Booth and his lady \ nor was it without 
 great difficulty that poor Amelia put some restraint on her 
 fondness in a place so improper for a tender interview. She 
 now cast her eyes round the room, and, fixing them on Miss 
 Matthews, who stood like a statue, she soon recollected her, 
 and, addressing her by her name, said, ‘ Sure, madam, I 
 cannot be mistaken in those features; though meeting you 
 here might almost make me suspect my memory.’ . 
 
 Miss Matthews’s face was now all covered with scarlet. 
 The reader may easily believe she was on no account pleased 
 with Amelia’s presence; indeed, she expected from her 
 some of those insults of which virtuous women are gener¬ 
 ally so liberal to a frail sister: but she was mistaken 
 Amelia was not one 
 
 Who thought the nation ne’er would thrive, 
 
 Till all the whores were burnt alive. 
 
 Her virtue could support itself with its own intrinsic woith, 
 without borrowing any assistance from the vices of other 
 women j and she considered their natural infirmities as the 
 objects of pity, not of contempt or abhorrence. 
 
 When Amelia therefore perceived the visible confusion in 
 Miss Matthews she presently called to remembrance some 
 stories which she had imperfectly heard ; for, as she was not 
 naturally attentive to scandal, and had kept very little com¬ 
 pany since her return to Bngland, she was far from being a 
 mistress of the lady’s whole history. However, she had 
 


 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 159 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 heard enough to impute her confusion to the right cause ; 
 she advanced to her, and told her, she was extremely sorry 
 to meet her in such a place, hut hoped that no very great 
 misfortune was the occasion of it. 
 
 Miss Matthews began, by degrees, to recover her spirits. 
 She answered, with a reserved air, ‘ I am much obliged to 
 you, madam, for your concern ; we are all liable to misfor¬ 
 tunes in this world. Indeed, I know not why I should be 
 much ashamed of being in any place where I am in such 
 good company.’ 
 
 Here Booth interposed. He had before acquainted 
 Amelia in a whisper that his confinement was at an end. 
 
 ‘ The unfortunate accident, my dear,’ said he, ‘ which brought 
 this young lady to this melancholy place is entirely de¬ 
 termined ; and she is now as absolutely at her liberty as my¬ 
 self.’ 
 
 Amelia, imputing the extreme coldness and reserve of the 
 lady to the cause already mentioned, advanced still more and 
 more in proportion as she drew back ; till the governor, 
 who had withdrawn some time, returned, and acquainted 
 Miss Matthews that her coach was at the door ; upon which 
 the company soon separated. Amelia and Booth went to¬ 
 gether in Amelia’s coach, and poor Miss Matthews was ob¬ 
 liged to retire alone, after having satisfied the demands of 
 the governor, which in one day only had amounted to a 
 pretty considerable sum ; for he, with great dexterity, pro¬ 
 portioned the bills to the abilities of his guests. 
 
 It may seem, perhaps, wonderful to some readers, that 
 Miss Matthews should have maintained that cold reserve to¬ 
 wards Amelia, so as barely to keep within the rules of 
 civility, instead of embracing an opportunity which seemed 
 to offer of gaining some degree of intimacy with a wife 
 whose husband she was so fond of; but, besides that her 
 spirits were entirely disconcerted by so sudden and unex¬ 
 pected a disappointment; and besides the extreme horrors 
 which she conceived at the presence of her rival, therp is, I 
 believe, something so outrageously suspicious in the nature 
 of all vice, especially when joined with any great degree of 
 pride, that the eyes of those whom we imagine privy to our 
 failings are intolerable to us, and we are apt to aggravate 
 their opinions to our disadvantage far beyond the reality. 
 
160 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 CONTAINING- WISE OBSERVATIONS OF THE AUTHOR, AND 
 
 OTHER MATTERS. 
 
 There is nothing more difficult than to lay down any fixed 
 and certain rules for happiness ; or indeed to judge with any 
 precision of the happiness of others from the knowledge of 
 external circumstances. There is sometimes a little speck of 
 black in the brightest and gayest colours of fortune, which 
 contaminates and deadens the whole. On the contrary, 
 when all without looks dark and dismal, there is often a 
 secret ray of light within the mind, which turns everything 
 to real joy and gladness. 
 
 I have in the course of my life seen many occasions ta 
 make this observation, and Mr Booth was at present a very 
 pregnant instance of its truth. He was just delivered from 
 a prison, and in the possession of his beloved wife and 
 children ; and (which might be imagined greatly to augment 
 his joy) fortune had done all this for him within an hour, 
 without giving him the least warning or reasonable expecta¬ 
 tion of the strange reverse in his circumstances; and yet it 
 is certain that there were very few men in the world more 
 seriously miserable than he was at this instant. A deep 
 melancholy seized his mind, and cold damp sweats over¬ 
 spread his person, so that he was scarce animated; and poor 
 Amelia, instead of a fond warm husband, bestowed her 
 caresses on a - dull lifeless lump of clay. He endeavoured, 
 however, at first, as much as possible, to conceal what he 
 felt, and attempted, what is the hardest of all tasks, to act 
 the part of a happy man ; but he found no supply of spirits 
 to carry on this deceit, and would have probably sunk under 
 his attempt, had not poor Amelia’s simplicity helped him to 
 another fallacy, in which he had much better success. 
 
 This worthy woman very plainly perceived the disorder 
 in her husband’s mind ; and, having no doubt of the cause 
 of it, especially when she saw the tears stand in his eyes at 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 161 
 
 the sight of his children, threw her arms round his neck, 
 and, embracing him with rapturous fondness, cried out, 
 i My dear Billy/ let nothing make you uneasy. Heaven 
 will, I doubt not, provide for us and these poor babes. 
 Great fortunes are not necessary to happiness. For my own 
 part, I can level my mind with any state; and for those 
 poor little things, whatever condition of life we breed them 
 to, that will be sufficient to maintain them in. How many 
 thousands abound in affluence whose fortunes are much 
 lower than ours ! for it is not from nature, but from educa¬ 
 tion and habit, that our wants are chiefly derived. Make 
 yourself easy therefore, my dear love; for you have a wife 
 who will think herself happy with you, and endeavour to 
 make you so, in any situation. Fear nothing, Billy, industry 
 will always provide us a wholesome meal; and I will take 
 care that neatness and cheerfulness shall make it a pleasant 
 one. 
 
 r Booth presently took the cue which she had given him. 
 He fixed his eyes on her for a minute with great earnestness 
 and inexpressible tenderness ; and then cried, f 0 my Amelia, 
 how much are you my superior in every perfection ! how wise, 
 how great, how noble are your sentiments ! why can I not 
 imitate what I so much admire ? why can I not look with 
 your constancy on those dear little pledges of our loves 'l All 
 my philosophy is baffled with the thought that my Amelia’s 
 children are to struggle with a cruel, hard, unfeeling world, 
 and to buffet those waves of fortune which have overwhelmed 
 their father.—Here, I own I want your firmness, and am 
 not without an excuse for wanting it; for am I not the cruel 
 cause of all your wretchedness 1 have I not stepped between 
 you and fortune, and been the cursed obstacle to all your 
 greatness and happiness ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Say not so, my love/ answered she. ‘ Great I might have 
 been, but never happy with any other man. Indeed, dear 
 Billy, I laugh at the fears you formerly raised in me ; what 
 seemed so terrible at a distance, now it approaches nearer, 
 appears to have been a mere bugbear—and let this comfort 
 you, that I look on myself at this day as the happiest of 
 women ; nor have I done anything which I do not rejoice in, 
 and would, if I had the gift of prescience, do again.’ 
 
 Booth was so overcome with this behaviour, that he had 
 
 11 
 
162 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK III. 
 
 no words to answer. To say the truth, it was difficult to find 
 any worthy of the occasion. He threw himself prostrate at 
 her feet, whence poor Amelia was forced to use all her 
 strength as well as entreaties to raise and place him in his 
 chair. 
 
 Such is ever the fortitude of perfect innocence, and such 
 the depression of guilt in minds not utterly abandoned. Booth 
 was naturally of a sanguine temper; nor would any such ap¬ 
 prehensions as he mentioned have been sufficient to have re¬ 
 strained his joy at meeting with his Amelia. In fact, a 
 reflection on the injury he had done her was the sole cause 
 of his grief. This it was that enervated his heart, and threw 
 him into agonies, which all that profusion of heroic tenderness 
 that the most excellent of women intended for his comfort 
 served only to heighten and aggravate; as the more she rose 
 in his admiration, the more she quickened his sense of his 
 own unworthiness. 
 
 After a disagreeable evening, the first of that kind that he 
 had ever passed with his Amelia, in which he had the utmost 
 difficulty to force a little cheerfulness, and in which her spirits 
 were at length overpowered by discerning the oppression on 
 his, they retired to rest, or rather to misery, which need not 
 be described. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast, Booth began to recover a 
 little from his melancholy, and to taste the company of his 
 children. He now first thought of inquiring of Amelia by 
 what means she had discovered the place of his confinement. 
 Amelia, after gently rebuking him for not having himself 
 acquainted her with it, informed him that it was known all 
 over the country, and that she had traced the original of it 
 to her sister ; who had spread the news with a malicious joy, 
 and added a circumstance which would have frightened her 
 to death, had not her knowledge of him made her give little 
 credit to it, which was, that he was committed for murder. 
 But, though she had discredited this part, she said the not 
 hearing from him during several successive posts made her 
 too apprehensive of the rest; that she got a conveyance 
 therefore for herself and children to Salisbury, from whence 
 the stage coach had brought them to town; and, having de¬ 
 posited the children at his lodging, of which he had sent her 
 an account on his first arrival in town, she took a hack, and 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 163 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 came directly to the prison where she heard he was, and 
 where she found him. 
 
 Booth excused himself, and with truth, as to his not having 
 writ; for, in fact, he had writ twice from the prison, though 
 he had mentioned nothing of his confinement; but, as he 
 sent away his letters after nine at night, the fellow to whom 
 they were intrusted had burnt them for the sake of putting 
 the twopence in his own pocket, or rather in the pocket of 
 the keeper of the next gin-shop. 
 
 As to the account which Amelia gave him, it served rather 
 to raise than to satisfy his curiosity. He began to suspect 
 that some person had seen both him and Miss Matthews to¬ 
 gether in the prison, and had confounded her case with his; 
 and this the circumstance of murder made the more probable. 
 But who this person should he he could not guess. After 
 giving himself, therefore, some pains in forming conjectures 
 to no purpose, he was forced to rest contented with his ignor¬ 
 ance of the real truth. 
 
 Two or three days now passed without producing anything 
 remarkable; unless it were that Booth more and more reco¬ 
 vered his spirits, and had now almost regained his former de¬ 
 gree of cheerfulness, when the following letter arrived, again 
 to torment him: 
 
 ‘ Dear Billy, 
 
 To convince you I am the most reasonable of women, I 
 have given you up three whole days to the unmolested pos¬ 
 session of my fortunate rival; I can refrain no longer from 
 letting you know that I lodge in Dean Street, not far from 
 the church, at the sign of the Pelican and Trumpet, where I 
 expect this evening to see you. 
 
 ‘ Believe me I am, with more affection than any other 
 woman in the world can he, my dear Billy, 
 
 Your affectionate, fond, doating 
 
 F. Matthews.’ 
 
 * * £> 
 
 Booth tore the letter with rage, and threw it into the fire, 
 resolving never to visit the lady more, unless it was to pay 
 her the money she had lent him, which he was determined 
 to do the very first opportunity, for it was not at present in 
 his power. 
 
164 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 This letter threw him back into his fit of dejection, in 
 which he had not continued long when a packet from the 
 country brought him the following from his friend Dr Har¬ 
 rison : 
 
 ‘Sir, Lyons , January 21, N. S. 
 
 ‘ Though I am now on my return home, I have taken up 
 my pen to communicate to you some news I have heard from 
 England, which gives me much uneasiness, and concerning 
 which I can indeed deliver my sentiments with much more 
 ease this way than any other. In my answer to your last, 
 I very freely gave you my opinion, in which it was my mis¬ 
 fortune to disapprove of every step you had taken; but those 
 were all pardonable errors. Can you be so partial to your¬ 
 self, upon cool and sober reflection, to think what I am going 
 to mention is so % I promise you, it appears to me a folly of 
 so monstrous a kind, that, had I heard it from any but 
 a person of the highest honour, I should have rejected it 
 as utterly incredible. I hope you already guess what I am 
 about to name; since, Heaven forbid, your conduct should 
 afford you any choice of such gross instances of weakness. 
 In a word, then, you have set up an equipage. What shall 
 I invent in your excuse, either to others or to myself] In 
 truth, 1 can find no excuse for you, and, what is more, I am 
 certain you can find none for yourself. I must deal therefore 
 very plainly and sincerely with you. Vanity is always con¬ 
 temptible ; but when joined with dishonesty, it becomes 
 odious and detestable. At whose expense are you to support 
 this equipage ] is it not entirely at the expense of others 1 
 and will it not finally end in that of your poor wife and 
 children ] you know you are two years in arrears to me. If 
 I. could impute this to any extraordinary or common accident 
 I think I should never have mentioned it; but I will not 
 suffer my money to support the ridiculous, and, I must say, 
 criminal vanity of any one. I expect, therefore, to find, at 
 my return, that you have either discharged my whole debt, 
 or your equipage. Let me beg you seriously to consider 
 your circumstances and condition in life, and to remember 
 that your situation will not justify any the least unnecessary 
 expense. Simply to be poor , says my favourite Greek his- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 105 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 torian, was not held scandalous by the wise Athenians , but 
 highly so to owe that poverty to our own indiscretion. 
 
 1 Present my affections to Mrs Booth, and be assured that 
 I shall not, without great reason, and great pain too, ever 
 cease to be, 
 
 Your most faithful friend, 
 
 P. Harrison.’ 
 
 Had this letter come at any other time, it would have given 
 Booth the most sensible affliction; but so totally had the 
 affair of Miss Matthews possessed his mind, that, like a man 
 in the most raging fit of the gout, he was scarce capable of 
 any additional torture; nay, he even made an use of this 
 latter epistle, as it served to account to Amelia for that con¬ 
 cern which he really felt on another account, The poor de¬ 
 ceived lady, therefore, applied herself to give him comfort 
 where he least wanted it. She said he might easily perceive 
 that the matter had been misrepresented to the doctor, who 
 would not, she was sure, retain the least anger against him 
 
 when he knew the real truth. 
 
 After a short conversation on this subject, in which Booth 
 appeared to be greatly consoled by the arguments of his wife, 
 they parted. lie went t-o take a walk in the Park, and she 
 remained at home to prepare him his dinner. 
 
 He was no sooner departed than his little boy, not. quite 
 six years old, said to Amelia, 1 La ! mamma, what is the 
 matter with poor papa, what makes him look so as if he was 
 going to cry 1 he is not half so merry as he used to be in the 
 country.’ Amelia answered, ‘ Oh ! my dear, your papa is 
 only a little thoughtful, he will be merry again soon.’—Then 
 looking fondly on her children, she burst into an agony of 
 tears, and cried, ‘ Oh Heavens; what have these poor little 
 infants done? why will the barbarous world endeavour 
 to starve them, by depriving us of our only friend 1—0 my 
 dear, your father is ruined, and we are undone! The chil¬ 
 dren presently accompanied their mother’s tears, and the 
 daughter cried—‘ Why, will anybody hurt poor papa 1 hath 
 he done any harm to anybody X ’— 4 Ho, my dear child,’ said 
 the mother ; 4 he is the best man in the world, and therefore 
 they hate him.’ Upon which the boy, who was extremely 
 
16G 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 sensible at his years, answered, ‘ Nay, mamma, how can that 
 he ? have not you often told me that if I was good everybody 
 would love me?’ ‘All good people will,’ answered she. 
 ‘ Why don’t they love papa then 1 ’ replied the child, ‘ for I 
 am sure he is very good.’ ‘ So they do, my dear,’ said the 
 mother, ‘ but there are more bad people in the world, and 
 they will hate you for your goodness.’ ‘ Why then, bad 
 people,’ cries the child, ‘ are loved by more than the good.’— 
 ‘ No matter for that, my dear,’ said she; ‘ the love of one 
 good person is more worth having than that of a thousand 
 wicked ones; nay, if there was no such person in the world, 
 still you must be a good boy ; for there is one in Heaven 
 who will love you, and his love is better for you than that 
 of all mankind.’ 
 
 This little dialogue, we are apprehensive, will be read with 
 contempt by many ; indeed, we should not have thought it 
 worth recording, was it not for the excellent example which 
 Amelia here gives to all mothers. This admirable woman 
 never let a day pass without instructing her children in some 
 lesson of religion and morality. By which means she had, 
 in their tender minds, so strongly annexed the ideas of fear 
 and shame to every idea of evil of which they were suscep¬ 
 tible, that it must require great pains and length of habit to 
 separate them. Though she was the tenderest of mothers, 
 she never suffered any symptom of malevolence to show itself 
 in their most trifling actions without discouragement, without 
 rebuke, and, if it broke forth with any rancour, without pun¬ 
 ishment. In which she had such success, that not the least 
 marks of pride, envy, malice, or spite discovered itself in 
 any of their little words or deeds. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 167 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WILICII AMELIA APPEAItS IN NO UNAMIABLE LIGIIT. 
 
 Amelia, with, the assistance of a little girl, who was their 
 only servant, had drest her dinner, and she had likewise 
 drest herself as neat as any lady who had a regular set of 
 servants could have done, when Booth returned, and brought 
 with him his friend James, whom he had met with in the Park; 
 and who, as Booth absolutely refused to dine away from his 
 wife, to whom he had promised to return, bad invited him¬ 
 self to dine with him. Amelia had none of that paltry pride 
 which possesses so many of her sex, and which disconcerts 
 their tempers, and gives them the air and looks of furies, if 
 their husbands bring in an unexpected guest, without giving 
 them timely warning to provide a sacrifice to their own vanity. 
 Amelia received her husband’s friend with the utmost com¬ 
 plaisance and good humour : she made indeed some apology 
 for the homeliness of her dinner ; but it was politely turned 
 as a compliment to Mr James’s friendship, which could carry 
 him where he was sure of being so ill entertained ; and gave 
 not the least hint how magnificently she would have provided 
 had she expected the favour of so much good company. A 
 phrase which is generally meant to contain not only an 
 apology for the lady of the house, but a tacit satire on her 
 guests for their intrusion, and is at least a strong insinuation 
 that they are not welcome. 
 
 Amelia failed not to inquire very earnestly after her old 
 friend Mrs James, formerly Miss Bath, and was very sorry 
 to find that she was not in town. The truth was, as James 
 had married out of a violent liking of, or appetite to, her 
 person, possession had surfeited him, and he was now grown 
 so heartily tired of his wife, that she had very little of his 
 company; she was forced therefore to content herself with 
 being the mistress of a large house and equipage in the coun¬ 
 try ten months in the year by herself. The other two he 
 indulged her with the diversions of the town ) but then, 
 
1G8 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 though, they lodged under the same roof, she had little more 
 of her husband’s society than if they had been one hundred 
 miles apart. With all this, as she was a woman of calm 
 passions, she made herself contented ; for she had never had 
 any violent affection for James: the match was of the prudent 
 kind, and to her advantage ; for his fortune, by the death of 
 an uncle, was become very considerable; and she had gained 
 everything by the bargain but a husband, which her consti¬ 
 tution suffered her to be very well satisfied without. 
 
 'When Ameliaj after dinner, retired to her children, James 
 began to talk to his friend concerning his affairs. He advised 
 Booth very earnestly to think of getting again into the army, 
 in which he himself had met with such success, that he had 
 obtained the command of a regiment to which his brother-in- 
 law was lieutenant-colonel. These preferments they both 
 owed to the favour of fortune only ; for, though there was 
 no objection to either of their military characters, yet neither 
 of them had any extraordinary desert; and, if merit in the 
 service was a sufficient recommendation, Booth, who had been 
 twice wounded in the siege, seemed to have the fairest pre¬ 
 tensions ; but he remained a poor half-pay lieutenant, and 
 the others were, as we have said, one of them a lieutenant- 
 colonel, and the other had a regiment. Such rises we often 
 see in life, without being able to give any satisfactory account 
 of the means, and therefore ascribe them to the good fortune 
 of the person. 
 
 Both Colonel James and his brother-in-law were members 
 of parliament; for, as the uncle of the former had left him, 
 together with his estate, an almost certain interest in a 
 borough, so he chose to confer this favour on Colonel Bath ; 
 a circumstance which would have been highly immaterial to 
 mention here, but as it serves to set forth the goodness of 
 James, who endeavoured to make up in kindness to the 
 family what he wanted in fondness for his wife. 
 
 Colonel James then endeavoured all in his power to per¬ 
 suade Booth to think again of a military life, and very kindly 
 offered him his interest towards obtaining him a company in 
 the regiment under his command. Booth must have been a 
 madman, in his present circumstances, to have hesitated one 
 moment at accepting such an offer, and he well knew 
 Amelia, notwithstanding her aversion to the army, was much 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 169 
 
 too wise to make the least scruple of giving her consent. 
 Nor was he, as it appeared afterwards, mistaken in his 
 opinion of his wife’s understanding; for she made not the 
 least objection when it was communicated to her, but con¬ 
 tented herself with an express stipulation, that wherever he 
 was commanded to go (for the regiment was now abroad) she 
 would accompany him. 
 
 Booth, therefore, accepted his friend’s proposal with a 
 profusion of acknowledgments ; and it was agreed that Booth 
 should draw up a memorial of his pretensions, which Colonel 
 James undertook to present to some man of power, and to 
 back it with all the force he had. 
 
 Nor did the friendship of the colonel stop here. ‘ You will 
 excuse me, dear Booth,’ said he, ‘ if, after what you have 
 told me ’ (for he had been very explicit in revealing his 
 affairs to him), * I suspect you must want money at this 
 time. If that be the case, as I am certain it must be, I have 
 fifty pieces at your service.’ This generosity brought the 
 tears into Booth’s eyes; and he at length contest that 
 he had not five guineas in the house; upon which James 
 gave him a bank-bill for twenty pounds, and said he would 
 give him thirty more the next time he saw him. 
 
 Thus did this generous colonel (for generous he really 
 was to the highest degree) restore peace and comfort to this 
 little family ; and by this act of beneficence make two of 
 the worthiest people two of the happiest that evening. 
 
 Here, reader, give me leave to stop a minute, to lament 
 that so few are to be found of this benign disposition; that, 
 while wantonness, vanity, avarice, and ambition are every day 
 rioting and triumphing in the follies and weakness, the ruin 
 and desolation of mankind, scarce one man in a thousand is 
 capable of tasting the happiness of others. Nay, give.me 
 leave to wonder that pride, which is constantly struggling, 
 and often imposing on itself, to gain some little pre-eminence, 
 should so seldom hint to us the only certain as well as laud¬ 
 able way of setting ourselves above another man, and that 
 is, by becoming his benefactor. 
 
170 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 CONTAINING AN EULOGIUM UPON INNOCENCE, AND OTHEE 
 
 GEAVE MATTEES. 
 
 Booth passed that evening, and all the succeeding day, 
 with his Amelia, without the interruption of almost a single 
 thought concerning Miss Matthews, after having determined 
 to go on the Sunday, the only day he could venture without 
 the verge in the present state of his affairs, .and pay her what 
 she had advanced for him in the prison. But she had not 
 so long patience ; for the third day, while he was sitting 
 with Amelia, a letter was brought to him. As he knew the 
 hand, he immediately put it into his pocket unopened, not 
 without such an alteration in his countenance, that had 
 Amelia, who was then playing with one of the children, cast 
 her eyes towards him, she must have remarked it. This ac¬ 
 cident, however, luckily gave him time to recover himself; 
 for Amelia was so deeply engaged with the little one, that 
 she did not even remark the delivery of the letter. The 
 maid soon after returned into the room, saying, the chair¬ 
 man desired to know if there was any answer to the letter. 
 —‘What letter! ’ cries Booth.—‘ The letter I gave you just 
 now,’ answered the girl.—‘ Sure,’ cries Booth, ‘ the child is 
 mad, you gave me no letter.’—‘ Yes, indeed, I did, sir/ said 
 the poor girl. ‘ Why then as sure as fate,’ cries Booth, ‘ I 
 threw it into the fire in my reverie ; why, child, why did 
 you not tell me it was a letter 1 bid the chairman come up, 
 —stay, I will go down myself; for he will otherwise dirt 
 the stairs with his feet.’ 
 
 Amelia was gently chiding the girl for her carelessness 
 when Booth returned, saying it was very true that she had 
 delivered him a letter from Colonel James, and that perhaps 
 it might be of consequence. ‘ However,’ says he, ‘I will 
 step to the coffee-house, and send him an account of this 
 strange accident, which I know he will pardon in my pre¬ 
 sent situation.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 171 
 
 on. v.] 
 
 Booth was overjoyed at this escape, which poor Amelia’s 
 total want of all jealousy and suspicion made it very easy 
 for him to accomplish; but his pleasure was considerably 
 abated when, upon opening the letter, he found it to contain, 
 mixed with several very strong expressions of love, some 
 pretty warm ones of the upbraiding kind; but what most 
 alarmed him was a hint that it was in her (Miss Matthews’s) 
 power to make Amelia as miserable as herself. Besides the 
 general knowledge of 
 
 - Furens quid foemina possit, 
 
 he had more particular reasons to apprehend the rage of a 
 lady who had given so strong an instance how far she could 
 carry her revenge. She had already sent a chairman to his 
 lodgings with a positive command not to return without an 
 answer to her letter. This might of itself have possibly oc¬ 
 casioned a discovery ; and he thought he had great reason to 
 fear that, if she did not carry matters so far as purposely and 
 avowedly to reveal the secret to Amelia, her indiscretion 
 would at least effect the discovery of that which he would at 
 any price have concealed. Under these terrors he might, I 
 believe, be considered as the most wretched of human 
 beings. 
 
 O innocence, how glorious and happy a portion art thou 
 to the breast that possesses thee ! thou fearest neither the 
 eyes nor the tongues of men. Truth, the most powerful of 
 all things, is thy strongest friend ; and the brighter the light 
 is in which thou art displayed, the more it discovers thy 
 transcendent beauties. Guilt, on the contrary, like a base 
 thief, suspects every eye that beholds him to be privy to his 
 transgressions, and every tongue that mentions his name to 
 be proclaiming them. Fraud and falsehood are his weak and 
 treacherous allies; and he lurks trembling in the dark, 
 dreading every ray of light, lest it should discover him, and 
 give him up to shame and punishment. 
 
 While Booth was walking in the Park with all these hor¬ 
 rors in his mind he again met his friend Colonel Janies, who 
 soon took notice of that deep' concern which the other was 
 incapable of hiding. After some little conversation, Booth 
 said, ‘ My dear colonel, I am sure I must be the most insen¬ 
 sible of men if I did not look on you as the best and the 
 
172 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 truest friend ) I will, therefore, without scruple, ixqiose a 
 confidence in you of the highest kind. I have often made 
 you privy to my necessities, I will now acquaint you with 
 my shame, provided you have leisure enough to give me a 
 hearing : for I must open to you a long history, since I will 
 not reveal my fault without informing you, at the same 
 time, of those circumstances which, I hope, will in some 
 measure excuse it.’ 
 
 The colonel very readily agreed to give his friend a patient 
 hearing. So they walked directly to a coffee-house at the 
 corner of Spring-Garden, where, being in a room by them¬ 
 selves, Booth opened his whole heart, and acquainted the 
 colonel with his amour with Miss Matthews, from the very 
 beginning to his receiving that letter which had caused all 
 his present uneasiness, and which he now delivered into his 
 friend’s hand. 
 
 The colonel read the letter very attentively twice over (he 
 was silent indeed long enough to have read it oftener) ; and 
 then, turning to Booth, said, ‘ Well, sir, and is it so grievous 
 a calamity to be the object of a young lady’s affection ; 
 especially of one whom you allow to be so extremely hand¬ 
 some 1 ’ ‘ JN T ay, but, my dear friend,’ cries Booth, ‘ do not 
 
 jest with me; you who know my Amelia.’ ‘ Well, my dear 
 friend,’ answered Janies, ‘ and you know Amelia and this 
 lady too. But what would you have me do for you 1 ’ ‘I 
 would have you give me your advice,’ says Booth, ‘ by what 
 method I shall get rid of this dreadful woman without a dis¬ 
 covery.’—‘And do you really,’ cries the other, ‘ desire to get 
 rid of her 1 ’ ‘ Can you doubt it,’ said Booth, ‘ after what I 
 
 have communicated to you, and after what you yourself have 
 seen in my family ? for I hope, notwithstanding this fatal 
 slip, I do not appear to you in the light of a profligate.’ 
 ‘ Well,’ answered James, ‘ and, whatever light I may appear 
 to you in, if you are really tired of the lady, and if she be 
 really what you have represented her, I’ll endeavour to take 
 her off your hands; but I insist upon it that you do not 
 deceive me in any particular.’ Booth protested in the most 
 solemn manner that every word which he had spoken was 
 strictly true ; and being asked whether he would give his 
 honour never more to visit the lady, he assured James that 
 he never would, lie then, at his friend’s request, delivered 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 173 
 
 him Miss Matthews’s letter, in which was a second direction 
 to her lodgings, and declared to him that, if he could bring 
 him safely out of this terrible affair, be should think himself 
 to have a still higher obligation to his friendship than any 
 which he had already received from it. 
 
 Booth pressed the colonel to go home with him to din¬ 
 ner ; but he excused himself, being, as he said, already en¬ 
 gaged. However, he undertook in the afternoon to do all 
 in his power that Booth should receive no more alarms from 
 the quarter of Miss Matthews, whom the colonel undertook 
 to pay all the demands she had on his friend. They then 
 separated. The colonel went to dinner at the King’s Arms, 
 and Booth returned in high spirits to meet his Amelia. 
 
 The next day, early in the morning, the colonel came to 
 the coffee-house and sent for his friend, who lodged but at a 
 little distance. The colonel told him he had a little exag¬ 
 gerated the lady’s beauty ; however, he said, he excused that, 
 
 ‘ for you might think, perhaps,’ cries he, ‘ that your incon¬ 
 stancy to the finest woman in the world might want some 
 excuse. Be that as it will,’ said he, ‘ you may make yourself 
 easy, as it will be, I am convinced, your own fault, if you 
 have ever any further molestation from Miss Matthews.’ 
 
 Booth poured forth very warmly a great profusion of grati¬ 
 tude on this occasion ; and nothing more anywise material 
 passed at this interview, which was very short, the colonel 
 being in a great hurry, as he had, he said, some business of 
 very great importance to transact that morning. 
 
 The colonel had now seen Booth twice without remember¬ 
 ing to give him the thirty pounds. This the latter imputed 
 entirely to forgetfulness; for he had always found the pro¬ 
 mises of the former to be equal in value with the notes or bonds 
 of other people. He was more surprized at what happened 
 the next day, when, meeting his friend in the Park, he re¬ 
 ceived only a cold salute from him ; and though he passed 
 him five or six times, and the colonel was walking with a 
 single officer of no great rank, and with whom he seemed 
 in no earnest conversation, yet could not Booth, who was 
 alone, obtain any further notice from him. 
 
 This gave the poor man some alarm ; though he could 
 scarce persuade himself that there was any design in all this 
 coldness or forgetfulness. Once lie imagined that he had 
 
174 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 lessened himself in the colonel’s opinion by having discovered 
 his inconstancy to Amelia ; but the known character of the 
 other presently cured him of his suspicion, for he was a per¬ 
 fect libertine with regard to women; that being indeed the 
 principal blemish in his character, which otherwise might 
 have deserved much commendation for good-nature, generos¬ 
 ity, and friendship. But he carried this one to a most un¬ 
 pardonable height; and made no scruple of openly declaring 
 that, if he ever liked a woman well enough to be uneasy on her 
 account, he would cure himself, if he could, by enjoying her, 
 whatever might be the consequence. 
 
 Booth could not therefore be persuaded that the colonel 
 would so highly resent in another a fault of which he was 
 himself most notoriously guilty. After much consideration 
 he could derive this behaviour from nothing better than a 
 capriciousness in his friend’s temper, from a kind of incon¬ 
 stancy of mind, which makes men grow weary of their friends 
 with no more reason than they often are of their mistresses. 
 To say the truth, there are jilts in friendship as well as in love; 
 and, by the behaviour of some men in both, one would almost 
 imagine that they industriously sought to gain the affections 
 of others with a view only of making the parties miserable. 
 
 This was the consequence of the colonel’s behaviour to 
 Booth. Bonner calamities had afflicted him, but this almost 
 distracted him ; and the more so as he was not able well to 
 account for such conduct, nor to conceive the reason of it. 
 
 Amelia, at his return, presently perceived the disturbance 
 in his mind, though lie endeavoured with his utmost power 
 to hide it; and he was at length prevailed upon by her en¬ 
 treaties to discover to her the cause of it, which she no sooner 
 heard than she applied as judicious a remedy to his disor¬ 
 dered spirits as either of those great mental physicians, Tully 
 or Aristotle, could have thought of. She used many argu¬ 
 ments to persuade him that he was in an error, and had mis¬ 
 taken forgetfulness and carelessness for a designed neglect. 
 
 But, as this physic was only eventually good, and as its 
 efficacy depended on her being in the right, a point in which 
 she was not apt to be too positive, she thought fit to add 
 some consolation of a more certain and positive kind. 
 ‘ Admit,’ said she, ‘ my dear, that Mr James should prove 
 the unaccountable person you have suspected, and should, 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 175 
 
 without being able to allege any cause, withdraw his friend¬ 
 ship from you (for surely the accident of burning his letter 
 is too trifling and ridiculous to mention), why should this 
 grieve you the obligations he hath conferred on you, I 
 allow, ought to make his misfortunes almost your own; but 
 they should not, I think, make you see his faults so very 
 sensibly, especially when, by one of the greatest faults in the 
 world committed against yourself, he hath considerably 
 lessened all obligations; for sure, if the same person who 
 hath contributed to my happiness at one time doth every¬ 
 thing in his power maliciously and wantonly to make me 
 miserable at another, I am very little obliged to such a person. 
 And let it be a comfort to my dear Billy, that, however other 
 friends may prove false and fickle to him, he hath one friend, 
 whom no inconstancy of her own, nor any change of his 
 fortune, nor time, nor age, nor sickness, nor any accident, 
 can ever alter; but who will esteem, will love, and doat on 
 him for ever.’ So saying, she flung her snowy arms about 
 his neck, and gave him a caress so tender, that it seemed 
 almost to balance all the malice of his fate. 
 
 And, indeed, the behaviour of Amelia would have made 
 him completely happy, in defiance of all adverse circum¬ 
 stances, had it not been for those bitter ingredients which he 
 himself had thrown into his cup, and which prevented him 
 from truly relishing his Amelia’s sweetness, by cruelly re¬ 
 minding him how unworthy he was of this excellent crea¬ 
 ture. 
 
 Booth did not long remain in the dark as to the conduct 
 of Janies, which, at first, appeared to him to be so great a 
 mystery; for this very afternoon he received a letter from 
 Miss Matthews which unravelled the whole affair. By tills 
 letter, which was full of bitterness and upbraiding, he dis¬ 
 covered that James was his rival with that lady, and was, 
 indeed, the identical person who had sent the hundred-pound 
 note to Miss Matthews, when in the prison. He had reason to 
 believe, likewise, as well by the letter as by other circum¬ 
 stances, that James had hitherto been an unsuccessful lover; 
 for the lady, though she had forfeited all title to virtue, had 
 not yet so far forfeited all pretensions to delicacy as to be, 
 like the dirt in the street, indifferently common to all. She 
 distributed her favours only to those she liked, in which 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 176 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 number that gentleman bad not the happiness of being in¬ 
 cluded. 
 
 When Booth had made this discovery, he was not so little 
 versed in human nature, as any longer to hesitate at the true 
 motive to the colonel’s conduct; for he well knew how odious 
 a sight a happy rival is to an unfortunate lover. I believe 
 he was, in reality, glad to assign the cold treatment he had 
 received from his friend to a cause which, however injustifi- 
 able, is at the same time highly natural; and to acquit him of 
 a levity, fickleness, and caprice, which he must have been 
 unwillingly obliged to have seen in a much worse light. 
 
 He now resolved to take the first opportunity of accosting 
 the colonel, and of coming to a perfect explanation upon the 
 whole matter. He debated likewise with himself whether 
 he should not throw himself at Amelia’s feet, and confess a 
 crime to her which he found so little hopes of concealing, 
 and which he foresaw would occasion him so many difficulties 
 and terrors to endeavour to conceal. Happy had it been for 
 him, had he wisely pursued this step; since, in all probability, 
 he would have received immediate forgiveness from the best 
 of women; but he had not sufficient resolution, or, to speak 
 perhaps more truly, he had too much pride, to confess his 
 guilt, and preferred the danger of the highest inconveniences 
 to the certainty of being put to the blush. 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 177 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN WHICH MAY APPEAR THAT VIOLENCE IS SOMETIMES 
 DONE TO THE NAME OE LOVE. 
 
 When that happy day came, in which unhallowed hands are 
 forbidden to contaminate the shoulders of the unfortunate, 
 Booth went early to the colonel’s house, and, being admitted 
 to his presence, began with great freedom, though with great 
 gentleness, to complain of his not having dealt with him 
 with more openness. * Why, my dear colonel,’ said he, 
 ‘ would you not acquaint me with that secret which this 
 letter hath disclosed V James read the letter, at which his 
 countenance changed more than once; and then, after a short 
 silence, said, ‘ Mr Bootli, I have been to blame, I own it ; 
 and you upbraid me with justice. The true reason was, that 
 I was ashamed of my own folly. D—n me, Booth, if I 
 have not been a most consummate fool, a very dupe to this 
 woman ; and she hath a particular pleasure in making me so. 
 I know what the impertinence of virtue is, and I can sub¬ 
 mit to it; but to be treated thus by a whore—You must for¬ 
 give me, dear Booth, but your success was a kind of triumph 
 over me, which I could not bear. I own, I have not the 
 least reason to conceive any anger against you ; and yet, 
 curse me if I should not have been less displeased at your 
 lying with my own wife ; nay, I could almost have parted 
 with half my fortune to you more willingly than have 
 suffered you to receive that trifle of my money which you 
 received at her hands. However, I ask your pardon, and I 
 promise you I will never more think of you with the least 
 ill-will on the account of this woman; but as for her, d—n 
 me if I do not enjoy her by some means or other, whatever 
 it costs me ; for I am already above two hundred pounds out 
 of pocket, without having scarce had a smile in return.’ 
 
 Booth exprest much astonishment at this declaration; he 
 said he could not conceive how it was possible to have such 
 an affection for a woman who did not show the least inclina- 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 tion to return it. James gave her a hearty curse, and said, 
 ‘ Pox of her inclination ; I want only the possession of her 
 person, and that, you will allow, is a very fine one. But, 
 besides my passion for her, she hath now piqued my pride ; 
 for how can a man of my fortune brook being refused by a 
 whore 1 ’— £ Since you are so set on the business,’ cries Booth, 
 1 you will excuse my .saying so, I fancy you had better change 
 your method of applying to her; for, as she is, perhaps, the 
 vainest woman upon earth, your bounty may probably do 
 you little service, nay, may rather actually disoblige her. 
 Vanity is plainly her predominant passion, and, if you will 
 administer to that, it will infallibly throw her into your arms. 
 To this I attribute my own unfortunate success. While she 
 relieved my wants and distresses she was daily feeding her 
 own vanity.; whereas, as every gift of yours asserted your 
 superiority, it rather offended than pleased her. Indeed, 
 women generally love to be of the obliging side; and, if we 
 examine their favourites, we shall find them to be much 
 oftener such as they have conferred obligations on than such 
 as they have received them from. 5 
 
 There was something in this speech which pleased the 
 colonel; and he said, with a smile, ‘ I don’t know how it is, 
 Will, but you know women better than I.—‘ Perhaps, 
 colonel,’ answered Booth, ‘ I have studied their minds more.’ 
 —‘ I don’t, however, much envy your knowledge,’ replied the 
 other, ‘for I never think their minds worth considering. 
 However, I hope I shall profit a little by your experience 
 with Miss Matthews. Damnation seize the proud insolent 
 harlot ! the devil take me if I don’t love her more than I 
 ever loved a woman ! ’ 
 
 The rest of their conversation turned on Booth’s affairs. 
 The colonel again reassumed the part of a friend, gave him 
 the remainder of the money, and promised to take the first 
 opportunity of laying his memorial before a great man. 
 
 Booth was greatly overjoyed at this success. Nothing 
 now lay on his mind but to conceal his frailty from Amelia, 
 to whom he was afraid Miss Matthews, in the rage of her 
 resentment, would communicate it. This apprehension made 
 him stay almost constantly at home; and he trembled at 
 every knock at the door. His fear, moreover, betrayed him 
 into a meanness which he Avould have heartily despised on 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 179 
 
 any other occasion. This was to order the maid to deliver 
 him any letter directed to Amelia; at the same time strictly 
 charging her not to acquaint her mistress with her having- 
 received any such orders. 
 
 A servant of any acuteness would have formed strange 
 conjectures from such an injunction; hut this poor girl was 
 of perfect simplicity; so great, indeed, was her simplicity, 
 that, had not Amelia been void of all suspicion of her 
 husband, the maid would have soon after betrayed her master. 
 
 One afternoon, while they were drinking tea, little Betty, 
 so was the maid called, came into the room, and, calling her 
 master forth, delivered him a card which was directed to 
 Amelia. Booth, having read the card, on his return into the 
 room chid the girl for calling him, saying, ‘If you can read, 
 child, you must see it was directed to your mistress.’ To 
 this the girl answered, pertly enough, ‘I am sure, sir, you 
 ordered me to bring every letter first to you.’ This hint, 
 with many women, would have been sufficient to have blown 
 up the whole affair; but Amelia, who heard what the girl 
 said, through the medium of love and confidence, saw the 
 matter in a much better light than it deserved, and, looking 
 tenderly on her husband, said, ‘ Indeed, my love, I must 
 blame you for a conduct which, perhaps, I ought rather to 
 praise, as it proceeds only from the extreme tenderness of your 
 affection. But why will you endeavour to keep any secrets 
 from me 1 believe me, for my own sake, you ought not; for, 
 as you cannot hide the consequences, you make me always 
 suspect ten tunes worse than the reality. While I have you 
 and my children well before my eyes, I am capable of facing 
 any news which can arrive; for what ill news can come (un¬ 
 less, indeed, it concerns my little babe in the country) which 
 doth not relate to the badness of our circumstances h and 
 those, I thank Heaven, we have now a favourable prospect 
 of retrieving. Besides, dear Billy, though my understanding 
 be much inferior to yours, I have sometimes had the happiness 
 ot luckily hitting on some argument which hath afforded you 
 comfort. This, you know, my dear, was the case with regard 
 to Colonel James, whom I persuaded you to think you had 
 mistaken, and you see the event proved me in the right.’ So 
 happily, both for herself and Mr B6oth, did the excellence 
 oi this good woman’s disposition deceive her, and force her 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 180 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 to see everything in the most advantageous light to her hus¬ 
 band. 
 
 The card, being now inspected, was found to contain the 
 compliments of Mrs James to Mrs Booth, with an account 
 of her being arrived in town, and having brought with her 
 a very great cold. Amelia was overjoyed at the news of her 
 arrival, and having drest herself in the utmost hurry, left 
 her children to the care of her husband, and ran away to 
 pay her respects to her friend, whom she loved with a most 
 sincere affection. But how was she disappointed when, eager 
 with the utmost impatience, and exulting with the thoughts 
 of presently seeing her beloved friend, she was answered at 
 the door that the lady was not at home ! nor could she, upon 
 telling her name, obtain any admission. This, considering 
 the account she had received of the lady’s cold, greatly sur¬ 
 prized her ; and she returned home very much vexed at her 
 disappointment. 
 
 Amelia, who had no suspicion that Mrs James was really 
 at home, and, as the phrase is, was denied, would have made 
 a second visit the next morning, had she not been prevented 
 by a cold which she herself now got, and which was attended 
 with a slight fever. This confined her several days to her 
 house, during which Booth officiated as her nurse, and never 
 stirred from her. 
 
 In all this time she heard not a word from Mrs James, 
 which gave her some uneasiness, but more astonishment. 
 The tenth day, when she was perfectly recovered, about nine 
 in the evening, when she and her husband were just going 
 to supper, she heard a most violent thundering at the door, 
 and presently after a rustling of silk upon her staircase, at 
 the same time a female voice cried out pretty loud, ‘ Bless 
 me ! what, am I to climb up another pair of stairs 1 ’ upon 
 which Amelia, who well knew the voice, presently ran to the 
 door, and ushered in Mrs Janies, most splendidly drest, who 
 put on as formal a countenance, and made as formal a 
 courtesy to her old friend, as if she had been her very dis¬ 
 tant acquaintance. 
 
 Poor Amelia, who was going to rush into her friend’s arms, 
 was struck motionless hy this behaviour; but re-collecting 
 her spirits, as she had’an excellent presence of mind, she 
 presently understood wliat the lady meant, and resolved to 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 181 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 treat lier in her own way. Down therefore the company sat, 
 and silence prevailed for some time, during which Mrs James 
 surveyed the room with more attention than she would have 
 bestowed on one much finer. At length the conversation 
 began, in which the weather and the diversions ot the town 
 were well canvassed. Amelia, who was a woman of great 
 humour, performed her part to admiration; so that a by¬ 
 stander would have doubted, in every other article than 
 dress, which of the two was the most accomplished fine lady. 
 
 After a visit of twenty minutes, during which not a word 
 of any former occurrences was mentioned, nor indeed any 
 subject of discourse started, except only those two above 
 mentioned, Mrs James rose from her chair and retired in the 
 same formal manner in which she had approached. We will 
 pursue her for the sake of the contrast during the rest of the 
 evening. She went from Amelia directly to a rout, where 
 she spent two hours in a crowd of company, talked again 
 and again over the diversions and news of the town, played 
 two rubbers at whist, and then retired to her own apartment, 
 where, having passed another hour in undressing herself, she 
 went to her own bed. 
 
 Booth and his wife, the moment their companion was gone, 
 sat down to supper on a piece of cold meat, the remains ot 
 their dinner. After which, over a pint of wine, they entei- 
 tained themselves for a while with the ridiculous behavioui 
 of their visitant. But Amelia, declaring she rather saw her 
 as the object of pity than anger, turned the discourse to 
 pleasanter topics. The little actions of their children, the 
 former scenes and future prospects of their life, furnished 
 them with many pleasant ideas \ and the contemplation ot 
 Amelia’s recovery threw Booth into raptures. At length 
 they retired, happy in each other. 
 
 It is possible some readers may be no less surprized at die 
 behaviour of Mrs James than was Amelia herself, since they 
 may have perhaps received so favourable an impression of 
 that lady from the account given of her by Mr Booth, 
 that her present demeanour may seem unnatural and incon¬ 
 sistent with her former character. But they will be pleased 
 to consider the great alteration in her circumstances, from a 
 state of dependency on a brother, who was himself no better 
 than a soldier of fortune, to that of being wife to a man of a 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 182 
 
 very large estate and considerable rank in life. And what 
 was her present behaviour more than that of a fine lady who 
 considered form and show as essential ingredients of human 
 happiness, and imagined all friendship to consist in ceremony, 
 courtesies, messages, and visits 1 in which opinion, she hath 
 the honour to think with much the larger part of one sex, 
 and no small number of the other. 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONTAINING A VERY EXTRAORDINARY AND PLEASANT 
 
 INCIDENT. 
 
 The next evening Booth and Amelia went to walk in the 
 park with their children. They were now on the verge of 
 the parade, and Booth was describing to his wife the several 
 buildings round it, when, on a sudden, Amelia, missing her 
 little boy, cried out, ‘ Where’s little Billy 1 ’ Upon which, 
 Booth, casting his eyes over the grass, saw a foot-soldier 
 shaking the boy at a little distance. At this sight, without 
 making any answer to his wife, he leapt over the rails, and, 
 running directly up to the fellow, who had a firelock with a 
 bayonet fixed in his hand, he seized him by the collar and 
 tript up his heels, and, at the same time, wrested his arms 
 from him. A serjeant upon duty, seeing the affray at some 
 distance, ran presently up, and, being told what had happened, 
 gave the sentinel a hearty curse, and told him he deserved to 
 be hanged. A by-stander gave this information; for Booth was 
 returned with his little boy to meet Amelia, who staggered 
 towards him as fast as she could, all pale and breathless, and 
 scarce able to support her tottering limbs. The serjeant now 
 came up to Booth, to make an apology for the behaviour of 
 the soldier, when, of a sudden, he turned almost as pale as 
 Amelia herself. He stood silent whilst Booth was employed 
 in comforting and recovering his wife \ and then, addressing 
 himself to him, said, ‘ Bless me ! lieutenant, could I imagine 
 it had been your honour; and was it my little master that 
 the rascal used so 1 —I am glad I did not know it, for I should 
 certainly have run my halbert into him.’ 
 
 Booth presently recognised his old faithful servant Atkin¬ 
 son, and gave him a hearty greeting, saying he was very glad 
 to see him in his present situation. ‘Whatever I am,’ an¬ 
 swered the serjeant, 4 1 shall always think I owe it to your 
 honour.’ Then, taking the little boy by the hand he cried, 
 < What a vast line young gentleman master is grown ! ’ and, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 184 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 cursing the soldier’s inhumanity, swore heartily he would 
 make him pay for it. 
 
 As Amelia was much disordered with her fright, she did 
 not recollect her foster-brother till he was introduced to her 
 by Booth ; but she no sooner knew him than she bestowed 
 a most obliging smile on him ; and, calling him by the name 
 of honest Joe, said she was heartily glad to see him in Eng¬ 
 land. ‘ See, my dear,’ cries Booth, ‘ what preferment your 
 old friend is come to. You would scarce know him, I be¬ 
 lieve, in his present state of finery.’ ‘ I am very well pleased 
 to see it,’ answered Amelia, ‘and I wish him joy of being 
 made an officer with all my heart.’ In fact, from what Mr 
 Booth said, joined to the serjeant’s laced coat, she believed 
 that he had obtained a commission. So weak and absurd is 
 human vanity, that this mistake of Amelia’s possibly put 
 poor Atkinson out of countenance, for he looked at this 
 instant more silly than he had ever done in his life; and, 
 making her a most respectful bow, muttered something about 
 obligations, in a scarce articulate or intelligible manner. 
 
 The serjeant had, indeed, among many other qualities, that 
 modesty which a Latin author honours by the name of in¬ 
 genuous : nature had given him this, notwithstanding the 
 meanness of his birth; and six years’ conversation in the 
 army had not taken it away. To say the truth, he was a 
 noble fellow ; and Amelia, by supposing he had a commission 
 in the guards, had been guilty of no affront to that honour¬ 
 able body. 
 
 Booth had areal affection for Atkinson, though, in fact, he 
 knew not half his merit. He acquainted him with his 
 lodgings, where he earnestly desired to see him. 
 
 Amelia, who was far from being recovered from the terrors 
 into which the seeing her husband engaged with the soldier 
 had thrown her, desired to go home: nor was she well able 
 to walk without some assistance. While she supported her¬ 
 self, therefore, on her husband’s arm, she told Atkinson she 
 should be obliged to him if he would take care of the 
 children. He readily accepted the office ; but, upon offering 
 his hand to miss, she refused, and burst into tears. Upon 
 which the tender mother resigned Booth to her children, and 
 put herself under the serjeant’s protection; who conducted 
 her safe home, though she often declared the feared she 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 185 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 should drop down by the way; the fear of which so affected 
 the serjeant (for, besides the honour which he himself had 
 for the lady, he knew how tenderly his friend loved her) that 
 he was unable to speak; and, had not his nerves been so 
 strongly braced that nothing could shake them, he had 
 enough in his mind to have set him a trembling equally with 
 the lady. 
 
 When they arrived at the lodgings the mistress of the 
 house opened the door, who, seeing Amelia’s condition, threw 
 open the parlour and begged her to walk in, upon which she 
 immediately flung herself into a chair, and all present thought 
 she would have fainted away. However, she escaped that mise¬ 
 ry, and, having drank a glass of water with a little white wine 
 mixed in it, she began in a little time to regain her complexion, 
 and at length assured Booth that she was perfectly recovered, 
 but declared she had never undergone so much, and earnestly 
 begged him never to be so rash for the future. She then 
 called her little boy and gently chid him, saying, ‘You must 
 never do so more, Billy; you see what mischief you might 
 have brought upon your father, and what you have made me 
 suffer.’ 4 La ! mamma,’ said the child, 4 what harm did I 
 do ? I did not know that people might not walk in the green 
 fields in London. I am sure if I did a fault, the man 
 punished me enough for it, for he pinched me almost through 
 my slender arm.’ He then bared his little arm, which was 
 greatly discoloured by the injury he had received. Booth 
 uttered a most dreadful execration at this sight, and the 
 serjeant, who was now present, did the like 
 
 Atkinson now returned to his guard and went directly to 
 the officer to acquaint him with the soldier’s inhumanity, but 
 he, who was about fifteen years of age, gave the serjeant a 
 great curse and said the soldier had done very well, for that 
 idle boys ought to be corrected. This, however, did not 
 satisfy poor Atkinson, who, the next day, as soon as the 
 guard was relieved, beat the fellow most unmercifully, and 
 told him he would remember him as long as he stayed in the 
 regiment. 
 
 Thus ended this trifling adventure, which some readers 
 will, perhaps, be pleased at seeing related at full length. 
 None, I think, can fail drawing one observation from it, 
 namely, how capable the most insignificant accident is of 
 
186 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IT. 
 
 disturbing human happiness, and of producing the most un¬ 
 expected and dreadful events. A reflection which may serve 
 to many moral and religious uses. 
 
 This accident produced the first acquaintance between the 
 mistress of the house and her lodgers ; for hitherto they had 
 scarce exchanged a word together. But the great concern 
 which the good woman had shown on Amelia’s account at 
 this time, was not likely to pass unobserved or unthanked 
 either by the husband or wife. Amelia, therefore, as soon 
 as she was able to go up-stairs, invited Mrs Ellison (for that 
 was her name) to her apartment, and desired the favour of her 
 stay to supper. She readily complied, and they passed a very 
 agreeable evening together, in which the two women seemed 
 to have conceived a most extraordinary liking to each other. 
 
 Though beauty in general doth not greatly recommend one 
 woman to another, as it is too apt to create envy, yet, in 
 cases where this passion doth not interfere, a fine woman is 
 often a pleasing object even to some of her own sex, especially 
 when her beauty is attended with a certain air of affability, 
 as was that of Amelia in the highest degree. She was, 
 indeed, a most charming woman ; and I know not whether 
 the little scar on her nose did not rather add to than diminish 
 her beauty. 
 
 Mrs Ellison, therefore, was as much charmed with the 
 loveliness of her fair lodger as with all her other engaging 
 qualities. She was, indeed, so taken with Amelia’s beautjg 
 that she could not refrain from crying out in a kind of 
 transport of admiration, ‘ Upon my word, Captain Booth, 
 you are the happiest man in the world ! Your lady is so 
 extremely handsome that one cannot look at her without 
 pleasure.’ 
 
 This good woman had herself none of these attractive 
 charms to the eye. Her person was short and immoderately 
 fat; her features were none of the most regular; and her 
 complexion (if indeed she ever had a good one) had con¬ 
 siderably suffered by time. 
 
 Her good humour and complaisance, however, were highly 
 pleasing to Amelia. Hay, why should we conceal the secret 
 satisfaction which that lady felt from the compliments paid 
 to her person 1 since such of my readers as like her best will 
 not be sorry to find that she was a woman. 
 
c a. viii.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 187 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONTAINING VARIOUS MATTERS. 
 
 A fortnight had now passed since Booth had seen or heai d 
 from the colonel, which did not a little surprize him, as they 
 had parted so good friends, and as he had so cordially under¬ 
 taken his cause concerning the memorial on which all his 
 
 hopes depended. - 
 
 The uneasiness which this gave him farther mci eased on 
 
 finding that his friend refused to see him; for he had paid 
 the colonel a visit at nine in the morning, and was told he 
 was not stirring ; and at his return back an hour afteiwards 
 the servant said his master was gone out, of which Booth was 
 certain of the falsehood ; for he had, during that whole hour, 
 walked backwards and forwards within sight of the colonel’s 
 door, and must have seen him if he had gone out within 
 
 that time. . , 
 
 The good colonel, however, did not long suffer-his mend 
 
 to continue in the deplorable state of anxiety, for, the vciy 
 next morning, Booth received his memorial enclosed in a 
 letter, acquainting him that Mr James had mentioned his 
 affair to the person he proposed, hut that the great man had 
 so many engagements on his hands that it was impossible foi 
 him to make any further promises at this time. 
 
 The cold and distant style of this letter, and, indeed, the 
 whole behaviour of James, so different from what it had 
 been formerly, had something so mysterious in it, that it 
 greatly puzzled and perplexed poor Booth j and it was so long 
 before he Avas able to solve it, that the reader s curiosity a\ ill, 
 perhaps, he obliged to us for not leaving him so long in the 
 dark as to this matter. The true reason, then, of the 
 colonel’s conduct Avas this : his unbounded generosity, to¬ 
 gether Avith the unbounded extravagance and consequently 
 the great necessity of Miss MattheAVs, had at length OA r er- 
 come the cruelty of that lady, Avith Avhom he likewise had 
 luckily no rival. Above all, the desire of being revenged on 
 
1S8 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 Booth, with whom she was to the highest degree enraged, had, 
 perhaps, contributed not a little to his success ; for she had 
 no sooner condescended to a familiarity with her new lover, 
 and discovered that Captain James, of whom she had heard 
 so much from Booth, was no other than the identical colonel, 
 than she employed every art of which she was mistress to 
 make an utter breach of friendship between these two. Bor 
 this purpose she did not scruple to insinuate that the colonel 
 was not at all obliged to the character given of him by his 
 friend, and to the account of this latter she placed most of 
 the cruelty which she had shown to the former. 
 
 Had the colonel made a proper use of his reason, and fairly 
 examined the probability of the fact, he could scarce have 
 been imposed upon to believe a matter so inconsistent with 
 all he knew of Booth, and in which that gentleman must have 
 sinned against all the laws of honour without any visible 
 temptation. But, in solemn fact, the colonel was.so intoxi¬ 
 cated with his love, that it was in the power of his mistress 
 to have persuaded him of anything; besides, he had an in¬ 
 terest in giving her credit, for he was not a little pleased 
 with finding a reason for hating the man whom he could not 
 help hating without any reason, at least, without any which 
 he durst fairly assign even to himself. Henceforth, there¬ 
 fore, he abandoned all friendship for Booth, and was more 
 inclined to put him out of the world than to endeavour any 
 longer at supporting him in it. 
 
 Booth communicated this letter to his wife, who en¬ 
 deavoured, as usual, to the utmost of her power, to. console 
 him under one of the greatest afflictions which, I think, can 
 befal a man, namely, the unkindness of a friend; but he 
 had luckily at the same time the greatest blessing. in his 
 possession, the kindness of a faithful and beloved wife. A 
 blessing, however, which, though it compensates most of 
 the evils of life, rather serves to aggravate the misfortune 
 of distressed circumstances, from the consideration of the 
 share which she is to bear in them. 
 
 This afternoon Amelia received a second visit from Mrs 
 Ellison, who acquainted her that she had a present of a 
 ticket for the oratorio, which would carry two persons into 
 the gallery; and therefore begged the favour of her com¬ 
 pany thither. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 189 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 Amelia, with many thanks, acknowledged the civility of 
 Mrs Ellison, hut declined accepting her offer; upon which 
 Booth very strenuously insisted on her going, and said to 
 her, ‘ My dear, if you knew the satisfaction I have in any of 
 your pleasures, I am convinced you would not refuse the 
 favour Mrs Ellison is so kind to offer you; for, as you are 
 a lover of music, you, who have never been at an oratorio, 
 cannot conceive how you will he delighted.’ ‘ I well know 
 your goodness, my dear,’ answered Amelia, ‘ hut I cannot 
 think of leaving my children without some person more 
 proper to take care of them than this poor girl.’ Mrs Elli¬ 
 son removed this objection by offering her own servant, a 
 very discreet matron, to attend them; but notwithstanding 
 this, and all she could say, with the assistance of Booth, and 
 of the children themselves, Amelia still persisted in her re¬ 
 fusal; and the mistress of the house, who knew how far 
 good breeding allows persons to be pressing on these occa¬ 
 sions, took her leave. 
 
 She was no sooner departed than Amelia, looking ten¬ 
 derly on her husband, said, ‘ How can you, my dear creature, 
 think that music hath any charms for me at this time ? or, 
 indeed, do you believe that I am capable of any sensation 
 worthy the name of pleasure when neither you nor my 
 children are present or bear any part of it ? ’ 
 
 An officer of the regiment to which Booth had formerly 
 belonged, hearing from Atkinson where he lodged, now came 
 to pay him a visit. He told him that several of their old 
 acquaintance were to meet the next Wednesday at a tavern, 
 and very strongly pressed him to be one of the company. 
 Booth was, in truth, what is called a hearty fellow, and 
 loved now and then to take a cheerful glass with his friends ; 
 but he excused himself at this time. His friend declared he 
 would take no denial, and he growing very importunate, 
 Amelia at length seconded him. Upon this Booth answered, 
 ‘Well, my dear, since you desire me, I will comply, but on 
 one condition, that you go at the same time to the oratorio. 
 Amelia thought this request reasonable enough, and gave her 
 consent; of which Mrs Ellison presently received the news, 
 and with great satisfaction. 
 
 It may perhaps be asked why Booth could go to the tavern, 
 and not to the oratorio with his wife? In truth, then, the 
 
190 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IV. 
 
 tavern was within hallowed ground, that is to say, in the 
 verge of the court; for, of five officers that were to meet there, 
 three, besides Booth, were confined to that air which hath 
 been always found extremely wholesome to a broken mili¬ 
 tary constitution. And here, if the good reader will pardon 
 the pun, he will scarce be offended at the observation ; since, 
 how is it possible that, without running in debt, any person 
 should maintain the dress and appearance of a gentleman 
 whose income is not half so good as that of a porter] It is 
 true that this allowance, small as it is, is a great expense to 
 the public ; but, if several more unnecessary charges were 
 spared, the public might, perhaps, bear a little increase of 
 this without much feeling it. They would not, I am sure, 
 have equal reason to complain at contributing to the main¬ 
 tenance of a set of brave fellows who, at the hazard of their 
 health, their limbs, and their lives, have maintained the 
 safety and honour of their country, as when they find them¬ 
 selves taxed to the support of a set of drones, who have not 
 the least merit or claim to their favour, and who, without 
 contributing in any manner to the good of the hive, live 
 luxuriously on the labours of the industrious bee. 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IX WHICH AMELIA, WITH HER ERIEXD, GOES TO THE 
 
 ORATORIO. 
 
 Hothihg happened between the Monday and the Wed¬ 
 nesday worthy a place in this history. Upon the evening 
 of the latter the two ladies went to the oratorio, and were 
 there time enough to get a first row in the gallery. Indeed, 
 there was only one person in the house when they came; for 
 Amelia’s inclinations, when she gave a loose to them, were 
 pretty eager for this diversion, she being a great lover of 
 music, and particularly of Mr Handel’s compositions. Mrs 
 Ellison was, I suppose, a great lover likewise of music, for 
 she was the more impatient of the trvo; which was rather 
 the more extraordinary, as these entertainments were not 
 such novelties to her as they were to poor Amelia. 
 
 Though our ladies arrived full two hours before they saw 
 the back of Mr Handel, yet this time of expectation did not 
 hang extremely heavy on their hands; for, besides their own 
 chat, they had the company of the gentleman whom they 
 found at their first arrival in the gallery, and who, though 
 plainly, or rather roughly dressed, very luckily for the women, 
 happened to be not only w r ell-bred, but a person of very 
 lively conversation. The gentleman, on his part, seemed 
 highly charmed with Amelia, and in fact was so, for, though he 
 restrained himself entirely within the rules of good breed¬ 
 ing, yet was he in the highest degree officious to catch at 
 every opportunity of showing his respect, and doing her 
 little services. He procured her a book and wax-candle, 
 and held the candle for her himself during the whole enter¬ 
 tainment. 
 
 At the end of the oratorio he declared he would not leave 
 the ladies till he had seen them safe into their chairs or 
 coach; and at the same time very earnestly entreated that 
 he might have the honour of waiting on them. Upon which 
 Mrs Ellison, who was a very good-humoured woman, an- 
 
192 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 swered, ‘Ay, sure, sir, if you please; you have been very 
 obliging to us; and a dish of tea shall be at your service at 
 any time; ’ and then told him where she lived. 
 
 The ladies were no sooner seated in their hackney coach 
 than Mrs Ellison burst into a loud laughter, and cried, ‘ I’ll 
 be hanged, madam, if you have not made a conquest to¬ 
 night ; and what is very pleasant, I believe the poor gentle¬ 
 man takes you for a single lady.’ ‘Isay, answered Amelia 
 very gravely, ‘ I protest I began to think at last he was 
 rather too particular, though he did not venture at a word 
 that I could be offended at; but, if you fancy any such 
 thing, I am sorry you invited him to drink tea.’ ‘ Why sol 
 replied Mrs Ellison. ‘ Are you angry with a man for liking 
 you 1 if you are, you will be angry with almost every man 
 that sees you. If I was a man myself, I declare I should 
 be in the number of your admirers. Poor gentleman, I pity 
 him heartily; he little knows that you have not a heart to 
 dispose of. Eor my own part, I should not be surprized at 
 seeing a serious proposal of marriage : for I am convinced 
 he is a man of fortune, not only by the politeness of his 
 address, but by the fineness of his linen, and that valuable 
 diamond ring on his finger. But you will see more of him 
 when he comes to tea.’ ‘ Indeed I shall not, answered 
 Amelia, ‘ though I believe you only rally me; I hope you 
 have a better opinion of me than to think I *would go 
 willingly into the company of a man who had an improper 
 liking for me.’ Mrs Ellison, who was one of the gayest 
 women in the world, repeated the words, improper liking, 
 with a laugh; and cried, ‘ My dear Mrs Booth, believe me, 
 you are too handsome and too good-humoured for a prude. 
 How can you affect being offended at what I am convinced 
 is the greatest pleasure of womankind, and chielly, I believe, 
 of us virtuous women 1 for, I assure you, notwithstanding 
 my gaiety, I am as virtuous as any prude in Europe. bar 
 be it from me, madam,’ said Amelia, ‘ to suspect the con¬ 
 trary of abundance of women who indulge themselves in 
 much greater freedoms than 1 should take, or have any plea¬ 
 sure in taking; for I solemnly protest, if I know my own 
 heart, the liking of all men, but of one, is a matter quite in¬ 
 different to me, or rather would be highly disagreeable.’ 
 
 This discourse brought them home, where Amelia, finding 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 193 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 her children asleep, and her husband not returned, invited 
 her companion to partake of her homely fare, and down they 
 sat to supper together. The clock struck twelve; and, no 
 news being arrived of Booth, Mrs Ellison began to express 
 some astonishment at his stay, whence she launched into a 
 general reflexion on husbands, and soon passed to some par¬ 
 ticular invectives on her own. ‘ Ah, my dear madam/ says 
 she, ‘ I know the present state of your mind, by what I have 
 myself often felt formerly. I am no stranger to the melan¬ 
 choly tone of a midnight' clock. It was my misfortune to 
 drag on a heavy chain above fifteen years with a sottish 
 yoke-fellow. But how can I wonder at my fate, since I see 
 even your superior charms cannot confine a husband from 
 the bewitching pleasures of a bottle ] ’ ‘ Indeed, madam/ 
 
 says Amelia, ‘ I have no reason to complain; Mr Booth is 
 one of the soberest of men ; but now and then to spend a late 
 hour with his friend is, I think, highly excusable.’ ‘ 0, no 
 doubt! ’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ if he can excuse himself; but if 
 
 I was a man—’ Here Booth came in and interrupted the 
 discourse. Amelia’s eyes flashed with joy the moment he 
 appeared; and he discovered no less pleasure in seeing her. 
 His spirits were indeed a little elevated with wine, so as to 
 heighten his good humour, without in the least disordering 
 his understanding, and made him such delightful company, 
 that, though it was past one in the morning, neither his wife 
 nor Mrs Ellison thought of their beds during a whole hour. 
 
 Early the next morning the serjeant came to Mr Booth’s 
 lodgings, and with a melancholy countenance acquainted him 
 that he had been the night before at an alehouse, where he 
 heard one Mr Murphy, an attorney, declare that he would 
 get a warrant backed against one Captain Booth at the next 
 board of green-cloth. ‘ I hope, sir,’ said he, ‘ your honour 
 will pardon me, but, by what he said, I was afraid he meant 
 your honour; and therefore I thought it my duty to tell 
 you; for I knew the same thing happen to a gentleman here 
 the other day.’ 
 
 Booth gave Mr Atkinson many thanks for his information. 
 
 I I doubt not/said he, ‘ but I am the person meant; for it would 
 be foolish in me to deny that I am liable to apprehensions 
 of that sort.’ ‘I hope, sir/ said the serjeant, ‘your honour 
 will soon have reason to fear no man living; but in the 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 mean time, if any accident should happen, my hail is at 
 your service as far as it will go; and I am a housekeeper, 
 and can swear myself worth one hundred pounds.’ Which 
 hearty and friendly declaration received all those acknow¬ 
 ledgments from Booth which it really deserved. 
 
 The poor gentleman was greatly alarmed at this news ; 
 hut he was altogether as much surprized at Murphy’s being 
 the attorney employed against him, as all his debts, except 
 only to Captain James, arose in the country, where he did 
 not know that Mr Murphy had any acquaintance. However, 
 he made no doubt that he was the person intended, and re¬ 
 solved to remain a close prisoner in his ow r n lodgings, till he 
 saw the event of a proposal which had been made him the 
 evening before at the tavern, where an honest gentleman, 
 who had a post under the government, and who was one of 
 the company, had promised to serve him with the secretary 
 at war, telling him that he made no doubt of procuring him 
 whole pay in a regiment abroad, which in his present cir¬ 
 cumstances w r as very highly worth his acceptance, when, in¬ 
 deed, that and a gaol seemed to be the only alternatives that 
 offered themselves to his choice. 
 
 Mr Booth and his lady spent that afternoon with Mrs 
 Ellison—an incident which we should scarce have mention¬ 
 ed, had it not been that Amelia gave, on this occasion, an 
 instance of that prudence which should never be off its 
 guard in married women of delicacy; for, before she would 
 consent to drink tea with Mrs Ellison, she made conditions 
 that the gentleman who had met them at the oratorio should 
 not be let in. Indeed, this circumspection proved un¬ 
 necessary in the present instance, for no such visitor ever 
 came ; a circumstance which gave great content to Amelia ; 
 for that lady had been a little uneasy at the raillery of Mrs 
 Ellison, and. had upon reflexion magnified every little com¬ 
 pliment made her, and every little civility shown her by the 
 unknown gentleman, far beyond the truth. These imagina¬ 
 tions now all subsided again ; and she imputed all that Mrs 
 Ellison had said either to raillery or mistake. 
 
 A young lady made a fourth with them at whist, and like¬ 
 wise stayed the whole evening. Her name was Bennet. 
 She was about the age of five-and-twenty; but sickness had 
 given her an older look, and had a good deal diminished her 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 195 
 
 beauty; of which, young as she was, she plainly appeared to 
 have only the remains in her present possession. She was 
 in one particular the very reverse of Mrs Ellison, being 
 altogether as remarkably grave as the other was gay. This 
 gravity was not, however, attended with any sourness of 
 temper; on the contrary, she had much sweetness in her 
 countenance, and was perfectly well bred. In short, Amelia 
 imputed her grave deportment to her ill health, and began 
 to entertain a compassion for her, which in good minds, that 
 is to say, in minds capable of compassion, is certain to intro¬ 
 duce some little degree of love or friendship. 
 
 Amelia was in short so pleased with the conversation of 
 this lady, that, though a woman of no impertinent curiosity, 
 she could not help taking the first opportunity of inquiring 
 who she was. Mrs Ellison said that she was an unhappy 
 lady, who had married a young clergyman for love, who, 
 dying of a consumption, had left her a widow in very in¬ 
 different circumstances. This account made Amelia still 
 pity her more, and consequently added to the liking which 
 she had already conceived for her. Amelia, therefore, de¬ 
 sired Mrs Ellison to bring her acquainted with Mrs Bennet, 
 and said she would go any day with her to make that lady 
 a visit. ‘ There need be no ceremony/ cried Mrs Ellison ; 
 ‘ she is a woman of no form ; and, as I saw plainly she was 
 extremely pleased with Mrs Booth, I am convinced I can 
 bring her to drink tea with you any afternoon you please.’ 
 
 The two next days Booth continued at home, highly to 
 the satisfaction of his Amelia, who really knew no hap¬ 
 piness out of his company, nor scarce any misery in it. She 
 had, indeed, at all times so much of his company, when in 
 his power, that she had no occasion to assign any particular 
 reason for his staying with her, and consequently it could 
 give her no cause of suspicion. The Saturday, one of her 
 children was a little disordered with a feverish complaint 
 which confined her to her room, and prevented her drinking 
 tea in the afternoon with her husband in Mrs Ellison’s 
 apartment, where a noble lord, a cousin of Mrs Ellison’s, 
 happened to be present ; for, though that lady was reduced 
 in her circumstances and obliged to let out part of her house 
 in lodgings, she was born of a good family and had some 
 considerable relations 
 
196 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IV. 
 
 His lordship was not himself in any office of state, hut his 
 fortune gave him great authority with those who were. Mrs 
 Ellison, therefore, very bluntly took an opportunity of re¬ 
 commending Booth to his consideration. She took the first 
 hint from my lord’s calling the gentleman captain \ to which 
 she answered, ‘Ay, I wish your lordship would make him 
 so. It would he an act of justice, and I know it is in your 
 power to do much greater things.’ She then mentioned 
 Booth’s services, and the wounds he had received at the 
 siege, of which she had heard a faithful account from Amelia. 
 Booth blushed, and was as silent as a young virgin at the 
 hearing her own praises. His lordship answered, ‘Cousin 
 Ellison, you know you may command my interest; nay, I 
 shall have a pleasure in serving one of Mr Booth’s character : 
 for my part, I think merit in all capacities ought to he 
 encouraged, but I know the ministry are greatly pestered 
 with solicitations at this time. However, Mr Booth may be 
 assured I will take the first opportunity; and in the mean 
 time, I shall be glad of seeing him any morning he pleases.’ 
 For all these declarations Booth was not wanting in acknow¬ 
 ledgments to the generous peer any more than he was in 
 secret gratitude to the lady who had shown so friendly and 
 uncommon a zeal in his favour. 
 
 The reader, when he knows the character of this noble¬ 
 man, may, perhaps, conclude that his seeing Booth alone 
 was a lucky circumstance, for he was so passionate an ad¬ 
 mirer of women, that he could scarce have escaped the 
 attraction of Amelia’s beauty. And few men, as I have 
 observed, have such disinterested generosity as to serve a 
 husband the better because they are in love with his wife, 
 unless she will condescend to pay a price beyond the reach 
 of a virtuous woman. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN 'WHICH THE READER WILL MEET WITH AN OLD 
 
 ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Booth’s affairs were put on a "better aspect than they had 
 ever worn before, and he was willing to make use of the 
 opportunity of one day in seven to taste the fresh air. 
 
 At nine in the morning he went to pay a visit to his old 
 friend Colonel James, resolving, if possible, to have a full 
 explanation of that behaviour which appeared to him so 
 mysterious; but the colonel was as inaccessible as the best 
 defended fortress ; and it was as impossible for Booth to pass 
 beyond his entry as the Spaniards found it to take Gibraltar. 
 He received the usual answers; first, that the colonel was 
 not stirring, and an hour after that he was gone out. All 
 that he got by asking further questions was only to receive 
 still ruder and ruder answers, by which, if he had been very 
 sagacious, he might have been satisfied how little worth his 
 while it was to desire to go in ; for the porter at a great 
 man’s door is a kind of thermometer, by which you may 
 discover the warmth or coldness of his master’s friendship. 
 Hay, in the highest stations of all, as the great man himself 
 hath his different kinds of salutation, from an hearty em¬ 
 brace with a kiss, and my dear lord or dear Sir Charles, 
 
 down to, well Mr-, what would you have me do 1 so 
 
 the porter to some bows with respect, to others with a smile, 
 to some he bows more, to others less low, to others not at 
 all. Some he just lets in, and others he just shuts out. 
 And in all this they so well correspond, that one would be 
 . inclined to think that the great man and his porter had com¬ 
 pared their lists together, and, like two actors concerned to 
 
193 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 act different parts in the same scene, had rehearsed their 
 parts privately together before they ventured to perform in 
 public. 
 
 Though Booth did not, perhaps, see the whole matter in 
 this just light, for that in reality it is, yet he was discerning 
 enough to conclude, from the behaviour of the servant, 
 especially when he considered that of the master likewise, 
 that he had entirely lost the friendship of James; and this 
 conviction gave him a concern that not only the flatter¬ 
 ing prospect of his lordship’s favour was not able to com¬ 
 pensate, but which even obliterated, and made him for a 
 while forget the situation in which he had left his Amelia : 
 and he wandered about almost two hours, scarce knowing 
 where he went, till at last he dropt into a coffee-house near 
 St James’s, where he sat himself down, 
 
 He had scarce drank his dish of coffee before he heard a 
 young officer of the guards cry to another, ‘ Od, d—n me, 
 Jack, here he comes—here’s old honour and dignity, faith.’ 
 Upon which he saw a chair open, and out issued a most 
 erect and stately figure indeed, with a vast periwig on his 
 head, and a vast hat under his arm. This august personage, 
 having entered the room, walked directly up to the upper 
 end, where having paid his respects to all present of any 
 note, to each according to seniority, he at last cast his eyes 
 on Booth, and very civilly, though somewhat coldly, asked 
 him how he did. 
 
 Booth, who had long recognized the features of his old 
 acquaintance Major Bath, returned the compliment with a 
 very low bow; but did not venture to make the first ad¬ 
 vance to familiarity, as he was truly possessed of that quality 
 which the Greeks considered in the highest light of honour, 
 and which we term modesty; though indeed, neither ours 
 nor the Latin language hath any word adequate to the idea 
 of the original. 
 
 The colonel, after having discharged himself of two or 
 three articles of news, and made his comments upon them, 
 when the next chair to him became vacant, called upon 
 Booth to fill it. He then asked him several questions re¬ 
 lating to his affairs; and, when he heard he was out of the 
 army, advised him earnestly to use all means to get in again, . 
 saying that he was a pretty lad, and they must not lose him. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 199 
 
 CII. I.J 
 
 Booth told him in a whisper that he had a great deal to 
 say to him on that subject if they were in a more private 
 place ; upon this the colonel proposed a walk in the Park, 
 which the other readily accepted. 
 
 During their walk Booth opened his heart, and, among 
 other matters, acquainted Colonel Bath that he feared he had 
 lost the friendship of Colonel James; ‘ though I am not,’ 
 said he, ‘ conscious of having done the least thing to deserve 
 it.’ 
 
 Bath answered, ‘ You are certainly mistaken, Mr Booth. 
 I have indeed scarce seen my brother since my coming to 
 town; for I have been here but two days; however, I am 
 convinced he is a man of too nice honour to do anything in¬ 
 consistent with the true dignity of a gentleman.’ Booth 
 answered, ‘ He was far from accusing him of anything dis¬ 
 honourable.’—‘ D—n me,’ said Bath, ‘ if there is a man alive 
 can or dare accuse him : if you have the least reason to take 
 anything ill, why don’t you go to him 1 you are a gentleman, 
 and his rank doth not protect him from giving you satisfac¬ 
 tion.’ £ The affair is not of any such kind,’ says Booth; ‘ I 
 have great obligations to the colonel, and have more reason 
 to lament than complain; and, if I could but see him, I am 
 convinced I should have no cause for either; but I cannot 
 get within his house; it was but an hour ago a servant of 
 his turned me rudely from the door.’ ‘ Did a servant of my 
 brother use you rudely 1 ’ said the colonel, with the utmost 
 gravity. ‘I do not know, sir, in what light you see such 
 things; but, to me, the affront of a servant is the affront of 
 the master; and if he doth not immediately punish it, by all 
 the dignity of a man, I would see the master’s nose between 
 my fingers.’ Booth offered to explain, but to no purpose; 
 the colonel was got into his stilts; and it was impossible to 
 take him down, nay, it was as much as Booth could possibly 
 do to part with him without an actual quarrel; nor would 
 he, perhaps, have been able to have accomplished it, had not 
 the colonel by accident turned at last to take Booth’s side of 
 the question; and before they separated he swore many 
 oaths that James should give him proper satisfaction. 
 
 Such was the end of this present interview, so little to the 
 content of Booth, that he was heartily concerned he had 
 ever mentioned a syllable of the matter to his honourable 
 friend. 
 
200 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 [This chapter occurs in the original edition of Amelia, between the chap¬ 
 ters numbered 1 and 2. It is omitted in Murphy’s and all subsequent 
 editions. Some slight alterations were made by the author on its 
 omission in the text of the adjoining chapters to render the narrative 
 consecutive. These have been retained here. See note in Biography 
 prefixed to Joseph Andrews, page lxxi. 
 
 * 
 
 CONTAINING)- A BRACE OE DOCTORS AND MUCH 
 PHYSICAL MATTER. 
 
 He now returned with all his uneasiness to Amelia, whom 
 he found in a condition very little adapted to relieve or 
 comfort him. That poor woman was now indeed under very 
 great apprehensions for her child, whose fever now began to 
 rage very violently : and what was worse, an apothecary had 
 been with her, and frightened her almost out of her wits. He 
 had indeed represented the case of the child to be very 
 desperate, and had prevailed on the mother to call in the 
 assistance of a doctor. 
 
 Booth had been a very little time in the room before this 
 doctor arrived, with the apothecary close at his heels, and 
 both approached the bed, where the former felt the pulse of 
 the sick, and performed several other physical ceremonies. 
 
 He then began to enquire of the apothecary what he had 
 already done for the patient; all which, as soon as informed, 
 he greatly approved. The doctor then sat down, called for 
 a pen and ink, filled a whole side of a sheet of paper with 
 physic, then took a guinea, and took his leave; the apothe¬ 
 cary waiting upon him down-stairs, as he had attended 
 him up. 
 
 All that night both Amelia and Booth sat up with their 
 child, who rather grew worse than better. In the morning 
 Mrs Ellison found the infant in a raging fever, burning hot, 
 and very light-headed, and the mother under the highest de¬ 
 jection ; for the distemper had not given the least ground 
 to all the efforts of the apothecary and doctor, but seemed 
 to defy their utmost power, with all that tremendous appa- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 201 
 
 CEI. I.] 
 
 ratus of phials and gallypots, which were arranged in battle- 
 array all over the room. 
 
 Mrs Ellison, seeing the distrest, and indeed distracted, con¬ 
 dition of Amelia’s mind, attempted to comfort her by giving 
 her hopes of the child’s recovery. ‘ Upon my word, madam,’ 
 says she, ‘ I saw a child of much the same age with miss, 
 who, in my opinion, was much worse, restored to health in 
 a few days by a physician of my acquaintance. Nay, I have 
 known him cure several others of very bad fevers; and, if 
 miss was under his care, I dare swear she would do very 
 well.’ ‘Good heavens! madam,’ answered Amelia, ‘why 
 should you not mention him to me 1 For my part I have no 
 acquaintance with any London physicians, nor do I know 
 whom the apothecary hath brought me.’ ‘ Nay, madam,’ 
 cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ it is a tender thing, you know, to recom¬ 
 mend a physician; and as for my doctor, there are abundance 
 of people who give him an ill name. Indeed, it is true, he 
 hath cured me twice of fevers, and so he hath several others 
 to my knowledge ; nay, I never heard of any more than one 
 of his patients that died ; and yet, as the doctors and apothe¬ 
 caries all give him an ill character, one is fearful, you know, 
 dear madam.’ Booth enquired the doctor’s name, which he 
 no sooner heard than he begged his wife to send for him 
 immediately, declaring he had heard the highest character 
 imaginable of him at the Tavern from an officer of very 
 good understanding. Amelia presently complied, and a 
 messenger was despatched accordingly. 
 
 But before the second doctor could be brought, the first 
 returned with the apothecary attending him as before. He 
 again surveyed and handled the sick; and when Amelia 
 begged him to tell her if there was any hopes, he shook his 
 head, and said, ‘ To be sure, madam, miss is in a very dan¬ 
 gerous condition, and there is no time to lose. If the 
 blisters which I shall now order her, should not relieve her, 
 I fear we can do no more.’—‘Would not you please, sir,’ 
 says the apothecary, ‘ to have the powders and the draught 
 repeated 1 ’ ‘ How often were they ordered ? ’ cries the doc¬ 
 
 tor. ‘ Only tertia quaq. hora,’ says the apothecary. ‘ Let 
 them be taken every hour by all means,’ cries the doctor; 
 ‘ and—let me see, pray get me a pen and ink.’—‘ If you 
 think the child in such imminent danger,’ said Booth, ‘ would 
 
202 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 yon give ns leave to call in another physician to yonr assist¬ 
 ance—indeed my wife ’— 4 Oh, by all means,’ said the doctor, 
 
 ‘ it is what I very much wish. Let me see, Mr Arsenic, 
 whom shall we call 1 ’ 4 What do yon think of Dr Dose- 
 
 well V said the apothecary.—‘Nobody better,’ cries the 
 physician.—‘ I should have no objection to the gentleman,’ 
 answered Booth, ‘ but another hath been recommended to 
 my wife.’ He then mentioned the physician for whom they 
 had just before sent. ‘ Who, sir 1 ’ cries the doctor, dropping 
 his pen; and when Booth repeated the name of Thompson, 
 
 , ‘ Excuse me, sir,’ cries the doctor hastily, ‘ I shall not meet 
 him.’—‘ Why so, sir 1 ’ answered Booth. ‘ I will not meet 
 him,’ replied the doctor. ‘ Shall I meet a man who pretends 
 to know more than the whole College, and would overturn 
 the whole method of practice, which is so well established, 
 and from which no one person hath pretended to deviate 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir,’ cries the apothecary, ‘ you do not know what 
 you are about, asking your pardon; why he kills everybody 
 lie comes near.’ ‘ That is not true,’ said Mrs Ellison. ‘ I have 
 been his patient twice, and I am alive yet.’ 4 You have had 
 good luck, then, madam,’ answered the apothecary, 4 for he 
 kills everybody he conies near.’ ‘ Nay, I know above a dozen 
 others of my own acquaintance,’ replied Mrs Ellison, ‘ who 
 have all been cured by him.’ ‘ That may be, madam,’ cries 
 Arsenic ; 4 but he kills everybody for all that—why, madam, * 
 did you never hear of Mr-1 I can’t think of the gentle¬ 
 
 man’s name, though he was a man of great fashion; but 
 everybody knows whom I mean.’ 4 Everybody, indeed, must 
 know whom you mean,’ answered Mrs Ellison ; 4 for I never 
 heard but of one, and that many years ago.’ 
 
 Before the dispute was ended, the doctor himself entered 
 the room. As he was a very well-bred and very good- 
 natured man, he addressed himself with much civility to his 
 brother physician, who was not quite so courteous on his 
 side. However, he suffered the new comer to be conducted 
 to the sick bed, and at Booth’s earnest request to deliver his 
 opinion. 
 
 The dispute which ensued between the two physicians 
 would, perhaps, be unintelligible to any but those of the 
 faculty, and not very entertaining to them. The character 
 which the officer and Mrs Ellison had given of the second 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 203 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 doctor had greatly prepossessed Booth in his favour, and 
 indeed his reasoning seemed to he the juster. Booth there¬ 
 fore declared that he would abide by his advice, upon which 
 the former operator, with his zany, the apothecary, quitted 
 the field, and left the other in full possession of the sick. 
 
 The first thing the new doctor did was (to use his own 
 phrase) to blow up the physical magazine. All the powders 
 and potions instantly disappeared at his command; for he 
 said there was a much readier and nearer way to convey such 
 stuff to the vault, than by first sending it through the human 
 body, He then ordered the child to he blooded, gave it a 
 clyster and some cooling physic, ahd, in short, (that I may 
 not dwell too long on so unpleasing a part of history,) within 
 three days cured the little patient of her distemper, to the 
 great satisfaction of Mrs Ellison, and to the vast joy of 
 Amelia. 
 
 Some readers will, perhaps, think this whole chapter might 
 have been omitted ; hut though it contains no great matter of 
 amusement, it may at least serve to inform posterity con¬ 
 cerning the present state of physic.] 
 
204 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ BK v * 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN WHICH EOOTn PAYS A YISIT TO THE NOBLE LORD. 
 
 When that day of the week returned in which Mr Booth 
 chose to walk abroad, he went to wait on the noble peer, 
 according to his kind invitation. 
 
 Booth now found a very different reception with this great 
 man’s porter from what he had met with at his friend the 
 colonel’s. He no sooner told his name than the porter with 
 a bow told him his lordship was at home : the door imme¬ 
 diately flew wide open, and he was conducted to an ante¬ 
 chamber, where a servant told him he would acquaint his 
 lordship with his arrival. ISTor did he wait many minutes 
 before the same servant returned and ushered him to his 
 lordship’s apartment. 
 
 He found my lord alone, and was received by him in the 
 most courteous manner imaginable. After the first cere¬ 
 monials were over, his lordship- began in the following 
 words: ‘ Mr Booth, I do assure you, you are very much 
 obliged to my cousin Ellison. She, hath given you such a 
 character, that I shall have a pleasure in doing anything in 
 my power to serve you.—But it will be very difficult, I am 
 afraid, to get you a rank at home. In the West Indies, per¬ 
 haps, or in some regiment abroad, it may be more easy; and, 
 when I consider your reputation as a soldier, I make no 
 doubt of your readiness to go to any place where the service 
 of your country shall call you.’ Booth answered, ‘ That he 
 w T as highly obliged to his lordship, and assured him he 
 would with great cheerfulness attend his duty in any part of 
 the world. The only thing grievous in the exchange of 
 countries,’ said he, ‘in my opinion, is to leave those I love 
 behind me, and I am sure I shall never have a second trial 
 equal to my first. It was very hard, my lord, to leave a 
 young wife big with her first child, and so affected with my 
 absence, that I had the utmost reason to despair of ever 
 seeing her more. After such a demonstration of my resolu- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 205 
 
 OH, II.] 
 
 tion to sacrifice every other consideration to my duty, I hope 
 your lordship will honour me with some confidence that I 
 shall make no objection to serve in any country/—‘My dear 
 Mr Booth,’ answered the lord, ‘ you speak like a soldier, and 
 I greatly honour your sentiments. Indeed, I own the jus¬ 
 tice of your inference from the example you have given; for 
 to quit a wife, as you say, in the very infancy of marriage, 
 is, I acknowledge, some trial of resolution. Booth answered 
 with a low bow; and then, after some immaterial conversa¬ 
 tion, his lordship promised to speak immediately to the 
 minister, and appointed Mr Booth to come to him again on the 
 Wednesday morning, that he might be acquainted with his 
 patron’s success. The poor man now blushed and looked 
 silly, till, after some time, he summoned up all his courage 
 to iiis assistance, and relying on the other’s friendship, he 
 opened the whole affair of his circumstances, and confessed 
 that he did not dare stir from his lodgings above one day in 
 seven. His lordship expressed great concern at this account, 
 and very kindly promised to take some opportunity of 
 calling on him at his cousin Ellison’s, when he hoped, he 
 said, to bring him comfortable tidings. 
 
 Booth soon afterwards took his leave with the most pro¬ 
 fuse acknowledgments for so much goodness, and hastened 
 home to acquaint his Amelia with what had so greatly over¬ 
 joyed him. She highly congratulated him on his having 
 found so generous and powerful a friend, towards whom 
 both their bosoms burnt with the warmest sentiments of grati¬ 
 tude. She was not, however, contented till she had made Booth 
 renew his promise, in the most solemn manner, of taking her 
 with him. After which they sat down with their little 
 children to a scrag of mutton and broth, with the highest 
 satisfaction, and very heartily drank his lordship’s health in 
 a pot of porter. 
 
 In the afternoon this happy couple, if the reader will 
 allow me to call poor people happy, drank tea with Mrs 
 Ellison, where his lordship’s praises, being again repeated by 
 both the husband and wife, were very loudly echoed by Mrs 
 Ellison. While they were here, the young lady whom we 
 have mentioned at the end of the last book to have made a 
 fourth at whist, and with whom Amelia seemed so much 
 pleased, came in; she was just returned to town from a 
 
206 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 short visit in the country, and her present visit was un¬ 
 expected. It was, however, very agreeable to Amelia, who 
 liked her still better upon a second interview, and was re¬ 
 solved to solicit her further acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs Bennet still maintained some little reserve, hut was 
 much more familiar and communicative than before. She 
 appeared, moreover, to. he as little ceremonious as Mrs Elli¬ 
 son had reported her, and very readily accepted Amelia’s 
 apology for not paying her the first visit, and agreed to drink 
 tea with her the very next afternoon. 
 
 Whilst the above-mentioned company were sitting in Mrs 
 Ellison’s parlour, serjeant Atkinson passed by the window 
 and knocked at the door. Mrs Ellison no sooner saw him 
 than she said, ‘ Pray, Mr Booth, who is that genteel young ser¬ 
 jeant? he was here every day last Aveek to inquire after you.’ 
 This Avas indeed a fact; the serjeant Avas apprehensive of the 
 design of Murphy ; hut, as the poor fellow had received all 
 his ansAvers from the maid of Mrs Ellison, Booth had never 
 heard a Avord of the matter. He Avas, hoAvever, greatly 
 pleased with what he was now told, and hurst forth into 
 great praises of the serjeant, A\diich Avere seconded by Amelia, 
 Avho added that he Avas her foster-brother, and, she believed, 
 one of the lionestest felloAvs in the Avorld. 
 
 ‘ And I’ll swear,’ cries Mrs Ellison, t he is one of the 
 prettiest. Do, Mr Booth, desire him to Avalk in. A ser¬ 
 jeant of the guards is a gentleman; and I had rather give 
 such a man as you describe a dish of tea than any Beau 
 Fribble of them all.’ 
 
 Booth wanted no great solicitation to sIioav any kind of 
 regard to Atkinson; and, accordingly, the serjeant Avas 
 ushered in, though not Avithout some reluctance on his side. 
 There is, perhaps, nothing more uneasy than those sensations 
 which the French call the mauvaise honte , nor any more 
 difficult to conquer; and poor Atkinson would, I am per¬ 
 suaded, have mounted a breach with less concern than he 
 showed in walking across a room before three ladies, tAvo of 
 whom were his avoAved Avell-wishers. 
 
 Though I do not entirely agree Avith the late learned Mr 
 Essex, the celebrated dancing-master’s opinion, that dancing 
 is the rudiment of polite education, as he Avould, I appre¬ 
 hend, exclude every other art and science, yet it is certain 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 207 
 
 that persons whose feet have never been under the hands of 
 the professors of that art are apt to discover this want in 
 their education in every motion, nay, even when they stand 
 or sit still. They seem, indeed, to be overburthened with 
 limbs which they know not how to use, as if, when Nature 
 hath finished her work, the dancing-master still is necessary 
 to put it in motion. 
 
 Atkinson was, at present, an example of this observation 
 which doth so much honour to a profession for which I have 
 a very high regard. He was handsome, and exquisitely well 
 made; and yet, as he had never learnt to dance, he made so 
 awkward an appearance in Mrs Ellison’s parlour, that the 
 good lady herself, who had invited him in, could at first 
 scarce refrain from laughter at his behaviour. He had not, 
 however, been long in the room before admiration of his 
 person got the better of such risible ideas. So great is the 
 advantage of beauty in men as well as women, and so sure is 
 this quality in either sex of procuring some regard from the 
 beholder. 
 
 The exceeding courteous behaviour of Mrs Ellison, joined 
 to that of Amelia and Booth, at length dissipated the un¬ 
 easiness of Atkinson; and he gained sufficient confidence to 
 tell the company some entertaining stories of accidents that 
 had happened in the army within his knowledge, which, 
 though they greatly pleased all present, are not, however, of 
 consequence enough to have a place in this history 
 
 Mrs Ellison was so very importunate with her company to 
 stay supper that they all consented. As for the serjeant, he 
 seemed to be none of the least welcome guests. She was, 
 indeed, so pleased with what she had heard of him, and what 
 she saw of him, that, when a little warmed with wine, for 
 she was no flincher at the bottle, she began to indulge some 
 freedoms in her discourse towards him that a little offended 
 Amelia’s delicacy, nay, they did not seem to be highly rel¬ 
 ished by the other lady; though I am far from insinuating 
 that these exceeded the bounds of decorum, or were, indeed, 
 greater liberties than ladies of the middle age, and especially 
 widows, do frequently allow to themselves. 
 
208 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RELATING PRINCIPALLY TO THE AEEAIRS OP SERJEANT 
 
 ATKINSON. 
 
 The next day, when all the same company, Atkinson only 
 excepted, assembled in Amelia’s apartment, Mrs Ellison pre¬ 
 sently began to discourse of him, and that in terms not only 
 of approbation but even of affection. She called him her 
 clever serjeant, and her dear serjeant, repeated often that he 
 was the prettiest fellow in the army, and said it was a thou¬ 
 sand pities he had not a commission; for that, if he had, 
 she was sure he would become a general. 
 
 ‘I am of your opinion, madam/ answered Booth; ‘ and 
 he hath got one hundred pounds of his own already, if he 
 coidd find a wife now to help him to two or three hundred 
 more, I think he might easily get a commission in a march¬ 
 ing regiment; for I am convinced there is no colonel in the 
 army would refuse him.’ 
 
 ‘ Refuse him, indeed! ’ said Mrs Ellison; ‘ no; he would 
 be a very pretty colonel that did. And, upon my honour, I 
 believe there are very few ladies who would refuse him, if 
 he had but a proper opportunity of soliciting them. The 
 colonel and the lady both would be better off than with one 
 of those pretty masters that I see walking about, and drag¬ 
 ging their long swords after them, when they should rather 
 drag then leading-strings/ 
 
 ‘Well said/ cries Booth, ‘and spoken like a woman of 
 spirit.—Indeed, I believe, they would be both better served.’ 
 
 ‘ True, captain/ answered Mrs Ellison; ‘ I would rather 
 leave the two first syllables out of the word gentleman than 
 the last.’ 
 
 ‘Hay, I assure you/ replied Booth, ‘ there is not a quieter 
 creature in the world. Though the fellow hath the bravery 
 of a lion, he hath the meekness of a lamb. I can tell you 
 stories enow of that kind, and so can my dear Amelia, when 
 he was a boy.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 209 
 
 OH. III.] 
 
 ‘ 0 ! if the match sticks there/ cries Amelia, ‘ I positively 
 will not spoil his fortune by my silence. I can answer for 
 him from his infancy, that he was one of the best-natured 
 lads in the world. I will tell you a story or two of him, the 
 truth of which I can testify from my own knowledge. When 
 he was but six years old he was at play with me at my 
 mother’s house, and a great pointer-dog bit him through the 
 leg. The poor lad, in the midst of the anguish of his wound, 
 declared he was overjoyed it had not happened to miss (for 
 the same dog had just before snapt at me, and my petticoats 
 
 had been my defence).-Another instance of his goodness, 
 
 which greatly recommended him to my father, and which I 
 have loved him for ever since, was this : my father was a 
 great lover of birds, and strictly forbad the spoiling of their 
 nests. Poor Joe was one day caught upon a tree, and, being 
 concluded guilty, was severely lashed for it; but it was after¬ 
 wards discovered that another boy, a friend of Joe’s, had 
 robbed the nest of its young ones, and poor Joe had climbed 
 the tree in order to restore them, notwithstanding which, he 
 submitted to the punishment rather than he would impeach 
 his companion. But, if these stories appear childish and 
 trifling, the duty and kindness he hath shown to his mother 
 must recommend him to every one. Ever since he hath 
 been fifteen years old he hath more than half supported her : 
 and when my brother died, I remember particularly, Joe, at 
 his desire, for he was much his favourite, had one of his 
 suits given him; but, instead of his becoming finer on that 
 occasion, another young fellow came to church in my brother’s 
 clothes, and my old nurse appeared the same Sunday in a 
 new gown, which her son had purchased for her with the 
 sale of his legacy.’ 
 
 ‘Well, I protest, he is a very worthy creature,’ said Mrs 
 Bennet. 
 
 ‘ He is a charming fellow,’ cries Mrs Ellison,—‘ but then 
 the name of serjeant, Captain Booth; there, as the play says, 
 my pride brings me off again.’ 
 
 And whatsoever the sages charge on pride, 
 
 The angels’ fall, and twenty other good faults beside; 
 
 On earth I’m sure—I’m sure—something—calling 
 Pride saves man, and our sex too, from falling.— 
 
 Here a footman’s rap at the door shook the room. Upon 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 which Mrs Ellison, running to the window, cried out, 1 Let 
 me die if it is not my lord ! what shall I do 1 I must he at 
 home to him; but suppose he should inquire for you, cap¬ 
 tain, what shall I say] or will you go down with me ]' 
 
 The company were in some confusion at this instant, and 
 before they had agreed on anything, Booth’s little girl came 
 running into the room, and said, ‘ There was a prodigious 
 great gentleman coming up-stairs.’ She was immediately 
 followed by his lordship, who, as he knew Booth must be at 
 home, made very little or no inquiry at the door. 
 
 Amelia was taken somewhat at a surprize, but she was too 
 polite to show much confusion; for, though she knew 
 nothing of the town, she had had a genteel education, and 
 kept the best company the country afforded. The cere¬ 
 monies therefore passed as usual, and they all sat down. 
 
 His lordship soon addressed himself to Booth, saying, 
 ‘ As I have what I think good news for you, sir, I could not 
 delay giving myself the pleasure of communicating it to you. 
 I have mentioned your affair where I promised you, and I 
 have no doubt of my success. One may easily perceive, you 
 know, from the manner of people’s behaving upon such 
 occasions ; and, indeed, when I related your case, I found 
 there was much inclination to serve you. Great men, Mr 
 Booth, must do things in their own time ; but I think you 
 may depend on having something done very soon.’ 
 
 Booth made many acknowledgments for his lordship’s 
 goodness, and now a second time paid all the thanks which 
 would have been due, even had the favour been obtained. 
 This art of promising is the economy of a great man’s pride, 
 a sort of good husbandry in' conferring favours, by which 
 they receive tenfold in acknowledgments for every obligation, 
 I mean among those who really intend the service ; for there 
 are others who cheat poor men of their thanks, without ever 
 designing to deserve them at all. 
 
 This matter being sufficiently discussed, the conversation 
 took a gayer turn ; and my lord began to entertain the ladies 
 with some of that elegant discourse which, though most 
 delightful to hear, it is impossible should ever be read. 
 
 His lordship was so highly pleased with Amelia, that he 
 could not help being somewhat particular to her; but this 
 particularity distinguished itself only in a higher degree of 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 211 
 
 respect, and was so very polite, and so very distant, that she 
 herself was pleased, and at his departure, which was not till 
 he had far exceeded the length of a common visit, declared 
 he was the finest gentleman she had ever seen ; with which 
 sentiment her husband and Mrs Ellison both entirely con¬ 
 curred. 
 
 Mrs Bennet, on the contrary, exprest some little dislike to 
 my lord’s complaisance, which she called excessive. ‘ For 
 my part,’ said she, ‘ I have not the least relish for those very 
 fine gentlemen ; what the world generally calls politeness, I 
 term insincerity; and I am more charmed with the stories 
 which Mrs Booth told us of the honest serjeant than with all 
 that the finest gentlemen in the world ever said in their 
 lives! ’ 
 
 ‘ 0 ! to be sure,’ cries Mrs Ellison ; ‘ All for Love , or the 
 World well Lost , is a motto very proper for some folks to 
 wear in their coat of arms; but the generality of the world 
 will, I believe, agree with that lady’s opinion of my cousin, 
 rather than with Mrs Bennet.’ 
 
 Mrs Bennet, seeing Mrs Ellison took offence at what she 
 said, thought proper to make some apology, which was very 
 readily accepted, and so ended the visit. 
 
 We cannot however put an end to the chapter without 
 observing that such is the ambitious temper of beauty, that 
 it may always apply to itself that celebrated passage in 
 Lucan, 
 
 Nee quenquam jam ferre potest Ccesarve priorem, 
 
 JPompeiusve parem. 
 
 Indeed, I believe, it may be laid down as a general rule, that 
 no woman who hath any great pretensions to admiration is 
 ever well pleased in a company where she perceives herself 
 to fill only the second place. This observation, however, 
 I humbly submit to the judgment of the ladies, and hope it 
 will be considered as retracted by me if they shall dissent 
 from my opinion. 
 
212 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK Y. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONTAINING MATTERS THAT REQUIRE NO PREFACE. 
 
 When Booth and his wife were left alone together they both 
 extremely exulted in their good fortune in having found so 
 good a friend as his lordship ; nor were they wanting in very 
 warm expressions of gratitude towards Mrs Ellison. After 
 which they began to lay down schemes of living when Booth 
 should have his commission of captain; and, after the exact- 
 est computation, concluded that, with economy, they should 
 be able to save at least fifty pounds a-year out of their in¬ 
 come in order to pay their debts 
 
 These matters being well settled, Amelia asked Booth 
 what he thought of Mrs Bennet ? ‘ I think, my dear,’ an¬ 
 
 swered Booth, 1 that she hath been formerly a very pretty 
 woman.’ ‘ I am mistaken,’ replied she, ‘ if she be not a very 
 good creature. I don’t know I ever took such a liking to 
 any one on so short an acquaintance. I fancy she hath 
 been a very sprightly woman; for, if you observe, she dis¬ 
 covers by starts a great vivacity in her countenance.’ ‘I 
 made the same observation,’ cries Booth : ‘ sure some strange 
 misfortune hath befallen her.’ ‘ A misfortune, indeed ! ’ an¬ 
 swered Amelia; ‘ sure, child, you forget what Mrs Ellison 
 told us, that she had lost a beloved husband. A misfortune 
 which I have often wondered at any woman’s surviving.’ 
 At which words she cast a tender look at Booth, and pre¬ 
 sently afterwards, throwing herself upon his neck, cried, ‘ 0, 
 Heavens ! what a happy creature am I! when I consider the 
 dangers you have gone through, how I exult in my bliss ! ’ 
 The good-natured reader will suppose that Booth was not 
 deficient in returning such tenderness, after which the con¬ 
 versation became too fond to be here related. 
 
 The next morning Mrs Ellison addressed herself to Booth 
 as follows : ‘ I shall make no apology, sir, for what I am 
 going to say, as it proceeds from my friendship to yourself 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 213 
 
 and your dear lady. I am convinced then, sir, there is 
 something more than accident in your going abroad only one 
 day in the week. Now, sir, if, as I am afraid, matters are 
 not altogether as well as I wish them, I beg, since I do not 
 believe you are provided with a lawyer, that you will suffer 
 me to recommend one to you. The person I shall mention 
 is, I assure you, of much ability in his profession, and I 
 have known him do great services to gentlemen under a 
 cloud. Do not be ashamed of your circumstances, my dear 
 friend: they are a much greater scandal to those who have 
 left so much merit unprovided for.’ 
 
 Booth gave Mrs Tlllison abundance of thanks for her kind¬ 
 ness, and explicitly confessed to her that her conjectures were 
 right, and, without hesitation, accepted the offer of her friend’s 
 assistance. 
 
 Mrs Ellison then acquainted him with her apprehensions 
 on his account. She said she had both yesterday and this 
 morning seen two or three very ugly suspicious fellows pass 
 several times by her window. ‘ Upon all accounts,’ said she, 
 ‘ my dear sir, I advise you to keep yourself close confined till 
 the lawyer hath been with you. I am sure he will get you 
 your liberty, at least of walking about within the verge. 
 There’s something to be done with the board of green-cloth ; 
 I don’t know what; but this I know, that several gentlemen 
 have lived here a long time very comfortably, and have defied 
 all the vengeance of their creditors. However, in the mean 
 time, you must be a close prisoner with your lady ; and I be¬ 
 lieve there is no man in England but would exchange his 
 liberty for the same gaol.’ 
 
 She then departed in order to send for the attorney, and 
 presently afterwards the serjeant arrived with news of the 
 like kind. He said he had scraped an acquaintance with 
 Murphy. 1 1 hope your honour will pardon me,’ cries Atkin¬ 
 son, ‘ but I pretended to have a small demand upon your 
 honour myself, and offered to employ him in the business. 
 Upon which he told me that, if I would go with him to the 
 Marshal’s court, and make affidavit of my debt, he should be 
 able very shortly to get it me ; “ for I shall have the captain 
 in hold,” cries he, within a day or two.” I wish,’ said the 
 serjeant, ‘ I could do your honour any service. Shall I walk 
 about all day before the door 1 or shall I be porter, and watch 
 
214 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 it in the inside till your honour can find some means of se¬ 
 curing yourself? I hope you will not he offended at me, but 
 I beg you would take care of falling into Murphy’s hands ; 
 for he hath the character of the greatest villain upon earth. 
 I am afraid you will think me too bold, sir ; but I have a little 
 money ; if it can be of any service, do, pray your honour, 
 command it. It can novel* do me so much good any other 
 way. Consider, sir, I owe all I have to yourself and my 
 dear mistress.’ 
 
 Booth stood a moment, as if he had been thunderstruck, 
 and then, the tears bursting from his eyes, he said, ‘ Upon 
 my soul, Atkinson, you overcome me. I* scarce ever heard 
 of so much goodness, nor do I know how to express my 
 sentiments of it.. But, be assured,, as for your money, I 
 will not accept it; and let it satisfy you, that in my present 
 circumstances it would do me no essential service; but this 
 be assured of likewise, that whilst I live I shall never forget 
 the kindness of the offer. However, as I apprehend I may 
 be in some danger of fellows getting into the house, for a 
 day or two, as I have no guard but a poor little girl, I will 
 not refuse the goodness you offer to show in my protection. 
 And I make no doubt but Mrs Ellison will let you sit in her 
 parlour for that purpose.’ 
 
 Atkinson, with the utmost readiness, undertook the office 
 of porter ; and Mrs Ellison as readily allotted him a place in 
 her back-parlour, where he continued three days together, 
 from eight in the morning till twelve at night; during which 
 time, he had sometimes the company of Mrs Ellison, and 
 sometimes of Booth, Amelia, and Mrs Bennet too; for this 
 last had taken as great a fancy to Amelia as Amelia had to 
 her, and, therefore, as Mr Booth’s affairs were now no secret 
 in the neighbourhood, made her frequent visits during 
 the confinement of her husband, and consequently her 
 own. 
 
 bTothing, as I remember, happened in this interval of 
 time, more worthy notice than the following card which 
 Amelia received from her old acquaintance Mrs James :— 
 ‘ Mrs James sends her compliments to Mrs Booth, and desires 
 to know how she does ; for, as she hath not had the favour 
 of seeing her at her own house, or of meeting her in any 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 215 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 public place, in so long time, fears it may be owing to ill 
 health/ 
 
 Amelia bad long given over all thoughts of her friend, 
 and doubted not but that she was as entirely given over by 
 her; she was very much surprized at this message, and 
 under some doubt whether it was not meant as an insult, 
 especially from the mention of public places, which she 
 thought so inconsistent with her present circumstances, of 
 which she supposed Mrs James was well apprized. However, 
 at the entreaty of her husband, who languished for nothing 
 more than to be again reconciled to his friend James, Amelia 
 undertook to pay the lady a visit, and to examine into the 
 mystery of this conduct, which appeared to her so unac¬ 
 countable. 
 
 Mrs James received her with a degree of civility that 
 amazed Amelia no less than her coldness had done before. 
 She resolved to come to an eclaircissement, and, having sat 
 out some company that came in, when they were alone to¬ 
 gether Amelia, after some silence and many offers to speak, 
 at last said, ‘ My dear Jenny (if you will now suffer me to 
 call you by so familiar a name), have you entirely forgot a 
 certain young lady who had the pleasure of being your in¬ 
 timate acquaintance at Montpelier 1 ’ ‘ Whom do you mean, 
 dear madam 1 ’ cries Mrs James with great concern. ‘ I mean 
 myself/ answered Amelia. ‘ You surprize me, madam,’ re¬ 
 plied Mrs James: ‘How can you ask me that question V 
 ‘ Hay, my dear, I do not intend to offend you,’ cries Amelia, 
 ‘ but I am really desirous to solve to myself the reason of 
 that coldness which you showed me when you did me the 
 favour of a visit. Can you think, my dear, I was not dis¬ 
 appointed, when I expected to meet an intimate friend, to 
 receive a cold formal visitant 1 I desire you to examine 
 your own heart and answer me honestly if you do not think 
 I had some little reason to be dissatisfied with your be¬ 
 haviour ? ’ ‘ Indeed, Mrs Booth,’ answered the other lady, 
 
 ‘ you surprize me very much ; if there was anything dis¬ 
 pleasing to you in my behaviour I am extremely concerned 
 at it. I did not know I had been defective in any of the 
 rules of civility, but if I was, madam, I ask your pardon.’ 
 ‘ Is civility, then, my dear/ replied Amelia, ‘a synonymous 
 
216 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 term with friendship ? Could I have expected, when I 
 parted the last time with Miss Jenny Bath, to have met her 
 the next time in the shape of a fine lady, complaining of the 
 hardship of climbing up two pair of stairs to visit me, and 
 then approaching me with the distant air of a new or a slight 
 acquaintance ? Do you think, my dear Mrs James, if the 
 tables had been turned, if my fortune had been as high in 
 the world as yours, and you in my distress and abject con¬ 
 dition, that I would not have climbed as high as the monu¬ 
 ment to visit you?’ ‘ Sure, madam,’ cried Mrs James, ‘ I 
 mistake you, or you have greatly mistaken me. Can you 
 complain of my not visiting you, who have owed me a visit 
 almost these three weeks? Nay, did I not even then send 
 you a card, which sure was doing more than all the friend¬ 
 ship and good-breeding in the world required; but, indeed, 
 as I had met you in no public place, I really thought you 
 was ill.’ 
 
 ‘ How can you mention public places to me,’ said Amelia, 
 
 ‘ when you can hardly be a stranger to my present situation ? 
 Did you not know, madam, that I was ruined ? ’ ‘ No, in¬ 
 
 deed, madam, did I not,’ replied Mrs James ; ‘ I am sure I 
 should have been highly concerned if I had.’ ‘ Why, sure, 
 my dear,’ cries Amelia, i you could not imagine that we were 
 in affluent circumstances, when you found us in such a 
 place, and in such a condition.’ ‘ Nay, my dear,’ answered 
 Mrs James, ‘ since you are pleased to mention it first your¬ 
 self, I own I was a little surprized to see you in no better 
 lodgings; but I concluded you had your own reasons for 
 liking them; and, for my own part, I have laid it down as 
 a positive rule never to inquire into the private affairs of 
 any one, especially of my friends. I am not of the humour 
 of some ladies, who confine the circle of their acquaintance 
 to one part of the town, and would not be known to visit in 
 the city for the world. For my part, I never dropt an ac¬ 
 quaintance with any one while it was reputable to keep it 
 up; and I can solemnly declare I have not a friend in the 
 world for whom I have a greater esteem than I have for Mrs 
 Booth.’ 
 
 At this instant the arrival of a new visitant put an end 
 to the discourse; and Amelia soon after took her leave with- 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 217 
 
 out the least anger, but with some little unavoidable con¬ 
 tempt for a lady, in whose opinion, as we have hinted be¬ 
 fore, outward form and ceremony constituted the whole 
 essence of friendship; who valued all her acquaintance 
 alike, as each individual served equally to fill up a place in 
 her visiting roll; and who, in reality, had not the least con¬ 
 cern for the good qualities or well-being of any of them. 
 
218 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ek V. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 i 
 
 CONTAINING MUCH HEROIC MATTER. 
 
 At the end of three days Mrs Ellison’s friend had so far 
 purchased Mr Booth’s liberty that he could walk again 
 abroad within the verge without any danger of having a 
 warrant backed against him by the board before he had 
 notice. As for the ill looked persons that had given the 
 alarm, it was now discovered that another unhappy gentle¬ 
 man, and not Booth, was the object of their pursuit. 
 
 Mr Booth, now being delivered from his fears, went, as he 
 had formerly done, to take his morning walk in the Park. 
 Here he met Colonel Bath in company with some other 
 officers, and very civilly paid his respects to him. But, in¬ 
 stead of returning the salute, the colonel looked him full in 
 the face with a very stern countenance ; and, if he could be 
 said to take any notice of him, it was in such a manner as 
 to inform him he would take no notice of him. 
 
 Booth was not more hurt than surprized at this behaviour, 
 and resolved to know the reason of it. He therefore watched 
 an opportunity till the colonel was alone, and then walked 
 boldly up to him, and desired to know if he had given him 
 any offence 1 The colonel answered hastily, 4 Sir, I am 
 above being offended with you, nor do I think it consistent 
 with my dignity to make you any answer.’ Booth replied, 
 4 1 don’t know, sir, that I have done anything to deserve 
 this treatment.’ 4 Look’ee, sir,’ cries the colonel, 4 if I had 
 not formerly had some respect for you, I should not think 
 you worth my. resentment. However, as you are a gentle¬ 
 man born, and an officer, and as I have had an esteem for 
 you, I will give you some marks of it by putting it in your 
 power to do yourself justice. I will tell you therefore, sir, 
 that you have acted like a scoundrel.’ 4 If we were not in 
 the Park,’ answered Booth warmly, 4 1 would thank you very 
 properly for that compliment.’ 4 0, sir,’ cries the colonel, 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 219 
 
 ‘ we can "be soon in a convenient place.’ Upon which Booth 
 answered, he would attend him wherever he pleased. The 
 colonel then hid him come along, and strutted forward 
 directly up Constitution-hill to Idyde-park, Booth follow¬ 
 ing him at first, and afterwards walking before him, till they 
 came to that place which may be properly called the field of 
 blood, being that part, a little to the left of the ring, which 
 heroes have chosen for the scene of their exit out of this 
 world. 
 
 Booth reached the ring some time before the colonel; for 
 he mended not his pace any more than a Spaniard. To say 
 truth, I believe it was not in his power : for he had so long 
 accustomed himself to one and the same strut, that as a 
 horse, used always to trotting, can scarce be forced into a 
 gallop, so could no passion force the colonel to alter his pace. 
 
 At length, however, both parties arrived at the lists, where 
 the colonel very deliberately took off his wig and coat, and 
 laid them on the grass, and then, drawing his sword, ad¬ 
 vanced to Booth, who had likewise his drawn weapon in his 
 hand, but had made no other preparation for the combat. 
 
 The combatants now engaged with great fury, and, after 
 two or three passes, Booth run the colonel through the body 
 and threw him on the ground, at the same time possessing 
 himself of the colonel’s sword. 
 
 As soon as the colonel was become master of his speech, 
 he called out to Booth in a veiy kind voice, and said, ‘ You 
 have done my business, and satisfied me that you are a man 
 of honour, and that my brother James must have been mis¬ 
 taken ; for I am convinced that no man who will draw his 
 sword in so gallant a manner is capable of being a rascal. 
 D—n me, give me a buss, my dear boy; I ask your pardon 
 for that infamous ajipellation I dishonoured your dignity 
 with ; but d—n me if it was not purely out of love, and to 
 give you all opportunity of doing yourself justice, which I 
 own you have done like a man of honour. What may be 
 the consequences I know not, but I hope, at least, I shall 
 live to reconcile you with my brother.’ 
 
 Booth showed great concern, and even horror in his 
 countenance. ‘ Why, my dear colonel,’ said he, ‘ would you 
 force me to this % for Heaven’s sake tell me what I have ever 
 done to offend you.’ 
 
220 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 ‘ Me ! ’ cried the colonel. ‘ Indeed, my dear child, you 
 never did anything to offend me.—Nay, I have acted the 
 part of a friend to you in the whole affair. I maintained 
 your cause with my brother as long as decency would per¬ 
 mit ; I could not flatly contradict him, though, indeed, I 
 scarce believed him. But what could I do % If I had not 
 fought with you, I must have been obliged to have fought 
 with him; however, I hope what is done will be sufficient, 
 and that matters may be discommodated without your being 
 put to the necessity of fighting any more on this occasion.’ 
 
 1 Never regard me,’ cried Booth eagerly ; ‘ for Heaven’s 
 sake, think of your own preservation. Let me put you into 
 a chair, and get you a surgeon.’ 
 
 ‘Thou art a noble lad,’ cries the colonel, who was now got 
 on his legs, 1 and I am glad the business is so well over; for, 
 though your sword went quite through, it slanted so that I 
 apprehend there is little danger of life: however, I think 
 there is enough done to put an honourable end to the affair, 
 especially as you was so hasty to disarm me. I bleed a little, 
 but I can walk to the house by the water; and, if you will 
 send me a chair thither, I shall be obliged to you.’ 
 
 As the colonel refused any assistance (indeed he was very 
 able to walk without it, though with somewhat less dignity 
 than usual), Booth set forward to Grosvenor-gate, in order to 
 procure the chair, and soon after returned with one to his 
 friend; whom having conveyed into it, he attended himself 
 on foot into Bond-street, where then lived a very eminent 
 surgeon. 
 
 The surgeon having probed the wound, turned towards 
 Booth, who was apparently the guilty person, and said, with 
 a smile, ‘ Upon my word, sir, you have performed the business 
 with great dexterity.’ 
 
 ‘ Sir,’ cries the colonel to the surgeon, ‘ I would not have 
 you imagine I am afraid to die. I think I know'more what 
 belongs to the dignity of a man; and, I believe, I have 
 shown it at the head of a line of battle. Do not impute my 
 concern to that fear, when I ask you whether there is or is 
 not any danger 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Beally, colonel,’ answered the surgeon, who well knew 
 the complexion of the gentleman then under his hands, ‘ it 
 would appear like presumption to say that a man who hath 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 221 
 
 been just run through the body is in no manner of danger. 
 But this I think I may assure you, that I yet perceive no 
 very bad symptoms, and, unless something worse should 
 appear, or a fever be the consequence, I hope you may live 
 to be again, with all your dignity, at the head of a line of 
 battle.’ 
 
 1 1 am glad to hear that is your opinion/ quoth the colonel, 
 4 for I am not desirous of dying, though I am not afraid of 
 it. But, if anything worse than you apprehend should 
 happen, I desire you will be a witness of my declaration that 
 this young gentleman is entirely innocent. I forced him to 
 do what he did. My dear Booth, I am pleased matters are 
 as they are. You are the first man that ever gained an ad¬ 
 vantage over me; but it was very lucky for you that you 
 disarmed me, and I doubt not but you have the “ equanani- 
 mity ” to think so. If the business, therefore, hath ended 
 without doing anything to the purpose, it was Fortune’s 
 pleasure, and neither of our faults.’ 
 
 Booth heartily embraced the colonel, and assured him of 
 the great satisfaction he had received from the surgeon’s 
 opinion ; and soon after the two combatants took their leave 
 of each other. The colonel, after he was drest, went in a 
 chair to his lodgings, and Booth walked on foot to his; 
 where he luckily arrived without meeting any of Mr Murphy’s 
 gang ; a danger which never once occurred to his imagina¬ 
 tion till he was out of it. 
 
 The affair he had been about had indeed so entirely occu¬ 
 pied his mind, that it had obliterated every other idea; 
 among the rest, it caused him so absolutely to forget the 
 time of the day, that, though he had exceeded the time of 
 dining above two hours, he had not the least suspicion of 
 being at home later than usual. 
 
222 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 IN WHICH THE READER WILL EIND MATTER WORTHY 
 
 HIS CONSIDERATION. 
 
 Amelia, having waited above an hour for her husband, con¬ 
 cluded, as he was the most punctual man alive, that he had 
 met with some engagement abroad, and sat down to her meal 
 with her children ; which, as it was always uncomfortable in 
 the absence of her husband, was very short; so that, before 
 his return, all the apparatus of dining was entirely removed. 
 
 Booth sat some time with his wife, expecting every minute 
 when the little maid would make her appearance; at last, 
 curiosity, I believe, rather than appetite, made him ask how 
 long it was to dinner 1 ‘To dinner, my dear ! ’ answered 
 Amelia ; ‘ sure you have dined, I hope ? ’ Booth replied in 
 the negative; upon which his wife started from her chair, 
 and bestirred herself as nimbly to provide him a repast as 
 the most industrious hostess in the kingdom doth when 
 some unexpected guest of extraordinary quality arrives at her 
 house. 
 
 The reader hath not, I think, from any passages hitherto 
 recorded in this history, had much reason to accuse Amelia 
 of a blameable curiosity ; he will not, I hope, conclude that 
 she gave an instance of any such fault when, upon Booth’s 
 having so long overstayed liis time, and so greatly mistaken 
 the hour of the day, and upon some other circumstances of 
 his behaviour (for he was too honest to be good at concealing 
 any of his thoughts), she said to him after he had done 
 eating, ‘ My dear, I am sure something more than ordinary 
 hath happened to-day, and I beg you will tell me what it is.’ 
 
 Booth answered that nothing of any consequence had 
 happened; that he had been detained by a friend, whom he 
 met accidentally, longer than he expected. In short, he 
 made many shuffling and evasive answers, not boldly lying 
 out, which, perhaps, would have succeeded, but poorly and 
 yainly endeavouring to reconcile falsehood with truth; an 
 
cn. vi.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 223 
 
 attempt which seldom fails to betray the most practised 
 deceiver. 
 
 How impossible was it therefore for poor Booth to succeed 
 in an art for which nature had so entirely disqualified him. 
 His countenance, indeed, confessed faster than his tongue 
 denied, and the whole of his behaviour gave Amelia an 
 alarm, and made her suspect something very bad had 
 happened; and, as her thoughts turned presently on the 
 badness of their circumstances, she feared some mischief 
 from his creditors had befallen him ; for she was too ignorant 
 of such matters to know that, if he had fallen into the 
 hands of the Philistines (which is the name given by the 
 faithful to bailiffs), he would hardly have been able so soon 
 to recover his liberty. Booth at last perceived her to be so 
 uneasy, that, as he saw no hopes of contriving any fiction to 
 satisfy her, he thought himself obliged to tell her the truth, 
 or at least part of the truth, and confessed that he had had 
 a little skirmish with Colonel Bath, in which, he said, the 
 colonel had received a slight wound, not at all dangerous; 
 ‘ and this,’ says he, * is all the wh-ole matter.’ ‘ If it be so,’ 
 cries Amelia, ‘ I thank Heaven no worse hath happened; but 
 why, my dear, will you ever converse with that madman, 
 who can embrace a friend one moment, and fight with him 
 the next 1 ’ ‘ Hay, my dear,’ answered Booth, ‘ you yourself 
 
 must confess, though he be a little too much on the qui vive, 
 he is a man of great honour and good-nature.’ ‘ Tell me not,’ 
 replied she, ‘ of such good-nature and honour as would 
 sacrifice a friend and a whole family to a ridiculous whim. 
 Oh, Heavens ! ’ cried she, falling upon her knees, ‘ from what 
 misery have I escaped, from what have these poor babes 
 escaped, through your gracious providence this day! ’ Then 
 turning to her husband, she cried, 6 But are you sure the 
 monster’s wound is no more dangerous than you sayl a 
 monster surely I may call him, who can quarrel with a man 
 that could not, that I am convinced would not, offend him.’ 
 
 Upon this question, Booth repeated the assurances which 
 the surgeon had given them, perhaps with a little enlarge¬ 
 ment, which pretty well satisfied Amelia; and instead of 
 blaming her husband for what he had done, she tenderly 
 embraced him, and again returned thanks to Heaven for his 
 safety. 
 
224 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 In the evening Booth insisted on paying a short visit to 
 the colonel, highly against the inclination of Amelia, who, 
 by many arguments and entreaties, endeavoured to dissuade 
 her husband from continuing an acquaintance in which, she 
 said, she should always foresee much danger for the future. 
 However, she was at last prevailed upon to acquiesce; and 
 Booth went to the colonel, whose lodgings happened to be in 
 the verge as well as his own. 
 
 He found the colonel in his night-gown, and his great 
 chair, engaged with another officer at a game of chess. He 
 rose immediately, and, having heartily embraced Booth, 
 presented him to his friend, saying, he had the honour to 
 introduce to him as brave and as fortitudinous a man as any 
 in the king’s dominions. He then took Booth with him into 
 the next room, and desired him not to mention a word of 
 what had happened in the morning; saying, ‘ I am very well 
 satisfied that no more hath happened; however, as it ended 
 in nothing, I could wish it might remain a secret.’ Booth 
 told him he was heartily glad to find him so well, and 
 promised never to mention it more to any one. 
 
 The game at chess being but just begun, and neither of 
 the parties having gained any considerable advantage, they 
 neither of them insisted on continuing it; and now the 
 colonel’s antagonist took his leave, and left the Colonel and 
 Booth together. 
 
 As soon as they were alone the latter earnestly entreated 
 the former to acquaint him with the real cause of his anger; 
 ‘ for may I perish,’ cries Booth, 4 if I can even guess what I 
 have ever done to offend either you, or your brother, colonel 
 James.’ 
 
 ‘Look’ee, child,’ cries the colonel; ‘I tell you I am for 
 my own part satisfied; for I am convinced that a man who 
 will light can never be a rascal; and, therefore, why should 
 you inquire any more of me at present 1 ? when I see my 
 brother James, I hope to reconcile all matters, and perhaps 
 no more swords need be drawn on this occasion.’ But Booth 
 still persisting in his desire, the colonel, after some hesita¬ 
 tion, with a tremendous oath, cried out, ‘ I do not think 
 myself at liberty to refuse you after the indignity I offered 
 you; so, since you demand it of me, I will inform you. 
 My brother told me you had used him dishonourably, and had 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 225 
 
 divellicated liis character "behind his back. He gave me his 
 word, too, that he was well assured of what he said. What 
 could I have done ] though I own to yon I did not believe 
 him, and your behaviour since hath convinced me I was in 
 the right; I must either have given him the lie, and fought 
 with him, or else I was obliged to behave as I did, and fight 
 with you. And now, my lad, I leave it to you to do as you 
 please; but, if you are laid under any necessity to do your¬ 
 self further justice, it is your own fault.’ 
 
 ‘ Alas ! colonel,’ answered Booth, ‘ besides the obligations 
 I have to the colonel, I have really so much love for him, 
 that I think of nothing less than resentment. All I wish 
 is to have this affair brought to an eclaircissement, and to 
 satisfy him that he is in an error; for, though his assertions 
 are cruelly injurious, and I have never deserved them, yet I 
 am convinced he would not say what he did not himself 
 think. Some rascal, envious of his friendship for me, hath 
 belied me to him; and the only resentment I desire is, to 
 convince him of his mistake.’ 
 
 At these words the colonel grinned horribly a ghastly 
 smile, or rather sneer, and answered, ‘Young gentleman, 
 you may do as you please; but, by the eternal dignity of 
 man, if any man breathing had taken a liberty with my 
 character,—Here, here—Mr Booth (showing his fingers), 
 here, d—n me, should be his notrils; he should breathe 
 through my hands, and breathe his last, d—n me.’ 
 
 Booth answered, ‘ I think, colonel, I may appeal to your 
 testimony that I dare do myself justice; since he who dare 
 draw his sword against you can hardly be supposed to fear 
 any other person; but I repeat to you again that I love 
 Colonel James so well, and am so greatly obliged to him, 
 that it would be almost indifferent to me whether I directed 
 my sword against his breast or my own.’ 
 
 The colonel’s muscles were considerably softened by 
 Booth’s last speech; but he again contracted them into a 
 vast degree of fierceness before he cried out—‘ Boy, thou 
 hast reason enough to be vain ; for thou art the first person 
 that ever could proudly say he gained an advantage over me 
 in combat. I believe, indeed, thou art not afraid of any man 
 breathing, and, as I know thou hast some obligations to my 
 brother, I do not discommend thee; for nothing more be- 
 
 15 
 
226 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 comes the dignity of a man than gratitude. Besides, as I am 
 satisfied my brother can produce the author of the slander 
 I say, I am satisfied of that—d—n me, if any man alive dares 
 assert the contrary ; for that would he to make my brother 
 himself a liar—I will make him produce his author; and 
 then, my dear boy, your doing yourself proper justice there 
 will bring you finely out of the whole affair. As soon as 
 m y surgeon gives me leave to go abroad, which, I hope, will 
 be in a few days, I will bring my brother James to a tavern 
 where you shall meet us ; and I will engage my honour, my 
 whole dignity to you, to make you friends.’ 
 
 The assurance of the colonel gave Booth great pleasure; 
 for few persons ever loved a friend better than he did James j 
 and as for doing military justice on the author of that scan¬ 
 dalous report which had incensed his friend against him, not 
 Bath himself was ever more ready, on such an occasion, 
 than Booth to execute it. He soon after took his leave, and 
 returned home in high spirits to his Amelia, whom he found 
 in Mrs Ellison’s apartment, engaged in a party at ombre with 
 that lady and her right honourable cousin. 
 
 His lordship had, it seems, had a second interview with 
 the great man, and, having obtained further hopes (for I think 
 there was not yet an absolute promise) of success in Mr 
 Booth’s affairs, his usual good-nature brought him immedi¬ 
 ately to acquaint Mr Booth with it. As he did not there¬ 
 fore find him at home, and as he met with the two ladies 
 together, he resolved to stay till his friend’s return, which 
 he was assured would not be long, especially as he was so 
 lucky, he said, to have no particular engagement that whole 
 evening. 
 
 We remarked before that his lordship, at the first inter¬ 
 view with Amelia, had distinguished her by a more particu¬ 
 lar address from the other ladies ) but that now appeared to be 
 rather owing to his perfect good-breeding, as she was then to 
 be considered as the mistress of the house, than from any 
 other preference. His present behaviour made this still 
 more manifest ) for, as he was now in Mrs Ellison s apart¬ 
 ment, though she was his relation and an old acquaintance, 
 he applied his conversation rather more to her than to 
 Amelia. His eyes, indeed, were now and then guilty of the 
 contrary distinction, but this was only by stealth; for they 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 227 
 
 constantly withdrew the moment they were discovered. In 
 short, he treated Amelia with the greatest distance, and at 
 the same time with the most profound and awful respect; 
 his conversation was so general, so lively, and so obliging, 
 that Amelia, when she added to his agreeableness the obliga¬ 
 tions she had to him for his friendship to Booth, was cer¬ 
 tainly as much pleased with his lordship as any virtuous 
 woman can possibly be with any man, besides her own hus¬ 
 band. 
 
228 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 BK V. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONTAINING VARIOUS MATTERS. 
 
 We have already mentioned the good-humour in which 
 Booth returned home; and the reader will easily believe it 
 was not a little increased by the good-humour in which ho 
 found his company. My lord received him with the utmost 
 marks of friendship and affection, and told him that his 
 affairs went on as well almost as he himself could desire, and 
 that he doubted not very soon to wish him joy of a com- 
 . pany. 
 
 When Booth had made a proper return to all his lord¬ 
 ship’s unparalleled goodness, he whispered Amelia that the 
 colonel was entirely out of danger, and almost as well as 
 himself. This made her satisfaction complete, threw her 
 into such spirits, and gave such a lustre to her eyes, that her 
 face, as Horace says, was too dazzling to he looked at; it 
 was certainly too handsome to he looked at without the 
 highest admiration. 
 
 His lordship departed about ten o’clock, and left the com¬ 
 pany in raptures with him, especially the two ladies, of 
 whom it is difficult to say which exceeded the other in his 
 commendations. Mrs Ellison swore she believed he was the 
 best of all humankind; and Amelia, without making any 
 exception, declared he was the finest gentleman and most 
 agreeable man she had ever seen in her life; adding, it was 
 great pity he should remain single. ‘ That’s true, indeed,’ 
 cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ and I have often lamented it; nay, I 
 am astonished at it, considering the great liking he always 
 shows for our sex, and he may certainly have the choice of 
 all. The real reason, I believe, is, his fondness for his sister’s 
 children. I declare, madam, if you was to see his beha¬ 
 viour to them, you would think they were his own. Indeed 
 he is vastly fond of all manner of children.’ ‘ Good crea¬ 
 ture 1 ’ cries Amelia ; ‘ if ever he doth me the honour of 
 another visit I am resolved I will show him my little things. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 229 
 
 OH. VII.] 
 
 I think, Mrs Ellison, as you say my lord loves children, I 
 may say, without vanity, he will not see many such.’ 4 No, 
 indeed, will he not,’ answered Mrs Ellison: 4 and now I 
 think on’t, madam, I wonder at my own stupidity in never 
 making the offer before; but since you put it into my head, 
 if you will give me leave, I’ll take master and miss to wait on 
 my lord’s nephew and niece. They are very pretty behaved 
 children; and little master and miss will be, I dare swear, 
 very happy in their acquaintance ; besides, if my lord him¬ 
 self should see them, I know what will happen; for he is 
 the most generous of all human beings.’ 
 
 Amelia very readily accepted the favour which Mrs Elli¬ 
 son offered her ; but Booth exprest some reluctance. 4 IJpon 
 my word, my dear,’ said he, with a smile, 4 this behaviour of 
 ours puts me in mind of the common conduct of beggars ; 
 who, whenever they receive a favour, are sure to send other 
 objects to the same fountain of charity. Don’t we, my dear, 
 repay our obligations to my lord in the same manner, by 
 sending our children a begging to him 1 
 
 4 0 beastly ! ’ cries Mrs Ellison; 4 how could such a 
 thought enter your brains'? I protest, madam, I begin to 
 grow ashamed of this husband of yours. How can you have 
 so vulgar a way of thinking % Begging, indeed ! the poor 
 little dear things a begging! If my lord was capable of such 
 a thought, though he was my own brother instead of my 
 cousin, I should scorn him too much ever to enter his doors.’ 
 4 0 dear madam! ’ answered Amelia, 4 you take Mr Booth 
 too seriously, when he was only in jest; and the children 
 shall wait upon you whenever you please.’ 
 
 Though Booth had been a little more in earnest than 
 Amelia had represented him, and was not, perhaps, quite so 
 much in the wrong as he was considered by Mrs Ellison, yet, 
 seeing there were two to one against him, he wisely thought 
 proper to recede, and let his smile go off with that air of a 
 jest which his wife had given it. 
 
 Mrs Ellison, however, could not let it pass without pay¬ 
 ing some compliments to Amelia’s understanding, nor with¬ 
 out some obscure reflexions upon Booth, with whom she was 
 more offended than the matter required. She was indeed a 
 woman of most profuse generosity, and could not bear a 
 thought which she deemed vulgar or sneaking. She after- 
 
230 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 wards launched forth the most profuse encomiums of his 
 lordship’s liberality, and concluded the evening with some 
 instances which he had given of that virtue which, if not the 
 noblest, is, perhaps, one of the most useful to society with 
 which great and rich men can be endowed. 
 
 The next morning early, serjeant Atkinson came to wait 
 on lieutenant Booth, and desired to speak with his honour 
 in private. Upon which the lieutenant and serjeant took a 
 walk together in the Park. Booth expected every minute 
 when the serjeant would open his mouth; under which ex¬ 
 pectation he continued till he came to the end of the mall, 
 and so he might have continued till he came to the end of 
 the world; for, though several words stood at the end of the 
 serjeant’s lips, there they were likely to remain for ever. He 
 was, indeed, in the condition of a miser, whom a charitable 
 impulse hath impelled to draw a few pence to the edge of 
 his pocket, where they were altogether as secure as if they 
 were in the bottom; for, as the one hath not the heart to part 
 with a farthing, so neither had the other the heart to speak 
 a word. 
 
 Booth at length, wondering that the serjeant did not 
 speak, asked him, What his business was 1 when the latter 
 with a stammering voice began the following apology: ‘ I 
 hope, sir, your honour will not he angry, nor take anything 
 amiss of me. I do assure you, it was not of my seeking, 
 nay, I dare not proceed in the matter without first asking 
 your leave. Indeed, if I had taken any liberties from the 
 goodness you have been pleased to show me, I should look 
 upon myself as one of the most worthless and despicable of 
 wretches; but nothing is farther from my thoughts. I know 
 the distance which is between us; and, because your honour 
 hath been so kind and good as to treat me with more famili¬ 
 arity than any other officer ever did, if I had been base 
 enough to take any freedoms, or to encroach upon your 
 honour’s goodness, I should deserve to be whipt through the 
 regiment. I hope, therefore, sir, you will not suspect me of 
 any such attempt.’ 
 
 ‘ What can all this mean, Atkinson ? ’ cries Booth ; ‘ what 
 mighty matter would you introduce with all this previous 
 apologyl’ 
 
 ‘ I am almost ashamed and afraid to mention it,’ answered 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 231 
 
 the serjeant; ‘and yet I am sure your honour will believe 
 what I have said, and not think anything owing to my own 
 presumption; and, at the same time, I have no reason to 
 think you would do anything to spoil my fortune Jn an 
 honest way, when it is dropt into my lap without my own 
 seeking. For may I perish if it is not all the lady’s own 
 goodness, and I hope in Heaven, with your honour’s leave, I 
 shall live to make her amends for it.’ In a word, that we may 
 not detain the reader’s curiosity quite so long as he did 
 Booth’s, he acquainted that gentleman that he had an offer 
 of marriage from a lady of his acquaintance, to whose com¬ 
 pany he had introduced him, and desired his permission to 
 accept of it. 
 
 Booth must have been very dull indeed if, after what the 
 serjeant had said, and after what he had heard Mrs Ellison 
 say, he had wanted any information concerning the lady. 
 He answered him briskly and cheerfully, that he had his 
 free consent to marry any woman whatever; ‘ and the greater 
 and richer she is,’ added he, ‘ the more I shall be pleased 
 with the match. I don’t inquire who the lady is,’ said he, 
 smiling, ‘ but I hope she will make as good a wife as, I am 
 convinced, her husband will deserve.’ 
 
 ‘ Your honour hath been always too good to me,’ cries 
 Atkinson; ‘ but this I promise you, I will do all in my 
 power to merit the kindness she is pleased to show me. I 
 will be bold to say she will marry an honest man, though he 
 is but a poor one; and she shall never want anything which 
 I can give her or do for her, while my name is Joseph 
 Atkinson.’ 
 
 ‘And so her name is a secret, Joe, is it $ ’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘Why, sir,’ answered the serjeant, ‘I hope your honour 
 will not insist upon knowing that, as I think it would be 
 dishonourable in me to mention it.’ 
 
 ‘ Hot at all,’ replied Booth; ‘ I am the farthest in the 
 world from any such desire. I know thee better than to imagine 
 thou wouldst disclose the name of a fair lady.’ Booth then 
 shook Atkinson heartily by the hand, and assured him 
 earnestly of the joy he had in his good fortune; for which 
 the good seijeant failed not of making all proper acknow¬ 
 ledgments. After which they parted, and Booth returned 
 home. 
 
non 
 Zo Z 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 As Mrs Ellison opened the door, Booth hastily rushed by; 
 for he had the utmost difficulty to prevent laughing in her 
 face. He ran directly up-stairs, and, throwing himself into 
 a chair, discharged such a tit of laughter as greatly surprized, 
 and at first almost frightened, his wife. 
 
 Amelia, it will be supposed, presently inquired into the 
 cause of this phenomenon, with which Booth, as soon as he 
 was able (for that was not within a few minutes), acquainted 
 her. The news did not affect her in the same manner as it had 
 affected her husband. On the contrary, she cried, ‘ I pro¬ 
 test I cannot guess what makes you see it in so ridiculous a 
 light. I really think Mrs Ellison hath chosen very well. I 
 am convinced Joe will make her one of the best of husbands ; 
 and, in my opinion, that is the greatest blessing a woman 
 can be possessed of.’ 
 
 However, when Mrs Ellison came into her room a little 
 while afterwards to fetch the children, Amelia became of a 
 more risible disposition, especially when the former, turning 
 to Booth, who was then present, said, ‘ So, captain, my jan- 
 tee-serjeant was very early here this morning. I scolded my 
 maid heartily for letting him wait so long in the entry like a 
 lacquey, when she might have shown him into my inner 
 apartment.’ At which words Booth burst out into a very 
 loud laugh; and Amelia herself could no more prevent laugh¬ 
 ing than she could blushing. 
 
 ‘ Heyday ! ’ cries Mrs Ellison ; ‘ what have I said to cause 
 all this mirth 1 ’ and at the same time blushed, and looked very 
 silly, as js always the case with persons who suspect them¬ 
 selves to be the objects of laughter, without absolutely taking 
 what it is which makes them ridiculous. 
 
 Booth still continued laughing; but Amelia, composing 
 her muscles, said, ‘ I ask your pardon, dear Mrs Ellison ; but 
 Mr Booth hath been in a strange giggling humour all this 
 morning; and I really think it is infectious.’ 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon, too, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ but one is 
 sometimes unaccountably foolish.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, but seriously,’ said she, ‘ what is the matter c !—• 
 something I said about the serjeant, I believe; but you may 
 laugh as much as you please; I am not ashamed of owning 
 I think him one of the prettiest fellows I ever saw in my 
 life; and, I own, I scolded my maid at suffering him to wait 
 
cn. vii.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 233 
 
 in my entry; and where is the mighty ridiculous matter, 
 pray 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ None at all,’ answered Booth; 1 and I hope the next time 
 he will he ushered into your inner apartment.’ 
 
 ‘ Why should he not, sir 1 ’ replied she ; ‘ for, wherever he 
 is ushered, I am convinced he will behave himself as a gen¬ 
 tleman should.’ 
 
 Here Amelia put an end to the discourse, or it might have 
 proceeded to very great lengths; for Booth was of a waggish 
 inclination, and Mrs Ellison was not a lady of the nicest 
 delicacy. 
 
234 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HEROIC BEHAVIOUR OF COLOHEL BATH. 
 
 Booth went this morning to pay a second visit to the colonel, 
 where he found Colonel James. Both the colonel and the 
 lieutenant appeared a little shocked at their first meeting, but 
 matters were soon cleared up ; for the former presently ad¬ 
 vanced to the latter, shook him heartily by the hand, and 
 said, ‘ Mr Booth, I am ashamed to see you; for I have in¬ 
 jured you, and I heartily ask your pardon. Iam now per¬ 
 fectly convinced that what I hinted to my brother, and 
 which I find had like to have produced such fatal conse¬ 
 quences, was entirely groundless. If you will be contented 
 with my asking your pardon, and spare me the disagreeable 
 remembrance of what led me into my error, I shall esteem it 
 as the highest obligation.’ 
 
 Booth answered, ‘ As to what regards yourself, my dear 
 colonel, I am abundantly satisfied; but, as I am convinced 
 some rascal hath been my enemy with you in the cruellest 
 manner, I hope you will not deny me the opportunity of 
 kicking him through the world.’ 
 
 * By all the dignity of man,’ cries Colonel Bath, ‘ the boy 
 speaks with spirit, and his request is reasonable.’ 
 
 Colonel James hesitated a moment, and then whispered 
 Booth that he would give him all the satisfaction imaginable 
 concerning the whole affair when trey were alone together ; 
 upon which, Booth addressing himself to Colonel Bath, the 
 discourse turned on other matters during the remainder of the 
 visit, which was but short, and then both went away together, 
 leaving Colonel Bath as well as it was possible to expect, 
 more to the satisfaction of Booth than of Colonel James, who 
 would not have been displeased if his wound had been more 
 dangerous ; for he was grown somewhat weary of a disposi¬ 
 tion that he rather called daptious than heroic, and which, as 
 he every day more and more hated his w T ife, he apprehended 
 might some time or other give him some trouble; for Bath was 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 235 
 
 the most affectionate of brothers, and had often swore, in the 
 presence of James, that he would eat any man alive who 
 should use his sister ill. 
 
 Colonel Bath was well satisfied that his brother and the 
 lieutenant were gone out with a design of tilting, from which 
 he offered not a syllable to dissuade them, as he was con¬ 
 vinced it was right, and that Booth could not in honour take, 
 nor the colonel give, any less satisfaction. When they had 
 been gone therefore about half an hour, he rang his bell to 
 inquire if there was any hews of his brother ; a question 
 which he repeated every ten minutes for the space of two 
 hours, when, having heard nothing of him, he began to con¬ 
 clude that both were killed on the spot. 
 
 While he was in this state of anxiety his sister came to 
 see him ; for, notwithstanding his desire of keeping it a se¬ 
 cret, the duel had blazed all over the town. After receiving 
 some kind congratulations on his safety, and some unkind 
 hints concerning the warmth of his temper, the colonel asked 
 her w r hen she had seen her husband h she answered, not that 
 morning. He then communicated to her his suspicion, told 
 her he was convinced his brother had drawn his sword that 
 day, and that, as neither of them had heard anything from 
 him, he began to apprehend the worst that could happen. 
 
 Neither Miss Bellamy nor Mrs Cibber were ever in a 
 greater consternation on the stage than now appeared in the 
 countenance of Mrs James. ‘ Good Heavens ! brother,’ cried 
 she ; ‘ what do you tell me 1 you have frightened me to death. 
 Let your man get me a glass of water immediately, if you 
 have not a mind to see me die before your face. When, 
 where, how w r as this quarrel ] why did not you prevent it if 
 you knew of it 1 is it not enough to be every day tormenting 
 me with hazarding your own life, but must you bring the life 
 of one who you know must be, and ought to be, so much the 
 dearest of all to me, into danger 1 take your sword, brother, 
 take your sword, and plunge it into my bosom ; it would be 
 kinder of you than to fill it with such dreads and terrors.’ 
 Here she sw r allowed the glass of water, and then threw her¬ 
 self back in her chair, as if she had intended to faint away. 
 
 Perhaps, if she had so, the colonel would have lent her no 
 assistance, for she had hurt him more than by ten thousand 
 stabs. He sat erect in his chair, with his eyebrows knit, his 
 
236 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 forehead wrinkled, his eyes flashing fire, his teeth grating 
 against each other, and breathing horror all round him. In 
 this posture he sat for some time silent, casting disdainful 
 looks at his sister. At last his voice found its way through 
 a passion which had almost choked him, and he cried out, 
 
 ‘ Sister, what have I done to deserve the opinion you express 
 of me 1 which of my actions hath made you conclude that I 
 am a rascal and a coward ? look at that poor sword, which 
 never woman yet saw but in its sheath ,• what hath that done 
 to merit your desire that it should he contaminated with the 
 blood of a woman 1 ’ 
 
 4 Alas ! brother,’ cried she, ‘ I know not what you say; 
 you are desirous, I believe, to terrify me out of the little 
 senses I have left. What can I have said, in the agonies of 
 grief into which you threw me, to deserve this passion % ’ 
 
 1 What have you said % ’ answered the colonel: ‘ you have 
 said that which, if a man had spoken, nay, d—n me, if he 
 had but hinted that he durst even think, I would have 
 made him eat my sword ; by all the dignity of man, I would 
 have crumbled his soul into powder. But I consider that 
 the words were spoken by a woman, and I am calm again. 
 Consider, my dear, that you are my sister, and behave your¬ 
 self with more spirit. I have only mentioned to you my 
 surmise. It may not have happened as I suspect; but, let 
 what will have happened, you will have the comfort that 
 your husband hath behaved himself with becoming dignity, 
 and lies in the bed of honour.’ 
 
 ‘ Talk not to me of such comfort,’ replied the lady ; ‘ it is 
 a loss I cannot survive. But why do I sit here lamenting 
 myself 'l I will go this instant and know the worst of my 
 fate, if my trembling limbs will carry me to my coach. Good 
 morrow, dear brother; whatever becomes of me, I am glad 
 to find you out of danger.’ The colonel paid her his proper 
 compliments, and she then left the room, but returned in¬ 
 stantly back, saying, ‘ Brother, I must beg the favour of you 
 to let your footman step to my mantua-maker; I am sure it 
 is a miracle, in my present distracted condition, how it came 
 into my head.’ The footman was presently summoned, and 
 Mrs James delivered him his message, which was to counter¬ 
 mand the orders which she had given that very morning 
 to make her up a new suit of brocade. ‘ Heaven knows,’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 237 
 
 cn. viii.] 
 
 says she, 1 now, when I can wear brocade, or whether ever I 
 shall wear it.’ And now, having repeated her message with 
 great exactness, lest there should be any mistake, she again 
 lamented her wretched situation, and then departed, leaving 
 the colonel in full expectation of hearing speedy news of the 
 fatal issue of the battle. 
 
 But, though the reader should entertain the same curiosity, 
 we must be excused from satisfying it till we have first ac¬ 
 counted for an incident which we have related in this very 
 chapter, and which, we think, deserves some solution. The 
 critic, I am convinced, already is apprized that I mean the 
 friendly behaviour of James to Booth, which, from what we 
 had before recorded, seemed so little to be expected. 
 
 It must be remembered that the anger which the former 
 of these gentlemen had conceived against the latter arose en¬ 
 tirely from the false account given by Miss Matthews of 
 Booth, whom that lady had accused to Colonel James of 
 having as basely as wickedly traduced his character. 
 
 Now, of all the ministers of vengeance, there are none with 
 whom the devil deals so treacherously as with those whom 
 he employs in executing the mischievous purposes of an an¬ 
 gry mistress \ for no sooner is revenge executed on an offend¬ 
 ing lover than it is sure to be repented \ and all the anger 
 which before raged against the beloved object, returns with 
 double fury on the head of his assassin. 
 
 Miss Matthews, therefore, no sooner heard that Booth was 
 killed (for so was the report at first, and by a colonel of the 
 army) than she immediately concluded it to be James. She 
 was extremely shocked with the news, and her heart instantly 
 began to relent. All the reasons on which she had founded 
 her love recurred, in the strongest and liveliest colours, to 
 her mind, and all the causes of her hatred sunk down and 
 disappeared ; or, if the least remembrance of anything which 
 had disobliged her remained, her heart became his zealous 
 advocate, and soon satisfied her that her own fates were moie 
 to be blamed than he, and that, without being a villain, he 
 could have acted no otherwise than he had done. 
 
 In this temper of mind she looked on herself as the mur¬ 
 derer of an innocent man, and, what to her was much worse, 
 of the man she had loved, and still did love, with all the 
 violence imaginable. She looked on James as the tool with 
 
238 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk V. 
 
 which she had clone this murder; and, as it is usual for 
 people who have rashly or inadvertently made any animate 
 or inanimate thing the instrument of mischief to hate the 
 innocent means by which the mischief was effected (for this 
 is a subtle method which the mind invents to excuse our¬ 
 selves, the last objects on whom we would willingly wreak 
 our vengeance), so Miss Matthews now hated and cursed 
 •James as the efficient cause of that act which she herself had 
 contrived and laboured to carry into execution. 
 
 She sat down therefore in a furious agitation, little short 
 of madness, and wrote the following letter : 
 
 ‘I hope this will find you in the hands of justice, for the 
 murder of one of the best friends that ever man was blest 
 with. In one sense, indeed, he may seem to have deserved 
 his fate, by choosing a fool for a friend ; for who but a fool 
 would have believed what the anger and rage of an injured 
 woman suggested; a story so improbable, that I could scarce 
 be thought in earnest when I mentioned it h 
 
 ‘ Know, then, cruel wretch, that poor Booth loved you of 
 all men breathing, and was, I believe, in your commendation 
 guilty of as much falsehood as I was in what I told you con¬ 
 cerning him. 
 
 ‘ If this knowledge makes you miserable, it is no more 
 than you have made the unhappy 
 
 F. Matthews.’ 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 239 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BEING THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE EIETH BOOK. 
 
 We shall now return to Colonel James and Mr Booth, who 
 walked together from Colonel Bath’s lodging with much more 
 peaceable intention than that gentleman had conjectured, 
 who dreamt of nothing but swords and guns and implements 
 of wars. 
 
 The Birdcage-walk in the Park was the scene appointed 
 by James for unburthening his mind.—Thither they came, 
 and there James acquainted Booth with all that which the 
 reader knows already, and gave him the letter which we have 
 inserted at the end of the last chapter. 
 
 Booth exprest great astonishment at this relation, not 
 without venting some detestation of the wickedness of Miss 
 Matthews ; upon which James took him up, saying, he ought 
 not to speak with such abhorrence of faults which love for 
 him had occasioned. 
 
 ‘ Can you mention love, my dear colonel,’ cried Booth, 
 ‘ and such a woman in the same breath 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, faith ! can I,’ says James ; ‘ for the devil take me 
 if I know a more lovely woman in the world.’ Here he 
 began to describe her whole person; but, as we cannot insert 
 all the description, so we shall omit it all; and concluded 
 with saying, ‘ Curse me if I don’t think her the finest crea¬ 
 ture in the universe. I would give half my estate, Booth, 
 she loved me as well as she doth you. Though, on second 
 consideration, I believe I should repent that bargain; for 
 then, very possibly, I should not care a farthing for her.’ 
 
 ‘ You will pardon me, dear colonel,’ answered Booth; ‘ but 
 to me there appears somewhat very singular in your way of 
 thinking. Beauty is, indeed, the object of liking, great 
 qualities of admiration, good ones of esteem; but the devil 
 take me if I think anything but love to be the object of 
 love.’ 
 
 ‘ Is there not something too selfish,’ replied James, ‘ in 
 
240 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 that opinion ? but, without considering it in that light, is it 
 not of all things the most insipid ? all oil! all sugar! zounds ! 
 it is enough to cloy the sharp-set appetite of a parson. Acids 
 surely are the most likely to quicken/ 
 
 ‘ I do not love reasoning in allegories,’ cries Booth ; ‘ hut 
 with regard to love, I declare I never found anything cloying 
 in it. I have lived almost alone with my wife near three 
 years together, was never tired with her company, nor ever 
 wished for any other ; and I am sure I never tasted any of 
 the acid you mention to quicken my appetite.’ 
 
 ‘ This is all very extraordinary and romantic to me,’ an¬ 
 swered the colonel. ‘ If I was to be shut up three years with 
 the same woman, which Heaven forbid ! nothing, I think, 
 could keep me alive but a temper as violent as that of Miss 
 Matthews. As to love, it would make me sick to death in 
 the twentieth part of that time. If I was so condemned, 
 let me see, what would I wish the woman to be ? I think no 
 one virtue would be sufficient. With the spirit of a tigress 
 I would have her be a prude, a scold, a scholar, a critic, a 
 wit, a politician, and a jacobite; and then, perhaps, eternal 
 opposition would keep up our spirits ; and, wishing one- 
 another daily at the devil, w r e should make a shift to drag 
 on a damnable state of life, without much spleen or vapours.’ 
 
 ‘ And so you do not intend,’ cries Booth, ‘ to break with 
 this woman % ’ 
 
 ‘ Hot more than I have already, if I can help it,’ answered 
 the colonel. 
 
 ‘ And you will be reconciled to her ? ’ said Booth. 
 
 ‘ Yes, faith! will I, if I can,’ answered the colonel; ‘ I 
 hope you have no objection.’ 
 
 ‘ Hone, my dear friend,’ said Booth, ‘ unless on your ac¬ 
 count.’ 
 
 ‘ I do believe you,’ said the colonel; 1 and yet, let me tell 
 you, you are a very extraordinary man, not to desire me to 
 quit her on your own account. Upon my soul, I begin to 
 pity the woman, who hath placed her affection, perhaps, on 
 the only man in England of your age who would not return 
 it. But for my part, I promise you, I like her beyond all 
 other women ; and, whilst that is the case, my boy, if her 
 mind was as full of iniquity as Pandora’s box was of diseases, 
 I’d hug her close in my arms, and only take as much care as 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 241 
 
 possible to keep tlie lid down for fear of mischief. But come, 
 dear Booth,’ said he, ‘ let us consider your affairs ; for I am 
 ashamed of having neglected them so long; and the only 
 anger I have against this wench is, that she was the occasion 
 of it.’ 
 
 Booth then acquainted the colonel with the promises he 
 had received from the noble lord, upon which James shook 
 him by the hand, and heartily wished him joy, crying, ‘ I do 
 assure you, if you have his interest, you will need no other; 
 I did not know you was acquainted with him.’ 
 
 To which Mr Booth answered, ‘ That he was but a new 
 acquaintance, and that he was recommended to him by a 
 lady.’ 
 
 4 A lady ! ’ cries the colonel; ‘ well, I don’t ask her name. 
 You are a happy man, Booth, amongst the women ; and, I 
 assure you, you could have no stronger recommendation. 
 The peer loves the ladies, I believe, as well as ever Mark 
 Antony did ; and it is not his fault if he hath not spent as 
 much upon them. If he once fixes his eye upon a woman, 
 he will stick at nothing to get her.’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, indeed ! ’ cries Booth. ‘ Is that his character 1 ’ 
 
 1 Ay, faith,’ answered the colonel, ‘ and the character of 
 most men besides him. Few of them, I mean, will stick at 
 anything beside their money. Jusque a la Bourse is some¬ 
 times the boundary of love as well as friendship. And, in¬ 
 deed, I never knew any other man part with his money so 
 very freely on these occasions. You see, dear Booth, the 
 confidence I have in your honour.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope, indeed, you have,’ cries Booth, ‘ but I don’t see 
 what instance you now give me of that confidence.’ 
 
 ‘ Have not I shown you,’ answered James, ‘ where you 
 may carry your goods to market ? I can assure you, my 
 friend, that is a secret I would not impart to every man in 
 your situation, and all circumstances considered.’ 
 
 ‘ I am very sorry, sir,’ cries Booth very gravely, and 
 turning as pale as death, 1 you should entertain a thought of 
 this kind ; a thought which hath almost frozen up my blood. 
 
 I am unwilling to believe there are such villains in the world ; 
 but there is none of them whom I should detest half so much 
 as myself, if my own mind had ever suggested to me a hint 
 of that kind. I have tasted of some distresses of life, and I 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK V. 
 
 know not to what greater I may be driven, but my honour, 
 I thank Heaven, is in my own power, and I can boldly say 
 to Fortune she shall not rob me of it.’ 
 
 4 Have I not exprest that confidence, my dear Booth 1 ’ 
 answered the colonel. 4 And what you say now well justifies 
 my opinion; for I do agree with you that, considering all 
 things, it would be the highest instance of dishonour.’ 
 
 4 Dishonour, indeed ! ’ returned Booth. 4 What! to pros¬ 
 titute my wife ! Can I think there is such a wretch breath¬ 
 ing?’ 
 
 4 1 don’t know that,’ said the colonel; 4 but I am sure it 
 was very far from my intention to insinuate the least hint of 
 any such matter to you. FTor can I imagine how you your¬ 
 self could conceive such a thought. The goods I meant 
 were no other than the charming person of Miss Matthews ; 
 for whom I am convinced my lord would bid a swingeing 
 price against me.’ 
 
 Booth’s countenance greatly cleared up at this declaration, 
 and he answered with a smile, that he hoped he need not 
 give the colonel any assurances on that head. However, 
 though he was satisfied with regard to the colonel’s suspicions, 
 yet some chimeras now arose in his brain which gave him no 
 very agreeable sensations. What these were, the sagacious 
 reader may probably suspect; but, if he should not, we may 
 perhaps have occasion to open them in the sequel. Here we 
 will put an end to this dialogue, and to the fifth book of 
 this history. 
 
BOOK VI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PANEGYRICS ON BEAIJTY, WITH OTHER GRAYE MATTERS. 
 
 The colonel and Booth walked together to the latter’s lodg¬ 
 ings ; for as it was not that day in the week in which all 
 parts of the town are indifferent, Booth could not wait on 
 the colonel. 
 
 When they arrived in Spring-garden, Booth, to his great 
 surprize, found no one at home but the maid. In truth, 
 Amelia had accompanied Mrs Ellison and her children to his 
 lordship’s; for, as her little girl showed a great unwilling¬ 
 ness to go without her, the fond mother was easily persuaded 
 to make one of the company. 
 
 Booth had scarce ushered the colonel up to his apartment 
 when a servant from Mrs James knocked hastily at the door. 
 The lady, not meeting with her husband at her return 
 home, began to despair of him, and performed everything 
 which was decent on the occasion. An apothecary was 
 presently called with hartshorn and sal volatile, a doctor 
 was sent for, and messengers were despatched every way; 
 amongst the rest, one was sent to inquire at the lodgings of 
 his supposed antagonist. 
 
 The servant hearing that his master was alive and well 
 above-stairs, ran up eagerly to acquaint him with the dread¬ 
 ful situation in which he left his miserable lady at home, 
 and likewise with the occasion of all her distress, saying, 
 that his lady had been at her brother’s, and had there heard 
 that his honour was killed in a duel by Captain Booth. 
 
244 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 The colonel smiled at this account, and hid the servant 
 make haste hack to contradict it. And then turning to Booth, 
 he said, ‘Was there ever such another fellow as this brother 
 of mine? I thought indeed his behaviour was somewhat 
 odd at the time. I suppose he overheard me whisper that 
 I would give you satisfaction, and thence concluded we went 
 together Avith a design of tilting. D—n the fellow, I begin 
 to grow heartily sick of him, and wish I could get Avell rid 
 of him without cutting his throat, which I sometimes ap¬ 
 prehend he will insist on my doing, as a return for my get¬ 
 ting him made a lieutenant-colonel.' 
 
 Whilst the two gentlemen were commenting on the cha¬ 
 racter of the third, Amelia and her company returned, and 
 all presently came up-stairs, not only the children, hut the 
 two ladies, laden with trinkets as if they had been come 
 from a fair. Amelia, who had been highly delighted all the 
 morning with the excessive pleasure which her children en¬ 
 joyed, when she saiv Colonel James Avith her husband, and 
 perceived the most manifest marks of that reconciliation 
 which she knew had been so long and so earnestly wished 
 by Booth, became so transported with joy, that her hap¬ 
 piness was scarce capable of addition. Exercise had painted 
 her face with vermilion; and the highest good-humour had 
 so sweetened every feature, and a vast Aoav of spirits had 
 so lightened up her bright eyes, that she was all a blaze of 
 beauty. She seemed, indeed, as Milton sublimely describes 
 Eve, 
 
 —Adorn’d 
 
 With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow 
 To make her amiable. 
 
 Again :— 
 
 Grace Avas m all her steps, Heaven in her eye, 
 
 In every gesture, dignity and love. 
 
 Or, as Waller sweetly, though less sublimely, sings :— 
 
 Sweetness, truth, and every grace 
 Which time and use are wont to teach, 
 
 The eye may in a moment reach, 
 
 And read distinctly in her face. 
 
 Or, to mention one poet more, and him of all the sweetest, 
 she seemed to be the very person of whom Suckling Avrote 
 the following lines, where, speaking of Cupid, he says, 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 245 
 
 All his lovely looks, his pleasing fires, 
 
 All his sweet motions, all his taking smiles ; 
 
 All that awakes, all that inflames desires, 
 
 All that sweetly commands, all that beguiles, 
 
 He does into one pair of eyes convey, 
 
 And there begs leave that he himself may stay. 
 
 Such was Amelia at this time when she entered the room ; 
 and, having paid her respects to the colonel, she went up to 
 her husband, and cried, 4 0, my dear! never were any 
 creatures so happy as your little things have been this whole 
 morning; and all owing to my lord’s goodness; sure never 
 was anything so good-natured and so generous ! ’ She then 
 made the children produce their presents, the value of which 
 amounted to a pretty large sum; for there was a gold watch, 
 amongst the trinkets, that cost above twenty guineas. 
 
 Instead of discovering so much satisfaction on this oc¬ 
 casion as Amelia expected, Booth very gravely answered, 
 4 And pray, my dear, how are we to repay all these obliga¬ 
 tions to his lordship 1 ’ 4 How can you ask so strange a 
 
 question 1 ’ cries Mrs Ellison : 4 how little do you know of 
 the soul of generosity (for sure my cousin deserves that 
 name) when you call a few little trinkets given to children 
 an obligation ! ’ 4 Indeed, my dear,’ cries Amelia, 4 1 would 
 
 have stopped his hand if it had been possible; nay, I was 
 forced at last absolutely to refuse, or I believe he would 
 have laid a hundred pound out on the children; for I never 
 saw any one so fond of children, which convinces me he is 
 one of the best of men; but I ask your pardon, colonel,’ 
 said she, turning to him ; 4 1 should not entertain you with 
 these subjects ; yet I know you have goodness enough to 
 excuse the folly of a mother.’ 
 
 The colonel made a very low assenting bow, and soon after 
 they all sat down to a small repast; for the colonel had 
 promised Booth to dine with him when they first came home 
 together, and what he had since heard from his own house 
 gave him still less inclination than ever to repair thither. 
 
 But, besides both these, there was a third and stronger 
 inducement to him to pass the day with his friend, and 
 this was the desire of passing it with his friend’s wife. 
 'When the colonel had first seen Amelia in Erance, she was 
 but just recovered from a consumptive habit, and looked 
 
246 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 pale and thin; besides, his engagements with Miss Bath at 
 that time took total possession of him, and guarded his heart 
 from the impressions of another woman; and, when he had 
 dined with her in town, the vexations through which she 
 had lately passed had somewhat deadened her beauty; be¬ 
 sides, he was then engaged, as we have seen, in a very warm 
 pursuit of a new mistress, but now he had no such impedi¬ 
 ment ; for, though the reader hath just before seen his warm 
 declarations of a passion for Miss Matthews, yet it may be 
 remembered that he had been in possession of her for above 
 a fortnight; and one of the happy properties of this kind of 
 passion is, that it can with equal violence love half a dozen 
 or half a score different objects at one and the same time. 
 
 But indeed such were the charms now displayed by Amelia, 
 of which we endeavoured above to draw some faint resem¬ 
 blance, that perhaps no other beauty could have secured him 
 from their influence; and here, to confess a truth in his 
 favour, however the grave or rather the hypocritical part of 
 mankind may censure it, I am firmly persuaded that to with¬ 
 draw admiration from exquisite beauty, or to feel no delight 
 in gazing at it, is as impossible as to feel no warmth from 
 the most scorching rays of the sun. To run away is all that 
 is in our power ; and in the former case, if it must be allowed 
 we have the power of running away, it must be allowed 
 also that it requires the strongest resolution to execute it; 
 for when, as Dryden says, 
 
 All paradise is open’d in a face, 
 
 how natural is the desire of going thither ! and how difficult 
 to quit the lovely prospect ! 
 
 And yet, however difficult this may be, my' young readers, 
 it is absolutely necessary, and that immediately too : flatter 
 not yourselves that fire will not scorch as well as warm, and 
 the longer we stay within its reach the more we shall burn. 
 The admiration of a beautiful woman, though the wife of 
 our dearest friend, may at first perhaps be innocent, but let 
 us not flatter ourselves it will always remain so ; desire is 
 sure to succeed; and wishes, hopes, designs, with a long train 
 of mischiefs, tread close at our heels. In affairs of this 
 kind we may most properly apply the well-known remark of 
 nemo repente fait turpissimus. It fares, indeed, with us on 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 247 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 this occasion as with the unwary traveller in some parts of 
 Arabia, the desert, whom the treacherous sands imperceptibly 
 betray till he is overwhelmed and lost. In both cases the 
 only safety is by withdrawing our feet the very first moment 
 we perceive them sliding. 
 
 This digression may appear impertinent to some readers ; 
 we could not, however, avoid the opportunity of offering the 
 above hints ; since of all passions there is none against which 
 we should so strongly fortify ourselves as this, which is 
 generally called love; for no other lays before us, especially 
 in the tumultuous days of youth, such sweet, such strong 
 and almost irresistible temptations ; none hath produced in 
 private life such fatal and lamentable tragedies; and, what 
 is worst of all, there is none to whose poison and infatuation 
 the best of minds are so liable. Ambition scarce ever pro¬ 
 duces any evil but when it reigns in cruel and savage 
 bosoms ; and avarice seldom flourishes at all but in the basest 
 and poorest soil. Love, on the contrary, sprouts usually up 
 in the richest and noblest minds; but there, unless nicely 
 watched, pruned, and cultivated, and carefully kept clear of 
 those vicious weeds which are too apt to surround it, it 
 branches forth into wildness and disorder, produces nothing 
 desirable, but chokes up and kills whatever is good and noble 
 in the mind where it so abounds. In short, to drop the 
 allegory, not only tenderness and good nature, but bravery, 
 generosity, and every virtue are often made the instruments 
 of effecting the most atrocious purposes of this all-subduing 
 tyrant. 
 
248 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WIIICII WILL NOT APPEAR, WE PRESUME, UNNATURAL TO 
 
 ALL MARRIED READERS. 
 
 If the table of poor Booth afforded but an indifferent repast 
 to the colonel’s hunger, here was most excellent entertain¬ 
 ment of a much higher kind. The colonel began now to 
 wonder within himself at his not having before discovered 
 such incomparable beauty and excellence. This wonder was 
 indeed so natural that, lest it should arise likewise in the 
 reader, we thought proper to give the solution of it in the 
 preceding chapter. 
 
 During the first two hours the colonel scarce ever had his 
 eyes off from Amelia; for he was taken by surprize, and his 
 heart was gone before he suspected himself to be in any 
 danger. His mind, however, no sooner suggested a certain 
 secret to him than it suggested some degree of prudence to 
 him at the same time ; and the knowledge that he had 
 thoughts to conceal, and the care of concealing them, had 
 birth at one and the same instant. During the residue of 
 the day, therefore, he grew more circumspect, and contented 
 himself with now and then stealing a look by chance, espe¬ 
 cially as the more than ordinary gravity of Booth made 
 him fear that his former behaviour had betrayed to Booth’s 
 observation the great and sudden liking he had conceived 
 for his wife, even before he had observed it in himself. 
 
 Amelia continued the whole day in the highest spirits and 
 highest good humour imaginable, never once remarking that 
 appearance of discontent in her husband of which the colonel 
 had taken notice; so much more quick-sighted, as we have 
 somewhere else hinted, is guilt than innocence. Whether 
 Booth had in reality made any such observations on the 
 colonel’s behaviour as he had suspected, we will not under¬ 
 take to determine; yet so far may be material to say, as we 
 can with sufficient certainty, that the change in Booth’s be¬ 
 haviour that day, from what was usual with him, was re- 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 249 
 
 markable enough. ISTone of his former vivacity appeared in 
 his conversation ; and his countenance was altered from 
 being the picture of sweetness and good humour, not indeed 
 to sourness or moroseness, but to gravity and melancholy. 
 
 I hough the colonel’s suspicion had the effect which we 
 have mentioned on his behaviour, yet it could not persuade 
 him to depart. In short, he sat in his chair as if confined 
 to it by enchantment, stealing looks now and then, and 
 humouring his growing passion, without having command 
 enough over his limbs to carry him out of the room, till 
 decency at last forced him to put an end to his preposterous 
 visit. When the husband and wife were left alone together, 
 the latter resumed the subject of her children, and gave 
 Booth a particular narrative of all that had passed at his 
 lordship’s, which he, though something had certainly dis¬ 
 concerted him, affected to receive with all the pleasure he 
 could; and thfs affectation, however awkwardly he acted 
 his part, passed very well on Amelia ; for she could not 
 well conceive a displeasure of which she had not the least 
 hint of any cause, and indeed at a time when, from his re¬ 
 conciliation with James, she imagined her husband to be 
 entirely and perfectly happy. 
 
 The greatest part of that night Booth passed awake ; and, 
 if during the residue he might be said to sleep, he could 
 scarce be said to enjoy repose; his eyes were no sooner 
 closed, than he was pursued and haunted by the most fright¬ 
 ful and terrifying dreams, which threw him into so restless a 
 condition, that he soon disturbed his Amelia, and greatly 
 alarmed her with apprehensions that he had been seized by 
 some dreadful disease, though he had not the least symptoms 
 of a fever by any extraordinary heat, or any other indication, 
 but was rather colder than usual. 
 
 As Booth assured his wife that he was very well, but found 
 no inclination to sleep, she likewise bid adieu to her slum¬ 
 bers, and attempted to entertain him with her conversation. 
 Upon which his lordship occurred as the first topic ; and 
 she repeated to him all the stories which she had heard from 
 Mrs Ellison, of the peer’s goodness to his sister and his 
 nephew and niece. ‘ It is impossible, my dear,’ says she, 
 
 ‘ to describe their fondness for their uncle, which is to me an 
 incontestable sign of a parent’s goodness. 5 In this manner 
 
250 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 she ran on for several minutes, concluding at last, that it 
 was pity so very few had such generous minds joined to im¬ 
 mense fortunes. 
 
 Booth, instead of making a direct answer to what Amelia 
 had said, cried coldly, 4 But do you think, my dear, it was 
 right to accept all those expensive toys which the children 
 brought home 1 And I ask you again, what return we are 
 to make for these obligations ) ’ 
 
 4 Indeed, my dear,’ cries Amelia, 4 you see this matter in 
 too serious a light. Though I am the last person in the 
 world who would lessen his lordship’s goodness (indeed I 
 shall always thiuk we are both infinitely obliged to him), 
 yet sure you must allow the expense to be a mere trifle to 
 such a vast fortune. As for return, his own benevolence, in 
 the satisfaction it receives, more than repays itself, and I am 
 convinced he expects no other.’ 
 
 4 Very well, my dear,’ cries Booth, 4 you shall have it your 
 way; I must confess I never yet found any reason to blame 
 your discernment; and perhaps I have been in the wrong 
 to give myself so much uneasiness on this account.’ 
 
 4 Uneasiness, child!’ said Amelia eagerly; 4 Good 
 Heavens ! hath this made you uneasy 1 ’ 
 
 4 1 do own it hath,’ answered Booth, 4 and it hath been 
 the only cause of breaking my repose.’ 
 
 4 Why then I wish,’ cries Amelia, 4 all the things had been 
 at the devil before ever the children had seen them; and, 
 whatever I may think myself, I promise you they shall never 
 more accept the value of a farthing :—if upon this occasion 
 I have been the cause of your uneasiness, you will do me 
 the justice to believe that I was totally innocent.’ 
 
 At those words Booth caught her in his arms, and with 
 the tenderest embrace, emphatically repeating the word in¬ 
 nocent, cried, 4 Heaven forbid I should think otherwise ! 
 Oh, thou art the best of creatures that ever blessed a 
 man ! 5 
 
 4 Well, but,’ said she, smiling, 4 do confess, my dear, the 
 truth; I promise you I won’t blame you nor disesteem you 
 for it; but is not pride really at the bottom of this fear 
 of an obligation 1 ’ 
 
 4 Perhaps it may,’ answered he ; 4 or, if you will, you may 
 call it fear. I own I am afraid of obligations, as the worst 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 251 
 
 kind of debts ; for I have generally observed those who 
 confer them expect to be repaid ten thousand-fold.’ 
 
 Here ended all that is material of their discourse ; and a 
 little time afterwards, they both fell fast asleep in one an¬ 
 other’s arms; from which time Booth had no more restless¬ 
 ness, nor any further perturbation in his dreams. 
 
 Their repose, however, had been so much disturbed in the 
 former part of the night, that, as it was very late before they 
 enjoyed that sweet sleep I have just mentioned, they lay 
 abed the next day till noon, when they both rose with the 
 utmost cheerfulness; and, while Amelia bestirred herself in 
 the affairs of her family, Booth went to visit the wounded 
 colonel. 
 
 He found that gentleman still proceeding very fast in his 
 recovery, with which he was more pleased than he had reason 
 to be with his reception; for the colonel received him very 
 coldly indeed, and, when Booth told him he had received 
 perfect satisfaction from his brother, Bath erected his head 
 and answered with a sneer, ‘Very well, sir, if you think 
 these matters can be so made up, d—n me if it is any busi- 
 ess of mine. My dignity hath not been injured. 
 
 ‘ Ho one, I believe,’ cries Booth, ‘ dare injure it. 
 
 1 You believe so ! ’ said the colonel: ‘ I think, sir, you 
 might be assured of it; but this, at least, you may be 
 assured of, that if any man did, I would tumble him down 
 the precipice of hell, d—n me, that you may be assured of.’ 
 
 As Booth found the colonel in this disposition, he had no 
 great inclination to lengthen out his visit, nor did the colonel 
 himself seem to desire it: so he soon returned back to his 
 Amelia, whom he found performing the office of a cook, with 
 as much pleasure as a fine lady generally enjoys in dressing 
 herself out for a ball. 
 
252 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [lk VI. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTOHY LOOKS A. LITTLE BACKWARDS. 
 
 Before we proceed in our history we shall recount a short 
 scene to our reader which passed between Amelia and Mrs 
 Ellison whilst Booth was on his visit to Colonel Bath. MTe 
 have already observed that Amelia had conceived an extra¬ 
 ordinary affection for Mrs Bennet, which had still increased 
 every time she saw her \ she thought she discovered some¬ 
 thing wonderfully good and gentle in her countenance and 
 disposition, and was very desirous of knowing her whole 
 history. 
 
 She had a very short interview with that lady this morn¬ 
 ing in Mrs Ellison’s apartment. As soon, therefore, as Mrs 
 Bennet was gone, Amelia acquainted Mrs Ellison with the 
 good opinion she had conceived of her friend, and likewise 
 with her curiosity to know her story : £ For there must he 
 something uncommonly good,’ said she, £ in one who can so 
 truly mourn for a husband above three years after his death. 
 
 ‘ 0 ! ’ cries Mrs Ellison, f to he sure the world must allow 
 her to have been one of the best of wives. And, indeed, 
 upon the whole, she is a good sort of woman \ and what I 
 like her the best for is a strong resemblance that she hears to 
 yourself in the form of her person, and still more in her 
 voice. But for my own part, I know nothing remarkable in 
 her fortune, unless what I have told you, that she was the 
 daughter of a clergyman, had little or no fortune, and 
 married a poor parson for love, who left her in the utmost 
 distress. If you please, I will show you a letter which she 
 writ to me at that time, though I insist upon your promise 
 never to mention it to her \ indeed, you will he the first 
 person I ever showed it to.’ She then opened her scrutoiie, 
 and, taking out the letter, delivered it to Amelia, saying, 
 ‘ There, madam, is, I believe, as fine a picture of distress as 
 can well he drawn.’ 
 
CH. III. J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 253 
 
 4 Dear Madam, 
 
 ‘ As I have no other friend on earth hnt yourself, 
 I hope you will pardon my writing to you at this season; 
 though I do not know that you can relieve my distresses, 
 or, if you can, have I any pretence to expect that you 
 
 should. My poor dear, 0 Heavens—my-lies dead in the 
 
 house; and, after I had procured sufficient to bury him, a 
 set of ruffians have entered my house, seized all I have, 
 have seized his dear, dear corpse, and threaten to deny it 
 burial. Dor Heaven’s sake, send me, at least, some advice ; 
 little Tommy stands now by me crying for bread, which I 
 have not to give him. I can say no more than that I am 
 Your most distressed humble servant, 
 
 M. Bennet.’ 
 
 Amelia read the letter over twice, and then returning it 
 with tears in her eyes, asked how the poor creature could 
 possibly get through such distress. 
 
 ‘ You may depend upon it, madam,’ said Mrs Ellison, 4 the 
 moment I read this account I posted away immediately to 
 the lady. As to the seizing the body, that I found was a 
 mere bugbear; but all the rest was literally true. I sent 
 immediately for the same gentleman that I recommended to 
 Mr Booth, left the care of burying the corpse to him, and 
 brought my friend and her little boy immediately away to my 
 own house, where she remained some months in the most 
 miserable condition. I then prevailed with her to retire into 
 the country, and procured her a lodging with a friend at St 
 Edmundsbury, the air and gaiety of which place by degrees 
 recovered her \ and she returned in about a twelvemonth to 
 town, as well, I think, as she is at present.’ 
 
 1 1 am almost afraid to ask,’ cries Amelia, 4 and yet I long 
 methinks to know what is become of the poor little boy.’ 
 
 1 He hath been dead,’ said Mrs Ellison, 4 a little more than 
 half a year; and the mother lamented him at first almost as 
 much as she did her husband, but I found it indeed rather 
 an easier matter to comfort her, though I sat up with her 
 near a fortnight upon the latter occasion.’ 
 
 ‘ You are a good creature,’ said Amelia, 4 and I love vou 
 dearly.’ 
 
 4 Alas ! madam/ cries she, 4 what could I have done if it 
 
254 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [l3K VI. 
 
 had not been for the goodness of that best of men, my noble 
 cousin! His lordship no sooner heard of the widow's 
 distress from me than he immediately settled one hundred 
 and fifty pounds a year upon her during her life.’ 
 
 ‘ Well! how noble, how generous was that ! ’ said Amelia. 
 ‘ I declare I begin to love your cousin, Mrs Ellison.’ 
 
 ‘ And I declare if you do,’ answered she, ‘ there is no love 
 lost, I verily believe; if you had heard what I heard him 
 say yesterday behind your back-’ 
 
 ‘ Why, what did he say, Mrs Ellison ? ’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘ He said,’ answered the other, ‘ that you was the finest 
 woman his eyes ever beheld.—Ah ! it is in vain to wish, and 
 yet I cannot help wishing too.—0, Mrs Booth ! if you had 
 been a single woman, I firmly believe I could have made yon 
 the happiest in the world. And I sincerely think I never 
 saw a woman who deserved it more.’ 
 
 ‘1 am obliged to you, madam,’ cries Amelia, ‘ for your 
 good opinion; but I really look on myself already as the 
 happiest woman in the world. Our circumstances, it is true, 
 might have been a little more fortunate ; but 0, my dear 
 Mrs Ellison ! what fortune can be put in the balance with 
 such a husband as mine 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I am afraid, dear madam,’ answered Mrs Ellison, ‘ you 
 would not hold the scale fairly.—I acknowledge, indeed, Mr 
 Booth is a very pretty gentleman; Heaven forbid I should 
 endeavour to lessen him in your opinion; yet, if I was to be 
 brought to confession, I could not help saying I see where 
 the superiority lies, and that the men have more reason to 
 envy Mr Booth than the women have to envy his lady.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, I will not bear this,’ replied Amelia. ‘ You will 
 forfeit all my love if you have the least disrespectful opinion 
 of my husband. You do not know him, Mrs Ellison; he 
 is the best, the kindest, the worthiest of all his sex. I have 
 observed, indeed, once or twice before, that you have taken 
 some dislike to him. I cannot conceive for what reason. 
 If he hath said or done anything to disoblige you, I am 
 sure I can justly acquit him of design. His extreme 
 vivacity makes him sometimes a little too heedless; but, I 
 am convinced, a more innocent heart, or one more void of 
 offence, was never in a human bosom. 
 
 ‘Hay, if you grow serious,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘I have 
 
CH, III.} 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 255 
 
 done. How is it possible you should suspect I had taken 
 any dislike to a man to whom I have always shown so per¬ 
 fect a regard % but to say I think him, or almost any other 
 man in the world, worthy of yourself, is not within my 
 flower with truth. And since you force the confession from 
 me, I declare, I think such beauty, such sense, and such 
 goodness united, might aspire without vanity to the arms of 
 any monarch in Europe:’ 
 
 ‘ Alas ! my dear Mrs Ellison,’ answered Amelia, 4 do you 
 think happiness and a crown so closely united ? how many 
 miserable women have lain in the arms of kings ?—Indeed, 
 Mrs Ellison, if I had all the merit you compliment me with, 
 I should think it all fully rewarded with such a man as, I 
 thank Heaven, hath fallen to my lot; nor would I, upon my 
 soul, exchange that lot with any queen in the universe.’ 
 
 ‘Well, there are enow of our sex,’ said Mrs Ellison, ‘to 
 keep you in countenance; but I shall never forget the be¬ 
 ginning of a song of Mr Congreve’s, that my husband was 
 so fond of that he was always singing it:— 
 
 Love’s but a frailty of the mind, 
 
 When ’tis not with ambition join’d. 
 
 Love without interest makes hut an unsavoury disli, in my 
 opinion.’ 
 
 ‘ And pray how long hath this been your opinion 1 ’ said 
 Amelia, smiling. 
 
 ‘ Ever since I was born,’ answered Mrs Ellison; ‘ at least, 
 ever since I can remember.’ 
 
 ‘And have you never,’ said Amelia, ‘deviated from this 
 generous way of thinking ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Never once,’ answered the other, ‘ in the whole course of 
 my life.’ 
 
 ' 0, Mrs Ellison ! Mrs Ellison ! ’ cries Amelia ; why do 
 we ever blame those who are disingenuous in confessing their 
 faults, when we are so often ashamed to own ourselves in 
 the right 'l Some women now, in my situation, would be 
 angry that you had not made confidantes of them ; but I 
 never desire to know more of the secrets of others than they 
 are pleased to intrust me with. You must believe, however, 
 that I should not have given you these hints of my knowing 
 all if I had disapproved your choice. On the contrary, I 
 
256 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 ' [BK VI. 
 
 assure you I highly approve it. The gentility he wants, it 
 will be easily in your power to procure lor him; and as for 
 his good qualities, I will myself be bound for them; and I 
 make not the least doubt, as you have owned to me yourself 
 that you have placed your affections on him, you will be one 
 of the happiest women in the world.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my honour,’ cries Mrs Ellison, very gravely, ‘ I do 
 not understand one word of what you mean.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my honour, you astonish me,’ said Amelia; ‘ but I 
 have done.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay then,’ said the other, ‘1 insist upon knowing what 
 you mean.’ 
 
 1 Why, what can I mean,’ answered Amelia, ‘ but your 
 marriage with serjeant Atkinson] ’ 
 
 ‘With serjeant Atkinson!’ cries Mrs Ellison eagerly, 
 
 ‘ my marriage with a serjeant! ’ 
 
 ‘ Well, with Mr Atkinson, then, Captain Atkinson, if you 
 please; for so I hope to see him.’ 
 
 ‘ And have you really no better opinion of me,’ said Mrs 
 Ellison, ‘ than to imagine me capable of such condescension ] 
 What have I done, dear Mrs Booth, to deserve so low a place 
 in your esteem ] I find indeed, as Solomon says, Women 
 ought to wa.tch the door of their lips. How little did I 
 imagine that a little harmless freedom in discourse could per¬ 
 suade any one that I could entertain a serious intention of 
 disgracing my family ! for of a very good family am I come, 
 I assure you, madam, though I now let lodgings. Few of 
 my lodgers, I believe, ever came of a better.’ 
 
 ‘ If I have offended you, madam,’ said Amelia, ‘ I am very 
 sorry, and ask your pardon; but, besides what I heard from 
 yourself, Mr Booth told me—’ 
 
 1 0 yes ! ’ answered Mrs Ellison, ‘ Mr Booth, I know, is a 
 very good friend of mine. Indeed, I know you better than 
 to think it could be your own suspicion. I am very much 
 obliged to Mr Booth truly.’ 
 
 ‘Hay,’ cries Amelia, ‘the serjeant himself is in fault; for 
 Mr Booth, I am positive, only repeated what he had from 
 him.’ 
 
 ‘ Impudent coxcomb ! ’ cries Mrs Ellison. ‘ I shall know 
 how to keep such fellows at a proper distance for the future 
 —I will tell you, dear madam, all that happened. When I 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 257 
 
 rose in the morning I found the fellow waiting in the entry • 
 and, as you had exprest some regard for him as your foster- 
 
 brother—nay, he is a very genteel fellow, that I must own_ 
 
 I scolded my maid for not showing him into my little back¬ 
 room \ and I then asked him to walk into the parlour. Could 
 I have imagined he would have construed such little civility 
 into an encouragement 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, I will have justice done to my poor brother too,’ 
 said Amelia. ‘ I myself have seen you give him much 
 greater encouragement than that.’ 
 
 ell, perhaps I have,’ said Mrs Ellison. 1 X have been 
 always too unguarded in my speech, and can’t answer for all 
 I have said.’ She then began to change her note, and, with 
 an affected laugh, turned all into ridicule; and soon after¬ 
 wards the two ladies separated, both in apparent good- 
 humour ; and Amelia went about those domestic offices in 
 which Mr Booth found her engaged at the end of the pre¬ 
 ceding chapter. 
 
 17 
 
253 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 CHAPTER, IV. 
 
 CONTAINING A VERY EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT. 
 
 In the afternoon Mr Booth, with Amelia and her children, 
 went to refresh themselves in the Park. The conversation 
 now turned on what passed in the morning with Mrs Elli¬ 
 son, the latter part of the dialogue, I mean, recorded in the 
 last chapter. Amelia told her husband that Mrs Ellison so 
 strongly denied all intentions to marry the serjeant, that she 
 had convinced her the poor fellow was under an error, and 
 had mistaken a little too much levity for serious encourage¬ 
 ment ; and concluded by desiring Booth not to jest with her 
 any more on that subject. 
 
 Booth burst into a laugh at what his wife said. 1 My 
 dear creature/ said he, ‘ how easily is thy honesty and sim¬ 
 plicity to be imposed on ! how little dost thou guess at the 
 art and falsehood of women! I knew a young lady who, 
 against her father’s consent, was married to a brother officer 
 of mine; and, as I often used to walk with her (for I knew 
 her father intimately well), she would of her own accord 
 take frequent occasions to ridicule and vilify her husband 
 (for so he was at the time), and exprest great wonder and in¬ 
 dignation at the report which she allowed to prevail that she 
 should condescend ever to look at such a fellow with any 
 other design than of laughing at and despising him. The 
 marriage afterwards became publicly owned, and the lady 
 was reputably brought to bed. Since which I have often 
 seen her; nor hath she ever appeared to be in the least 
 ashamed of what she had formerly said, though, indeed, I 
 believe she hates me heartily for having heard it.’ 
 
 ‘ But for what reason,’ cries Amelia, ‘ should she deny a 
 fact, when she must be so certain of our discovering it, and 
 that immediately 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I can’t answer what end she may propose,’ said Booth. 
 1 Sometimes one would be almost persuaded that there was a 
 pleasure in lying itself. But this I am certain, that I would 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 259 
 
 believe tlie honest serjeant on his bare word sooner than I 
 would fifty Mrs Ellisons on oath. I am convinced he would 
 not have said what he did to me without the strongest 
 encouragement; and, I think, after what we have been both 
 witnesses to, it requires no 1 great confidence in his veracity 
 to give him an unlimited credit with regard to the lady’s 
 behaviour.’ 
 
 To this Amelia made no reply; and they discoursed of 
 other matters during the remainder of a very pleasant walk. 
 
 When they returned home Amelia was surprized to find 
 an appearance of disorder in her apartment. Several of the 
 trinkets which his lordship had given the children lay about 
 the room ; and a suit of her own clothes, which she had left 
 in her drawers, was now displayed upon the bed. 
 
 She immediately summoned her little girl up-stairs, who, 
 as she plainly perceived the moment she came up with a 
 candle, had half cried her eyes out; for, though the girl had 
 opened the door to them, as it was almost dark, she had not 
 taken any notice of this phenomenon in her countenance. 
 
 The girl now fell down upon her knees and cried, ‘ For 
 Heaven’s sake, madam, do not be angry with me. Indeed, 
 I was left alone in the house ; and, hearing somebody knock 
 at the door, I opened it—I am sure thinking no harm. I 
 did not know but it might have been you, or my master, or 
 Madam Ellison; and immediately as I did, the rogue burst 
 in and ran directly up-stairs, and what he hath robbed you 
 of I cannot tell; but I am sure I could not help it, for he 
 was a great swingeing man with a pistol in each hand; and, 
 if I had dared to call out, to be sure he would have killed 
 me. I am sure I was never in such a fright in my born days, 
 whereof I am hardly come to myself yet. I believe he is 
 somewhere about the house yet, for I never saw him go out.’ 
 
 Amelia discovered some little alarm at this narrative, but 
 much less than many other ladies would have shown, for a 
 fright is, I believe, sometimes laid hold of as an opportunity 
 of disclosing several charms peculiar to that occasion. And 
 which, as Mr Addison says of certain virtues, 
 
 Shun the day, and lie conceal’d 
 In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. 
 
 Booth, having opened the window, and summoned in two 
 
260 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 chairmen to his assistance, proceeded to search the house ; 
 but all to no purpose; the thief was flown, though the poor 
 girl, in her state of terror, had not seen him escape. 
 
 But now a circumstance appeared which greatly surprized 
 both Booth and Amelia; indeed, I believe it will have the 
 same effect on the reader; and this was, that the thief had 
 taken nothing with him. He had, indeed, tumbled over all 
 Booth’s and Amelia’s clothes and the children’s toys, but 
 had left all behind him. 
 
 Amelia was scarce more pleased than astonished at this 
 discovery, and re-examined the girl, assuring her of an abso¬ 
 lute pardon if she confessed the truth, but grievously threat¬ 
 ening her if she was found guilty of the least falsehood. 
 
 ‘ As for a thief, child,’ says she, ‘ that is certainly not true; 
 you have had somebody with you to whom you have been 
 showing the things; therefore tell me plainly who it was.’ 
 
 The girl protested in the solemnest manner that she knew 
 not the person; but as to some circumstances she began to 
 vary a little from her first account, particularly as to the 
 pistols, concerning which, being strictly examined by Booth, 
 she at last cried—‘ To be sure, sir, he must have had pistols 
 about him.’ And instead of persisting in his having rushed 
 in upon her, she now confessed that he had asked at the 
 door for her master and mistress; and that at his desire she 
 had shown him up-stairs, where he at first said he would 
 stay till their return home; ‘ but, indeed,’ cried she, ‘ I 
 thought no harm, for he looked like a gentleman-like sort of 
 man. And, indeed, so I thought he was for a good while, 
 wdiereof he sat down and behaved himself very civilly, till 
 he saw some of master’s and miss’s things upon the chest of 
 drawers ; whereof he cried, ‘ Hey-day ! what’s here 1 ’ and 
 then he fell to tumbling about the things like any mad. 
 Then I thinks, thinks I to myself, to be sure he is a high¬ 
 wayman, whereof I did not dare to speak to him ; for I 
 knew Madam Ellison and her maid was gone out, and what 
 could such a poor girl as I do against a great strong man ? 
 and besides, thinks I, to be sure he hath got pistols about 
 him, though I can’t indeed (that I will not do for the world) 
 take my Bible-oath that 1 saw any; yet to be sure he would 
 have soon pulled them out and shot me dead if I had ven¬ 
 tured to have said anything to offend him.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 261 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 ‘ I know not what to make of this/ cries Booth. ‘ The 
 poor girl, I verily believe, speaks to the best of her know¬ 
 ledge. A thief it could not he, for he hath not taken the 
 least thing; and it is plain he had the girl’s watch in his 
 hand. If it had been a bailiff, surely he would have staid 
 till our return. I can. conceive no other from the girl’s 
 account than that it must have been some madman.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 good sir! ’ said the girl, ‘ now you mention it, if he 
 was not a thief, to be sure he must have been a madman : 
 for indeed he looked, and behaved himself too, very much 
 like a madman; for, now I remember it, he talked to him¬ 
 self and said many strange kind of words that I did not un¬ 
 derstand. Indeed, he looked altogether as I have seen people 
 in Bedlam; besides, if he was not a madman, what good 
 could it do him to throw the things all about the room in 
 such a manner ? and he said something too about my master 
 just before he went down-stairs. I was in such a fright I 
 cannot remember particularly, but I am sure they were very 
 ill words; he said he would do for him—I am sure he said 
 that, and other wicked bad words too, if I could but think 
 of them.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word,’ said Booth, 1 this is the most probable 
 conjecture; but still I am puzzled to conceive who it should 
 be, for I have no madman to my knowledge of my acquaint¬ 
 ance, and it seems, as the girl says, he asked for me.’ He 
 then turned to the child, and asked her if she was certain of 
 that circumstance. 
 
 The poor maid, after a little hesitation, answered, ‘ Indeed, 
 sir, I cannot be very positive ; for the fright he threw me 
 into afterwards drove everything almost out of my mind.’ 
 
 ‘Well, whatever he was,’ cries Amelia, ‘I am glad the 
 consequence is no worse; but let this be a warning to you, 
 little Betty, and teach you to take more care for the future. 
 If ever you should be left alone in the house again, be sure 
 to let no person in without first looking out at the window 
 and seeing who they are. I promised not to chide you any 
 more on this occasion, and I will keep my w r ord ; but it is 
 very plain you desired this person to walk up into our apart¬ 
 ment, which was very wrong in our absence.' 
 
 Betty was going to answer, but Amelia would not let her, 
 saying, ‘Don’t attempt to excuse yourself; for I mortally 
 
262 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 hate a liar, and can forgive any fault sooner than falsehood.’ 
 
 The poor girl then submitted ; and now Amelia, with her 
 assistance, began to replace all things in their order; and 
 little Emily hugging her watch with great fondness, declared 
 she would never part with it any more. 
 
 Thus ended this odd adventure, not entirely to the satis¬ 
 faction of Booth ; for, besides his curiosity, which, when 
 thoroughly roused, is a very troublesome passion, he had, as 
 is I believe usual with all persons in his circumstances, seve¬ 
 ral doubts and apprehensions of he knew not what. Indeed, 
 fear is never more uneasy than when it doth not certainly 
 know its object; for on such occasions the mind is ever em¬ 
 ployed in raising a thousand bugbears and phantoms, much 
 more dreadful than any realities, and, like children, when 
 they tell tales of liobgoblings, seems industrious in terrifying 
 itself. 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 263 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME MATTERS NOT VERT UNNATURAL. 
 
 Matters were scarce sooner reduced into order and decency 
 than a violent knocking was heard at the door, such indeed 
 as would have persuaded any one not accustomed to the 
 sound that the madman was returned in the highest spring- 
 tide of his fury. 
 
 Instead, however, of so disagreeable an appearance, a very 
 fine lady presently came into the room, no other, indeed, 
 than Mrs James herself; for she was resolved to show 
 Amelia, by the speedy return of her visit, how unjust all her 
 accusation had been of any failure in the duties of friend¬ 
 ship ) she had, moreover, another reason to accelerate this 
 visit, and that was, to congratulate her friend on the event 
 of the duel between Colonel Bath and Mr Booth. 
 
 The lady had so well profited by Mrs Booth’s remon¬ 
 strance, that she had now no more of that stiffness and 
 formality which she had worn on a former occasion. On the 
 contrary, she now behaved with the utmost freedom and 
 good-humour, and made herself so very. agreeable, that 
 Amelia was highly pleased and delighted with her company. 
 
 An incident happened during this visit, that may appear 
 to some too inconsiderable in itselt to be recorded \ and yet, 
 as it certainly produced a very strong consequence in the 
 mind of Mr Booth, we cannot prevail on ourselves to pass 
 it by. 
 
 Little Emily, who was present in the room while Mrs 
 James was there, as she stood near that lady happened to be 
 playing with her watch, which she was so greatly overjoyed 
 had escaped safe from the madman. Mrs James, who exprest 
 great fondness for the child, desired to see the watch, which 
 she commended as the prettiest of the kind she had ever 
 
 seen# 
 
 Amelia caught eager hold of this opportunity to spread 
 the praises of her benefactor. She presently acquainted Mrs 
 
264 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 James with the donor’s name, and ran on with great enco¬ 
 miums on his lordship’s goodness, and particularly on his 
 generosity. To which Mrs James answered, ‘ 0 ! certainly, 
 madam, his lordship hath universally the character of being 
 extremely generous—where he likes.’ 
 
 In uttering these words she laid a very strong emphasis 
 on the three last monosyllables, accompanying them at 
 the same time with a very sagacious look, a very significant 
 leer, and a great flirt with her fan. 
 
 The greatest genius the world hath ever produced ob¬ 
 serves, in one of his most excellent plays, that 
 
 Trifles, light as air, 
 
 Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. 
 
 That Mr Booth began to be possessed by this worst of 
 fiends, admits, I think, no longer doubt; for at this speech 
 of Mrs James he immediately turned pale, and, from a high 
 degree of cheerfulness, was all on a sudden struck dumb, so 
 that he spoke not another word till Mrs James left the room. 
 
 The moment that lady drove from the door Mrs Ellison 
 came up-stairs. She entered the room with a laugh, and 
 very plentifully rallied both Booth and Amelia concerning 
 the madman, of which she had received a full account below- 
 stairs; and at last asked Amelia if she could not guess who 
 it w r as; but, without receiving an answer, went on, saying, 
 
 ‘ Eor my own part, I fancy it must be some lover of yours ! 
 some person that hath seen you, and so is run mad with 
 love. Indeed, I should not wonder if all mankind were to 
 do the same. La ! Mr Booth, what makes you grave 1 why, 
 you are as melancholy as if you had been robbed in earnest. 
 Upon my word, though, to be serious, it is a strange story, 
 and, as the girl tells it, I know not what to make of it. 
 Perhaps it might be some rogue that intended to rob the 
 house, and his heart failed him; yet even that would be 
 very extraordinary. What, did you lose nothing, madam h ’ 
 
 4 Nothing at all,’ answered Amelia. ‘ He did not even 
 take the child’s watch.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, captain,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ I hope you will take 
 more care of the house to-morrow; for your lady and I shall 
 leave you alone to the care of it. Here, madam,’ said she, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 265 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 < here is a present from my lord to us ; here are two tickets 
 for the masquerade at Ranelagh. You will he so charmed 
 with it! It is the sweetest of all diversions.’ 
 
 ‘ May I he damned, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ if my wife 
 
 shall go thither. 
 
 Mrs Ellison stared at these words, and, indeed, so did 
 Amelia; for they were spoke with great vehemence. At 
 length the former cried out with an air of astonishment, 
 
 1 Not let your lady go to Ranelagh, sir ] ’ 
 
 ‘No, madam,’ cries Booth, ‘ I will not let my wife go to 
 
 Ranelagh.’ 
 
 ‘ You surprize me ! ’ cries Mrs Ellison. ‘ Sure, you are not 
 in earnest V 
 
 1 Indeed, madam,’ returned he, ‘ I am seriously in earnest. 
 And, what is more, I am convinced she would of her own 
 accord refuse to go.’ 
 
 1 Now, madam,’ said Mrs Ellison, ‘ you are to answer tor 
 yourself: and I will for your hushand, that, if you ha\e a 
 
 desire to go, he will not refuse you.’ 
 
 ‘I hope, madam,’ answered Amelia with great gravity, 
 
 1 1 shall never desire to go to any place contrary to Mr 
 Booth’s inclinations.’ 
 
 ‘ Did ever mortal hear the like 1 ’ said Mrs Ellison , you 
 are enough to spoil the best husband in the universe. In¬ 
 clinations ! what, is a woman to be governed then by her 
 husband’s inclinations, though they are never so unreason¬ 
 able 1 ’ 
 
 < Pardon me, madam,’ said Amelia; ‘ I will not suppose 
 Mr Booth’s inclinations ever can be unreasonable. I am very 
 much obliged to you for the offer you have made me ; but I 
 beg you will not mention it any more ; for, after what Mr 
 Booth hath declared, if Ranelagh was a heaven upon earth, 
 I would refuse to go to it.’ 
 
 ‘ I thank you, my dear,’ cries Booth; ‘ I do assure you, 
 you oblige me beyond my power of expression by what you 
 say ; but I will endeavour to show you, both my sensibility 
 of such goodness, and my lasting gratitude to it.’ 
 
 ‘ And pray, sir,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ what can be your ob¬ 
 jection to your lady’s going to a place which, I will venture 
 to say, is as reputable as any about town, and which is fre¬ 
 quented by the best company 1 ’ 
 
266 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, good Mrs Ellison,’ said Booth : as my wife 
 is so good to acquiesce without knowing my reasons, I am 
 not, I think, obliged to assign them to any other person. 
 
 ‘Well,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘if I had been told this, I 
 would not have believed it. What, refuse your lady an in¬ 
 nocent diversion, and that too when you have not the pre¬ 
 tence to say it would cost you a farthing ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Why will you say any more on this subject, dear 
 madam h ’ cries Amelia. ‘ All diversions are to me matters 
 of such indifference, that the bare inclinations of any one 
 for whom I have the least value would at all times turn the 
 balance of mine. I am sure then, after what Mr Booth hath 
 said—’ 
 
 ‘ My dear,’ cries he, taking her up hastily, 4 1 sincerely 
 ask your pardon; I spoke inadvertently, and in a passion. 
 I never once thought of controlling you, nor ever would. 
 ISTay, I said in the same breath you would not go ; and, upon 
 my honour, I meant nothing more.’ 
 
 4 My dear,’ said she, ‘you have no need of making any 
 apology. I am not in the least offended, and am convinced 
 you will never deny me what I shall desire.’ 
 
 ‘ Try him, try him, madam,’ cries Mrs Ellison ; ‘ I will be 
 judged by all the women in town if it is possible for a wife 
 to ask her husband anything more reasonable. You can’t 
 conceive what a sweet, charming, elegant, delicious place 
 it is. Paradise itself can hardly be equal to it.’ 
 
 ‘ I beg you will excuse me, madam,’ said Amelia ; ‘ nay, I 
 entreat you will ask me no more; for be assured I must and 
 will refuse. Do let me desire you to give the ticket to poor 
 Mrs Bennet. I believe it would greatly oblige her.’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, madam,’ said Mrs Ellison ; ‘ if you will not 
 accept of it, I am not so distressed for want of company as 
 to go to such a public place with all sort of people neither. 
 I am always very glad to see Mrs Bennet at my own house, 
 because I look upon her as a very good sort of woman; but 
 I don’t choose to be seen with such people in public places.’ 
 
 Amelia exprest some little indignation at this last speech, 
 which she declared to be entirely beyond her comprehen¬ 
 sion ; and soon after, Mrs Ellison, finding all her efforts to 
 prevail on Amelia were ineffectual, took her leave, giving 
 Mr Booth two or three sarcastical words, and a much more 
 sarcastical look, at her departure. 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A SCENE IN WHICH SOME LADIES WILL POSSIBLY THINK 
 
 Amelia’s conduct exceptionable. 
 
 Booth and his wife being left alone, a solemn silence pre¬ 
 vailed during a few minutes. At last Amelia, who, though 
 a good, was yet a human creature, said to her husband, 
 ‘ Pray, my dear, do inform me what could put you into so 
 great a passion when Mrs Ellison first offered me the tickets 
 for this masquerade ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I had rather you would not ask me,’ said Booth. ‘ You 
 have obliged me greatly in your ready acquiescence with my 
 desire, and you will add greatly to the obligation by not in¬ 
 quiring the reason of it. This you may depend upon, Amelia, 
 that your good and happiness are the great objects of all my 
 wishes, and the end I propose in all my actions. This view 
 alone could tempt me to refuse you anything, or to conceal 
 anything from you.’ 
 
 ‘ I will appeal to yourself,’ answered she, ‘ whether this be 
 not using me too much like a child, and whether I can pos¬ 
 sibly help being a little offended at it 7 ’ 
 
 ‘Not in the least,’ replied he ; ‘I use you only with the 
 tenderness of a friend. I would only endeavour to conceal 
 that from you which I think would give you uneasiness if 
 you knew. These are called the pious frauds of friendship.’ 
 
 ‘ I detest all fraud,’ says she ; ‘ and pious is too good an 
 epithet to be joined to so odious a word. You have often, 
 you know, tried these frauds with no better effect than to 
 tease and torment me. You cannot imagine, my dear, but 
 that I must have a violent desire to know the reason of 
 words which I own I never expected to have heard. And 
 the more you have shown a reluctance to tell me, the more 
 eagerly I have longed to know. A r or can this be called a 
 vain curiosity, since I seem so much interested in this affair. 
 If after all this, you still insist on keeping the secret, I will 
 convince you I am not ignorant of the duty of a wife by my 
 
268 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 obedience; but I cannot lielp telling you at tbe same time 
 you will make me one of the most miserable of women/ 
 
 ‘ That is,’ cries he, ‘ in other words, my dear Emily, to 
 say, I will be contented without the secret, but I am re¬ 
 solved to know it, nevertheless.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, if you say so,’ cries she, ‘ I am convinced you will 
 tell me. Positively, dear Billy, I must and will know.’ 
 
 1 Why, then, positively,’ says Booth, ‘ I will tell you. 
 And I think I shall then show you that, however well you 
 may know the duty of a wife, I am not always able to be¬ 
 have like a husband. In a word then, my dear, the secret is 
 no more than this ; I am unwilling you should receive any 
 more presents from my lord.’ 
 
 1 Mercy upon me ! ’ cries she, with all the marks of aston¬ 
 ishment ; ‘ what ! a masquerade ticket ! ’— 
 
 ‘ Yes, my dear,’ cries he ; ‘ that is, perhaps, the very worst 
 and most dangerous of all. Eew men make presents of those 
 tickets to ladies without intending to meet them at the 
 place. And what do you know of your companion 1 To be 
 sincere with you, I have not liked her behaviour for some 
 time. What might be the consequence of going with such 
 a woman to such a place, to meet such a person, I tremble 
 to think. And now, my dear, I have told you my reason of 
 refusing her offer with some little vehemence, and I think I 
 need explain myself no farther.’ 
 
 ‘ You need not, indeed, sir,’ answered she. ‘ Good 
 Heavens ! did I ever expect to hear this 1 I can appeal to 
 Heaven, nay, I will appeal to yourself, Mr Booth, if I have 
 ever done anything to deserve such a suspicion. If ever any 
 action of mine, nay, if ever any thought, had stained the 
 innocence of my soul, I could be contented.’ 
 
 ‘ How cruelly do you mistake me ! ’ said Booth. ‘ What 
 suspicion have I ever shown h ’ 
 
 ‘ Can you ask it,’ answered she, ‘ after what you have just 
 now declared 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ If I have declared any suspicion of you,’ replied he, ‘ or 
 if ever I entertained a thought leading that way, may the 
 worst of evils that ever afflicted human nature attend me ! 
 I know the pure innocence of that tender bosom, I do know 
 it, my lovely angel, and adore it. The snares which might 
 be laid for that innocence were alone the cause of my ap- 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 269 
 
 prehension. I feared what a wicked and voluptuous man, 
 resolved to sacrifice everything to the gratification of a 
 sensual appetite with the most delicious repast, might at¬ 
 tempt. If ever I injured the unspotted whiteness of thy 
 virtue in my imagination, may hell-’ 
 
 1 Do not terrify me/ cries she, interrupting him, 1 with 
 such imprecations. 0, Mr Booth ! Mr Booth ! you must 
 well know that a woman’s virtue is always her sufficient 
 guard. No husband, without suspecting that, can suspect 
 any danger from those snares you mention ; and why, if you 
 are liable to take such things into your head, may not your 
 suspicions fall on me as well as on any other 1 for sure no¬ 
 thing was ever more unjust, I will not say ungrateful, than 
 the suspicions which you have bestowed on his lordship. I 
 do solemnly declare, in all the times I have seen the poor 
 man, he hath never once offered the least forwardness. Ilis 
 behaviour hath been polite indeed, but rather remarkably 
 distant than otherwise. Particularly when we played at 
 cards together. I don’t remember he spoke ten words to me 
 all the evening; and when I was at his house, though he 
 showed the greatest fondness imaginable to the children, he 
 took so little notice of me, that a vain woman would have 
 been very little pleased with him. And if he gave them 
 many presents, he never offered me one. The first, indeed, 
 which he ever offered me was that which you in that kind 
 manner forced me to refuse.’ 
 
 ‘ All this may be only the effect of art/ said Booth. ‘ I 
 am convinced he doth, nay, I am convinced he must like 
 you; and my good friend James, who perfectly well knows 
 the world, told me, that his lordship’s character was that of 
 the most profuse in his pleasures with women ; nay, what 
 said Mrs James this very evening 1 “ His lordship is ex¬ 
 
 tremely generous—where he likes.” I shall never forget 
 the sneer with which she spoke those last words.’ 
 
 ‘I am convinced they injure him/ cries Amelia. ‘As for 
 Mrs James, she was always given to be censorious ; I re¬ 
 marked it in her long ago, as her greatest fault. And for 
 the colonel, I believe he may find faults enow of this kind 
 in his own bosom, without searching after them among his 
 neighbours. I am sure he hath the most impudent look of 
 all the men I know; and I solemnly declare, the very last 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 270 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 time he was here he put me out of countenance more than 
 once.’ 
 
 ‘ Colonel James,’ answered Booth, 1 may have his faults 
 very probably. I do not look upon him as a saint, nor do I 
 believe he desires I should ; but what interest could he have 
 in abusing this lord’s character to me 1 or why should I 
 question his truth, when he assured me that my lord had 
 never done an act of beneficence in his life but for the sake 
 of some woman whom he lusted after 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Then I myself can confute him,’ replied Amelia : ‘ for, 
 besides his services to you, which, for the future, I shall wish 
 to forget, and his kindness to my little babes, how inconsist¬ 
 ent is the character which James gives of him with his 
 lordship’s behaviour to his own nephew and niece, whose 
 extreme fondness of their uncle sufficiently proclaims his 
 goodness to them 1 I need not mention all that I have heard 
 from Mrs Ellison, every word of which I believe ; for I have 
 great reason to think, notwithstanding some little levity, 
 which, to give her her due, she sees and condemns in herself, 
 she is a very good sort of woman.’ 
 
 ‘Well, my dear,’ cries Booth, ‘ I may have been deceived, 
 and I heartily hope I am so ; but in cases of this nature it is 
 always good to be on the surest side; for, as Congreve says, 
 
 ‘ The wise too jealous are : fools too secure.’ 
 
 Here Amelia burst into tears, upon which Booth immedi¬ 
 ately caught her in his arms, and endeavoured to comfort 
 her. Passion, however, for a while obstructed her speech, 
 and at last she cried, ‘ 0, Mr Booth ! can I bear to hear the 
 word jealousy from your mouth 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Why, my love,’ said Booth, ‘ will you so fatally misun¬ 
 derstand my meaning'? how often shall I protest that it is 
 not of you, but of him, that I was jealous ? If you could 
 look into my breast, and there read all the most secret thoughts 
 of my heart, you would not see one faint idea to your dis¬ 
 honour.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t misunderstand you, my dear,’ said she, £ so much 
 as I am afraid you misunderstand yourself. What is it you 
 fear 1—you mention not force, but snares. Is not this to 
 confess, at least, that you have some doubt of my under¬ 
 standing ] do you then really imagine me so weak as to be 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 271 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 cheated of my virtue —am I to be deceived into an affection 
 for a man before I perceive the least inward bint of my dan¬ 
 ger 1 dSTo, Mr Booth, believe me, a woman must be a fool 
 indeed who can have in earnest such an excuse for her actions. 
 I have not, I think, any very high opinion of my judgment, 
 but so far I shall rely upon it, that no man breathing could 
 have any such designs as you have apprehended without my 
 immediately seeing them ; and bow I should then act I hope 
 my whole conduct to you hath sufficiently declared.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, my dear,’ cries Booth, ‘ I beg you will mention it 
 no more; if possible, forget it. I hope, nay, I believe, I 
 have been in the wrong; pray forgive me.’ 
 
 c I will, I do forgive you, my dear,’ said she, 1 if forgive¬ 
 ness he a proper word for one whom you have rather made 
 miserable than angry ; hut let me entreat you to banish for 
 ever all such suspicions from your mind. I hope Mrs Elli¬ 
 son hath not discovered the real cause of your passion ; hut, 
 poor woman, if she had, I am convinced it would go no far¬ 
 ther. Oh, Heavens ! I would not for the world it should 
 reach his lordship’s ears. You would lose the best friend 
 that ever man had. Hay, I would not for his own sake, 
 poor man; for I really believe it would affect him greatly, 
 and I must, I cannot help having an esteem for so much 
 goodness. An esteem which, by this dear hand,’ said she, 
 taking Booth’s hand and kissing it, ‘ no man alive shall ever 
 obtain by making love to me.’ 
 
 Booth caught her in his arms and tenderly embraced her. 
 After which the reconciliation soon became complete ; and 
 Booth, in the contemplation of his happiness, entirely buried 
 all his jealous thoughts. 
 
272 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VI. 
 
 CHAPTEB VII. 
 
 A CHAPTER IN WHICn THERE IS MUCH LEARNING. 
 
 The next morning, whilst Booth was gone to take his morn¬ 
 ing walk, Amelia went down into Mrs Ellison’s apartment, 
 where, though she was received with great civility, yet she 
 found that lady was not at all pleased with Mr Booth; and, 
 by some hints which dropt from her in conversation, Amelia 
 very greatly apprehended that Mrs Ellison had too much 
 suspicion of her husband’s real uneasiness ; for that lady de¬ 
 clared very openly she could not help perceiving what sort 
 of man Mr Booth wa*: ‘ And though I have the greatest 
 regard for you, madam, in the world,’ said she, ‘ yet I think 
 myself in honour obliged not to impose on his lordship, who, 
 I know very well, hath conceived his greatest liking to the 
 captain on my telling him that he was the best husband in 
 the world.’ 
 
 Amelia’s fears gave her much disturbance, and when her 
 husband returned she acquainted him with them ; upon 
 which occasion, as it was natural, she resumed a little the 
 topic of their former discourse, nor could she help casting, 
 though in very gentle terms, some slight blame on Booth for 
 having entertained a suspicion which, she said, might in its 
 consequence very possibly prove their ruin, and occasion the 
 loss of his lordship’s friendship. 
 
 Booth became highly affected with what his wife said, and 
 the more, as he had just received a note from Colonel James, 
 informing him that the colonel had heard of a vacant com¬ 
 pany in the regiment which Booth had mentioned to him, 
 and that he had been with his lordship about it, who had 
 promised to use his utmost interest to obtain him the com¬ 
 mand. 
 
 The poor man now exprest the utmost concern for his 
 yesterday’s behaviour, said ‘ he believed the devil had taken 
 possession of him,’ and concluded with crying out, ‘ Sure I 
 was born, my dearest creature, to be your torment.’ 
 
CII. YII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 273 
 
 Amelia no sooner saw lier husband’s distress than she in¬ 
 stantly forbore whatever might seem likely to aggravate it, 
 and applied herself, with all her power, to comfort him. ‘ If 
 you will give me leave to offer my advice, my dearest soul,’ 
 said she, ‘ I think all might yet he remedied. I think you 
 know me too well to suspect that the desire of diversion 
 should induce me to mention what I am now going to pro¬ 
 pose ; and in that confidence I will ask you to let me accept 
 my lord’s and Mrs Ellison’s offer, and go to the masquerade. 
 No matter how little while I stay there ; if you desire it I 
 will not be an hour from you. I can make an hundred ex¬ 
 cuses to come home, or tell a real truth, and say I am tired 
 with the place. The bare going will cure everything.’ 
 
 Amelia had no sooner done speaking than Booth immedi¬ 
 ately approved her advice, and readily gave his consent. He 
 could not, however, help saying, that the shorter her stay 
 was there, the more agreeable it would be to him; for you 
 know, my dear,’ said he, ‘ I would never willingly be a 
 moment out of your sight.’ 
 
 In the afternoon Amelia sent to invite Mrs Ellison to a 
 dish of tea; and Booth undertook to laugh off all that had 
 passed yesterday, in which attempt the abundant good 
 humour of that lady gave him great hopes of success. 
 
 Mrs Bennet came that afternoon to make a visit, and was 
 almost an hour with Booth and Amelia before the entry of 
 Mrs Ellison. 
 
 Mr Booth had hitherto rather disliked this young lady, 
 and had wondered at the pleasure which Amelia declared 
 she took in her company. This afternoon, however, he 
 changed his opinion, and liked her almost as much as his 
 wife had done. She did indeed behave at this time with 
 more than ordinary gaiety; and good humour gave a glow 
 to her countenance that set off her features, which were very 
 pretty, to the best advantage, and lessened the deadness that 
 had usually appeared in her complexion. 
 
 But if Booth was now pleased with Mrs Bennet, Amelia 
 was still more pleased with her than ever. Eor, when their 
 discourse turned on love, Amelia discovered that her new 
 friend had all the same sentiments on that subject with her¬ 
 self. In the course of their conversation Booth gave Mrs 
 Bennet a hint of wishing her a good husband, upon which 
 
 18 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 274 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 both the ladies declaimed against second marriages with equal 
 vehemence. 
 
 Upon this occasion Booth and his wife discovered a talent 
 in their visitant to which they had been before entirely 
 strangers, and for which they both greatly admired her, and 
 this was, that the lady was a good scholar, in which, indeed, 
 she had the advantage of poor Amelia, whose reading was 
 confined to English plays and poetry; besides which, I think 
 she had conversed only with the divinity of the great and 
 learned Dr Barrow, and with the histories of the excellent 
 Bishop Burnet. 
 
 Amelia delivered herself on the subject of second marriages 
 with much eloquence and great good sense ; but when Mrs 
 Bennet came to give her opinion she spoke in the following 
 manner : ‘ I shall not enter into the question concerning the 
 legality of bigamy. Our laws certainly allow it, and so, I 
 think, doth our religion. We are now debating only on the 
 decency of it, and in this light I own myself as strenuous 
 an advocate against it as any Bo man matron would have been 
 in those ages of the commonwealth when it was held to be 
 infamous. For my own part, how great a paradox soever my 
 opinion may seem, I solemnly declare, I see but little difier- 
 ence between having two husbands at one time and at 
 several times ; and of this I am very confident, that the 
 same degree of love for a first husband which preserves a 
 woman in the one case will preserve her in the other. There 
 is one argument which I scarce know how to deliver before 
 you, sir; but—if a woman hath lived with her first husband 
 without having children, I think it unpardonable in her to 
 carry barrenness into a second family. On the contrary, if 
 she hath children by her first husband, to give them a second 
 father is still more unpardonable.’ 
 
 ‘ But suppose, madam,’ cries Booth, interrupting her with 
 a smile, ‘ she should have had children by her first husband, 
 and have lost them 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ That is a case,’ answered she, with a sigh, 4 which I did 
 not desire to think of, and I must own it the most favour¬ 
 able light in which a second marriage can be seen. But the 
 Scriptures, as Petrarch observes, rather suffer them than 
 commend them ; and St Jerom speaks against them with the 
 utmost bitterness.’—‘I remember,’ cries Booth (who was 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 275 
 
 Oil. VII.] 
 
 willing either to show his learning, or to draw out the lady’s), 
 ‘a very wise law of Charondas, the famous lawgiver of 
 Thurium, by which men who married a second time were 
 removed from all public councils ; for it was scarce reasonable 
 to suppose that he who was so great a fool in his own family 
 should be wise in public affairs. And though second mar¬ 
 riages were permitted among the Romans, yet they were at 
 the same time discouraged, and those Roman widows who 
 refused them were held in high esteem, and honoured with 
 what Valerius Maximus calls the Corona Pudicitise. In the 
 noble family of Camilli there was not, in many ages, a single 
 instance of this, which Martial calls adultery: 
 
 Quce toties nub it, non nub it; adultcra lege est.’ 
 
 i True, sir,’ says Mrs Rennet, ‘and Virgil calls this a 
 violation of chastity, and makes Dido speak of it with the 
 utmost detestation : 
 
 Sed mihi vel Tcllus optem prius ima dehiscat 
 Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fnlmine ad umbras, 
 
 Pallentes umbras Erebi, noetcmque prof undam, 
 
 Ante, pudor, quam te violo, aut tua jura resolvo. 
 
 I lie meos, primum qui me sibi junxit, amorce, 
 
 I lie habeat semper secum, servetque Sepulchro.' 
 
 She repeated these lines with so strong an emphasis, that 
 she almost frightened Amelia out of her wits, and not a little 
 staggered Booth, who was himself no contemptible scholar. 
 He expressed great admiration of the lady’s learning ; upon 
 whiclr she said it was all the fortune given her by her father, 
 and all the dower left her by her husband ; ‘ and sometimes,’ 
 said she, ‘ I am inclined to think I enjoy more pleasure from 
 it than if they had bestowed on me what the world would 
 in general call more valuable.’—She then took occasion, 
 from the surprize which Booth had affected to conceive at 
 her repeating Latin with so good a grace, to comment on 
 that great absurdity (for so she termed it) of excluding 
 women from learning ; for which they were equally qualified 
 with the men, and in which so many had made so notable 
 a proficiency; for a proof of which she mentioned Madam 
 Dacier, and many others. 
 
 Though both Booth and Amelia outwardly concurred with 
 her sentiments, it may be a question whether they did not 
 assent rather out of complaisance than from their real judg¬ 
 ment. 
 
276 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME UNACCOUNTABLE BEHAVIOUR IN MRS 
 
 ELLISON. 
 
 Mrs Ellison made her entrance at the end of the preceding 
 discourse. At her first appearance she put on an unusual 
 degree of formality and reserve; but when Amelia had ac¬ 
 quainted her that she designed to accept the favour intended 
 her, she soon began to alter the gravity of her muscles, and 
 presently fell in with that ridicule which Booth thought 
 proper to throw on his yesterday’s behaviour. 
 
 The conversation now became very lively and pleasant, in 
 which Booth having mentioned the discourse that passed in 
 the last chapter, and having greatly complimented Mrs 
 Bennet’s speech on that occasion, Mrs Ellison, who was as 
 strenuous an advocate on the other side, began to rally that 
 lady extremely, declaring it was a certain sign she intended 
 to marry again soon. ‘ Married ladies,’ cries she, ‘ I believe, 
 sometimes think themselves in earnest in such declarations, 
 though they are oftener perhaps meant as compliments to 
 their husbands; but, when widows exclaim loudly against 
 second marriages, I would always lay a wager that the man, 
 if not the wedding-day, is absolutely fixed on.’ 
 
 Mrs Bennet made very little answer to this sarcasm. In¬ 
 deed, she had scarce opened her lips from the time of Mrs 
 Ellison’s coming into the room, and had grown particularly 
 grave at the mention of the masquerade. Amelia imputed 
 this to her being left out of the party, a matter which is 
 often no small mortification to human pride, and in a whisper 
 asked Mrs Ellison if she could not procure a third ticket, to 
 which she received an absolute negative. 
 
 During the whole time of Mrs Bennet’s stay, which was 
 above an hour afterwards, she remained perfectly silent, and 
 looked extremely melancholy. This made Amelia very un¬ 
 easy, as she concluded she had guessed the cause of her 
 vexation. In which opinion she was the more confirmed 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 277 
 
 CM. VIII.] 
 
 from certain looks of no very pleasant kind which Mrs 
 Bennet now and then cast on Mrs Ellison, and the more than 
 ordinary concern that appeared in the former lady’s counte¬ 
 nance whenever the masquerade was mentioned, and which, 
 unfortunately, was the principal topic of their discourse; 
 for Mrs Ellison gave a very elaborate description of the 
 extreme beauty of the place and elegance of the diver¬ 
 sion. 
 
 When Mrs Bennet was departed, Amelia could not help 
 again soliciting Mrs Ellison for another ticket, declaring she 
 was certain Mrs Bennet had a great inclination to go with 
 them ; but Mrs Ellison again excused herself from asking it 
 of his lordship. ‘ Besides, madam,’ says she, ‘ if I would go 
 thither with Mrs Bennet, which, I own to you, I don’t 
 choose, as she is a person whom nobody Jcnoivs, I very much 
 doubt whether she herself would like it; for she is a woman 
 of a very unaccountable turn. All her delight lies in books; 
 and as for public diversions, I have heard her often declare 
 her abhorrence of them.’ 
 
 ‘ What then,’ said Amelia, ‘ could occasion all that gravity 
 from the moment the masquerade was mentioned % ’ 
 
 < As to that,’ answered the other, ‘ there is no guessing. 
 You have seen her altogether as grave before now. She 
 hath had these fits of gravity at times ever since the death 
 of her husband.’ 
 
 ‘ Poor creature ! ’ cries Amelia; ‘ I heartily pity her, for 
 she must certainly suffer a great deal on these occasions. I 
 declare I have taken a strange fancy to her.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps you would not like her so well if you knew her 
 thoroughly,’ answered Mrs Ellison.—‘ She is, upon the whole, 
 but of a whimsical temper; and, if you will take my opinion, 
 you should not cultivate too much intimacy with her. I 
 know you will never mention what I say; but she is like 
 some pictures which please best at a distance.’ 
 
 Amelia did not seem to agree with these sentiments, and 
 she greatly importuned Mrs Ellison to be more explicit, but 
 to no purpose ; she continued to give only dark hints to Mrs 
 Bennet’s disadvantage; and, if ever she let drop something 
 a little too harsh, she failed not immediately to contradict 
 herself by throwing some gentle commendations into the 
 
278 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 other scale ; so that her conduct appeared utterly unaccount¬ 
 able to Amelia, and, upon the whole, she knew not whether 
 to conclude Mrs Ellison to he a friend or enemy to Mrs 
 Bennet. 
 
 During this latter conversation Booth was not in the room, 
 for he had been summoned down-stairs by the serjeant, who 
 came to him with news from Murphy, whom he had met 
 that evening, and who assured the serjeant that, if he was 
 desirous of recovering the debt which he had before pretended 
 to have on Booth, he might shortly have an opportunity, for 
 that there was to be a very strong petition to the board the 
 next time they sat. Murphy said further that he need not 
 fear having his money, for that, to his certain knowledge, the 
 captain had several things of great value, and even his 
 children had gold watches. 
 
 This greatly alarmed Booth, and still more when the ser¬ 
 jeant reported to him, from Murphy, that all these things 
 had been seen in his possession within a day last past. He 
 now plainly perceived, as he thought, that Murphy himself, 
 or one of his emissaries, had been the supposed madman; 
 and he now very well accounted to himself, in his own mind-, 
 for all that had happened, conceiving that the design was to 
 examine into the state of his effects, and to try whether it 
 was worth his creditors’ while to plunder him by law. 
 
 At his return to his apartment he communicated what he 
 had heard to Amelia and Mrs Ellison, not disguising his 
 apprehensions of the enemy’s intentions; but Mrs Ellison 
 endeavoured to laugh him out of his fears, calling him faint¬ 
 hearted, and assuring him he might depend on her lawyer. 
 ‘ Till you hear from him,’ said she, ‘ you may rest entirely 
 contented; for, take my word for it, no danger can happen 
 to you of which you will not be timely apprized by him. 
 And as for the fellow that had the impudence to come into 
 your room, if he was sent on such an errand as you mention, 
 I heartily wish I had been at home; I would have secured 
 him safe with a constable, and have carried him directly 
 before justice Thresher. I know the justice is an enemy to 
 bailiffs on his own account.’ 
 
 This heartening speech a little roused the courage of 
 Booth, and somewhat comforted Amelia, though the spirits 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 279 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 of both had been too much hurried to suffer them either to 
 give or receive much entertainment that evening; which 
 Mrs Ellison perceiving soon took her leave, and left this un¬ 
 happy couple to seek relief from sleep, that powerful friend 
 to the distrest, though, like other powerful friends, he is not 
 always ready to give his assistance to those who want it most. 
 
280 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. . 
 
 CONTAINING A VERY STRANGE INCIDENT. 
 
 When the husband and wife were alone they again talked 
 over the news which the serjeant had brought; on which 
 occasion Amelia did all she could to conceal her own fears, 
 and to quiet those of her husband. At last she turned the 
 conversation to another subject, and poor Mrs Bennet was 
 brought on the carpet. i I should be sorry,’ cries Amelia, ‘ to 
 find I had conceived an affection for a bad woman; and yet 
 I begin to fear Mrs Ellison knows something of her more 
 than she cares to discover; why else should she be unwilling 
 to be seen with her in public 1 Besides, I have observed 
 that Mrs Ellison hath been always backward to introduce 
 her to me, nor would ever bring her to my apartment, though 
 I have often desired her. Hay, she hath given me frequent 
 hints not to cultivate the acquaintance. What do you think, 
 my dear? I should be very sorry to contract an intimacy 
 with a wicked person.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, my dear,’ cries Booth, 1 1 know no more of her, nor 
 indeed hardly so much as yourself. But this, I think, that 
 if Mrs Ellison knows any reason why she should not have 
 introduced Mrs Bennet into your company, she was very 
 much in the wrong in introducing her into it.’ 
 
 In discourses of this kind they passed the remainder of 
 the evening. In the morning Booth rose early, and, going 
 down-stairs, received from little Betty a sealed note, which 
 contained the following words : 
 
 Beware, beware, beware; 
 
 For I apprehend a dreadful snare 
 Is laid for virtuous innocence, 
 
 Under a friend’s false pretence. 
 
 Booth immediately inquired of the girl who brought this 
 note ] and was told it came by a chair-man, who, having 
 delivered it, departed without saying a word. 
 
 He was extremely staggered at what he read, and presently 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 281 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 referred the advice to the same affair on which he had re¬ 
 ceived those hints from Atkinson the preceding evening ; but 
 when he came to consider the words more maturely he could 
 not so well reconcile the two last lines of this poetical 
 epistle, if it may be so called, with any danger which the 
 law gave him reason to apprehend. Mr Murphy and his 
 gang could not well be said to attack either his innocence or 
 virtue; nor did they attack him under any colour or pre¬ 
 tence of friendship. 
 
 After much deliberation on this matter a very strange 
 suspicion came into his head ; and this was, that he was 
 betrayed by Mrs Ellison. He had, for some time, con¬ 
 ceived no very high opinion of that good gentlewoman, and 
 he now began to suspect that she was bribed to betray him. 
 By this means he thought he could best account for the 
 strange appearance of the supposed madman. And when 
 this conceit once had birth in his mind, several circumstances 
 nourished and improved it. Among these were her jocose 
 behaviour and raillery on that occasion, and her attempt to 
 ridicule his fears from the message which the serjeant had 
 brought him. 
 
 • This suspicion was indeed preposterous, and not at all 
 warranted by, or even consistent with, the character and 
 whole behaviour of Mrs Ellison, but it was the only one 
 which at that time suggested itself to his mind; and, how¬ 
 ever blameable it might be, it was certainly not unnatural in 
 him to entertain it; for so great a torment is anxiety to the 
 human mind, that we always endeavour to relieve ourselves 
 from it by guesses, however doubtful or uncertain ; on all 
 which occasions, dislike and hatred are the surest guides to 
 
 lead our suspicion to its object 
 
 When Amelia rose to breakfast, Booth produced the note 
 which he had received, saying, ‘ My dear, you have so often 
 blamed me for keeping secrets from you, and I have so often, 
 indeed, endeavoured to conceal secrets of this kind from you 
 with such ill success, that I think I shall never more attempt 
 it/ Amelia read the letter hastily, and seemed not a little 
 discomposed; then, turning to Booth with a very disconso¬ 
 late countenance, she said, ‘ Sure fortune takes a delight in 
 terrifying us ! what can be the meaning of this 1 Then, 
 fixing her eyes attentively on the paper, she perused it for 
 
282 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 some time, till Booth, cried, ‘ IIow is it possible, my Emily, 
 you can read such stuff patiently 1 the verses are certainly 
 as had as ever were written.’—‘ I was trying, my dear,’ 
 answered she, ‘ to recollect the hand ; for I will take my 
 oath I have seen it before, and that very lately ; and sud¬ 
 denly she cried out, with great emotion, c I remember it per¬ 
 fectly now ) it is Mrs Bennet’s hand. Mrs Ellison showed 
 me a letter from her but a day or two ago. It is a very re¬ 
 markable hand, and I am positive it is hers.’ 
 
 < If it be hers,’ cries Booth, * what can she possibly mean 
 by the latter part of her caution! sure Mrs Ellison hath no 
 intention to betray us.’ 
 
 f I know not what she means,’ answered Amelia, ‘ but I 
 am resolved to know immediately, for I am certain of the 
 hand. By the greatest luck in the world, she told me yes¬ 
 terday where her lodgings were, when she pressed me ex¬ 
 ceedingly to come and see her. She lives but a very few 
 doors from us, and I will go to her this moment.’ 
 
 Booth made not the least objection to his wife’s design. 
 Ilis curiosity was, indeed as great as hers, and so was his 
 impatience to satisfy it, though he mentioned not this his 
 impatience to Amelia ; and perhaps it had been well for him 
 if he had. 
 
 Amelia, therefore, presently equipped herself in her walk¬ 
 ing dress, and, leaving her children to the care of her 
 husband, made all possible haste to Mrs Bennet’s lodgings. 
 
 Amelia waited near five minutes at Mrs Bennet’s door 
 before any one came to open it; at length a maid servant 
 appeared, who, being asked if Mrs Bennet was at home, 
 answered, with some confusion in her countenance, that she 
 did not know; ‘ but, madam,’ said she, ‘ if you will send up 
 your name, I will go and see.’ Amelia then told her name, 
 and the wench, after staying a considerable time, returned 
 and acquainted her that Mrs Bennet was at home. She was 
 then ushered into a parlour and told that the lady would 
 wait on her presently. 
 
 In this parlour Amelia cooled her heels, as the phrase is, 
 near a quarter of an hour. She seemed, indeed, at this 
 time, in the miserable situation of one of those poor wretches 
 who make their morning visits to the great to solicit favours, 
 or perhaps to solicit the payment of a debt, for both are alike 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 283 
 
 treated as beggars, and the latter sometimes considered as the 
 more troublesome beggars of the two. 
 
 During her stay here, Amelia observed the house to be in 
 great confusion; a great bustle was heard above-stairs, and 
 the maid ran up and down several times in a great hurry. 
 
 At length Mrs Bennet herself came in. She was greatly 
 disordered in her looks, and had, as the women call it, 
 huddled on her clothes in much haste; for, in truth, she was 
 in bed when Amelia first came. Of this fact she informed 
 her, as the only apology she could make for having caused 
 her to wait so long for her company. 
 
 Amelia very readily accepted her apology, but asked her 
 with a smile, if these early hours were usual with her 3 
 Mrs Bennet turned as red as scarlet at the question, and 
 answered, ‘ No, indeed, dear madam. I am for the most 
 part a very early riser; but I happened accidentally to sit 
 up very late last night. I am sure I had little expectation 
 of your intending me such a favour this morning.’ 
 
 Amelia, looking very stedfastly at her, said, c Is it possi¬ 
 ble, madam, you should think such a note as this would raise 
 no curiosity in me 1 ’ She then gave her the note, asking 
 her if she did know the hand 
 
 Mrs Bennet appeared in the utmost surprize and confusion 
 at this instant. Indeed, if Amelia had conceived but the 
 slightest suspicion before, the behaviour of the lady would 
 have been a sufficient confirmation to her of the truth. She 
 waited not, therefore, for an answer, which, indeed, the other 
 seemed in no haste to give, but conjured her in the most 
 earnest manner to explain to her the meaning of so extra¬ 
 ordinary an act of friendship; ( for so,’ said she, ‘ I esteem 
 it, being convinced you must have sufficient reason for the 
 warning you have given me.’ 
 
 Mrs Bennet, after some hesitation, answered, 1 1 need not, 
 I believe, tell you how much I am surprized at what you 
 have shown me ; and the chief reason of my surprize is, how 
 you came to discover my hand. Sure, madam, you have not 
 shown it to Mrs Ellison.’ 
 
 Amelia declared she had not, but desired she would 
 question her no farther. ‘ What signifies how I discovered 
 it, since your hand it certainly is 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I own it is,’ cries !Mrs Bennet, recovering her spirits, 
 
284 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VI. 
 
 ‘ and since you have not shown it to that woman I am 
 satisfied. I begin to guess now whence you might have 
 your information; but no matter; I wish I had never done 
 anything of which I ought to be more ashamed. Ho one 
 can, I think, justly accuse me of a crime on that account; 
 and I thank Heaven my shame will never be directed by 
 the false opinion of the world. Perhaps it was wrong to 
 show my letter, but when I consider all circumstances I can 
 forgive it.’ 
 
 ‘ Since you have guessed the truth,’ said Amelia, ‘1 aru 
 not obliged to deny it. She, indeed, showed me your letter, 
 but I am sure you have not the least reason to be ashamed of 
 it. On the contrary, your behaviour on so melancholy an 
 occasion was highly praiseworthy; and your bearing up 
 under such afflictions as the loss of a husband in so dreadful 
 a situation was truly great and herOical.’ 
 
 ‘ So Mrs Ellison then hath shown you my letter V cries 
 Mrs Bennet eagerly. 
 
 ‘ Why, did not you guess it yourself % ’ answered Amelia; 
 ‘ otherwise I am sure I have betrayed my honour in men¬ 
 tioning it. I hope you have not drawn me inadvertently 
 into any breach of my promise. Did you not assert, and 
 that with an absolute certainty, that you knew she had 
 shown me your letter, and that you was not angry with her 
 for so doing ] ’ 
 
 ‘ I am so confused,’ replied Mrs Bennet, ‘ that I scarce 
 know what I say; yes, yes, I remember I did say so—I wish 
 I had no greater reason to be angry with her than that.’ 
 
 ‘ For Heaven’s sake,’ cries Amelia, ‘ do not delay my re¬ 
 quest any longer; what you say now greatly increases my 
 curiosity, and my mind will be on the rack till you discover 
 your whole meaning; for I am more and more convinced 
 that something of the utmost importance was the purport of 
 your message.’ 
 
 ‘ Of the utmost importance, indeed,’ cries Mrs Bennet; 
 ‘at least you will own my apprehensions were sufficiently 
 well founded. 0 gracious Heaven! how happy shall I think 
 myself if I should have proved your preservation ! I will, 
 indeed, explain my meaning; but, in order to disclose all my 
 fears in their just colours, I must unfold my whole history 
 
CH. IX.J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 285 
 
 to you. Can you have patience, madam, to listen to the 
 story of the most unfortunate of women ] ’ 
 
 Amelia assured her of the highest attention, and Mrs 
 Bennet soon after began to relate what is written in the 
 seventh book of this history. 
 
BOOK VII. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A VERY SHORT CHAPTER, AND CONSEQUENTLY REQUIRING- 
 
 NO PREEACE. 
 
 Mrs Bennet having fastened the door, and both the ladies 
 having taken their places, she once or twice offered to speak, 
 when passion stoppt her utterance; and, after a minute’s 
 silence, she hurst into a flood of tears. Upon which Amelia, 
 expressing the utmost tenderness for her, as well by her look 
 as by her accent, cried, ‘ What can be the reason, dear 
 madam, of all this emotion V ‘ 0, Mrs Booth ! ’ answered 
 she, ‘ I find I have undertaken what I am not able to per¬ 
 form. You would not wonder at my emotion if you knew 
 you had an adulteress and a murderer now standing before 
 you.’ 
 
 Amelia turned pale as death at these words, which Mrs 
 Bennet observing, collected all the force she was able, and, 
 a little composing her countenance, cried, ‘ I see, madam, I 
 have terrified you with such dreadful words; hut I hope 
 you will not think me guilty of these crimes in the blackest 
 degree.’ ‘ Guilty ! ’ cries Amelia. * 0 Heavens ! ’ ‘ I be¬ 
 
 lieve, indeed, your candour,’ continued Mrs Bennet, f will he 
 readier to acquit me than I am to acquit myself. Indiscre¬ 
 tion, at least, the highest, most unpardonable indiscretion, I 
 shall always lay to my own charge : and, when I reflect on 
 the fatal consequences, I can never, never forgive myself.’ 
 Here she again began to lament in so bitter a manner, that 
 Amelia endeavoured, as much as she could (for she was her¬ 
 self greatly shocked), to soothe and comfort her; telling her 
 that, if indiscretion was her highest crime, the unhappy con¬ 
 sequences made her rather an unfortunate than a guilty per- 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 287 
 
 son; and concluded by saying,—‘ Indeed, madam, you have 
 raised my curiosity to the highest pitch, and I beg you will 
 proceed with your story.’ 
 
 Mrs Bennet then seemed a second time going to begin her 
 relation, when she cried out, ‘I would, if possible, tire you 
 with no more of my unfortunate life than just with that part 
 which leads to a catastrophe in which I think you may your¬ 
 self be interested; but I protest I am at a loss where to 
 begin.’ 
 
 ‘ Begin wherever you please, dear madam,’ cries Amelia ; 
 6 but I beg you will consider my impatience.’ ‘ I do con¬ 
 sider it,’ answered Mrs Bennet; ‘ and therefore would begin 
 with that part of my story which leads directly to what con¬ 
 cerns yourself; for how, indeed, should my life produce 
 anything worthy your notice h ’ ‘ Do not say so, madam,’ 
 
 cries Amelia; ‘ I assure you I have long suspected there 
 were some very remarkable incidents in your life, and have 
 only wanted an opportunity to impart to you my desire of 
 hearing them : I beg, therefore, you would make no more 
 apologies.’ 4 1 will not, madam,’ cries Mrs Bennet, ‘ and yet 
 I would avoid anything trivial; though, indeed, in stories 
 of distress, especially where love is concerned, many little 
 incidents may appear trivial to those who have never felt 
 the passion, which, to delicate minds, are the most interest¬ 
 ing part of the whole.’ ‘hfay, but, dear madam,’ cries 
 Amelia, ‘ this is all preface.’ 
 
 ‘Well, madam,’ answered Mrs Bennet, ‘I will consider 
 your impatience.’ She then rallied all her spirits in the 
 best manner she could, and began as is written in the next 
 chapter. 
 
 And here possibly the reader will blame Mrs Bennet for 
 taking her story so far back, and relating so much of her 
 life in which Amelia had no concern ; but, in truth, she 
 was desirous of inculcating'a good opinion of herself, from 
 recounting those transactions where her conduct was unex¬ 
 ceptionable, before she came to the more dangerous and 
 suspicious part of her character. This I really suppose to 
 have been her intention; for to sacrifice the time and 
 patience of Amelia at such a season to the mere love of talk¬ 
 ing of herself would have been as unpardonable in her as 
 the bearing it was in Amelia a proof of the most perfect 
 good breeding. 
 
288 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [br VII. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OE MBS BENKET’s HISTOEY. 
 
 ‘ I was the younger of two daughters of a clergyman in 
 Essex; of one in whose praise if I should indulge my fond 
 heart in speaking, I think my invention could not outgo the 
 reality. He was indeed well "worthy of the cloth he wore; 
 and that, I think, is the highest character a man can obtain. 
 
 ‘ During the first part of my life, even till I reached my 
 sixteenth year, I can recollect nothing to relate to you. All 
 was one long serene day, in looking back upon which, as 
 when we cast our eyes on a calm sea, no object arises to my 
 view. All appears one scene of happiness and tranquillity. 
 
 ‘ On the day, then, when I became sixteen years old, 
 must I begin my history; for on that day I first tasted the 
 bitterness of sorrow. 
 
 ‘ My father, besides those prescribed by our religion, kept 
 five festivals every year. These -were on his wedding-day, 
 and on the birthday of each of his little family; on these 
 occasions he used to invite two or three neighbours to his 
 house, and to indulge himself, as he said, in great excess; 
 for so he called drinking a pint of very small punch; and, 
 indeed, it might appear excess to one who on other days 
 rarely tasted any liquor stronger than small beer. 
 
 “ ‘ Upon my unfortunate birthday, then, when we were all 
 in a high degree of mirth, my mother having left the room 
 after dinner, and staying away pretty long, my father sent 
 me to see for her. I went according to his orders; but, 
 though I searched the whole house, and called after her 
 ■without doors, I could neither see nor hear her. I was a 
 little alarmed at this (though far from suspecting any great 
 mischief had befallen her), and ran back to acquaint my 
 father, who answered coolly (for he was a man of the calm¬ 
 est temper), “ Very well, my dear, I suppose she is not gone 
 far, and will be here immediately.” Half an hour or more 
 passed after this, when, she not returning, my father himself 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 289 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 expressed some surprize at her stay; declaring it must be some 
 matter of importance which could detain her at that time 
 from her company. His surprize now increased every minute, 
 and he began to grow uneasy, and to show sufficient symp¬ 
 toms in his countenance of what he felt within. He then 
 despatched the servant-maid to inquire after her mistress in 
 the parish, hut waited not her return; for she was scarce 
 gone out of doors before he begged leave of his guests to go 
 himself on the same errand. The company now all broke 
 up, and attended my father, all endeavouring to give him 
 hopes that no mischief had happened. They searched the 
 whole parish, hut in vain; they could neither see my mother, 
 nor hear any news of her. My father returned home in a 
 state little short of distraction. His friends in vain attempt¬ 
 ed to administer either advice or comfort; he threw himself 
 on the floor in the most bitter agonies of despair. 
 
 ‘ Whilst he lay in this condition, my sister and myself 
 lying by him, all equally, I believe, and completely misera¬ 
 ble, our old servant-maid came into the room, and cried out, 
 her mind misgave her that she knew where her mistress was. 
 Upon these words, my father sprung from the floor, and 
 asked her eagerly, where 1 ? But oh ! Mrs Booth, how can I 
 describe the particulars of a scene to you, the remembrance 
 of which chills my blood with horror, and which the agonies 
 of my-mind, when it passed, made all a scene of confusion ! 
 The fact then in short was this : my mother, who was a most 
 indulgent mistress to one servant, which was all we kept, 
 was unwilling, I suppose, to disturb her at her dinner, and 
 therefore went herself to fill her tea-kettle at a well, into 
 which, stretching herself too far, as we imagine, the water 
 then being very low, she fell with the tea-kettle in her hand. 
 The missing this gave the poor old wretch the first hint of 
 her suspicion, which, upon examination, was found to he 
 too well grounded. 
 
 ‘ What we all suffered on this occasion may more easily 
 
 he felt than described.’- 1 It may indeed,’ answered 
 
 Amelia, 1 and I am so sensible of it, that, unless you have a 
 mind to see me faint before your face, I beg you will order 
 me something; a glass of water, if you please.’ Mrs Bennet 
 immediately complied with her friend’s request; a glass of 
 waiter was brought, and some hartshorn drops infused into 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 it; which Amelia having drank off, declared she found her¬ 
 self much better; and then Mrs Bennet proceeded thus :— 
 
 ‘ I will not dwell on a scene which I see hath already so 
 much affected your tender heart, and which is as disagree¬ 
 able to me to relate as it can be to you to hear. I will 
 therefore only mention to you the behaviour of my father 
 on this occasion, which was indeed becoming a philosopher 
 and a Christian divine. On the day after my mother’s 
 funeral he sent for my sister and myself into his room, 
 where, after many caresses and every demonstration of 
 fatherly tenderness as well in silence as in words, he began 
 to exhort us to bear with patience the great calamity that 
 had befallen us; saying, “ That as every human accident, 
 how terrible soever, must happen to us by divine permission 
 at least, a due sense of our duty to our great Creator must 
 teach us an absolute submission to his will. Hot only re¬ 
 ligion, but common sense, must teach us this ; for oh ! my 
 dear children,” cries he, “ how vain is all resistance, all re¬ 
 pining ! could tears wash back again my angel from the 
 grave, I should drain all the juices of my body through my 
 eyes; but oh, could we fill up that cursed well with our 
 tears, how fruitless would be all our sorrow ! ”—I think I 
 repeat you his very words; for the impression they made on 
 me is never to be obliterated. He then proceeded to com¬ 
 fort us with the cheerful thought that the loss was entirely 
 our own, and that my mother was greatly a gainer by the 
 accident which we lamented. “ I have a wife,” cries he, “ my 
 children, and you have a mother, now amongst the heavenly 
 choir; how selfish therefore is all our grief ! how cruel to 
 her are all our wishes ! ” In this manner he talked to us 
 near half an hour, though I must frankly own to you his 
 arguments had not the immediate good effect on us which 
 they deserved, for we retired from him very little the better 
 for his exhortations; however, they became every day more 
 and more forcible upon our recollection; indeed, they were 
 greatly strengthened by his example ; for in this, as in all 
 other instances, he practised the doctrines which he taught. 
 From this day he never mentioned my mother more, an'd 
 soon after recovered his usual cheerfulness in public ; though 
 I have reason to think he paid many a bitter sigh in private 
 to that remembrance which neither philosophy nor Christian¬ 
 ity could expunge. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 291 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 ‘ My father’s advice, enforced by his example, together 
 with the kindness of some of our friends, assisted by that 
 ablest of all the mental physicians, Time, in a few months 
 pretty well restored my tranquillity, when fortune made a 
 second attack on my quiet. My sister, whom I dearly 
 loved, and who as warmly returned my affection, had fallen 
 into an ill state of health some time before the fatal accident 
 which I have related. She was indeed at that time so much 
 better, that we had great hopes of her perfect recovery ; but 
 the disorders of her mind on that dreadful occasion so 
 affected her body, that she presently relapsed to her former 
 declining state, and thence grew continually worse and 
 w T orse, till, after a decay of near seven months, she followed 
 my poor mother to the grave. 
 
 ‘ I will not tire you, dear madam, with repetitions of 
 grief; I will only mention two observations which have 
 occurred to me from reflections on the two losses I have 
 mentioned. The first is, that a mind once violently hurt 
 grows, as it were, callous to any future impressions of grief, 
 and is never capable of feeling the same pangs a second 
 time. The other observation is, that the arrows of fortune, 
 as well as all others, derive their force from the velocity 
 with which they are discharged ; for, when they approach 
 you by slow and perceptible degrees, they have but very 
 little power to do you mischief. 
 
 ‘ The truth of these observations I experienced, not only 
 in my own heart, but in the behaviour of my father, whose 
 philosophy seemed to gain a complete triumph over this 
 latter calamity. 
 
 ‘ Our family was now reduced to two, and my father grew 
 extremely fond of me, as if he had now conferred an entire 
 stock of affection on me, that had before been divided. His 
 words, indeed, testified no less, for he daily called me his 
 only darling, his whole comfort, his all. He committed the 
 whole charge of his house to my care, and gave me the name 
 of the little housekeeper, an appellation of which I was then 
 as proud as any minister of state can be of his titles. But, 
 though I was very industrious in the discharge of my occu¬ 
 pation, I did not, however, neglect my studies, in which I 
 had made so great a proficiency, that I was become a pretty 
 good mistress of the Latin language, and had made some 
 
292 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk yii. 
 
 progress in the Greek. I believe, madam, I have formerly 
 acquainted you, that learning was the chief estate I inherit¬ 
 ed of my father, in which he had instructed me from my 
 earliest youth. 
 
 ‘ The kindness of this good man had at length wiped off 
 the remembrance of all losses ; and I during two years led a 
 life of great tranquillity, I think I might almost say of per¬ 
 fect happiness. 
 
 ‘ I was now in the nineteenth year of my age, when my 
 father’s good fortune removed us from the county of Essex 
 into Hampshire, where a living was conferred on him by 
 one of his old school-fellows, of twice the value of what he 
 was before possessed of. 
 
 ‘ His predecessor in this new living had died in very in¬ 
 different circumstances, and had left behind him a widow 
 with two small children. My father, therefore, who, with 
 great economy, had a most generous soul, bought the whole 
 furniture of the parsonage-house at a very high price; some 
 of it, indeed, he would have wanted ; for, though our little 
 habitation in Essex was most completely furnished, yet it 
 bore no proportion to the largeness of that house in which 
 he was now to dwell. 
 
 ‘His motive, however, to the purchase was, I am con¬ 
 vinced, solely generosity; which appeared sufficiently by the 
 price he gave, and may be further enforced by the kindness 
 he showed the widow in another instance ; for he assigned 
 her an apartment for the use of herself and her little family, 
 which, he told her, she was welcome to enjoy as long as it 
 suited her conveniency. 
 
 ‘ As this widow was very young, and generally thought to 
 be tolerably pretty, though I own she had a cast with her 
 eyes which I never liked, my father, you may suppose, acted 
 from a less noble principle than I have hinted ; but I must 
 in justice acquit him, for these kind offers were made her 
 before ever he had seen her face; and I have the greatest 
 reason to think that, for a long time after he had seen her, 
 he beheld her with much indifference. 
 
 ‘ This act of my father’s gave me, when I first heard it, 
 great satisfaction; for I may at least, with the modesty of 
 the ancient philosophers, call myself a lover of generosity ; 
 but when I became acquainted with the widow I was still 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 293 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 more delighted, with what my father had done ) foi, though 
 I could not agree with those who thought her a consummate 
 beauty, I must allow that she was very fully possessed of the 
 power of making herself agreeable; and this power she 
 exerted with so much success, with such indefatigable in¬ 
 dustry to oblige, that within three months I became in the 
 highest manner pleased with my new acquaintance, and had 
 contracted the most sincere friendship for her. 
 
 ‘ But, if I was so pleased with the widow, my father was 
 by this time enamoured of her. She had, indeed, by the 
 most artful conduct in the world, so insinuated heiself into 
 his favour, so entirely infatuated him, that he never show ed 
 the least marks of cheerfulness in her absence, and could, in 
 truth, scarce bear that she should be out of his sight. 
 
 ‘ She had managed this matter so well (0, she is the most 
 artful of women !) that my father’s heart was gone befoie I 
 ever suspected it was in danger. The discovery you may 
 easily believe, madam, was not pleasing. The name of a 
 mother-in-law sounded dreadful in my ears ; nor could I 
 bear the thought of parting again with a share in those dear 
 affections, of which I had purchased the whole by the loss 
 
 of a beloved mother and sister. 
 
 1 In the first hurry and disorder of my mind on this occa¬ 
 sion I committed a crime of the highest kind against all the 
 laws of prudence and discretion. I took the young lady 
 herself very roundly to task, treated her designs on my 
 father as little better than a design to commit a theft, and 
 in my passion, I believe, said she might be ashamed to think 
 of marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather, for so 
 in reality he almost was. 
 
 { The lady on this occasion acted finely the part of a 
 hypocrite. She affected to be highly aflronted at my un¬ 
 just suspicions, as she called them ; and proceeded to such 
 asseverations of her innocence, that she almost brought me 
 to discredit the evidence of my own eyes and ears. 
 
 ‘ My father, however, acted much more honestly, for he 
 fell the next day into a more violent passion with me than 
 I had ever seen him in before, and asked me whether I in¬ 
 tended to return his paternal fondness by assuming the 
 right of controlling his inclinations! with more of the like 
 kind, which fully convinced me what had passed between 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 294 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 him and the lady, and how little I had injured her in my 
 suspicions. 
 
 ‘ Hitherto, I frankly own, my aversion to this match had 
 been principally on my own account; for I had no ill 
 opinion of the woman, though I thought neither her 
 circumstances nor my father’s age promised any kind of 
 felicity from such an union; hut now I learnt some parti¬ 
 culars, which, had not our quarrel become public in the 
 parish, I should perhaps have never known. In short, I 
 was informed that this gentle obliging creature, as she had 
 at first appeared to me, had the spirit of a tigress, and was 
 by many believed to have broken the heart of her first hus¬ 
 band. 
 
 4 The truth of this matter being confirmed to me upon 
 examination, I resolved not to suppress it. On this occasion 
 fortune seemed to favour me, by giving me a speedy oppor¬ 
 tunity of seeing my father alone and in good humour. He 
 now first began to open his intended marriage, telling me 
 that he had formerly had some religious objections to bigamy, 
 but he had very fully considered the matter, and had satis¬ 
 fied himself of its legality. He then faithfully promised me 
 that no second marriage should in the least impair his affec¬ 
 tion for me; and concluded with the highest eulogiums on 
 the goodness of the widow, protesting that it was her virtues 
 and not her person with which he was enamoured. 
 
 ‘ I now fell upon my knees before him, and bathing his 
 hand in my tears, which flowed very plentifully from my 
 eyes, acquainted him with all I had heard, and was so very 
 imprudent, I might almost say so cruel, to disclose the 
 author of my information. 
 
 ‘ My father heard me without any indication of passion, 
 and answered coldly, that if there was any proof of such 
 facts he should decline any further thoughts of this match : 
 “ But, child,” said he, “ though I am far from suspecting the 
 truth of what you tell me, as far as regards your knowledge, 
 yet you know the inclination of the world to slander.” How¬ 
 ever, before we parted he promised to make a proper in¬ 
 quiry into what I had told him.—But I ask your pardon, 
 dear madam, I am running minutely into those particulars 
 of my life in which you have not the least concern.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 295 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 Amelia stopped her friend short in her apology; and 
 though, perhaps, she thought her impertinent enough, yet 
 (such was her good breeding) she gave her many assurances 
 of a curiosity to know every incident of her life which she 
 could remember; after which Mrs Bennet proceeded as in 
 the next chapter. 
 
296 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF MRS BENNET’S STORY. 
 
 ‘ I think, madam/ said Mrs Bennet, * I told you my father 
 promised me to inquire farther into the affair, hut he had 
 hardly time to keep his word ; for we separated pretty late 
 in the evening and early the next morning he was married 
 to the widow. 
 
 ‘ But, though he gave no credit to my information, I had 
 sufficient reason to think he did not forget it, by the resent¬ 
 ment which he soon discovered to both the persons whom I 
 had named as my informers. 
 
 ‘ Nor was it long before I had good cause to believe that 
 my father’s new wife was perfectly well acquainted with the 
 good opinion I had of her, not only from her usage of me, 
 but from certain hints which she threw forth with an air of 
 triumph. One day, particularly, I remember she said to my 
 father, upon his mentioning his age, “ 0, my dear! I hope 
 you have many years yet to live ! unless, indeed, I should 
 be so cruel as to break your heart.” She spoke these words 
 looking me full in the face, and accompanied them with a 
 sneer in which the highest malice was visible, under a thin 
 covering of affected pleasantry. 
 
 ‘ I will not entertain you, madam, with anything so com¬ 
 mon as the cruel usage of a step-mother; nor of what affect¬ 
 ed me much more, the unkind behaviour of a father under 
 such an influence. It shall suffice only to tell you that I 
 had the mortification to perceive the gradual and daily de¬ 
 crease of my father’s affection. His smiles were converted 
 into frowns ; the tender appellations of child and dear were 
 exchanged for plain Molly, that girl, that creature, and some¬ 
 times much harder names. I was at first turned all at once 
 into a cipher, and at last seemed to be considered as a nui¬ 
 sance in the family. 
 
 ‘ Thus altered was the man of whom I gave you such a 
 character at the entrance on my story; but, alas ! he no 
 longer acted from his own excellent disposition, but was in 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 297 
 
 everything governed and directed by my mother-in-law. In 
 fact, whenever there is great disparity of years between 
 husband and wife, the younger is, I believe, always possess¬ 
 ed of absolute power over the elder; for superstition itself 
 is a less firm support of absolute power than dotage. 
 
 4 But, though his wife was so entirely mistress of my 
 father’s will that she could make him use me ill, she could 
 not so perfectly subdue his understanding as to prevent him 
 from being conscious of such ill-usage; and from this con¬ 
 sciousness, he began inveterately to hate me. Of this hatred 
 he gave me numberless instances, and I protest to you I 
 know not any other reason for it than what I have assigned; 
 and the cause, as experience hath convinced me, is adequate 
 to the effect. 
 
 4 While I was in this wretched situation, my father’s un¬ 
 kindness having almost broken my heart, he came one day 
 into my room with more anger in his countenance than I 
 had ever seen, and, after bitterly upbraiding me with my 
 undutiful behaviour both to himself and his worthy con¬ 
 sort, he bid me pack up my alls, and immediately prepare to 
 quit his house: at the same time gave me a letter, and told 
 me that would acquaint me where I might find a home; • 
 adding that he doubted not but I expected, and had indeed 
 solicited, the invitation ; and left me with a declaration that 
 he would have no spies in his family. 
 
 4 The letter, I found on opening it, was from my father’s 
 own sister; but before I mention the contents I will give 
 you a short sketch of her character, as it was somewhat par¬ 
 ticular. Her personal charms were not great; for she was 
 very tall, very thin, and very homely. Of the defect of her 
 beauty she was, perhaps, sensible; her vanity, therefore, re¬ 
 treated into her mind, where there is no looking-glass, and 
 consequently where we can flatter ourselves with discovering 
 almost whatever beauties we please. This is an encouraging 
 circumstance; and yet I have observed, dear Mrs Booth, 
 that few women ever seek these comforts from within till 
 they are driven to it by despair of finding any food for their 
 vanity from without. Indeed, I believe the first wish of 
 our whole sex is to be handsome.’ 
 
 Here both the ladies fixed their eyes on the glass, and 
 both smiled. 
 
298 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 ‘ My aunt, however,’ continued Mrs Bennet, 1 from despair 
 of gaining any applause this way, had applied herself entirely 
 to the contemplation of her understanding, and had improved 
 this to such a pitch, that at the age of fifty, at which she 
 was now arrived, she had contracted a hearty contempt for 
 much the greater part of both sexes; for the women, as 
 being idiots, and for the men, as the admirers of idiots. 
 That word, and fool, were almost constantly in her mouth, 
 and were bestowed with great liberality among all her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 ‘ This lady had spent one day only at my father’s house 
 in near two years; it was about a month before his second 
 marriage. At her departure she took occasion to whisper 
 me her opinion of the widow, whom she called a pretty 
 idiot, and wondered how her brother could bear such com¬ 
 pany under his roof; for neither she nor I had at that time 
 any suspicion of what afterwards happened. 
 
 ‘The letter which my father had just received, and which 
 was the first she had sent him since his marriage, was of 
 such a nature that I should be unjust if I blamed him for 
 being offended; fool and idiot were both plentifully bestow- 
 . ed in it as well on himself as on his wife. But what, 
 perhaps, had principally offended him was that part which 
 related to me; for, after much panegyric on my understand¬ 
 ing, and saying he was unworthy of such a daughter, she 
 considered his match not only as the highest indiscretion as 
 it related to himself, but as a downright act of injustice to 
 me. One expression in it I shall never forget. “ You have 
 placed,” said she, “ a woman above your daughter, who, in 
 understanding, the only valuable gift of nature, is the lowest 
 in the whole class of pretty idiots.” After much more of 
 this kind, it concluded with inviting me to her house. 
 
 ‘ I can truly say that when I had read the letter I entirely 
 forgave my father’s suspicion that I had made some com¬ 
 plaints to my aunt of his behaviour; for, though I was in¬ 
 deed innocent, there was surely colour enough to suspect the 
 contrary. 
 
 * Though I had never been greatly attached to my aunt, 
 nor indeed had she formerly given me any reason for such 
 an attachment, yet I was well enough pleased with her pre¬ 
 sent invitation. To say the truth, I led so wretched a life 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 299 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 where I then was, that it was impossible not to be a gainer 
 by any exchange. 
 
 4 1 could not, however, bear the thoughts of leaving my 
 father with an impression on his mind against me which I 
 did not deserve. I endeavoured, therefore, to remove all 
 his suspicion of my having complained to my aunt by the 
 most earnest asseverations of my innocence \ but they were 
 all to no purpose. All my tears, all my vows, and all my 
 entreaties were fruitless. My new mother, indeed, appeared 
 to be my advocate ; but she acted her part very poorly, and, 
 far from counterfeiting any desire of succeeding in my suit, 
 she could not conceal the excessive joy which she felt on the 
 occasion. 
 
 4 Well, madam, the next day I departed for my aunt’s, 
 where, after a long journey of forty miles, I arrived, without 
 having once broke my fast on the road; for grief is as capa¬ 
 ble as food of filling the stomach, and I had too much of the 
 former to admit any of the latter. The fatigue of my jour¬ 
 ney, and the agitation of my mind, joined to my fasting, so 
 overpowered my spirits, that when I was taken from my 
 horse I immediately fainted away in the arms of the man 
 who helped me from my saddle. My aunt expressed great 
 astonishment at seeing me in this condition, with my eyes 
 almost swollen out of my head with tears ) but my father s 
 letter, which X delivered her soon after X came to myself, 
 pretty well, I believe, cured her surprize. She often smiled 
 with a mixture of contempt and anger while she was read¬ 
 ing it; and, having pronounced her brother to be a fool, she 
 turned to me, and, with as much affability as possible (for 
 she is no great mistress of affability), said, i Don’t be uneasy, 
 dear Molly, for you are come to the house of a friend—of 
 one who hath sense enough to discern the author of all the 
 mischief : depend upon it, child, I will, ere long, make some 
 people ashamed of their folly.’ This kind reception gave me 
 some comfort, my aunt assuring me that she would convince 
 him how unjustly he had accused me of having made any 
 complaints to her. A paper war was now begun between 
 these two, which not only fixed an irreconcileable hatred be¬ 
 tween them, but confirmed my father’s displeasure against 
 me; and, in the end, I believe, did me no service with my 
 aunt; for I was considered by both as the cause of their dis- 
 
300 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 sension, though, in fact, my stepmother, who very well knew 
 the affection my aunt had for her, had long since done her 
 business with my father; and as for my aunt’s affection 
 towards him, it had been abating several years, from an 
 apprehension that he did not pay sufficient deference to her 
 understanding. 
 
 i I had lived about half a year with my aunt when I 
 heard of my stepmother’s being delivered of a boy, and the 
 great joy my father expressed on that occasion; but, poor 
 man, he lived not long to enjoy his happiness; for within a 
 month afterwards I had the melancholy news of his death. 
 
 ‘ Notwithstanding all the clisobligations I had lately re¬ 
 ceived from him, I was sincerely afflicted at my loss of him. 
 All his kindness to me in my infancy, all his kindness to me 
 while I was growing up, recurred to my memory, raised a 
 thousand tender, melancholy ideas, and totally obliterated 
 all thoughts of his latter behaviour, for which I made also 
 every allowance and every excuse in my power. 
 
 ‘ But what may perhaps appear more extraordinary, my 
 aunt began soon to speak of him with concern. She said he 
 had some understanding formerly, though his passion for 
 that vile woman had, in a great measure, obscured it; and 
 one day, when she was in an ill-humour with me, she 
 had the cruelty to throw out a hint that she had never 
 quarrelled with her brother if it had not been on my account. 
 
 6 My father, during his life, had allowed my aunt very 
 handsomely for my board; for generosity was too deeply 
 riveted in his nature to be plucked out by all the power of 
 his wife. So far, however, she prevailed, that, though he 
 died possessed ot upwards of £2000, he left me no more 
 than £100, which, as he expressed in his will, was to set me 
 up in some business, if I had the grace to take to any. 
 
 ‘ Hitherto my aunt had in general treated me with some 
 degree of affection; but her behaviour began now to be 
 changed. She soon took an opportunity of giving me to 
 understand that her fortune was insufficient to keep me; 
 and, as I could not live on the interest of my own, it was 
 high time for me to consider about going into the world. 
 She added, that her brother having mentioned my setting 
 up in some business in his will was very foolish ; that I had 
 been bred to nothing; and, besides, that the sum was too 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 301 
 
 trifling to set me up in any way of reputation; she desired 
 me therefore to think of immediately going into service. 
 
 ‘ This advice was perhaps right enough; and I told her I 
 was very ready to do as she directed me, hut I was at that 
 time in an ill state of health; I desired her therefore to let 
 me stay with her till my legacy, which was not to he paid 
 till a year after my father’s death, was due; and I then pro¬ 
 mised to satisfy her for my hoard, to which she readily con¬ 
 sented. 
 
 ‘And now, madam,’ said Mrs Bennet, sighing, ‘I am 
 going to open to you those matters which lead directly to 
 that great catastrophe of my life which hath occasioned my 
 giving you this trouble, and of trying your patience in this 
 manner.’ 
 
 Amelia, notwithstanding her impatience, made a very 
 civil answer to this; and then Mrs Bennet proceeded to re¬ 
 late w T hat is written in the next chapter. 
 
302 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FURTHER CONTINUATION. 
 
 ‘ Tiie curate of the parish where my aunt dwelt was a young 
 fellow of about four-and-twenty. He had been left an orphan 
 in his infancy, and entirely unprovided for, when an uncle 
 had the goodness to take care of his education, both at school 
 and at the university. As the young gentleman was in¬ 
 tended for the church, his uncle, though lie had two daugh¬ 
 ters of his own, and no very large fortune, purchased for him 
 the next presentation of a living of near £200 a-year. The in¬ 
 cumbent, at the time of the purchase, was under the age of 
 sixty, and in apparent good health; notwithstanding which, 
 ho died soon after the bargain, and long before the nephew 
 was capable of orders; so that the uncle was obliged to give 
 the living to a clergyman, to hold it till the young man 
 came of proper age. 
 
 ‘ The young gentleman had not attained his proper age of 
 taking orders when he had the misfortune to lose his uncle 
 and only friend, who, thinking he had sufficient ly provided 
 for his nephew by the purchase of the living, considered 
 him no farther in his will, but divided all the fortune of 
 which he died possessed between his two daughters ; recom¬ 
 mending it to them, however, on his death-bed, to assist 
 their cousin with money sufficient to keep him at the univer¬ 
 sity till he should be capable of ordination. 
 
 ‘ But, as no appointment of this kind was in the will, the 
 young ladies, who received about £2000 each, thought 
 proper to disregard the last words of their father; for, be¬ 
 sides that both of them were extremely tenacious of their 
 money, they were great enemies to their cousin, on account 
 of their father’s kindness to him ; and thought proper to let 
 him know that they thought he had robbed them of too 
 much already. 
 
 ‘ The poor young fellow was now greatly distrest; for lie 
 had yet above a year to stay at the university, without 
 any visible means of sustaining himself there. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 303 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 ‘ In this distress, however, he met with a friend, who had 
 the good nature to lend him the sum of twenty pounds, for 
 which he only accepted his bond for forty, and which was 
 to be paid within a year after his being possessed of his 
 living; that is, within a year after his becoming qualified to 
 hold it. 
 
 ‘ With this small sum thus hardly obtained the poor gen¬ 
 tleman made a shift to struggle with all difficulties till he 
 became of due age to take upon himself the character of a 
 deacon. He then repaired to that clergyman to whom 
 his uncle had given the living upon the conditions above 
 mentioned, to procure a title to ordination ; hut this, to 
 his great surprize and mortification, was absolutely refused 
 him. 
 
 ‘ The immediate disappointment did not hurt him so much 
 as the conclusion he drew from it; for he could have hut 
 little hopes that the man who could have the cruelty to re¬ 
 fuse him a title would vouchsafe afterwards to deliver up to 
 him a living of so considerable a value * nor was it long be¬ 
 fore this worthy incumbent told him plainly that he valued 
 his uncle’s favours at too high a rate to part with them to 
 any one; nay, he pretended scruples of conscience, and said 
 that, if he had made any slight promises, which he did not 
 now v\ 11 remember, they wore wicked and void; that he 
 looked upon himself as married to his parish, and he could 
 no more give it up than he could give up his wife with¬ 
 out sin. 
 
 ‘ The poor young fellow was now obliged to seek farther 
 for a title, which, at length, he obtained from the rector of 
 the parish where my aunt lived. 
 
 ‘ He had not long been settled in the curacy before an in¬ 
 timate acquaintance grew between him and my aunt; for 
 she was a great admirer of the clergy, and used frequently 
 to say they were the only conversible creatures in the 
 country. 
 
 ‘ The first time she was in this gentleman’s company was 
 at a neighbour’s christening, Avhere she stood godmother. 
 Here she displayed her whole little stock of knowledge, in 
 order to captivate Mr Bennet (I suppose, madam, you al¬ 
 ready guess that to have been his name), and before they 
 parted gave him a very strong invitation to her house. 
 
304 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 4 Not a word passed at this christening between Mr Ben- 
 net and myself, but our eyes were not unemployed. Here, 
 madam, I first felt a pleasing kind of confusion, which I 
 know not how to describe. I felt a kind of uneasiness, yet 
 did not wish to be without it. I longed to be alone, yet 
 dreaded the hour of parting. I could not keep my eyes off 
 from the object which caused my confusion, and which I 
 was at once afraid of and enamoured with. But why do I 
 attempt to describe my situation to one who must, I am sure, 
 have felt the same 1 ’ 
 
 Amelia smiled, and Mrs Bennet went on thus : ‘ 0, Mrs 
 Booth ! had you seen the person of whom I am now speak¬ 
 ing, you would not condemn the suddenness of my love. 
 Nay, indeed, I had seen him there before, though this was 
 the first time I had ever heard the music of his voice. Oh ! 
 it was the sweetest that was ever, heard. 
 
 4 Mr Bennet came to visit my aunt the very next. day. 
 She imputed this respectful haste to the powerful charms of 
 her understanding, and resolved to lose no opportunity in 
 improving the opinion which she imagined he had conceived 
 of her. She became by this desire quite ridiculous, and ran 
 into absurdities and a gallimatia scarce credible. 
 
 4 Mr Bennet, as I afterwards found, saw her in the same 
 light with myself; but, as he -was a very sensible and well- 
 bred man, he so well concealed his opinion from us both, 
 that I was almost angry, and she was pleased even to rap¬ 
 tures, declaring herself charmed with his understanding, 
 though, indeed, he had said very little; but I believe he 
 heard himself into her good opinion, while he gazed himself 
 into love. 
 
 4 The two first visits which Mr Bennet made to my aunt, 
 though I was in the room all the time, I never spoke a 
 word; but on the third, on some argument which arose be¬ 
 tween them, Mr Bennet referred himself to me. I took his 
 side of the question, as indeed I must to have done justice, 
 and repeated two or three words of Latin. My aunt red¬ 
 dened at this, and exprest great disdain of my opinion, de¬ 
 claring she was astonished that a man of Mr Bennet’s un¬ 
 derstanding could appeal to the judgment of a silly girl; 
 
 4 Is she,’ said my aunt, bridling herself, 4 fit to decide be¬ 
 tween us 1 ’ Mr Bennet spoke very favourably of what I 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 305 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 had said; upon which my aunt burst almost into a rage, 
 treated me with downright scurrility, called me conceited 
 fool, abused my poor father for having taught me Latin, 
 which, she said, had made me a downright coxcomb, and 
 made me prefer myself to those who were a hundred times 
 my superiors in knowledge. She then fell foul on the learned 
 languages, declared they were totally useless, and concluded 
 that she had read all that was worth reading, though, she 
 thanked heaven, she understood no language but her own. 
 
 * Before the end of this visit Mr Bennet reconciled him¬ 
 self very well to my aunt, which, indeed, was no difficult 
 task for him to accomplish; but from that hour she con¬ 
 ceived a hatred and rancour towards me which I could 
 never appease. 
 
 ‘ My aunt had, from my first coming into her house, ex¬ 
 pressed great dislike to my learning. In plain truth, she 
 envied me that advantage. This envy I had long ago dis¬ 
 covered, and had taken great pains to smother it, carefully 
 avoiding ever to mention a Latin word in her presence, and 
 always submitting to her authority; for indeed I despised 
 her ignorance too much to dispute with her. By these 
 means I had pretty well succeeded, and we lived tolerably 
 together; but the affront paid to her understanding by Mr 
 Bennet in my favour was an injury nevfcr to be forgiven to 
 me. She took me severely to task that very evening, and 
 reminded me of going to service in such earnest terms as al¬ 
 most amounted to literally turning me out of doors; advis¬ 
 ing me, in the most insulting manner, to keep my Latin to 
 myself, which she said was useless to any one, but ridicul¬ 
 ous when pretended to by a servant. 
 
 ‘ The next visit Mr Bennet made at our house I was not 
 suffered to be present. This was much the shortest of all 
 his visits; and when he went away he left my aunt in a 
 worse humour than ever I had seen her. The whole was 
 discharged on me in the usual manner, by upbraiding me 
 with my learning, conceit, and poverty; reminding me of 
 obligations, and insisting on my going immediately to serv¬ 
 ice. With all this I was greatly pleased, as it assured me 
 that Mr Bennet had said something to her in my favour ; 
 and I would have purchased a kind expression of his at 
 almost any price. 
 
 20 
 
306 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 * I should scarce, however, have been so sanguine as to 
 draw this conclusion, had I not received some hints that I 
 had not unhappily placed my affections on a man who ma le 
 me no return; for, though he had scarce addressed a dozen 
 sentences to me (for, indeed, he had no opportunity), yet 
 his eyes had revealed certain secrets to mine with which I 
 was not displeased. 
 
 ‘ I remained, however, in a state of anxiety near a month ; 
 sometimes pleasing myself with thinking Mr Bennet’s heart 
 was in the same situation with my own; sometimes doubt¬ 
 ing that my wishes had flattered and deceived me, and not 
 in the least questioning that my aunt was my rival; for I 
 thought no woman could be proof against the charms that 
 had subdued me. Indeed, Mrs Booth, he was a charming 
 young fellow; I must—I must pay this tribute to his me¬ 
 mory. 0, gracious Heaven! why, why did I ever see him 1 ? 
 why was I doomed to such misery ? ’ Here she burst into a 
 flood of tears, and remained incapable of speech for some 
 time; during which the gentle Amelia endeavoured all she 
 could to soothe her, and gave sufficient marks of sympathiz¬ 
 ing in the tender affliction of her friend. 
 
 Mrs Bennet, at length, recovered her spirits, and proceed¬ 
 ed, as in the next chapter. 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 307 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE STORY OE MRS BENNET CONTINUED. 
 
 1 1 scarce know where I left off—Oh ! I was, I think, 
 telling you that I esteemed'my aunt as my rival; and it is 
 not easy to conceive a greater degree of detestation than I 
 had for her; and what may, perhaps, appear strange, as she 
 daily grew more and more civil to me, my hatred increased 
 with her civility; for I imputed it all to her triumph over 
 me, and to her having secured, beyond all apprehension, the 
 heart I longed for. 
 
 f How was I surprized when, one day, with as much good- 
 humour as she was mistress of (for her countenance was not 
 very pleasing), she asked me how I liked Mr Rennet? The 
 question, you will believe, madam, threw me into great con¬ 
 fusion, which she plainly perceived, and, without waiting 
 for my answer, told me she was very well satisfied, for that 
 it did not require her discernment to read my thoughts in 
 my countenance. “ Well, child,” she said, “ I have suspected 
 this a great while, and I believe it will please you to know 
 that I yesterday made the same discovery in your lover.” 
 This, I confess to you, was more than I could well bear, and 
 I begged her to say no more to me at that time on that sub¬ 
 ject. “ Kay, child,” answered she, “ I must tell you all, or I 
 should not act a friendly part. Mr Bennet, I am convinced, 
 hath a passion for you; but it is a passion which, I think, 
 you should not encourage. For, to be plain with you, I fear 
 he is in love with your person only. Now this is a love, 
 child, which cannot produce that rational happiness which a 
 woman of sense ought to expect.” In short, she ran on with 
 a great deal of stuff about rational happiness, and women of 
 sense, and concluded with assuring me that, after the strict¬ 
 est scrutiny, she could not find that Mr Bennet had an ade¬ 
 quate opinion of my understanding ; upon which she vouch¬ 
 safed to make me many compliments, but mixed with several 
 sarcasms concerning my learning. 
 
308 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 1 1 hope, madam, however,’ said she to Amelia, 1 you have 
 not so had an opinion of my capacity as to imagine me dull 
 enough to he offended with Mr Bennet’s sentiments, for 
 which I presently knew so well to account. I was, indeed, 
 charmed with his ingenuity, who had discovered, perhaps, 
 the only way of reconciling my aunt to those inclinations 
 which I now assured myself he had for me. 
 
 ‘ I was not long left to support my hopes by my sagacity. 
 He soon found an opportunity of declaring his passion. He 
 did this in so forcible though gentle a manner, with such a 
 profusion of fervency and tenderness at once, that his love, 
 like a torrent, bore everything before it; and I am almost 
 ashamed to own to you how very soon he prevailed upon me 
 to—to—in short, to be an honest woman, and to confess to 
 him the plain truth. 
 
 ‘ When we were upon a good footing together he gave me 
 a long relation of what had passed at several interviews with 
 my aunt, at which I had not been present. He said he had 
 discovered that, as she valued herself chiefly on her under¬ 
 standing, so she was extremely jealous of mine, and hated 
 me on account of my learning. That, as he had loved me 
 passionately from his first seeing me, and had thought of 
 nothing from that time but of throwing himself at my feet, 
 he saw no way so open to propitiate my aunt as that which 
 he had taken by commending my beaujty, a perfection to 
 which she had long resigned all claim, at the expense of my 
 understanding, in which he lamented my deficiency to a de¬ 
 gree almost of ridicule. This he imputed chiefly to my 
 learning; on this occasion he advanced a sentiment which 
 so pleased my aunt that she thought proper to make it her 
 own; for I heard it afterwards more than once from her 
 own mouth. Learning, he said, had the same effect on the 
 mind that strong liquors have on the constitution; both 
 tending to eradicate all our natural fire and energy. His 
 flattery had made such a dupe of my aunt that she assented, 
 without the least suspicion of his sincerity, to all he said; 
 so sure is vanity to weaken every fortress of the understand¬ 
 ing, and to betray us to every attack of the enemy. 
 
 ‘ You will believe, madam, that I readily forgave him all 
 he had said, not only from that motive which I have men¬ 
 tioned, but as I was assured he had spoke the reverse of his 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 309 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 v 
 
 real sentiments. I was not, however, quite so well pleased 
 with my aunt, who began to treat me as if I was really an 
 idiot. Her contempt, I own, a little piqued me; and I 
 could not help often expressing my resentment, when we 
 were alone together, to Mr Bennet, who never failed to grati¬ 
 fy me by making her conceit the subject of his wit \ a talent 
 which he possessed in the most extraordinary degiee. 
 
 < This proved of very fatal consequence; for one day, 
 while we were enjoying my aunt in a very thick arbour in 
 the garden, she stole upon us unobserved, and overheard 
 our whole conversation. I wish, my dear, you understood 
 Latin, that I might repeat you a sentence in which the rage 
 of a tigress that hath lost her young is described. No Eng¬ 
 lish poet, as I remember, hath come up to it; nor am I my¬ 
 self equal to the undertaking. She burst in upon us, open- 
 mouthed, and, after discharging every abusive word almost, 
 in the only language she understood, on poor Mr Bennet, 
 turned us both out of doors, declaring she would send my 
 rags after me, but would never more permit me to set my 
 foot within her threshold. 
 
 ‘ Consider, dear madam, to what a wretched condition we 
 were now reduced. X had not yet received the small legacy 
 left me by my father; nor was Mr Bennet master of five 
 pounds in the whole world. 
 
 < In this situation, the man I doated on to distraction 
 had but little difficulty to persuade me to a proposal which, 
 indeed, I thought generous in him to make, as it seemed to 
 proceed from that tenderness for my reputation to which he 
 ascribed it; indeed, it could proceed from no motive with 
 which I should have been displeased. In a word, within 
 
 two days we were man and wife 
 
 ‘ Mr Bennet now declared himself the happiest of men ‘ 
 and, for my part, I sincerely declared I envied no woman 
 upon earth. How little, alas ! did I then know or suspect 
 the price I was to pay for all my joys ! A match of real 
 love is, indeed, truly paradise; and such perfect happiness 
 seems to be the forbidden fruit to mortals, which we are to 
 lament having tasted during the rest of our lives. 
 
 ‘ The first uneasiness which attacked us after our marriage 
 was on my aunt’s account. It was very disagreeable to live 
 under the nose of so near a relation, who did not acknow- 
 
310 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 ledge us, but, on tlie contrary, was ever doing us all tlie ill 
 turns in her power, and making a party against us in the 
 parish, which is always easy enough to do amongst the 
 vulgar against persons who are their superiors in rank, and, 
 at the same time, their inferiors in fortune. This made Mr 
 Bennet think of procuring an exchange, in which intention 
 he was soon after confirmed by the arrival of the rector. It 
 was the rector’s custom to spend three months every year at 
 his living, for which purpose he reserved an apartment in 
 his parsonage-house, which was full large enough for two 
 such little families as then occupied it. We at first pro¬ 
 mised ourselves some little convenience from his boarding 
 with us ; and Mr Bennet began to lay aside his thoughts of 
 leaving his curacy, at least for some time. But these golden 
 ideas presently vanished; for, though we both used our ut¬ 
 most endeavours to please him, we soon found the impossi¬ 
 bility of succeeding. He was, indeed, to give you his cha¬ 
 racter in a word, the most peevish of mortals. This temper, 
 notwithstanding that he was both a good and a pious man, 
 made his company so insufferable that nothing could com¬ 
 pensate it. If his breakfast was not ready to a moment—if 
 a dish of meat was too much or too little done—in short, if 
 anything failed of exactly hitting his taste, he was sure to 
 be out of humour all that day, so that, indeed, he was scarce 
 ever in a good temper a whole day together; for fortune 
 seems to take a delight in thwarting this kind of disposi¬ 
 tion, to which human life, with its many crosses and acci¬ 
 dents, is, in truth, by no means fitted 
 
 ‘ Mr Bennet was now, by my desire as well as his own, 
 determined to quit the parish; but when he attempted to 
 get an exchange, he found it a matter of more difficulty than 
 he had apprehended; for the rector’s temper was so well 
 known among the neighbouring clergy, that none of them 
 could be brought to think of spending three months in a 
 year with him. 
 
 ‘ After many fruitless inquiries, Mr Bennet thought best 
 to remove to London, the great mart of all affairs, ecclesias¬ 
 tical and civil. This project greatly pleased him, and he 
 resolved, without more delay, to take his leave of the rector, 
 which he did in the most friendly manner possible, and 
 preached his farewell sermon; nor was there a dry eye in 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 311 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 the church, except among the few whom my aunt, who re¬ 
 mained still inexorable, had prevailed upon to hate us with¬ 
 out any cause. 
 
 ‘ To London we came, and took up our lodging the first 
 night at the inn where the stage-coach set us down : the 
 next morning my husband went out early on his business, 
 and returned with the good news-of having heard of a 
 curacy, and of having equipped himself with a lodging in 
 the neighbourhood of a worthy peer, “ who,” said he, “ was 
 my fellow-collegiate ; and, what is more, I have a direction 
 to a person who will advance your legacy at a very reason¬ 
 able rate.” 
 
 ‘ This last particular was extremely agreeable to me, for 
 our last guinea was now broached ; and the rector had lent 
 my husband ten pounds to pay his debts in the country, for, 
 with all his peevishness, he was a good and a generous man, 
 and had, indeed, so many valuable qualities, that I lament¬ 
 ed his temper, after I knew him thoroughly, as much on his 
 account as on my own. 
 
 ‘We now quitted the inn and went to our lodgings, 
 where my husband having placed me in safety, as he said, 
 he went about the business of the legacy with good assur¬ 
 ance of success. 
 
 ‘ My husband returned elated with his success, the person 
 to whom he applied having undertaken to advance the 
 legacy, which he fulfilled as soon as the proper inquiries 
 could be made, and proper instruments prepared for that 
 purpose. 
 
 ‘ This, however, took up so much time, that, as our fund 
 was so very low, we were reduced to some distress, and 
 obliged to live extremely penurious; nor would all do with¬ 
 out my taking a most disagreeable way of procuring money 
 by pawning one of my gowns. 
 
 ‘ Mr Bennet was now settled in a curacy in town, greatly 
 to his satisfaction, and our affairs seemed to have a prosper¬ 
 ous aspect, when he came home to me one morning in much 
 apparent disorder, looking as pale as death, and begged me 
 by some means or other to get him a dram, for that he was 
 taken with a sudden faintness and lowness of spirits. 
 
 ‘ Frightened as I was, I immediately ran down-stairs, and 
 procured some rum of the mistress of the house; the first 
 
312 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII, 
 
 time, indeed, I ever knew him drink any. When he came 
 to himself he begged me not to be alarmed, for it was no 
 distemper, but something that had vexed him, which had 
 caused his disorder, which he had now perfectly recovered. 
 
 ‘ He then told me the whole affair. He had hitherto de¬ 
 ferred paying a visit to the lord whom I mentioned to have 
 been formerly his fellow-collegiate, and was now his neigh¬ 
 bour, till he could put himself in decent rigging. He had 
 now purchased a new cassock, hat, and wig, and went to 
 pay his respects to his old acquaintance, who had received 
 from him nian} r civilities and assistances in his learning at 
 the university, and had promised to return them fourfold 
 hereafter. 
 
 ‘ It was not without, some difficulty that Mr Bennet got 
 into the antechamber. Here he waited, or, as the phrase is, 
 cooled his heels, for above an hour before he saw his lord- 
 ship ; nor had he seen him then but by an accident; for 
 my lord was going out when he casually intercepted him in 
 his passage to his chariot. He approached to salute him 
 with some familiarity, though with respect, depending on 
 his former intimacy, when my lord, stepping short, very 
 gravely told him he had not the pleasure of knowing him. 
 How ! my lord, said he, can you have so soon forgot your 
 old acquaintance Tom Bennet h 0, Mr Bennet! cries his 
 lordship, with much reserve, is it you ? you will pardon my 
 memory. I am glad to see you, Mr Bennet, but you must 
 excuse me at present, for I am in very great haste. He 
 then broke from him, and without more ceremony, or any 
 further invitation, went directly into his chariot. 
 
 * This cold reception from a person for whom my husband 
 had a real friendship, and from whom he had great reason 
 to expect a very warm return of affection, so affected the 
 poor man, that it caused all those symptoms which I have 
 mentioned before. 
 
 ‘ Though this incident produced no material consequence, 
 I could not pass it over in silence, as, of all the misfortunes 
 which ever befel him, it affected my husband the most. I 
 need not, however, to a woman of your delicacy, make any 
 comments on a behaviour which, though I believe it is very 
 common, is, nevertheless, cruel and base beyond description, 
 and is diametrically opposite to true honour as well as to 
 goodness. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 313 
 
 CH. V. 
 
 ‘ To relieve tlie uneasiness which my husband felt on ac¬ 
 count of his false friend, I prevailed with him to go every 
 night, almost for a fortnight together, to the play; a diver¬ 
 sion of which he was greatly fond, and from which he did 
 not think his being a clergyman excluded him; indeed, it 
 is very well if those austere persons who would be inclined 
 to censure him on this head have themselves no greater sins 
 to answer for. 
 
 ‘From this time, during three months, we passed our 
 time very agreeably, a little too agreeably perhaps for our 
 circumstances; for, however innocent diversions may be in 
 other respects, they must be owned to be expensive. When 
 you consider then, madam, that our income from the curacy 
 was less than forty pounds a year, and that, after payment 
 of the debt to the rector, and another to my aunt, with the 
 costs in law which she had occasioned by suing for it, my 
 legacy was reduced to less than seventy pounds, you will 
 not wonder that, in diversions, clothes, and the common ex¬ 
 penses of life, we had almost consumed our whole stock. 
 
 ‘The inconsiderate manner in which we had lived for 
 some time will, I doubt not, appear to you to want some 
 excuse; but I have none to make for it. Two things, how¬ 
 ever, now happened, which occasioned much serious reflex¬ 
 ion to Mr Bennet; the one was, that I grew near my time ; 
 the other, that he now received a letter from Oxford, de¬ 
 manding the debt of forty pounds which I mentioned to 
 you before. The former of these he made a pretence of ob¬ 
 taining a delay for the payment of the latter, promising, in 
 two months, to pay off half the debt, by which means he 
 obtained a forbearance during that time. 
 
 ‘ I was now delivered of a son, a matter which should in 
 reality have increased our concern, but, on the contrary, it 
 gave us great pleasure \ greater indeed could not have been 
 conceived at the birth of an heir to the most plentiful estate : 
 so entirely thoughtless were we, and so little forecast had 
 we of those many evils and distresses to which we had ren¬ 
 dered a human creature, and one so dear to us, liable. The 
 day of a christening is, in all families, I believe, a day of 
 jubilee and rejoicing; and yet, if we consider the interest 
 of that little wretch who is the occasion, how very little 
 reason would the most sanguine persons have for their joy ! 
 
 ‘ But, though our eyes were too weak to look forward, for 
 
314 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK TII. 
 
 the sake of our child, we could not he blinded to those dan- 
 • gers that immediately threatened ourselves. Mr Bennet, at 
 the expiration of the two months, received a second letter' 
 from Oxford, in a very peremptory style, and threatening a 
 suit without any farther delay. This alarmed us in the 
 strongest manner; and my husband, to secure his liberty, 
 was advised for a while to shelter himself in the verge of 
 the court. 
 
 ‘ And, now, madam, I am entering on that scene which 
 directly leads to all my misery.’—Here she stopped, and 
 wiped her eyes ; and then, begging Amelia to excuse her for 
 a few minutes, ran hastily out of the room, leaving Amelia 
 by herself, while she refreshed her spirits with a cordial to 
 enable her to relate what follows in the next chapter. 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FARTHER CONTINUED. 
 
 Mrs Bennet, returning into the room, made a short apology 
 for her absence, and then proceeded in these words : 
 
 ‘ We now left our lodging, and took a second floor in that 
 very house where you now are, to which we were recom- 
 mefided by the woman where we had before lodged, for the 
 mistresses of both houses were acquainted; and, indeed, we 
 had been all at the play together. To this new lodging then 
 (such was our wretched destiny) we immediately repaired, 
 and were received by Mrs Ellison (how can I bear the 
 sound of that detested name'?) with much civility; she 
 took care, however, during the first fortnight of our resid¬ 
 ence, to wait upon us every Monday morning for her rent; 
 such being, it seems, the custom of this place, which, as it 
 was inhabited chiefly by persons in debt, is not the region 
 of credit. 
 
 ‘ My husband, by the singular goodness of the rector, 
 who greatly compassionated his case, was enabled to con¬ 
 tinue in his curacy, though he could only do the duty on 
 Sundays. He was, however, sometimes obliged to furnish a 
 person to officiate at his expense; so that our income was 
 very scanty, and the poor little remainder of the legacy being 
 almost spent, we were reduced to some difficulties, and, what 
 was worse, saw still a prospect of greater before our eyes. 
 
 ‘ Under these circumstances, how agreeable to poor Mr 
 Bennet must have been the behaviour of Mrs Ellison, who, 
 when he carried her her rent on the usual day, told him, 
 with a benevolent smile, that he needed not to give himself 
 the trouble of such exact punctuality. She added that, if 
 it was at any time inconvenient to him, he might pay her 
 when he pleased. “ To say the truth,” says she, “ I never 
 was so much pleased with any lodgers in my life; I am con¬ 
 vinced, Mr Bennet, you are a very worthy man, and you are 
 a very happy one too; for you have the prettiest wife and 
 
316 
 
 AMELIA.. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 the prettiest child I ever saw.” These, dear madam, were 
 the words she was pleased to make use of: and I am sure 
 she behaved to me with such an appearance of friendship 
 and affection, that, as I could not perceive any possible 
 views of interest which she could have in her professions, I 
 easily believed them real. 
 
 ‘ There lodged in the same house—0, Mrs Booth ! the 
 blood runs cold to my heart, and should run cold to yours, 
 when I name him—there lodged in the same house a lord 
 the lord, indeed, whom I have since seen in your company. 
 This lord, Mrs Ellison told me, had taken a great fancy to 
 my little Charley. Fool that I was, and blinded by my 
 own passion, which made me conceive that an infant, hot 
 three months old, could be really the object of affection to 
 any besides a parent, and more especially to a gay young 
 fellow ! But, if I was silly in being deceived, how wicked 
 was the wretch who deceived me—who used such art, and 
 employed such pains, such incredible pains, to deceive me ! 
 He acted the part of a nurse to my little infant; he danced 
 it, he lulled it, he kissed it; declared it was the very picture 
 of a nephew of his—his favourite sister s child ; and said so 
 many kind and fond things of its beauty, that I myself, 
 though, I believe, one of the tenderest and fondest of mo¬ 
 thers, scarce carried my own ideas of my little darling s per¬ 
 fection beyond the compliments which he paid it. 
 
 1 My lord, however, perhaps from modesty, before my face, 
 fell far short of what Mrs Ellison reported from him. And 
 now, when she found the impression which was made on me 
 by these means, she took every opportunity of insinuating to 
 me his lordship’s many virtues, his great goodness to his 
 sister’s children in particular; nor did she fail to drop some 
 hints which gave me the most simple and groundless hopes 
 of strange consequences from his fondness to my Charley. 
 
 ‘ When, by these means, which, simple as they may ap¬ 
 pear, were, perhaps, the most artful, my lord had gained some¬ 
 thing more, I think, than my esteem, he took the surest 
 method to confirm himself in my affection. This was, by 
 professing the highest friendship lor my husband.; for, as to 
 myself, I do assure you he never showed me more than com¬ 
 mon respect; and I hope you will believe I should have 
 immediately startled and flown off if he had. Poor I ac- 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 q i fy 
 
 Ol ^ 
 
 counted for all the friendship which he expressed for my 
 husband, and all the fondness which he showed to my hoy, 
 from the great prettiness of the one and the great merit of 
 the other • foolishly conceiving that others saw with my eyes 
 and felt with my heart. Little did I dream that my own 
 unfortunate person was the fountain of all this lord’s good¬ 
 ness, and was the intended price of it. 
 
 ‘ One evening, as I was drinking tea with Mrs Ellison by 
 my lord’s fire (a liberty which she never scrupled taking 
 when he was gone out), my little Charley, now about half a 
 year old, sitting in her lap, my lord,—accidentally, no doubt, 
 indeed I then thought it so,—came in. I was confounded, 
 and offered to go; but my lord declared, if he disturbed 
 Mrs Ellison’s company, as he phrased it, he would himself 
 leave the room. When I was thus prevailed on to keep my 
 seat, my lord immediately took my little baby into his lap, 
 and gave it some tea there, not a little at the expense of his 
 embroidery; for he was very richly drest: indeed, he was 
 as fine a figure as perhaps ever was seen. His behaviour on 
 this occasion gave me many ideas in his favour. I thought 
 he discovered good sense, good nature, condescension, and 
 other good qualities, by the fondness he showed to my child, 
 and the contempt he seemed to express for his finery, which 
 so greatly became him; for I cannot deny but that he was 
 the handsomest and genteelest person in the world, though 
 such considerations advanced him not a step in my favour. 
 
 * My husband now returned from church (for this hap¬ 
 pened on a Sunday), and was, by my lord’s particular desire, 
 ushered into the room. My lord received him with the ut¬ 
 most politeness, and with many professions of esteem, which, 
 he said, he had conceived from Mrs Ellison’s representations 
 of his merit. He then proceeded to mention the living 
 which was detained from my husband, of which Mrs 
 Ellison had likewise informed him; and said, he thought it 
 would be no difficult matter to obtain a restoration of it by 
 the authority of the bishop, who was his particular friend, 
 and to whom he would take an immediate opportunity of 
 mentioning it. This, at last, he determined to do the very 
 next day, when he invited us both to dinner, where we were 
 to be acquainted with his lordship’s success. 
 
 ‘ My lord now insisted on my husband’s staying supper 
 
318 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk vir. 
 
 with him, without taking any notice of me; hut Mrs Elli¬ 
 son declared he should not part man and wife, and that she 
 herself would stay with me. The motion was too agreeable 
 to me to be rejected; and, except the little time I'retired 
 to put my child to bed, we spent together the most agree¬ 
 able evening imaginable; nor was it, I believe, easy to decide 
 whether Mr Bennet or myself were most delighted with his 
 lordship and Mrs Ellison; but this, I assure you, the gen¬ 
 erosity of the one, and the extreme civility and kindness of 
 the other, were the subjects of our conversation all the en¬ 
 suing night, during which we neither of us closed our eyes. 
 
 ‘ The next day at dinner my lord acquainted us that he 
 had prevailed with the bishop to write to the clergyman in 
 the country; indeed, he told us that he had engaged the 
 bishop to be very warm in our interest, and had not the 
 least doubt of success. This threw us both into a flow of 
 spirits; and in the afternoon Mr Bennet, at Mrs Ellison’s 
 request, which was seconded by his lordship, related the 
 history of our lives from our first acquaintance. My lord 
 seemed much affected with some tender scenes, which, as no 
 man could better feel, so none could better describe, than 
 my husband. When he had finished, my lord begged par¬ 
 don for mentioning an occurrence which gave him such a 
 particular concern, as it had disturbed that delicious state 
 of happiness in which we had lived at our former lodging. 
 “ It would be ungenerous,” said he, “ to rejoice at an acci¬ 
 dent which, though it brought me fortunately acquainted 
 with two of the most agreeable people in the world, was yet 
 at the expense of your mutual felicity. The circumstance, 
 I mean, is your debt at Oxford ; pray, how doth that stand 1 
 I am resolved it shall never disturb your happiness here¬ 
 after.” At these words the tears burst from my poor hus¬ 
 band’s eyes; and, in an ecstasy of gratitude, he cried out, 
 “ Your lordship overcomes me with generosity. If you go 
 on in this manner, both my wife’s gratitude and mine must 
 be bankrupt.” He then acquainted my lord with the exact 
 state of the case, and received assurances from him that the 
 debt should never trouble him. My husband was again 
 breaking out into the warmest expressions of gratitude, but 
 my lord stopt him short, saying, “ If you have any obliga¬ 
 tion, it is to my little Charley here, from whose little inno- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 319 
 
 cn. vi.] 
 
 cent smiles I have received more than the value of this 
 trifling debt in pleasure.” I forgot to tell you that, when I 
 offered to leave the room after dinner upon my child’s ac¬ 
 count, my lord would not suffer me, hut ordered the child 
 to be brought to me. He now took it out of my arms, 
 placed it upon his own knee, and fed it with some fruit 
 from the dessert. In short, it would he more tedious to you 
 than to myself to relate the thousand little tendernesses he 
 showed to the child. He gave it many baubles ; amongst 
 the rest was a coral worth at least three pounds; and, when 
 my husband was confined near a fortnight to his chamber 
 with a cold, he visited the child every day (for to this in¬ 
 fant’s account were all the visits placed), and seldom failed 
 of accompanying his visit with a present to the little thing. 
 
 ‘ Here, Mrs Booth, I cannot help mentioning a doubt 
 which hath often arisen in my mind since I have been 
 enough mistress of myself to reflect on this horrid train 
 which was laid to blow up my innocence. Wicked and 
 barbarous it was to the highest degree without any question; 
 hut my doubt is, whether the art or folly of it be the more 
 conspicuous; for, however delicate and refined the art must 
 he allowed to have been, the folly, I think, must upon a 
 fair examination appear no less astonishing : for to lay all 
 considerations of cruelty and crime out of the case, what a 
 foolish bargain doth the man make for himself who pur¬ 
 chases so poor a pleasure at so high a price ! 
 
 ‘ We had lived near three weeks with as much freedom as 
 if we had been all of the same family, when, one afternoon, 
 my lord proposed to my husband to ride down himself to 
 solicit the surrender; for he said the bishop had received an 
 unsatisfactory answer from the parson, and had writ a se¬ 
 cond letter more pressing, which his lordship now promised 
 us to strengthen by one of his own that my husband was to 
 carry with him. Mr Bennet agreed to this proposal with 
 great thankfulness, and the next day was appointed for his 
 journey. The distance was near seventy miles. 
 
 ‘ My husband set out on his journey, and he had scarce 
 left me before Mrs Ellison came into my room, and endea¬ 
 voured to comfort me in his absence; to say the truth, 
 though he was to be from me but a few days, and the pur¬ 
 pose of his going was to fix our happiness on a sound found- 
 
320 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 ation for all our future days, I could scarce support my 
 spirits under this first separation. But though I then 
 thought Mrs Ellison’s intentions to he most kind and friend- • 
 ly, yet the means she used were utterly ineffectual, and ap¬ 
 peared to me injudicious. Instead of soothing my uneasiness, 
 which is always the first physic to be given to grief, she 
 rallied me upon it, and began to talk in a very unusual 
 style of gaiety, in which she treated conjugal love with much 
 ridicule. 
 
 ‘ I gave her to understand that she displeased me by this 
 discourse; but she soon found means to give such a turn to 
 it as made a merit of all she had said. And now, when she 
 had worked me into a good humour, she made a proposal to 
 me which I at first rejected—but at last fatally, too fatally, 
 suffered myself to be over-persuaded. This was to go to a 
 masquerade at Banelagli, for which my lord had furnished 
 her with tickets.’ 
 
 At these words Amelia turned pale as death, and hastily 
 begged her friend to give her a glass of water, some air, or 
 anything. Mrs Bennet, having thrown open the window, 
 and procured the water, which prevented Amelia from faint¬ 
 ing, looked at her with much tenderness, and cried, ‘ I do 
 not wonder, my dear madam, that you are affected with my 
 mentioning that fatal masquerade; since I firmly believe 
 the same ruin was intended for you at the same place ; the 
 apprehension of which occasioned the letter I sent you this 
 morning, and all the trial of your patience which I have 
 made since.’ 
 
 Amelia gave her a tender embrace, with many expressions 
 of the warmest gratitude; assured her she had pretty well 
 recovered her spirits, and begged her to continue her story, 
 which Mrs Bennet then did. However, as our readers may 
 likewise be glad to recover their spirits also, we shall here 
 put an end to this chapter. 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 • THE STORY EAETHER CONTINUED. 
 
 Mrs Bennet proceeded thus :— 
 
 ‘ T was at length prevailed on to accompany Mrs Ellison 
 to the masquerade. Here, I must confess, the pleasantness 
 of the place, the variety of the dresses, and the novelty of 
 the thing, gave me much delight, and raised my fancy to 
 the highest pitch. As I was entirely void of all suspicion, 
 my mind threw off all reserve, and pleasure only filled my 
 thoughts. Innocence, it is true, possessed my heart; hut it 
 was innocence unguarded, intoxicated with foolish desires, 
 and liable to every temptation. During the first two hours 
 we had many trifling adventures not worth remembering. 
 At length my lord joined us, and continued with me all the 
 evening; and we danced several dances together. 
 
 ‘ I need not, I believe, tell yon, madam, how engaging his 
 conversation is. I wish I could with truth say I was not 
 pleased with it; or, at least, that I had a right to be pleased 
 with it. But I will disguise nothing from you. I now 
 began to discover that he had some affection for me, but he 
 had already too firm a footing in my esteem to make the 
 discovery shocking. I will—I will own the truth; I was 
 delighted with perceiving a passion in him, which I was not 
 unwilling to think he had had from the beginning, and to 
 derive his having concealed it so long from his awe of my 
 virtue, and his respect to my understanding. I assure you, 
 madam, at the same time, my intentions were never to ex¬ 
 ceed the bounds of innocence. I was charmed with the 
 delicacy of his passion; and, in the foolish thoughtless turn 
 of mind in which I then was, I fancied I might give some 
 very distant encouragement to such a passion in such a man 
 with the utmost safety—that I might indulge my vanity 
 * and interest at once, without being guiltv of the least 
 injury. 
 
 ‘I know Mrs Booth will condemn all these thoughts, 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 and I condemn them no less myself; for it is now my sted- 
 fast opinion that the woman who gives np the least' out¬ 
 work of her virtue doth, in that very moment, betray the 
 citadel. 
 
 ‘About two o’clock we returned home, and found a very 
 handsome collation provided for us. I was asked to partake 
 of it, and I did not, I could not refuse. I was not* however, 
 entirely void of all suspicion, and I made many resolutions; 
 one of which was, not to drink a drop more than my usual 
 stint. This was, at the utmost, little more than half a pint 
 of small punch. 
 
 ( I adhered strictly to my quantity; but in the quality I 
 am convinced I was deceived; for before I left the room I 
 found my head giddy. What the villain gave me I know 
 not; but, besides being intoxicated, I perceived effects from 
 it which are not to be described. 
 
 ‘ Here, madam, I must draw a curtain over the residue of 
 that fatal night. Let it suffice that it involved me in the 
 most dreadful ruin; a ruin to which I can truly say I never 
 consented, and of which I was scarce conscious when the 
 villanous man avowed it to my face in the morning. 
 
 ‘ Thus I have deduced my story to the most horrid period; 
 happy had I been had this been the period of my life, but I 
 was reserved for greater miseries; but before I enter on 
 them I will mention something very remarkable, with which 
 I was now acquainted, and that will show there was nothing 
 of accident which had befallen me, but that all was the 
 effect of a long, regular, premeditated design. 
 
 '• You may remember, madam, I told you that we were 
 recommended to Mrs Ellison by the woman at whose house 
 we had before lodged. This woman, it seems, was one of 
 my lord’s pimps, and had before introduced me to his lord¬ 
 ship’s notice. 
 
 ‘ You are to know then, madam, that this villain, this 
 lord, now confessed to me that he had first seen me in the 
 gallery at the oratorio, whither I had gone with tickets with 
 which the woman where I first lodged had presented me, 
 and which were, it seems, purchased by my lord. Here I 
 first met the vile betrayer, who was disguised in a rug coat 
 and a patch upon his face.’ 
 
 At these words Amelia cried, ‘ 0, gracious heavens ! ’ and 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 323 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 fell back in her chair. Mrs Bennet, with proper applica¬ 
 tions, brought her back to life; and then Amelia acquainted 
 her that she herself had first seen the same person in the 
 same place, and in the same disguise. ‘ 0, Mrs Bennet ! ’ 
 cried she, ‘ how am I indebted to you ! what words, what 
 thanks, what actions can demonstrate the gratitude of my 
 sentiments ! I look upon you, and always shall look upon 
 you, as my preserver from the brink of a precipice, from 
 which I was falling into the same ruin which you have so 
 generously, so kindly, and 'so nobly disclosed for my sake.’ 
 
 Here the two ladies compared notes; and it appeared that 
 his lordship’s behaviour at the oratorio had been alike to 
 both; that he had made use of the very same words, the 
 very same actions to Amelia, which he had practised over 
 before on poor unfortunate Mrs Bennet. It may, perhaps, 
 be thought strange that neither of them could afterwards 
 recollect him; but so it was. And, indeed, if we consider 
 the force of disguise, the very short time that either of them 
 was with him at this first interview, and the very little 
 curiosity that must have been supposed in the minds of the 
 ladies, together with the amusements in which they were 
 then engaged, all wonder will, I apprehend, cease. Amelia, 
 however, now declared she remembered his voice and fea¬ 
 tures perfectly well, and was thoroughly satisfied he was the 
 same person. She then accounted for his not having visit¬ 
 ed in the afternoon, according to his promise, from her de¬ 
 clared resolutions to Mrs Ellison not to see him. She now 
 burst forth into some very satirical invectives against that 
 lady, and declared she had the art, as well as the wickedness, 
 of the devil himself. 
 
 Many congratulations now passed from Mrs Bennet to 
 Amelia, which were returned with the most hearty acknow¬ 
 ledgments from the lady. But, instead of filling our paper 
 with these, we shall pursue Mrs Bennet’s story, which she 
 resumed as we shall find in the next chapter. 
 
324 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 FARTHER CONTINUATION. 
 
 c No sooner,’ said Mrs Bennet, continuing her story, ‘ was 
 my lord departed, than Mrs Ellison came to me. She be¬ 
 haved in such a manner, when she became acquainted with 
 what had passed, that, though I was at first satisfied of her 
 guilt, she began to stagger my opinion, and at length pre¬ 
 vailed upon me entirely to acquit her. She raved like a 
 mad woman against my lord, swore he should not stay a 
 moment in her house, and that she' would never speak to 
 him more. In short, had she been the most innocent woman 
 in the world, she could not have spoke nor acted any other¬ 
 wise, nor could she have vented more wrath and indigna¬ 
 tion against the betrayer. 
 
 ‘ That part of her denunciation of vengeance which con¬ 
 cerned my lord’s leaving the house she vowed should be 
 executed immediately; but then, seeming to recollect herself, 
 she said, “ Consider, my dear child, it is for your sake alone 
 I speak; will not such a proceeding give some suspicion to 
 your husband 1 ” I answered, that I valued not that; that 
 I was resolved to inform my husband of all the moment I 
 saw him; with many expressions of detestation of myself 
 and an indifference for life and for everything else. 
 
 ( Mrs Ellison, however, found means to soothe me, and to 
 satisfy me with my own innocence, a point in which, I be¬ 
 lieve, we are all easily convinced. In short, I was persuaded 
 to acquit both myself and her, to lay the whole guilt upon 
 my lord, and to resolve to conceal it from my husband. 
 
 ‘ That whole day I confined myself to my chamber and 
 saw no person but Mrs Ellison. I was, indeed, ashamed to 
 look any one in the face. Happily for me, my lord went 
 into, the country without attempting to come near me, for I 
 believe his sicrlit would have driven me to madness. 
 
 ‘ The next day I told Mrs Ellison that I was resolved to 
 
CH. VIII.J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 325 
 
 leave her lodgings the moment my lord came to town; not 
 on her account (for I really inclined to think her innocent), 
 hut on my lord’s, whose face I was resolved, if possible, 
 never more to behold. She told me I had no reason to quit 
 her house on that score, for that my lord himself had left 
 her lodgings that morning in resentment, she believed, of 
 the abuses which she had cast on him the day before. 
 
 ‘ This confirmed me in the opinion of her innocence; nor 
 hath she from that day to. this, till my acquaintance with 
 you, madam, done anything to forfeit my opinion. On the 
 contrary, I owe her many good offices; amongst the rest, I 
 have an annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds a-year 
 from my lord, which I know was owing to her solicitations, 
 for she is not void of generosity or good-nature; though by 
 what I have lately seen, I am convinced she was the cause 
 of my ruin, and hath endeavoured to lay the same snares 
 for you. 
 
 ‘ But to return to my melancholy story. My husband 
 returned at the appointed time; and I met him with an 
 agitation of mind not to be described. Perhaps the fatigue 
 which he had undergone in his journey, and his dissatisfac¬ 
 tion at his ill success, prevented his taking notice of what I 
 feared was too visible. All his hopes were entirely frus¬ 
 trated; the clergyman had not received the bishop’s letter, 
 and as to my lord’s, he treated it with derision and con¬ 
 tempt. Tired as he was, Mr Bennet would not sit down 
 till he had inquired for my lord, intending to go and pay 
 his compliments. Poor man! he little suspected that he 
 had deceived him, as I have since known, concerning the 
 bishop; much less did he suspect any other injury. But 
 the lord—the villain was gone out of town, so that he was 
 forced to postpone all his gratitude. 
 
 ‘ Mr Bennet returned to town late on the Saturday night, 
 nevertheless he performed his duty at church the next day, 
 but I refused to go with him. This, I think, was the first 
 refusal I was guilty of since our marriage; but I was become 
 so miserable, that his presence, which had been the source 
 of all my happiness, was become my bane. I will not say 
 I hated to see him, but I can say I was ashamed, indeed 
 afraid, to look him in the face. I was conscious of I knew 
 not what-guilt, I hope, it cannot be called.’ 
 
326 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 4 I hope not, nay, 1 think not,’ cries Amelia. 
 
 4 My husband,’ continued Mrs Bennet, 4 perceived my dis¬ 
 satisfaction, and imputed it to his ill-success in the country. 
 I was pleased with this self-delusion, and yet, when I fairly 
 compute the agonies I suffered at his endeavours to comfort 
 me on that head, I paid most severely for it. 0, my dear 
 Mrs Booth! happy is the deceived party between true lovers, 
 and wretched indeed is the author of the deceit! 
 
 4 In this wretched condition I passed a whole week, the 
 most miserable I think of my whole life, endeavouring to 
 humour my husband’s delusion and to conceal my own 
 tortures; hut I had reason to fear I could not succeed long, 
 for on the Saturday night I perceived a visible alteration in 
 his behaviour to me. He went to bed in an apparent ill- 
 humour, turned sullenly from me, and if I offered at any 
 endearments he gave me only peevish answers. 
 
 4 After a restless turbulent night, he rose early on Sunday 
 morning and walked down-stairs. I expected his return to 
 breakfast, hut was soon informed by the maid that he was 
 gone forth, and that it was no more than seven o’clook. All 
 this you may believe, madam, alarmed me. I saw plainly 
 he had discovered the fatal secret, though by what means I 
 could not divine. The state of my mind was very little 
 short of madness. Sometimes I thought of running away 
 from my injured husband, and sometimes of putting an end 
 to my life. 
 
 4 In the midst of such perturbations I spent the day. My 
 husband returned in the evening. 0, Heavens ! can I de¬ 
 scribe what followed 1—It is impossible ! I shall sink under 
 the relation. He entered the room with a face as white as a 
 sheet, his lips trembling and his eyes red as coals of fire and 
 starting as it were from his head.— 44 Molly,” cries he, throw¬ 
 ing himself into his chair, 44 are you well 1 ” 44 Good Hea¬ 
 
 vens ! ” says I, 44 what’s the matter 1—Indeed I can’t say I 
 am well.” 44 Ho ! ” says he, starting from his chair, 44 false 
 monster, you have betrayed me, destroyed me, you have 
 ruined your husband ! ” Then, looking like a fury, he 
 snatched off a large book from the table, and, with the 
 malice of a madman, threw it at my head and knocked me 
 down backwards. He then caught me up in his arms and 
 kissed me with most extravagant tenderness; then, looking 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 327 
 
 CII. VIII.] 
 
 me stedfastly in the face for several moments, the tears 
 gushed in a torrent from his eyes, and with his utmost vio¬ 
 lence he threw me again on the floor, kicked me, stamped 
 upon me. I believe, indeed, his intent was to kill me, and 
 I believe he thought he had accomplished it. 
 
 ‘ I lay on the ground for some minutes, I believe, de¬ 
 prived of my senses. When I recovered myself I found my 
 husband lying by my side on his face, and the blood run¬ 
 ning from him. it seems, when he thought he had despatch¬ 
 ed me, he ran his head with all his force against a chest of 
 drawers which stood in the room, and gave himself a dread¬ 
 ful wound in his head. 
 
 ‘ I can truly say I felt not the least resentment for the 
 usage I had received; I thought I deserved it all; though, 
 indeed, I little guessed what he had suffered from me. I 
 now used the most earnest entreaties to him to compose 
 himself; and endeavoured, with my feeble arms, to raise 
 him from the ground. At length he broke from me, and, 
 springing from the ground, flung himself into a chair, when, 
 looking wildly at me, he cried,—“Go from me, Molly. I 
 beseech you, leave me. I would not kill you.”—He then dis¬ 
 covered to me—0 Mrs Booth! can yon not guess it 1 I was 
 indeed polluted by the villain—I had infected my husband. 
 
 _0 heavens! why do I live to relate anything so horrid— 
 
 I will not, I cannot yet survive it. I cannot forgive myself. 
 Heaven cannot forgive me !' 
 
 Here she became inarticulate with the violence of her grief, 
 and fell presently into such agonies, that the affrighted 
 Amelia began to call aloud for some assistance. Upon this 
 a maid-servant came up, who, seeing her mistress in a violent 
 convulsion fit, presently screamed out she was dead. Upon 
 which one of the other sex made his appearance: and who 
 should this be but the honest serjeant 1 whose countenance 
 soon made it evident that, though a soldi r, and a brave one 
 too, he was not the least concerned of all the company on 
 this occasion. 
 
 The reader, if he hath been acquainted with scenes of this 
 kind, very well knows that Mrs Bennet, in the usual time, 
 returned again to the possession of her voice : the first use 
 of which she made was to express her astonishment at the 
 presence of the serjeant, and, with a frantic air, to inquire 
 who he was. 
 
328 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 The maid, concluding that her mistress was not yet return¬ 
 ed to her senses, answered, ‘ Why ’tis my master, madam. 
 Heaven preserve your senses, madam !—Lord, sir, my mis¬ 
 tress must be very bad not to know you ! ’ 
 
 What Atkinson thought at this instant, I will not say ; 
 but certain it is he looked not over-wise. He attempted 
 twice to take hold of Mrs Bennet’s hand, but she withdrew 
 it hastily, and presently after, rising up from her chair, she 
 declared herself pretty well again, and desired Atkinson and 
 the maid to withdraw. Both of whom presently obeyed: 
 the serjeant appearing by his countenance to want comfort 
 almost as much as the lady did to whose assistance he had 
 been summoned. 
 
 It is a good maxim to trust a person entirely or not at 
 all; for a secret is often innocently blabbed out by those 
 who know but half of it. Certain it is that the maid’s 
 speech communicated a suspicion to the mind of Amelia 
 which the behaviour of the serjeant did not tend to remove: 
 what that is, the sagacious readers may likewise probably 
 suggest to themselves ; if not, they must wait our time for 
 disclosing it. We shall now resume the history of Mrs 
 Bennet, who, after many apologies, proceeded to the matters 
 in the next chapter. 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 329 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION OF MRS BENNET’s HISTORY. 
 
 c When I became sensible/ cries Mrs Rennet, 4 of tbe injury 
 I bad done my husband, I threw myself at his feet, and em¬ 
 bracing his knees, while I bathed them with my tears, I 
 begged a patient hearing, declaring, if he was not satisfied 
 with what I should say, I would become a willing victim of 
 his resentment. I said, and I said truly, that, if I owed my 
 death that instant to his hands, I should have no other 
 terror but of the fatal consequence which it might produce 
 to himself. 
 
 4 He seemed a little pacified, and bid me say whatever I 
 pleased. 
 
 4 1 then gave him a faithful relation of all that had hap¬ 
 pened. He heard me with great attention, and at the con¬ 
 clusion cried, with a deep sigh— 44 O Molly ! I believe it all. 
 —You must have been betrayed as you tell me; you could 
 not be guilty of such baseness, such cruelty, such ingrati¬ 
 tude.” He then—0 ! it is impossible to describe his be¬ 
 haviour—he exprest such kindness, such tenderness, such 
 concern for the manner in which he had used me—I can¬ 
 not dwell on this scene—I shall relapse—you must excuse 
 me.’ 
 
 Amelia begged her to omit anything which so affected 
 her; and she proceeded thus : 
 
 4 My husband, who was more convinced than I was of 
 Mrs Ellison’s guilt, declared he would not sleep that night 
 in her house. He then went out to see for a lodging ; he 
 gave me all the money he had, and left me to pay her bill, 
 and put up the clothes, telling me, if I had not money 
 enough, I might leave the clothes as a pledge ; but he vowed 
 he could not answer for himself if he saw the face of Mrs 
 Ellison. 
 
 4 Words cannot scarce express the behaviour of that art¬ 
 ful woman, it was so kind and so generous. She said, she 
 
330 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 did not "blame my husband’s resentment, nor could she ex¬ 
 pect any other, but that he and all the world should censure 
 her—that she hated her house almost as much as we did, 
 and detested her cousin, if possible, more. In fine, she said 
 I might leave my clothes there that evening, but that she 
 would send them to us the next morning; that she 
 scorned the thought of detaining them ; and as for the 
 paltry debt, we might pay her whenever we pleased; for, 
 to do her justice, with all her vices, she hath some good in 
 her.’ 
 
 < Some good in her, indeed ! ’ cried Amelia, with great 
 indignation. 
 
 ‘We were scarce settled in our new lodgings,’ continued 
 Mrs Bennet, ‘ when my husband began to complain of a 
 pain in his inside. He told me he feared he had done him¬ 
 self some injury in his rage, and burst something within 
 him. As to the odious—I cannot bear the thought, the 
 great skill of the surgeon soon entirely cured him; but his 
 other complaint, instead of yielding to any application, grew 
 still worse and worse, nor ever ended till it brought him to 
 his grave. 
 
 ‘ 0 Mrs Booth ! could I have been certain that I had 
 occasioned this, however innocently I had occasioned it, I 
 could never have survived it; but the surgeon who opened 
 him after his death assured me that he died of what they 
 called a polypus in his heart, and that nothing which 
 had happened on account of me was in the least the occasion 
 of it. 
 
 ‘ I have, however, related the affair truly to you. The 
 first complaint I ever heard of the kind was within a day or 
 two after we left Mrs Ellison’s ; and this complaint remained 
 till his death, which might induce him perhaps to attribute 
 his death to another cause ; but the surgeon, who is a man 
 of the hightest eminence, hath always declared the contrary 
 to me, with the most positive certainty ; and this opinion 
 hath been my only comfort. 
 
 £ When my husband died, which was about ten weeks 
 after we quitted Mrs Ellison’s, of whom I had then a differ¬ 
 ent opinion from what I have now, I was left in the most 
 wretched condition imaginable. I believe, madam, she 
 showed you my letter. Indeed, she did everything for me 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 331 
 
 CH. IX.] 
 
 at that time which I could have expected from the best of 
 friends. She supplied me with money from her own pocket, 
 by which means I was preserved from a distress in which I 
 must have otherwise inevitably perished. 
 
 ‘ Her kindness to me in this season of distress prevailed on 
 me to return again to her house. Why, indeed, should I 
 have refused an offer so very convenient for me to accept, 
 and which seemed so generous in her to make 1 Here I lived 
 a very retired life with my little babe, seeing no company 
 but Mrs Ellison herself for a full quarter of a year. At last 
 Mrs Ellison brought me a parchment from my lord, in which 
 he had settled upon me, at her instance, as she told me, and 
 as I believe it was, an annuity of one hundred and fifty 
 pounds a-year. This was, I think, the very first time she 
 had mentioned his hateful name to me since my return to 
 *lier house. And she now prevailed upon me, though I assure 
 you not without some difficulty, to suffer him to execute the 
 deed in my presence. 
 
 4 1 will not describe our interview,—I am not able to 
 describe it, and I have often wondered how I found spirits 
 to support it. This I will say for him, that, if he was not 
 a real penitent, no man alive could act the part better. 
 
 4 Beside resentment, I had another motive of my back¬ 
 wardness to agree to such a meeting; and this was—fear. 
 I apprehended, and surely not without reason, that the 
 annuity was rather meant as a bribe than a recompence, and 
 that further designs were laid against my innocence; but in 
 this I found myself happily deceived; for neither then, nor 
 at any time since, have I ever had the least solicitation of 
 that kind. Nor, indeed, have I seen the least occasion to 
 think my lord had any such desires. 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! what are these men ? what is this appetite 
 which must have novelty and resistance for its provocatives, 
 and which is delighted with us no longer than while we may 
 be considered in the light of enemies 'l ’ 
 
 ‘ I thank you, madam/ cries Amelia, ‘ for relieving me 
 from my fears on your account; I trembled at the conse¬ 
 quence of this second acquaintance with such a man, and in 
 such a situation.’ 
 
 ‘ I assure you, madam, I was in no danger/ returned Mrs 
 Bennet; ‘ for, besides that I think I could have pretty well 
 
332 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 relied on my own resolution, I have heard since, at St 
 Edmundsbury, from an intimate acquaintance of my lord’s, 
 who was an entire stranger to my affairs, that the highest 
 degree of inconstancy is his character; and that few of his 
 numberless mistresses have ever received a second visit from 
 him. 
 
 ‘Well, madam/ continued she, ‘I think I have little 
 more to trouble you with; unless I should relate to you my 
 long ill state of health, from which I am lately, I thank 
 Heaven, recovered; or unless I should mention to you the 
 most grievous accident that ever hefel me, the loss of my 
 poor dear Charley.’ Here she made a full stop, and the tears 
 ran down into her bosom. 
 
 Amelia was silent a few minutes, while she gave the lady 
 time to vent her passion ; after which she began to pour 
 forth a vast profusion of acknowledgments for the trouble^ 
 she had taken in relating her history, hut chiefly for the 
 motive which had induced her to it, and for the kind warning 
 which she had given her by the little note which Mrs Ben net 
 had sent her that morning. 
 
 ‘ Yes, madam/ cries Mrs Bennet, ‘ I am convinced, by 
 what I have lately seen, that you are the destined sacrifice 
 to this wicked lord; and that Mrs Ellison, whom I no 
 longer doubt to have been the instrument of my ruin, in¬ 
 tended to betray you in the same maner. The day I met 
 my lord in your apartment I began to entertain some sus¬ 
 picions, and I took Mrs Ellison very roundly to task upon 
 them ; her behaviour, notwithstanding many asseverations 
 to the contrary, convinced me I was right; and I intended, 
 more than once, to speak to you, but could not; till last 
 night the mention of the masquerade determined me to delay 
 it no longer. I therefore sent you that note this morning, 
 and am glad you so luckily discovered the writer, as it hath 
 given me this opportunity of easing my mind, and of honestly 
 showing you how unworthy I am of your friendship, at the 
 same time that I so earnestly desire it.’ 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 333 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 BEING THE LAST CHAPTER OE THE SEVENTH BOOK. 
 
 Amelia did not fail to make proper compliments to Mrs 
 Bennet on the conclusion of her speech in the last chapter. 
 She told her that, from the first moment of her acquaintance, 
 she had the strongest inclination to her friendship, and that 
 her desires of that kind were much increased by hearing her 
 story. ‘ Indeed, madam/ says she, ‘ you are much too severe 
 a judge on yourself; for they must have very little candour, 
 in my opinion, who look upon your case with any severe 
 eye. To me, I assure you, you appear highly the object of 
 compassion; and I shall always esteem you as an innocent 
 and an unfortunate woman.’ 
 
 Amelia would then have taken her leave, hut Mrs Bennet 
 so strongly pressed her to stay to breakfast, that at length 
 she complied ; indeed, she had fasted so long, and her gentle 
 spirits had been so agitated with variety of passions, that 
 nature very strongly seconded Mrs Bennet’s motion. 
 
 Whilst the maid was preparing the tea-equipage, Amelia, 
 with a little slyness in her countenance, asked Mrs Bennet 
 if Serjeant Atkinson did not lodge in the same house with 
 her 1 The other reddened so extremely at the question, re¬ 
 peated the serjeant’s name with such hesitation, and behaved 
 so awkwardly, that Amelia wanted no further confirmation of 
 her suspicions. She would not, however, declare them 
 abruptly to the other, but began a dissertation on the ser¬ 
 jeant’s virtues ; and, after observing the great concern which 
 he had manifested when Mrs Bennet was in her fit, con¬ 
 cluded with saying she believed the serjeant would make 
 the best husband in the world, for that he had great 
 tenderness of heart and a gentleness of manners not often 
 to be found in any man, and much seldomer in persons of 
 his rank. 
 
 ‘ And why not in his rank ? ’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘ Indeed, 
 
334 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VII. 
 
 Mrs Booth, we rob the lower order of mankind of their due. 
 I do not deny the force and power of education; but, when 
 we consider how very injudicious is the education of the 
 better sort in general, how little they are instructed in the 
 practice of virtue, we shall not expect to find the heart much 
 improved by it. And even as to the head, how very slightly 
 do we commonly find it improved by what is called a genteel 
 education ! I have myself, I think, seen instances of as great 
 goodness, and as great understanding too, among the lower 
 sort of people as among the higher. Let us compare your 
 serjeant, now, with the lord who hath been the subject of 
 conversation ; on which side would an impartial judge decide 
 the balance to incline h 
 
 ‘ How monstrous then,’ cries Amelia, ‘ is the opinion of 
 those who consider our matching ourselves the least below 
 us in degree as a kind of contamination ! ’ 
 
 ‘ A most absurd and preposterous sentiment/ answered 
 Mrs Bennet, warmly; ‘how abhorrent from justice, from 
 common sense, and from humanity—but how extremely in¬ 
 congruous with a religion which professes to know no differ¬ 
 ence of degree, but ranks all mankind on the footing of 
 brethren ! Of all kinds of pride, there is none so unchristian 
 as that of station; in reality, there is none so contemptible. 
 Contempt, indeed, may be said to be its own object; for 
 my own part, I know none so despicable as those who de¬ 
 spise others. 
 
 ‘ I do assure you/ said Amelia, ‘ you speak my own senti¬ 
 ments. I give you my word, I should not be ashamed of 
 being the wife of an honest man in any station.—Nor if I 
 had been much higher than I was, should I have thought 
 myself degraded by calling our honest serjeant my husband.’ 
 
 ‘ Since you have made this declaration/ cries Mrs Bennet, 
 ‘ I am sure you will not be offended at a secret I am going 
 to mention to you.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear/ answered Amelia, smiling, ‘ I wonder 
 rather you have concealed it so long; especially after the 
 many hints I have given you.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, pardon me, madam/ replied the other ; ‘ I do not 
 remember any such hints ; and, perhaps, you do not even 
 guess what I am going to say. My secret is this ; that no 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 335 
 
 OH. X.] 
 
 woman ever had so sincere, so passionate a lover, as you 
 have had in the serjeant. 
 
 4 1 a lover in the serjeant !—I! ’ cries Amelia, a little sur¬ 
 prized. 
 
 4 Have patience,’ answered the other ;— 4 1 say, you, my 
 dear. As much surprized as you appear, I tell you no more 
 than the truth ; and yet it is a truth you could hardly ex¬ 
 pect to hear from me, especially with so much good-liumour ; 
 since I will honestly confess to you—But what need have I 
 to confess what I know you guess already 1—Tell me now 
 sincerely, don’t you guess 1 ’ 
 
 4 1 guess, indeed, and hope,’ said she, 4 that he is your 
 husband.’ 
 
 4 He is, indeed, my husband,’ cries the other ; 4 and I am 
 most happy in your approbation. In honest truth, you ought 
 to approve my choice \ since you was every way the occasion 
 of my making it. What you said of him very greatly re¬ 
 commended him to my opinion ; hut he endeared himself to 
 me most by what he said of you. In short, I have discov¬ 
 ered he hath always loved you with such a faithful, honest, 
 noble, generous passion, that I was consequently convinced 
 his mind must possess all the ingredients of such a passion; 
 and what are these but true honour, goodness, modesty, 
 bravery, tenderness, and, in a word, every human virtue %— 
 Forgive me, my dear ; but I was uneasy till I became my¬ 
 self the object of such a passion.’ 
 
 4 And do you really think,’ said Amelia, smiling, 4 that I 
 shall forgive you robbing me of such a lover 1 or, supposing 
 what you banter me with was true, do you really imagine 
 you could change such a passion 1 ’ 
 
 4 Ho, my dear,’ answered the other ; 4 1 only hope I have 
 changed the object; for be assured, there is no greater vul¬ 
 gar error than that it is impossible for a man who loves one 
 woman ever to love another. On the contrary, it is certain 
 that a man who can love one woman so Avell at a distance 
 will love another better that is nearer to him. Indeed, I 
 have heard one of the best husbands in the world declare, 
 in the presence of his Avife, tliat he had ahvays loved a 
 princess with adoration. These passions, which reside only 
 in very amorous and very delicate minds, feed only on the 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 336 
 
 [bk VII. 
 
 delicacies there growing; and leave all the substantial food, 
 and enough of the delicacy too, for the wife.’ 
 
 The tea being now ready, Mrs Bennet, or, if yon please, 
 for the future, Mrs Atkinson, proposed to call in her hus¬ 
 band ; but Amelia objected. She said she should be glad 
 to see him any other time, but was then in the utmost hurry, 
 as she had been three hours absent from all she most loved. 
 However, she had scarce drank a dish of tea before she 
 changed her mind and, saying she would not part man and 
 wife, desired Mr Atkinson might appear. 
 
 The maid answered that her master was not at home; 
 which words she had scarce spoken, when he knocked hastily 
 at the door, and immediately came running into the room, 
 all pale and breathless, and, addressing himself to Amelia, 
 cried out, ‘ I am sorry, my dear lady, to bring you ill news; 
 but Captain Booth ’—‘ What! what! ’ cries Amelia, dropping 
 the tea-cup from her hand, ‘is anything the matter with 
 him?’—‘Don’t be frightened, my dear lady,’ said the Ser¬ 
 jeant: ‘he is in very good health; but a misfortune hath 
 happened.’—‘ Are my children well ? ’ said Amelia.—‘ 0, 
 very well,’ answered the serjeant. ‘Pray, madam, don’t be 
 frightened; I hope it will signify nothing—he is arrested, 
 but I hope to get him out of their damned hands immedi¬ 
 ately.’ ‘ Where is he ? ’ cries Amelia ; ‘ I will go to him this 
 instant! ’ ‘ He begs you will not,’ answered the serjeant. 
 
 ‘ I have sent his lawyer to him, and am going back with 
 Mrs Ellison this moment; but I beg your ladyship, for his 
 sake, and for your own sake, not to go.’ ‘ Mrs Ellison ! 
 what is Mrs Ellison to do V cries Amelia: ‘ I must and 
 will go.’ Mrs Atkinson then interposed, and begged that 
 she would not hurry her spirits, but compose herself, and 
 go home to her children, whither she would attend her. 
 She comforted her with the thoughts that the captain was 
 in no immediate danger; that she could go to him when 
 she would ; and desired her to let the serjeant return with 
 Mrs Ellison, saying she might be of service, and that there 
 was much wisdom, and no kind of shame, in making use ot 
 bad people on certain occasions 
 
 ‘ And who,’ cries Amelia, a little come to herself, ‘ hath 
 done this barbarous action ? ’ 
 
 ‘ One I am ashamed to name,’ cries the serjeant; ‘ indeed 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 337 
 
 I had always a very different opinion of him : I could not 
 have believed anything hut my own ears and eyes ; but Dr 
 Harrison is the man who hath done the deed.’ 
 
 ‘ Dr Harrison ! ’ cries Amelia. f Well, then, there is an 
 end of all goodness in the world. I will never have a good 
 opinion of any human being more.’ 
 
 The serjeant begged that he might not be detained from 
 the captain; and that, if Amelia pleased to go home, he 
 would wait upon her. But she did not choose to see Mrs 
 Ellison at this time \ and, after a little consideration, she 
 resolved to stay where she was ; and Mrs Atkinson agreed 
 to go and fetch her children to her, it being not many doors 
 distant. 
 
 The serjeant then departed ; Amelia, in her confusion, 
 never having once thought of wishing him joy on his 
 marriage. 
 
BOOK VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 BEING THE EIB.ST CHAPTER OE THE EIGHTH BOOK. 
 
 The history must now look a little backwards to those cir¬ 
 cumstances which led to the catastrophe mentioned at the 
 end of the last hook. 
 
 When Amelia went out in the morning she left her 
 children to the care of her ‘husband. In this amiable office 
 he had been engaged near an hour, and was at that very 
 time lying along on the floor, and his little things crawling 
 and playing about him, when a most violent knock was 
 heard at the door ; and immediately a footman, running up¬ 
 stairs, acquainted him that his lady was taken violently ill, 
 and carried into Mrs Chenevix’s toy-shop. 
 
 Booth no sooner heard this account, which was delivered 
 with great appearance of haste and earnestness, than he leapt 
 suddenly from the floor, and, leaving his children, roaring at 
 the news of their mother’s illness, in strict charge with his 
 maid, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the place; 
 or towards the place rather: for, before he arrived at the 
 shop, a gentleman stopt him full butt, crying, ‘ Captain, 
 whither so fast 1 ’—Booth answered eagerly, ‘ Whoever you 
 are, friend, don’t ask me any questions now.’— 4 You must 
 pardon me, captain,’ answered the gentleman; ‘ but I have 
 a little business with your honour—In short, captain, I have 
 a small warrant here in my pocket against your honour, at 
 the suit of one Dr Harrison.’ ‘ You are a bailiff then 1 ’ says 
 Booth. ‘ I am an officer, sir,’ answered the other. ‘Well, 
 sir, it is in vain to contend,’ cries Booth ; ‘ but let me beg 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 339 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 you will permit me only to step to Mrs Chenevix’s—I will 
 attend you, upon my honour, wherever you please; hut my 
 wife lies violently ill there.’ 4 Oh, for that matter/ answered 
 the bailiff, 4 you may set your heart at ease. Your lady, I 
 hope, is very well; I assure you she is not there. You will 
 excuse me, captain, these are only stratagems of war. Bolus 
 and virtus, quis in a hostess equirit ? ’ 4 Sir, I honour your 
 
 learning/ cries Booth, 4 and could almost kiss you for what 
 you tell me. I assure you I would forgive you five hundred 
 arrests for such a piece of news. Well, sir, and whither am 
 I to go with you V 4 0, anywhere : where your honour 
 pleases/ cries the bailiff. 4 Then suppose we go to Brown’s 
 coffee-house,’ said the prisoner. 4 No,’ answered the bailiff, 
 4 that will not do; that’s in the verge of the court.’ 4 Why 
 then, to the nearest tavern,’ said Booth. 4 No, not to a 
 tavern/ cries the other, 4 that is not a place of security; and 
 you know, captain, your honour is a shy cock; I have been 
 after your honour these three months. Come, sir, you must 
 go to my house, if you please.’ 4 With all my heart,’ answered 
 Booth, 4 if it be anywhere hereabouts.’ 4 Oh, it is but a 
 little ways off,’ replied the bailiff'; 4 it is only in Gray’s-inn- 
 lane, just by almost.’ He then called a coach, and desired 
 his prisoner to walk in. 
 
 Booth entered the coach without any resistance, which, 
 had he been inclined to make, he must have plainly perceived 
 would have been ineffectual, as the bailiff appeared to have 
 several followers at hand, two of whom, beside the com¬ 
 mander in chief, mounted with him into the coach. As 
 Booth was a sweet-tempered man, as well as somewhat of a 
 philosopher, he behaved with all the good-humour imaginable, 
 and indeed, with more than his companions ; who, however, 
 showed him what they call civility, that is, they neither 
 struck him nor spit in liis face. 
 
 Notwithstanding the pleasantry which Booth endeavoured 
 to preserve, he in reality envied every labourer whom he saw 
 pass by him in his way. The charms of liberty against his 
 will rushed on his mind ; and he could not avoid suggesting 
 to himself how much more happy was the poorest wretch 
 who, without control, could repair to his homely habitation 
 and to his family, compared to him, who was thus violently, 
 and yet lawfully, tom away from the company of his wife 
 
340 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk vnr. 
 
 and children. And their condition, especially that of his 
 Amelia, gave his heart many a severe and hitter pang. 
 
 At length he arrived at the bailiffs mansion, and was 
 ushered into a room in which were several persons. Booth 
 desired to be alone; upon which the bailiff waited upon 
 him up-stairs into an apartment, the windows of which 
 were well fortified with iron-bars, but the walls had not the 
 least outwork raised before them ; they were, indeed, what 
 is generally called naked; the bricks having been only 
 covered with a thin plaster, which in many places was 
 mouldered away. 
 
 The first demand made upon Booth was for coach-hire, 
 which amounted to two shillings, according to the bailiff’s 
 account; that being just double the legal fare. He was then 
 asked if he did not choose a bowl of punch 1 to which he 
 having answered in the negative, the bailifl replied, ‘ Hay, 
 sir, just as you please. I don’t ask you to drink, if you 
 don’t choose it; but certainly you know the custom; the 
 house is full of prisoners, and I can’t afford gentlemen a room 
 to themselves for nothing.’ 
 
 Booth presently took this hint—indeed it was a pretty 
 broad one—and told the bailiff he should not scruple to pay 
 him his price; but in fact he never drank unless at his 
 meals. ‘ As to that, sir,’ cries the bailiff, ‘it is just as your 
 honour pleases. I scorn to impose upon any gentleman in 
 misfortunes: I wish you well out of them, for my part. 
 Your honour can take nothing amiss of me ; I only does my 
 duty, what I am bound to do ; and, as you says you don’t 
 care to drink anything, what will you be pleased to have for 
 dinner 1 ’ 
 
 Booth then complied in bespeaking a dish of meat, and 
 told the bailiff he would drink a bottle with him after 
 dinner. He then desired the favour of pen, ink, and paper, 
 and a messenger ; all which were immediately procured him, 
 the bailiff telling him he might send wherever he pleased, 
 and repeating his concern for Booth’s misfortunes, and a 
 hearty desire to see the end of them. 
 
 The messenger was just despatched with the letter, when 
 who should arrive but honest Atkinson 1 A soldier of the 
 guards, belonging to the same company with the serjeant, 
 and who had known Booth at Gibraltar, had seen the arrest, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 341 
 
 CH. 1.] 
 
 and heard the orders given to the coachman. This fellow, 
 accidentally meeting Atkinson, had acquainted him with the 
 whole affair. 
 
 At the appearance of Atkinson, joy immediately overspread 
 the countenance of Booth. The ceremonials which passed 
 between them are unnecessary to be repeated. Atkinson 
 was soon despatched to the attorney and to Mrs Ellison, as 
 the reader hath before heard from his own mouth. 
 
 Booth now greatly lamented that he had writ to his wife. 
 He thought she might have been acquainted with the affair 
 better by the serjeant. Booth begged him, however, to do 
 everything in his power to comfort her ; to assure her that 
 he was in perfect health and good spirits; and to lessen as 
 much as possible the concern which he knew she would 
 have at the reading his letter. 
 
 The serjeant, however, as the reader hath seen, brought 
 himself the first account of the arrest. Indeed, the other 
 messenger did not arrive till a full hour afterwards. This 
 was not owing to any slowness of his, but to many previous 
 errands which he was to execute before the delivery of the 
 letter; for, notwithstanding the earnest desire which the 
 bailiff had declared to see Booth out of his troubles, he had 
 ordered the porter, who was his follower, to call upon two or 
 three other bailiffs, and as many attorneys, to try to load his 
 prisoner with as many actions as possible. 
 
 Here the reader may be apt to conclude that the bailiff, 
 instead of being a friend, was really an enemy to poor Booth ; 
 but, in fact, he was not so. His desire was no more than 
 to accumulate bail-bonds ; for the bailiff was reckoned an 
 honest and good sort of man in his way, and had no more 
 malice against the bodies in his custody than a butcher hath 
 to those ii> his : and as the latter, when he takes his knife 
 in hand, hath no idea but of the joints into which he is to 
 cut the carcase ; so the former, when he handles his writ, 
 hath no other design but to cut out the body into as many 
 bail-bonds as possible. As to the life of the animal, or the 
 liberty of the man, they are thoughts which never obtrude 
 themselves on either. 
 
342 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK Till. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF MR BOOTH’S FELLOW- 
 
 SUFFERERS. 
 
 Before we return to Amelia we must detain our reader a 
 little longer with Mr Booth, in the custody of Mr Bondum 
 the Bailiff, who now informed his prisoner that he was wel¬ 
 come to the liberty of the house with the other gentlemen. 
 
 Booth asked who those gentlemen were. £ One of them, 
 sir,’ says Mr Bondum, ‘ is a very great writer or author, as 
 they call him; he hath been here these five weeks at the 
 suit of a bookseller for eleven pound odd money; but he 
 expects to be discharged in a day or two, for he hath writ 
 out the debt. He is now writing for five or six booksellers, 
 and he will get you sometimes, when he sits to it, a matter 
 of fifteen shillings a-day. for he is a very good pen, they 
 say, but is apt to be idle. Some days he won’t write above 
 five hours; but at other times I have known him at it above 
 sixteen.’ ‘Ay!’ cries Booth; ‘pray, what are his produc¬ 
 tions 1 What does he writei ’ ‘ Why, sometimes,’ answered 
 Bondum, ‘ he writes your history books for your numbers, 
 and sometimes your verses, your poems, what do you call 
 theml and then again he writes news for your newspapers.’ 
 ‘ Ay, indeed ! he is a most extraordinary man, truly !—How 
 doth he get his news here 1 ’ ‘ Why he makes it, as he doth 
 your parliament speeches for your magazines. • He reads 
 them to us sometimes over a bowl of punch. To be sure it 
 is all one as if one was in the parliament-house,—it is about 
 liberty and freedom, and about the constitution of England. 
 I say nothing for my part, for I will keep my neck out of a 
 halter; but, faith, he makes it out plainly to me that all 
 matters are not as they should be. I am all for liberty, for 
 my part.’ ‘ Is that so consistent with your calling 1 ’ cries 
 Booth. ‘ I thought, my friend, you had lived by depriving 
 men of their liberty.’ ‘ That’s another matter,’ cries the 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 343 
 
 CH. IT.] 
 
 bailiff; ‘ that’s all according to law, and in the way of busi¬ 
 ness. To be sure, men must be obliged to pay their debts, 
 or else there would be an end of everything.’ Booth desired 
 the bailiff to give him his opinion of liberty. Upon which, 
 he hesitated a moment, and then cried out, ‘ 0 ’tis a fine 
 thing, ’tis a very fine thing, and the constitution of England.’ 
 Booth told him, that by the old constitution of England 
 he had heard that men could not be arrested for debt; to 
 which the bailiff answered, that must have been in very bad 
 times ; ‘ because as why,’' says he, ‘ would it not be the 
 hardest thing in the world if a man could not arrest another 
 for a just and lawful debt ? besides, sir, you must be mis¬ 
 taken ; for how could that ever be 1 is not liberty the con¬ 
 stitution of England 1 well, and is not the constitution, as a 
 man may say,—whereby the constitution, that is the law 
 and liberty, and all that—’ 
 
 Booth had a little mercy upon the poor bailiff, when he 
 found him rounding in this manner, and told him he had 
 made the matter very clear. Booth then proceeded to inquire 
 after the other gentlemen, his fellows in affliction; upon 
 which Bondum acquainted him that one of the prisoners 
 was a poor fellow. ‘ He calls himself a gentleman,’ said 
 Bondum ; ‘ but I am sure I never saw anything genteel by 
 him. In a week that he hath been in my house he hath 
 drank only part of one bottle of wine. I intend to carry 
 him to Newgate within a day or two, if he can’t find bail, 
 which, I suppose, he will not be able to do; for everybody 
 says he is an undone man. He hath run out all he hath by 
 losses in business, and one way or other; and he hath a wife 
 and seven children. Here was the whole family here the 
 other day, all howling together. I never saw such a beggarly 
 crew; I was almost ashamed to see them in my house. I 
 thought they seemed fitter for Bridewell than any other 
 place. To be sure, I do not reckon him as proper company 
 for such as you, sir; but there is another prisoner in the house 
 that I dare say you will like very much. He is, indeed, 
 very much of a gentleman, and spends his money like one. 
 I have had him only three days, and I am afraid he won’t 
 stay much longer. They say, indeed, he is a gamester ; but 
 what is that to me or any one, as long as a man appears as 
 a gentleman ? I always love to speak by people as I find ; 
 
344 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 and, in my opinion, lie is fit company for the greatest lord 
 in the land; for he hath very good clothes, and money 
 enough. He is not here for debt, hut upon a judge’s 
 warrant for an assault and battery; for the tipstaff locks up 
 here.’ 
 
 The bailiff was thus haranguing when he was interrupted 
 by the arrival of the attorney whom the trusty serjeant had, 
 with the utmost expedition, found out and despatched to the 
 relief of his distressed friend. But before we proceed any 
 further with the captain we will return to poor Amelia, for 
 whom, considering the situation in which we left her, 
 the good-natured reader may be, perhaps, in no small degree 
 solicitous. 
 
CII. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 345 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME EXTRAORDINARY BEHAVIOUR IN MRS 
 
 ELLISON. 
 
 The serjeant being departed to convey Mrs Ellison to the 
 captain, liis wife went to fetch Amelia’s children to theii 
 mother. 
 
 Amelia’s concern for the distresses of her husband was 
 aggravated at the sight of her children. ‘ Good Heavens ! 
 she cried, ‘ what will—what can become of these poor little 
 wretches ? why have I produced these little creatures only 
 to give them a share of poverty and misery 1 At which 
 words she embraced them eagerly in her arms, and bedewed 
 them both with her tears. 
 
 The children’s eyes soon overflowed as fast as their 
 mother’s, though neither of them knew the cause of liei 
 affliction. The little boy, who was the elder and much the 
 sharper of the two, imputed the agonies of his mother to hei 
 illness, according to the account brought to his father in his 
 presence. 
 
 When Amelia became acquainted with the child’s appre¬ 
 hensions, she soon satisfied him that she was in a perfect 
 state of health ; at which the little thing expressed great 
 satisfaction, and said he was glad she was well again. Amelia 
 told him she had not been in the least disordered. Upon 
 which the innocent cried out, ‘ La ! how can people tell such 
 fibs ] a great tall man told my papa you was taken very ill 
 at Mrs Somebody’s shop, and my poor papa presently ran 
 down-stairs : I was afraid he would have broke his neck, to 
 come to you.’ 
 
 ‘ O, the villains ! ’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ what a stratagem 
 was here to take away your husband ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Take away!’ answered the child—‘M hat! hath anybody 
 taken away papa 1—Sure that naughty fibbing man hath not 
 taken away papa V 
 
 Amelia begged Mrs Atkinson to say something to hei 
 
346 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 children, for that her spirits were overpowered. She then 
 threw herself into a chair, and gave a full vent to a passion 
 almost too strong for her delicate constitution. 
 
 The scene that followed, during some minutes, is beyond 
 my power of description; I must beg the readers’ hearts to 
 suggest it to themselves. The children hung on their 
 mother, whom they endeavoured in vain to comfort, as Mrs 
 Atkinson did in vain attempt to pacify them, telling them 
 all would he well, and they would soon see their papa again. 
 
 At length, partly by the persuasions of Mrs Atkinson, 
 partly from consideration of her little ones, and more, per¬ 
 haps, from the relief which she had acquired by her tears, 
 Amelia became a little composed. 
 
 Nothing worth notice passed in this miserable company 
 from this time till the return of Mrs Ellison from the bailiffs 
 house; and to draw out scenes of wretchedness to too great 
 a length, is a task very uneasy to the writer, and for which 
 none but readers of a most gloomy complexion will think 
 themselves ever obliged to his labours. 
 
 At length Mrs Ellison arrived, and entered the room with 
 an air of gaiety rather misbecoming the occasion. When she 
 had seated herself in a chair she told Amelia that the captain 
 was very well and in good spirits, and that he earnestly de¬ 
 sired her to keep up hers. ‘ Come, madam,’ said she, 
 * don’t be disconsolate ; I hope we .shall soon be able to 
 get him out of his troubles. The debts, indeed, amount to 
 more than I expected; however, ways may be found to 
 redeem him. lie must own himself guilty of some rashness 
 in going out of the verge, when he knew to what he was 
 liable; but that is now not to be remedied. If he .had 
 followed my advice this had not happened; but men will 
 be headstrong.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot bear this,’ cries Amelia; ‘ shall I hear that best 
 of creatures blamed for his tenderness to me 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Well, I will not blame him,’ answered Mrs Ellison; 
 ‘ I am sure I propose nothing but to serve him ; and if you 
 will do as much to serve him yourself, he will not long be a 
 prisoner.’ 
 
 ‘ I do ! ’ cries Amelia : ‘ 0 Heavens ! is there a thing upon 
 earth—’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, there is a thing upon earth,’ said Mrs Ellison, ‘ and 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 347 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 a very easy thing too; and yet I will venture my life you 
 start when I propose it. And yet, when I consider that you 
 are a woman of understanding, I know not why I should 
 think so ; for sure you must have too much good sense to 
 imagine that you can cry your husband out of prison. If 
 this would have done, I see you have almost cried your eyes 
 out already. And yet you may do the business by a much 
 pleasanter way than by crying and bawling.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean, madam % ’ cries Amelia.—‘Tor my 
 part, I cannot guess your meaning.’ 
 
 ‘ Before I tell you then, madam,’ answered Mrs Ellison, 
 
 1 1 must inform you, if you do not already know it, that the 
 captain is charged with actions to the amount of near five 
 hundred pounds. I am sure I would willingly be his bail; 
 but I know my bail would not be taken for that sum. You 
 must consider, therefore, madam, what chance you have of 
 redeeming him • unless you choose, as perhaps some wives 
 would, that he should lie all his life in prison.’ 
 
 At these words Amelia discharged a shower of tears, and 
 gave every mark of the most frantic grief. 
 
 ‘ Why, there now,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ while you will in¬ 
 dulge these extravagant passions, how can you be capable 
 of listening to the voice of reason 1 I know I am a fool in 
 concerning myself thus with the affairs of others. I know 
 the thankless office I undertake ; and yet I love you so, my 
 dear Mrs Booth, that I cannot bear to see you afflicted, and 
 I would comfort you if you would suffer me. Let me beg 
 you to make your mind easy; and within these two days I 
 will engage to set your husband at liberty. 
 
 ‘ Idarkee, child ; only behave like a woman of spirit this 
 evening, and keep your appointment, notwithstanding what 
 hath happened ; and I am convinced there is one who hath 
 the power and the will to serve you.’ 
 
 Mrs Ellison spoke the latter part of her speech in a 
 whisper, so that Mrs Atkinson, who was then engaged with 
 the children, might not hear her; but Amelia answered aloud, 
 and said, ‘ What appointment would you have me keep this 
 evening 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, nay, if you have forgot,’ cries Mrs Ellison, ‘ I 
 will tell you more another time; but come, will you go 
 home % my dinner is ready by this time, and you shall dine 
 with me.’ 
 
348 AMELIA. [BK VIII. 
 
 ‘ Talk not to me of dinners/ cries Amelia ; ‘ my stomacli 
 is too full already.’ 
 
 ‘ISTay, but, dear madam/ answered Mrs Ellison, ‘let me 
 beseech you to go home with me. I do not care,’ says she, 
 whispering, 1 to speak before some folks.’ 
 
 ‘ I have no secret, madam, in the world,’ replied Amelia 
 aloud, ‘ which I would not communicate to this lady; for 
 I shall always acknowledge the liightest obligations to her 
 for the secrets she hath imparted to me.’ 
 
 f Madam,’ said Mrs Ellison, ‘ I do not interfere with 
 obligations. I am glad the lady hath obliged you so much; 
 and I wish all people were equally mindful of obligations. I 
 hope I have omitted no opportunity of endeavouring to ob¬ 
 lige Mrs Booth, as well as I have some other folks.’ 
 
 1 If by other folks, madam, you mean me,’ cries Mrs 
 Atkinson, ‘ I confess I sincerely believe you intended the 
 same obligation to us both; and I have the pleasure to think 
 it is owing to me that this lady is not as much obliged to 
 you as I am.’ 
 
 ‘ I protest 1 , madam, I can hardly guess your meaning/ 
 said Mrs Ellison.—‘ Do you really intend to affront me, 
 madam c l ’ 
 
 4 1 intend to preserve innocence and virtue, if it be in my 
 power, madam,’ answered the other. And sure nothing but 
 the most eager resolution to destroy it could induce you to 
 mention such an appointment at such a time.’ 
 
 ‘ I did not expect this treatment from you, madam,’ cries 
 Mrs Ellison; ‘ such ingratitude I could not have believed 
 had it been reported to me by any other.’ 
 
 ‘ Such impudence/ answered Mrs Atkinson , 1 must exceed, 
 I think, all belief; but, when women once abandon that 
 modesty which is the characteristic of their sex, they seldom 
 set any bounds to their assurance.’ 
 
 ‘ I could not have believed this to have been in human 
 nature/ cries Mrs Ellison. 1 Is this the woman whom I have 
 fed, have clothed, have supported ; who owes to my charity 
 and my intercessions that she is not at this day destitute of 
 all the necessaries of life 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I own it all,’ answered Mrs Atkinson ; 1 and I add the 
 favour of a masquerade ticket to the number. Could I have 
 thought, madam, that you would before my face have asked 
 

 
 
 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 313 
 
 CII. 
 
 III.] 
 
 another lady to go to tlic same place with the same man 1— 
 But I ask your pardon ; I impute rather more assurance to 
 you than you are mistress of.—You have endeavoured to 
 keep the assignation a secret from me; and it was by mere 
 accident only that I discovered it; unless there are some 
 guardian angels that in general protect innocence and virtue ; 
 though, I may say, I have not always found them so watch- 
 fid.’ ° 
 
 ‘ Indeed, madam/ said Mrs Ellison, ‘ you are not worth 
 my answer; nor will I stay a moment longer with such a 
 person.—So, Mrs Booth, you have your choice, madam, 
 whether you will go with me, or remain in the company of 
 this lady.’ 
 
 ‘ If so, madam/ answered Mrs Booth, ‘ I shall not be long- 
 in determining to stay where I am.’ 
 
 Mrs* Ellison then, casting a look of great indignation at 
 both the ladies, made a short speech full of invectives against 
 Mrs Atkinson, and not without oblicpie hints of ingratitude 
 against poor Amelia ; after which she burst out of the room, 
 and out of the house, and made haste to her own home, in a 
 condition of mind to which fortune without guilt cannot, I 
 believe, reduce any one. 
 
 Indeed, how much the superiority of misery is on the side 
 of wickedness may appear to every reader who will compare 
 the present situation of Amelia with that of Mrs Ellison. 
 Fortune had attacked the former with almost the highest de¬ 
 gree of her malice. She was involved in a scene of most ex 
 quisite distress, and her husband, her principal comfort, torn 
 violently from her arms ; yet her sorrow, however exquisite, 
 was all soft and tender, nor was she without many consola¬ 
 tions. Her case, however hard, was not absolutely desperate; 
 for scarce any condition of fortune can be so. Art and indus¬ 
 try, chance and friends, have often relieved the most distrest 
 circumstances, and converted them into opulence. In all 
 these she had hopes on this side the grave, and perfect virtue 
 and innocence gave her the strongest assurances on the other. 
 Whereas, in th°e bosom of Mrs Ellison, all was storm and 
 tempest; anger, revenge, fear, and pride, like so many raging 
 furies, possessed her mind, and tortured her with disappoint¬ 
 ment and shame. Loss of reputation, which is generally 
 irreparable, was to be her lot; loss of friends is of this the 
 
350 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 certain consequence; all on tliis side the grave appeared 
 dreary and comfortless; and endless misery on the other, 
 closed the gloomy prospect. 
 
 Hence, my worthy reader, console thyself, that however 
 few of the other good things of life are thy lot, the best of 
 all things, which is innocence, is always within thy own 
 power ; and, though Fortune may make thee often unhappy, 
 she can never make thee completely and irreparably miser¬ 
 able without thy own consent. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 351 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONTAINING, AMONG MANY MATTERS, THE EXEMPLARY 
 BEHAVIOUR OE COLONEL JAMES. 
 
 When Mrs Ellison was departed, Mrs Atkinson began to 
 apply all her art to soothe and comfort Amelia, but was pre¬ 
 sently prevented by her. ‘ I am ashamed, dear madam,’ said 
 Amelia, ‘ of having indulged my affliction so much at your 
 expense. The suddenness of the occasion is my only excuse; 
 for, had I had time to summon my resolution to my assist¬ 
 ance, I hope I am mistress of more patience than you have 
 hitherto seen me exert. I know, madam, in my unwarrant¬ 
 able excesses, I have been guilty of many transgressions. 
 Eirst, against that Divine will and pleasure without whose 
 permission, at least, no human accident can happen; in the 
 next place, madam, if anything can aggravate such a fault, 
 I have transgressed the laws of friendship as well as decency, 
 in throwing upon you some part of the load of my grief; 
 and again, I have sinned against common sense, which should 
 teach me, instead of weakly and heavily lamenting my mis¬ 
 fortunes, to rouse all my spirits to remove them. In this 
 light I am shocked at my own folly, and am resolved to 
 leave my children under your care, and go directly to my 
 husband. I may comfort him. I may assist him. I may 
 relieve him. There is nothing now too difficult for me to 
 undertake.’ 
 
 Mrs Atkinson greatly approved and complimented her 
 friend on all the former part of her speech, except what related 
 to herself, on which she spoke very civilly, and I believe with 
 great truth; but as to her determination of going to her 
 husband she endeavoured to dissuade her, at least she begged 
 her to defer it for the present, and till the serjeant returned 
 home. She then reminded Amelia that it was now past 
 five in the afternoon, and that she had not taken any refresh¬ 
 ment but a dish of tea the whole day, and desired she would 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 352 
 
 [bk yiti. 
 
 give her leave to procure her a chick, or anything she liked 
 better, for her dinner. 
 
 Amelia thanked her friend, and said she would sit down 
 with her to whatever she pleased ; ‘ hut if I do not eat,’ said 
 she, ‘ I would not have you impute it to anything hut want 
 of appetite; for I assure you all things are equally indifferent 
 to me. I am more solicitous about these poor little things, 
 who have not been used to fast so long. Heaven knows 
 what may hereafter be their fate ! ’ 
 
 Airs Atkinson bid her hope the best, and then recom¬ 
 mended the children to the care of her maid. 
 
 And now arrived a servant from Mrs James, with an in¬ 
 vitation to Captain Booth and to his lady to dine with the 
 colonel the day after the next. This a little perplexed 
 Amelia; but after a short consideration she despatched an 
 answer to Mrs James, in which she concisely informed her 
 of what had happened. 
 
 The honest serjeant, who had been on his legs almost the 
 whole day, now returned, and brought Amelia a short letter 
 from her husband, in which lie gave her the most solemn 
 assurances of his health and spirits, and begged her with 
 great earnestness to take care to preserve her own, which if 
 she did, he said, he had no doubt but that they should 
 shortly be happy. He added something of hopes from my 
 lord, with which Mrs Ellison had amused him, and which 
 served only to destroy the comfort that Amelia received from 
 the rest of his letter. 
 
 Whilst Amelia, the serjeant, and his lady, were engaged 
 in a cold collation, for which purpose a cold chicken was 
 procured from the tavern for the ladies, and two pound of 
 cold beef for the serjeant, a violent knocking was heard at 
 the door, and presently afterwards Colonel James entered the 
 room. After proper compliments had passed, the colonel 
 told Amelia that her letter was brought to Mrs James while 
 they were at table, and that on her showing it him he had 
 immediately rose up, made an apology to his company, and 
 took a chair to her. He spoke to her with great tenderness 
 on the occasion, and desired her to make herself easy; 
 assuring her that he would leave nothing in his power 
 undone to serve her husband. He then gave her an invita- 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 353 
 
 tion, in his wife’s name, to his own house, in the most pressing 
 manner. 
 
 Amelia returned him very hearty thanks for all his kind 
 offers, hut begged to decline that of an apartment in his 
 house. She said, as she could not leave her children, so 
 neither could she think of bringing such a trouble with her 
 into his family; and, though the colonel gave her many as¬ 
 surances that her children, as well as herself, would be very 
 welcome to Mrs James, and even betook himself to entreaties, 
 she still persisted obstinately in her refusal. 
 
 In real truth, Amelia had taken a vast affection for Mrs 
 Atkinson, of the comfort of whose company she could not 
 bear to be deprived in her distress, nor to exchange it for 
 that of Mrs James, to whom she had lately conceived no 
 little dislike. 
 
 The colonel, when he found he could not prevail with 
 Amelia to accept his invitation, desisted from any farther 
 solicitations. He then took a bank-bill of fifty pounds from 
 his pocket-book, and said, ‘ You will pardon me, dear madam, 
 if I choose to impute your refusal of my house rather to a 
 dislike of my wife, who I will not pretend to be the most 
 agreeable of women (all men,’ said he, sighing, ‘ have not 
 Captain Booth’s fortune), than to any aversion or anger to 
 me. I must insist upon it, therefore, to make your present 
 habitation as easy to you as possible—I hope, madam, you 
 will not deny me this hapiness ; I beg you will honour me 
 with the acceptance of this trifle. He then put the note into 
 her hand, and declared that the honour of touching it was 
 worth a hundred times that sum.’ 
 
 ‘ I protest, Colonel James,’ cried Amelia, blushing, ‘ I know 
 not what to do or say, your goodness so greatly confounds 
 me. Can I, who am so well acquainted with the many 
 great obligations Mr Booth already hath to your generosity, 
 consent that you should add more to a debt we never can 
 pay ? ’ 
 
 The colonel stopt her short, protesting that she misplaced 
 the obligation; for, that if to confer the highest happiness 
 was to oblige, he was obliged to her acceptance. ‘ And I do 
 assure you, madam,’ said he, ‘ if this trifling sum, or a much 
 larger, can contribute to your ease, I shall consider myself 
 
 23 
 
354 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 as the happiest man upon earth in being able to supply 
 it, and you, madam, my greatest benefactor in receiving it.’ 
 
 Amelia then put the note in her pocket, and they entered 
 into a conversation in which many civil things were said on 
 both sides; but what was chiefly worth remark was, that 
 Amelia had almost her husband constantly in her mouth, and 
 the colonel never mentioned him: the former seemed desirous 
 to lay all obligations, as much as possible, to the account of 
 her husband ; and the latter endeavoured, with the utmost 
 delicacy, to insinuate that her happiness was the main and 
 indeed only point which he had in view. 
 
 Amelia had made no doubt, at the colonel’s first appear¬ 
 ance, but that he intended to go directly to her husband. 
 When he dropt therefore a hint of his intention to visit him 
 next morning she appeared visibly shocked at the delay. 
 The colonel, perceiving this, said, ‘ However inconvenient 
 it may be, yet, madam, if it will oblige you, or if you desire 
 it, I will even go to-night.’ Amelia answered, ‘ My husband 
 will be far from desiring to derive any good from your incon¬ 
 venience; but, if you put it to me, I must be excused for 
 saying I desire nothing more in the world than to send him 
 so great a comfort as I know he will receive from the presence 
 of such a friend.’ ( Then, to show you, madam,’ cries the 
 colonel, ‘ that I desire nothing more in the world than to 
 give you pleasure, I will go to him immediately.’ 
 
 Amelia then bethought herself of the serjeant, and told 
 the colonel his old acquaintance Atkinson, whom he had 
 known |it Gibraltar, was then in the house, and would con¬ 
 duct him to the place. The serjeant was immediately called 
 in, paid his respects to the colonel, and was acknowledged by 
 him. They both immediately set forward, Amelia to the 
 utmost of her power pressing their departure. 
 
 Mrs Atkinson now returned to Amelia, and was by her 
 acquainted with the colonel’s late generosity ; for her heart 
 so boiled over with gratitude that she could not conceal the 
 ebullition. Amelia likewise gave her friend a full narrative 
 of the colonel’s former behaviour and friendship to her 
 husband, as well abroad as in England; and ended with 
 declaring that she believed him to be the most generous man 
 upon earth. 
 
 Mrs Atkinson agreed with Amelia’s conclusion, and said 
 
cu. iv.J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 3o5 
 
 she was glad to hoar there was any such man. They then 
 proceeded with the children to the tea-table, where panegyric, 
 and not scandal, was the topic of their conversation ; and of 
 this panegyric the colonel was the subject; both the ladies 
 seeming to vie with each other in celebrating the praises of 
 his gpodness. 
 
356 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 COMMENTS UPON AUTHOBS. 
 
 Having left Amelia in as comfortable a situation as could 
 possibly be expected, her immediate distresses relieved, and 
 her heart filled with great hopes from the friendship of the 
 colonel, we will now return to Booth, who, when the attorney 
 and serjeant had left him, received a visit from that great 
 author of whom honourable mention is made in our second 
 chapter. 
 
 Booth, as the reader may be pleased to remember, was a 
 pretty good master of the classics ; for his father, though he 
 designed his son for the army, did not think it necessary to 
 breed him up a blockhead. He did not, perhaps, imagine 
 that a competent share of Latin or Greek would make his 
 son either a pedant or a coward. He considered likewise, 
 probably, that the life of a soldier is in general a life of idle¬ 
 ness ; and might think that the spare hours of an officer in 
 country quarters would be as well employed with a book as 
 in sauntering about the streets, loitering in a coffee-house, 
 sotting in a tavern, or in laying schemes to debauch and ruin 
 a set of harmless ignorant country girls. 
 
 As Booth was therefore what might well be called, in this 
 age at least, a man of learning, he began to discourse our 
 author on subjects of literature. ‘ I think, sir,’ says he, ‘ that 
 Dr Swift hath been generally allowed, by the critics in this 
 kingdom, to be the greatest master of humour that ever 
 wrote. Indeed, I allow him to have possessed most admir¬ 
 able talents of this kind ; and, if Rabelais was his master, I 
 think he proves the truth of the common Greek proverb — 
 that the scholar is often superior to the master. As to Cer¬ 
 vantes, I do not think we can make any just comparison ; 
 for, though Mr Pope compliments him with sometimes taking 
 Cervantes’ serious air—’ M remember the passage,’ cries 
 the author; 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 357 
 
 ‘ 0 thou, whatever title please thine ear, 
 
 Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver; 
 
 Whether you take Cervantes’ serious air, 
 
 Or laugh and shake in Rabelais’ easy, chair —■ 
 
 ‘ You are right, sir,’ said Booth ; e hut though I should agree 
 that the doctor hath sometimes condescended to imitate 
 Babelais, I do not remember to have seen in his works the 
 least attempt in the manner of Cervantes. But there is one 
 in his own way, and whom I am convinced he studied above 
 all others—you guess, I believe, I am going to name Lucian. 
 This author, I say, I am convinced, he followed; but I think 
 he followed him at a distance: as, to say the truth, every 
 other writer of this kind hath done in my opinion ; for none, 
 I think, hath yet equalled him. I agree, indeed, entirely 
 with Mr Moyle, in his Discourse on the Age of the Philo- 
 patris, when he gives him the epithet of the incomparable 
 Lucian ; and incomparable, I believe, he will remain as long 
 as the language in which he wrote shall endure. What an 
 inimitable piece of humour is his Cock !’ ‘I remember it 
 very well/ cries the author ; ‘ his story of a Cock and a Bull 
 is excellent.’ Booth stared at this, and asked the author 
 what he meant by the Bull ] ‘ Bay,’ answered he, ‘ I don’t 
 know very well, upon my soul. It is a long time since I 
 read him. I learnt him all over at school; I have not read 
 him much since. And pray, sir,’ said he, ‘ how do you like 
 his Pharsalia ? don’t you think Mr Bowe’s translation a very 
 fine one ? ’ Booth replied, ‘ I believe we are talking of differ¬ 
 ent authors. The Pharsalia, which Mr Bowe translated, 
 was written by Lucan : but I have been speaking of Lucian, 
 a Greek writer, and, in my opinion, the greatest in the 
 humorous way that ever the world produced.’ ‘ Ay ! ’ cries 
 the author, ‘ he was indeed so, a very excellent writer in¬ 
 deed ! I fancy a translation of him would sell very well! ’ 
 ‘ I do not know, indeed,’ cries Booth. ‘ A good translation 
 of him would be a valuable book. I have seen a wretched 
 one published by Mr Dryden, but translated by others, who 
 in many places have misunderstood Lucian’s meaning, and 
 have nowhere preserved the spirit of the original.’ ‘ That is 
 great pity/ says the author. ‘ Pray, sir, is he well translated 
 in the French'?’ Booth answered, he could not tell; but 
 that he doubted it very much having never seen a good 
 
358 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK YII. 
 
 version into tliat language out of the Greek. ‘To confess 
 the truth, I believe/ said he, ‘ tlie French translators have 
 generally consulted the Latin only; which, in some of the 
 few Greek writers I have read, is intolerably had. And as 
 the English translators, for the most part, pursue the French, 
 we may easily guess what spirit those copies of had copies 
 must preserve of the original.’ 
 
 ‘ Egad, you are a shrewd guesser/ cries the author. ‘ I am 
 glad the booksellers have not your sagacity. But how should 
 it he otherwise, considering the price they pay by the sheet h 
 The Greek, you will allow, is a hard language; and there are 
 few gentlemen that write who can read it without a good 
 lexicon. Now, sir, if we were to afford time to find out the 
 true meaning of words, a gentleman would not get bread and 
 cheese by his work. If one was to be paid, indeed, as Mr 
 Pope was for his Homer—Pray, sir, don’t you think that the 
 best translation in the world 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘ I think, though it is certainly 
 a noble paraphrase, and of itself a fine poem, yet in some 
 places it is no translation at all. In the very beginning, for 
 instance, he hath not rendered the true force of the author. 
 Homer invokes his muse in the five first lines of the 
 Iliad; and, at the end of the fifth, he gives his reason : 
 
 Aidg d’ irsXeuTo j3ov\i). 
 
 1 For all these things,’ says he, ‘ were brought about by the 
 decree of Jupiter; and, therefore, he supposes their true 
 sources are known only to the deities. Now, the translation 
 takes no more notice of the AE than if no such word had 
 been there.’ 
 
 ‘ Very possibly,’ answered the author; ‘it is a long time 
 since I read the original. Perhaps, then, he followed the 
 French translations. I observe, indeed, he talks much in the 
 notes of Madam Dacier and Monsieur Eustathius.’ 
 
 Booth had now received conviction enough of his friend’s 
 knowledge of the Greek language; without attempting, 
 therefore, to set him right, he made a sudden transition to 
 the Latin. ‘Pray, sir,’ said he, ‘as you have mentioned Lowe’s 
 translation of the Pliarsalia, do you remember how he hath 
 rendered that passage in the character of Cato 1— 
 
 - Venerisque huio maxvmus usus 
 
 Fngmies ; ttrbi Fater est, urbique Maritus. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 359 
 
 cn. v.] 
 
 For I apprehend that passage is generally misunderstood.’ 
 
 ‘ I really do not remember/ answered the author. ‘ Pray, 
 sir, what do you take to he the meaning 1 ’ 
 
 ‘I apprehend, sir,’ replied Booth; ‘that by these words, 
 Urbi Pater est, urbique Maritus , Cato is represented as the 
 father and husband to the city of Rome.’ 
 
 ‘ Very true, sir/ cries the author ; ‘ very fine, indeed.—Not 
 only the father of his country, but the husband too ; very 
 noble, truly ! ’ 
 
 1 Pardon me, sir/ cries Booth ; ‘ I do not conceive that to 
 have been Lucan’s meaning. If you please to observe the 
 context; Lucan, having commended the temperance of Cato 
 in the instances of diet and clothes, proceeds to venereal 
 pleasures; of which, says the poet, his principal use was pro¬ 
 creation : then he adds, Urbi Pater est , urbique Maritus; 
 that he became a father and a husband for the sake only of 
 the city.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word that’s true,’ cries the author ; ‘ I did not 
 think of it. It is much finer than the other.— Urbis Pater 
 est —what is the other ?—ay— Urbis Maritus. —It is certainly 
 as you say, sir.’ 
 
 Booth was by this pretty well satisfied of the author’s pro¬ 
 found learning ; however, he was willing to try him a little 
 farther. He asked him, therefore, what was his opinion of 
 Lucan in general, and in what class of writers he ranked him 1 
 
 The author stared a little at this question ; and, after some 
 hesitation, answered, ‘ Certainly, sir, I think he is a fine 
 writer and a very great poet.’ 
 
 ‘ I am very much of the same opinion,’ cries Booth; ‘ but 
 where do you class him—next to what poet do you place 
 him V 
 
 1 Let me see/ cries the author; ‘ where do I class him 1 
 next to whom do I place him!—Ay!—why—why, pray, 
 where do you yourself place him 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Why, surely,’ cries Booth, ‘ if he is not to be placed in 
 the first rank with Homer, and Virgil, and Milton, I think 
 clearly he is at the head of the second, before either Statius 
 or Silius Italicus—though I allow to each of these their 
 merits ; but, perhaps, an epic poem was beyond the genius 
 of either. I own, I have often thought, if Statius had ven¬ 
 tured no farther than Ovid or Claudian, he would have sue- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 360 
 
 [bk yiii. 
 
 ceeded better; for his Sylvse are, in my opinion, much better 
 than his Thebais.’ 
 
 ‘ I believe I was of the same opinion formerly/ said the 
 author. 
 
 ‘ And for what reason have you altered it 1 ’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘ I have not altered it/ answered the author; ‘ but, to tell 
 you the truth, T have not any opinion at all about these 
 matters at present. I do not trouble my head much with 
 poetry; for there is no encouragement to such studies in this 
 age. It is true, indeed, I have now and then wrote a poem 
 or two for the magazines, but I never intend to write any 
 more; for a gentleman is not paid for his time. A sheet is 
 a sheet with the booksellers; and, whether it be in prose or 
 verse, they make no difference; though certainly there is as 
 much difference to a gentleman in the work as there is to a 
 tailor between making a plain and. a laced suit. Bhimes are 
 difficult things ; they are stubborn things, sir. I have been 
 sometimes longer in tagging a couplet than I have been in 
 writing a speech on the side of the opposition which hath 
 been read with great applause all over the kingdom.’ 
 
 ‘ I am glad you are pleased to confirm that/ cries Booth; 
 
 1 for I protest it was an entire secret to me till this day. I 
 was so perfectly ignorant, that I thought the speeches pub¬ 
 lished in the magazines were really made by the members 
 themselves.’ 
 
 ‘ Some of them, and I believe I may, without vanity, say 
 the best,’ cries the author , 1 are all the productions of my own 
 pen 1 but I believe I shall leave it off soon, unless a sheet of 
 speech will fetch more than it does at present. In truth, the 
 romance-writing is the only branch of our business now that 
 is worth following. Goods of that sort have had so much 
 success lately in the market, that a bookseller scarce cares 
 what he bids for them. And it is certainly the easiest work in 
 the world; you may write it almost as fast as you can set 
 pen to paper; and if you interlard it with a little scandal, a 
 little abuse on some living characters of note, you cannot 
 fail of success.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, sir,’ cries Booth, 4 you have greatly in¬ 
 structed me. I could not have imagined there had been so 
 much regularity in the trade of writing as you are pleased to 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 361 
 
 mention; by what I can perceive, the pen and ink is likely 
 to become the staple commodity of the kingdom.’ 
 
 ‘ Alas ! sir,’ answered the author, ‘ it is overstocked. The 
 market is overstocked. There is no encouragemeut to merit, 
 no patrons. I have been these five years soliciting a sub¬ 
 scription for my new translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, 
 with notes explanatory, historical, and critical; and I have 
 scarce collected five hundred names yet.’ 
 
 The mention of this translation a little surprized Booth ; 
 not only as the author had just declared his intentions to 
 forsake the tuneful muses; but, for some other reasons 
 which he had collected from his conversation with our 
 author, he little expected to hear of a proposal to translate 
 any of the Latin poets. He proceeded, therefore, to cate¬ 
 chise him a little farther ; and by his answers was fully 
 satisfied that he had the very same acquaintance with Ovid 
 that he had appeared to have with Lucan. 
 
 The author then pulled out a bundle of papers containing 
 proposals for his subscription, and receipts ; and, addressing 
 himself to Booth, said, ‘ Though the place in which we 
 meet, sir, is an improper place to solicit favours of this kind, 
 yet, perhaps, it may be in your power to serve me if you 
 will charge your pockets with some of these.’ Booth was 
 just offering at an excuse, when the bailiff introduced Colonel 
 James and the serjeant. 
 
 The unexpected visit of a beloved friend to a man in 
 affliction, especially in Mr Booth’s situation, is a comfort 
 which can scarce be equalled; not barely from the hopes of 
 relief or redress by his assistance, but as it is an evidence of 
 sincere friendship which scarce admits of any doubt or sus¬ 
 picion. Such an instance doth indeed make a man amends 
 for all ordinary troubles and distresses; and we ought to 
 think ourselves gainers by having had such an opportunity 
 of discovering that we are possessed of one of the most 
 valuable of all human possessions. 
 
 Booth was so transported at the sight of the colonel, that 
 he dropt the proposals which the author had put into his 
 hands, and burst forth into the highest professions of grati¬ 
 tude to his friend ; who behaved very properly on his side, 
 and said everything which became the mouth of a friend on 
 the occasion. 
 
362 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 It is true, indeed, lie seemed not moved equally either 
 with Booth or the serjeant, both whose eyes watered at the 
 scene. In truth, the colonel, though a very generous man, 
 had not the least grain of tenderness in his disposition. His 
 mind was formed of those firm materials of which nature 
 formerly hammered out the Stoic, and upon which the sor¬ 
 rows of no man living could make an impression. A man 
 of this temper, who doth not much value danger, will fight 
 for the person he calls his friend, and the man that hath but 
 little value for his money will give it him ; but such friend¬ 
 ship is never to be absolutely depended on ; for, whenever 
 the favourite passion interposes with it, it is sure to subside 
 and vanish into air. Whereas the man whose tender dis¬ 
 position really feels the miseries of another will endeavour 
 to relieve them for his own sake ; and, in such a mind, 
 friendship will often get the superiority over every other 
 passion. 
 
 But, from whatever motive it sprung, the colonel’s beha¬ 
 viour to Booth seemed truly amiable ; and so it appeared to 
 the author, who took the first occasion to applaud it in a 
 very florid oration ; which the reader, when he recollects 
 that he was a speech-maker by profession, will not be sur¬ 
 prized at; nor, perhaps, will be much more surprized that 
 he soon after took an occasion of clapping a proposal ink) 
 the colonel’s hands, holding at the same time a receipt very 
 visible in his own. 
 
 The colonel received both, and gave the author a guinea 
 in exchange, which was double the sum mentioned in the 
 receipt; for which the author made a low bow, and very 
 politely took his leave, saying, ‘ I suppose, gentlemen, you 
 may have some private business together; I heartily wish a 
 speedy end to your confinement, and I congratulate you on 
 the possessing so great, so noble, and so generous a friend.’ 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 363 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 WHICH INCLINES BATHER TO SATIRE THAN PANEGYRIC. 
 
 The colonel had tlie curiosity to ask Booth the name of the 
 gentleman who, in the vulgar language, had struck, or taken 
 him in for a guinea with so much ease and dexterity. Booth 
 answered, he did not know his name; all that he knew of 
 him was, that he was the most impudent and illiterate fellow 
 he had ever seen, and that, by his own account, he was the 
 author of most of the wonderful productions of the age. 
 
 4 Perhaps,’ said he, 4 it may look uncharitable in me to blame 
 you for your generosity ; but I am convinced the fellow hath 
 not the least merit or capacity, and you have subscribed to 
 the most horrid trash that ever was published.’ 
 
 4 1 care not a farthing what he publishes,’ cries the col¬ 
 onel. 4 Heaven forbid I should be obliged to read half the 
 nonsense I have subscribed to.’ 
 
 4 But don’t you think,’ said Booth, 4 that by such indis¬ 
 criminate encouragement of authors you do a real mischief to 
 the society! By propagating the subscriptions of such fellows, 
 people are tired out and withhold their contributions to men 
 of real merit; and, at the same time, you are contributing 
 to fill the world, not only with nonsense, but with all the 
 scurrility, indecency, and profaneness with which the age 
 abounds, and with which all bad writers supply the defect 
 of genius.’ 
 
 4 Pugh ! ’ cries the colonel, 4 1 never consider these matters. 
 Good or bad, it is all one to me ; but there’s an acquaintance 
 of mine, and a man of great wit too, that thinks the worst 
 the best, as they are the surest to make him laugh.’ 
 
 4 1 ask pardon, sir,’ says the serjeant; 4 but I wish your 
 honour would consider your own affairs a little, for it grows 
 late in the evening.’ 
 
 4 The serjeant says true,’ answered the colonel. 4 What 
 is it you intend to do 1 ’ 
 
 4 Faith, colonel, I know not what I shall do. My affairs 
 
364 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 seem so irreparable, that I have been driving them as much 
 as possibly I could from my mind. If I was to suffer alone, 
 I think I could bear them with some philosophy; but when 
 I consider who are to be the sharers in my fortune—the 
 dearest of children, and the best, the worthiest, and the 
 
 noblest of women-Pardon me, my dear friend, these 
 
 sensations are above me; they convert me into a woman; 
 they drive me to despair, to madness.’ 
 
 The colonel advised him to command himself, and told 
 him this was not the way to retrieve his fortune. ‘ As to me, 
 my dear Booth,’ said he, ‘ you know you may command me 
 as far as is really within my power.’ 
 
 Booth answered eagerly, that he was so far from expecting 
 any more favours from the colonel, that he had resolved not 
 to let him know anything of his misfortune. ‘No, my dear 
 friend,’ cries he, ‘ I am too much obliged to you already; ’ 
 and then burst into many fervent expressions of gratitude, 
 till the colonel himself stopt him, and begged him to give 
 an account of the debt or debts for which he was detained 
 in that horrid place. 
 
 Booth answered, he could not be very exact, but he 
 feared it was upwards of four hundred pounds. 
 
 ‘ It is but three hundred pounds, indeed, sir,’ cries the 
 serjeant; ‘if you can raise three hundred pounds, you are a 
 free man this moment.’ 
 
 Booth, who did not apprehend the generous meaning of 
 the serjeant as well as, I believe, the reader will, answered 
 he was mistaken; that he had computed his debts, and they 
 amounted to upwards of four hundred pounds; nay, that 
 the bailiff had shown him writs for above that sum. 
 
 ‘ Whether your debts are three or four hundred,’ cries the 
 colonel, ‘ the present business is to give bail only, and then 
 you will have some time to try your friends : I think you 
 might get a company abroad, and then I would advance the 
 money on the security of half your pay; and, in the mean 
 time, I will be one of your bail with all my heart.’ 
 
 Whilst Booth poured forth his gratitude for all this kind¬ 
 ness, the serjeant ran down-stairs for the bailiff, and shortly 
 after returned with him into the room. 
 
 The bailiff, being informed that the colonel offered to be 
 bail for his prisoner, answered a little surlily, ‘ Well, sir, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 365 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 and who will be the other? you know, I suppose, there must 
 he two; and I must have time to enquire after them.’ 
 
 The colonel replied, f I believe, sir, I am well known to 
 he responsible for a.much larger sum than you demand on 
 this gentleman; hut, if your forms require two, I suppose 
 
 the serjeant here will do for the other.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know the serjeant nor you either, sir,’ cries Bon- 
 dum; ‘ and, if you propose yourselves hail for the gentleman, 
 
 I must have time to enquire after you. 
 
 * You need very little time to enquire after me,’ says the 
 colonel, ‘ for I can send for several of the law, whom I sup¬ 
 pose you know, to satisfy you; hut consider, it is very late.’ 
 
 < Yes, sir,’ answered Bondum, ‘ I do consider it is too late 
 
 for the captain to he hailed to-night.’ 
 
 < What do you mean by too late ? ’ cries the coloneh 
 
 < l mean, sir, that I must search the office, and that is now 
 shut up; for, if my lord mayor and the court of aldermen 
 would he hound for him, I would not discharge him till I 
 
 had searched the office.’ , 
 
 < How, sir ! ’ cries the colonel, ‘ hath the law of England 
 no more regard for the liberty of the subject than to suffer 
 such fellows as you to detain a man in custody for debt, 
 when he can give undeniable security ? ’ 
 
 < Don’t fellow me,’ said the bailiff; ‘ I am as good a fellow 
 as yourself, I believe, though you have that riband in your 
 
 hat there.’ . , 
 
 ‘ Do you know whom you are speaking to ? said the 
 
 serjeant. i Do you know you are talking to a colonel of the 
 army?’ 
 
 ‘ What’s a colonel of the army to me ? cries the bailiff. 
 ‘ I have had as good as he in my custody before now.’ 
 
 ‘ And a member of parliament ? ’ cries the serjeant. 
 
 ‘ Is the gentleman a member of parliament ?—Well, and 
 what harm have I said ? I am sure I meant no harm ; and, 
 if his honour is offended, I ask his pardon ) to be sure his 
 honour must know that the sheriff is answerable foi all the 
 writs in the office, though they were never so many, and I 
 am answerable to the sheriff. I am sure the captain caq t 
 say that I have shown him any manner of incivility since 
 he hath been here.—And I hope, honourable sir,’ cries he, 
 turning to the colonel, ‘ you don’t take anything amiss that 
 
3G6 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 I said, or meant by way of disrespect, or any such matter. 
 I did not, indeed, as the gentleman here says, know who I 
 was speaking to; hut I did not say anything uncivil as I 
 know of, and I hope no offence.' 
 
 The colonel was more easily pacified than might have 
 been expected, and told the bailiff that, if it was against the 
 rules of law to discharge Mr Booth that evening, he must he 
 contented. He then addressed himself to his friend, and 
 began to prescribe comfort and patience to him; saying, he 
 must rest satisfied with his confinement that night; and 
 the next morning he promised to visit him again. 
 
 Booth answered, that as for himself, the lying one night 
 in any place was very little worth his regard. ‘You 
 and I, my dear friend, have both spent our evening in a 
 worse situation than I shall in this house. All my concern 
 is for my poor Amelia, whose sufferings on account of my 
 absence I know, and I feel with unspeakable tenderness. 
 Could I be assured she was tolerably easy, I could be con¬ 
 tented in chains or in a dungeon.’ 
 
 ‘ Give yourself no concern on her account,’ said the 
 colonel; ‘ I Avill wait on her myself, though I break an en¬ 
 gagement for that purpose, and will give her such assurances 
 as I am convinced will make her perfectly easy.’ 
 
 Booth embraced his friend, and, weeping over him, paid 
 his acknowledgment with tears for all his goodness. In 
 words, indeed, he was not able to thank him ; for gratitude, 
 joining with his other passions, almost choked him, and 
 stopt his utterance. 
 
 After a short scene in which nothing passed worth re¬ 
 counting, the colonel bid his friend good night, and leaving 
 the serjeant with him, made the best of his way back to 
 Amelia. 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 367 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WORTHY A VERY SERIOUS PERUSAL. 
 
 The colonel found Amelin sitting very disconsolate with Mrs 
 Atkinson. He entered the room with an air of great gaiety, 
 assured Amelia that her husband was perfectly well, and that 
 he hoped the next day he would again be with her. 
 
 Amelia was a little comforted at this account, and vented 
 many grateful expressions to the colonel for his unparalleled 
 friendship, as she w r as pleased to call it. She could not, 
 however, help giving way soon after to a sigh at the thoughts 
 of her husband’s bondage, and declared that night would be 
 the longest she had ever known. 
 
 ‘ This lady, madam/ cries the colonel, ‘ must endeavour to 
 make it shorter. And, if you will give me leave, I will join 
 in the same endeavour.’ Then, after some more consolatory 
 speeches, the colonel attempted to give a gay turn to the dis¬ 
 course, and said, ‘ I was engaged to have spent this evening 
 disagreeably at Ranelagh, with a set of company I did not 
 like. How vastly am I obliged to you, dear Mrs Booth, that 
 I pass it so infinitely more to my satisfaction ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, colonel,’ said Amelia, ‘ I am convinced that to a 
 mind so rightly turned as yours there must be a much sweeter 
 relish in the highest offices of friendship than in any pleasures 
 which the gayest public places can afford.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, madam,’ said the colonel, ‘ you now do 
 me more than justice. I have, and always had, the utmost 
 indifference for such pleasures. Indeed, I hardly allow them 
 worthy of that name, or, if they are so at all, it is in a very 
 low degree. In my opinion the highest friendship must 
 always lead us to the highest pleasure.’ 
 
 Here Amelia entered into a long dissertation on friend¬ 
 ship, in which she pointed several times directly at the 
 colonel as the hero of her tale. 
 
 The colonel highly applauded all her sentiments; and, 
 when he could not avoid taking the compliment to himself, 
 
3GS 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 lie received it with a most respectful bow. He then tried 
 his hand likewise at description, in which he found means 
 to repay all Amelia’s panegyric in kind. This, though he 
 did with all possible delicacy, yet a curious observer might 
 have been apt to suspect that it was chiefly on her account 
 that the colonel had avoided the masquerade. 
 
 In discourses of this kind they passed the evening, till it 
 was very late, the colonel never offering to stir from his chair 
 before the clock had struck one; when he thought, perhaps, 
 that decency obliged him to take his leave. 
 
 As soon as he was gone Mrs Atkinson said to Mrs Booth, 
 ‘ I think, madam, you told me this afternoon that the colonel 
 was married.’ 
 
 Amelia answered, she did so. 
 
 ‘ I think likewise, madam,’ said Mrs Atkinson, * you was 
 acquainted with the colonel’s lady.’ 
 
 Amelia answered that she had been extremely intimate 
 with her abroad. 
 
 ‘ Is she young and handsome h said Mrs Atkinson. ‘ In 
 short, pray, was it a match of love or convenience h ’ 
 
 Amelia answered, entirely of love, she believed, on his 
 side ; for that the lady had little or no fortune. 
 
 ‘ I am very glad to hear it,’ said Mrs Atkinson; £ for I am 
 sure the colonel is in love with somebody. I think I never 
 saw a more luscious picture of love drawn than that which 
 he was pleased to give us as the portraiture of friendship. I 
 have read, indeed, of Pylades and Orestes, Damon and 
 Pythias, and other great friends of old; nay, I sometimes 
 flatter myself that I am capable of being a friend myself; 
 but as for that fine, soft, tender, delicate passion, which he 
 was pleased to describe, I am convinced there must go a he 
 and a she to the composition.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, my dear, you are mistaken,’ cries Amelia. 
 ‘ If you had known the friendship which hath always sub¬ 
 sisted between the colonel and my husband, you would not 
 imagine it possible for any description to exceed it. Hay, I 
 think his behaviour this very day is sufficient to convince 
 you.’ 
 
 ‘ I own what he hath done to-day hath great merit,’ said 
 Mrs Atkinson; ‘ and yet, from what he hath said to-night—- 
 You will pardon me, dear madam; perhaps I am too quick 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 369 
 
 sighted in my observations; nay, I am afraid I am even im¬ 
 pertinent.’ 
 
 ‘hie upon it ! ’ cries Amelia; ‘how can you talk in that 
 strain 1 Do you imagine I expect ceremony? Pray speak 
 what yon think with the utmost freedom.’ 
 
 ‘ Did he not then,’ said Mrs Atkinson, ‘ repeat the words, 
 the finest woman in the world, more than once? did he not 
 make use of an expression which might have become the 
 mouth of Oroondates himself ? If I remember, the words 
 were these,—that, had he been Alexander the Great, he 
 should have thought it more glory to have wiped off a tear 
 from the bright eyes of Statira than to have conquered fifty 
 worlds.’ 
 
 ‘ Did he say so ? ’ cries Amelia—‘ I think he did say some¬ 
 thing like it; but my thoughts were so full of my husband 
 that I took little notice. But what would you infer from 
 what he said ? I hope you don’t think he is in love with me ! ’ 
 
 ‘I hope he doth not think so himself,’ answered Mrs 
 Atkinson; ‘ though, when he mentioned the bright eyes of 
 Statira, he fixed his own eyes on yours with the most lan¬ 
 guishing air I ever beheld. 
 
 Amelia was going to answer, when tlie serjeant arrived, and 
 then she immediately fell to enquiring after her husband, and 
 received such satisfactory answers to all her many questions 
 concerning him, that she expressed great pleasure. These 
 ideas so possessed her mind, that, without once casting her 
 thoughts on any other matters, she took her leave of the 
 serjeant and his lady, and repaired to bed to her children, in 
 a room which Mrs Atkinson had provided her in the same 
 house; where we will at present wish her a good night. 
 
 21 
 
370 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONSISTING OE GRAVE MATTERS. 
 
 While innocence and cheerful hope, in spite of the malice 
 of fortune, closed the eyes of the gentle Amelia on her 
 homely bed, and she enjoyed a sweet and profound sleep, 
 the colonel lay restless all night on his down; his mind was 
 affected with a kind of ague fit; sometimes scorched up with 
 flaming desires, and again chilled with the coldest despair. 
 
 There is a time, I think, according to one of our poets, 
 when lust and envy sleep. This, I suppose, is when they are 
 well gorged with the food they most delight in; hut, while 
 either of these are hungry, 
 
 Nor poppy, nor mandragora, 
 
 Nor all the drousy syrups of the East, 
 
 Will ever medicine them to slumber. 
 
 The colonel was at present unhappily tormented by both 
 these fiends. His last evening’s conversation with Amelia 
 had done his business effectually. The many kind words 
 she had spoken to him, the many kind looks she had given 
 him, as being, she conceived, the friend and preserver of her 
 husband, had made an entire conquest of his heart. Thus 
 the very love which she bore him, as the person to whom 
 her little family were to owe their preservation and happi¬ 
 ness, inspired him with thoughts of sinking them all in the 
 lowest abyss of ruin and misery; and, while she smiled with 
 all her sweetness on the supposed friend of her husband, she 
 was converting that friend into his most hitter enemy. 
 
 Friendship, take heed ; if woman interfere, 
 
 Be sure the hour of thy destruction’s near. 
 
 These are the lines of Vanbrugh; and the sentiment is 
 better than the poetry. To say the truth, as a handsome 
 wife is the cause and cement of many false friendships, she 
 is often too liable to destroy the real ones. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 371 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 Thus the object of the colonel’s lust very plainly appears, 
 hut the object of his envy may be more difficult to discover. 
 Nature and Fortune had seemed to strive with a kind of 
 rivalship which should bestow most on the colonel. The 
 former had given him person, parts, and constitution, in all 
 which he was superior to almost every other man. The 
 latter had given him rank in life, and riches, both in a very 
 eminent degree. Whom then should this happy man envy ? 
 Here, lest ambition should mislead the reader to search the 
 palaces of the great, we will direct him at once to Gray’s- 
 inn-lane; where, in a miserable bed, in a miserable room, he 
 will see a miserable broken lieutenant, in a miserable con¬ 
 dition, with several heavy debts on bis back, and without a 
 penny in his pocket. This, and no other, was the object of 
 the colonel’s envy. And why? because this wretch was 
 possessed of the affections of a poor little lamb, which all 
 the vast flocks that were within the power and reach of the 
 colonel could not prevent that glutton’s longing for. And 
 sure this image of the lamb is not improperly adduced on 
 this occasion; for what was the colonel’s desire but to lead 
 this poor lamb, as it were, to the slaughter, in order to pur¬ 
 chase a feast of a few days by her final destruction, and to 
 tear her away from the arms of one where she was sure of 
 being fondled and caressed all the days of her life 
 
 While the colonel was agitated with these thoughts, his 
 greatest comfort was, that Amelia and Booth were now se¬ 
 parated ; and his greatest terror was of their coming again 
 together. From wishes, therefore, he began to meditate de¬ 
 signs ; and so far was he from any intention of procuring the 
 liberty of his friend, that he began to form schemes of pro¬ 
 longing his confinement, till he could procure some megns of 
 sending him away far from her; in which case he doubted 
 not but of succeeding in all he desired. 
 
 He was forming this plan in his mind when a servant 
 informed him that one serjeant Atkinson desired to speak 
 with his honour. The Serjeant was immediately admitted, 
 and acquainted the colonel that, if he pleased to go and be¬ 
 come bail for Mr Booth, another unexceptionable housekeeper 
 would be there to join with him. This person the serjeant 
 had procured that morning, and had, by leave of his wife, 
 given him a bond of indemnification for the purpose. 
 
372 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 The colonel did not seem so elated with this news as At¬ 
 kinson expected. On the contrary, instead of making a 
 direct answer to what Atkinson said, the colonel began thus : 
 ‘I think, serjeant, Mr Booth hath told me that you was 
 foster-brother to his lady. She is really a charming woman, 
 and it is a thousand pities she should ever have been placed 
 in the dreadful situation she is now in. There is nothing so 
 silly as for subaltern officers of the army to marry, unless 
 where they meet with women of very great fortunes indeed. 
 What can be the event of their marrying otherwise, but en¬ 
 tailing misery and beggary on their wives and their posterity] ’ 
 
 4 Ah ! sir,’ cries the serjeant, 4 it is too late to think of 
 those matters now. To be sure, my lady might have married 
 one of the top gentlemen in the country ; for she is certainly 
 one of the best as well as one of the handsomest women in 
 the kingdom ; and, if she had been fairly dealt by, would 
 have had a very great fortune into the bargain. Indeed, she 
 is worthy of the greatest prince in the world ; and, if I had 
 been the greatest prince in the world, I should have thought 
 myself happy with such a wife; but she was pleased to like 
 the lieutenant, and certainly there can be no happiness in 
 marriage without liking.’ 
 
 4 Lookee, serjeant,’ said the colonel; 4 you know very well 
 that I am the lieutenant’s friend. I think I have shown 
 myself so.’ 
 
 ‘Indeed your honour hath,’ quoth the serjeant, 4 more 
 than once to my knowledge.’ 
 
 4 But I am angry with him for his imprudence, greatly 
 angry with him for bis imprudence; and the more so, as it 
 affects a lady of so much worth.’ 
 
 4 She is, indeed, a lady of the highest worth,’ cries the 
 serjeant. ‘Poor dear lady! I knew her, an’t please your 
 honour, from her infancy; and the sweetest-tempered, best- 
 natured lady she is that ever trod on English ground. I 
 have always loved her as if she was my own sister. Hay, 
 she hath very often called me brother; and I have taken it 
 to be a greater honour than if I was to be called a general 
 officer.’ 
 
 4 What pity it is,’ said the colonel, 4 that this worthy crea¬ 
 ture should be exposed to so much misery by the thoughtless 
 behaviour of a man who, though I am his friend, I cannot 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 373 
 
 help saying, hath been guilty of imprudence at least! Why 
 could he not live on his half-pay 1 What had he to do to 
 rim himself into debt in this outrageous manner ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I wish, indeed,’ cries the serjeant, ‘ he had been a little 
 more considerative; but I hope this will be a warning to 
 him.’ 
 
 ‘How am I sure of that,’ answered the colonel; or what 
 reason is there to expect it ? extravagance is a vice of which 
 men are not so easily cured. I have thought a great deal of 
 this matter, Mr serjeant; and, upon the most mature delibera¬ 
 tion, I am of opinion that it will be better, both for him and 
 his poor lady, that he should smart a little more.’ 
 
 ‘ Your honour, sir, to be sure is in the right,’ replied the 
 serjeant; ‘but yet, sir, if you will pardon me for speaking, 
 I hope you will be pleased to consider my poor lady’s case. 
 She suffers, all this while, as much or more than the 
 lieutenant; for I know her so well, that I am certain she will 
 never have a moment’s ease till her husband is out of con¬ 
 finement. ’ 
 
 ‘I know women better than you, serjeant,’ cries the 
 colonel; ‘ they sometimes place their affections on a husband 
 as children do on their nurse; but they are both to be weaned. 
 I know you, serjeant, to be a fellow of sense as well as spirit, 
 or I should not speak so freely to you; but I took a fancy 
 to you a long time ago, and I intend to serve you; but first, 
 I ask you this question—Is your attachment to Mr Booth or 
 his lady 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly, sir,’ said the serjeant, ‘ I must love my lady 
 best. Hot but I have a great affection for the lieutenant too, 
 because I know my lady hath the same; and, indeed, he hath 
 been always very good to me as far as was in his power. A 
 lieutenant, your honour knows, can’t do a great deal; but I 
 have always found him my friend upon all occasions.’ 
 
 ‘ You say true,’ cries the colonel; ‘ a lieutenant can do but 
 little; but I can do much to serve you, and will too. But 
 let me ask you one question : Who was the lady whom I 
 saw last night with Mrs Booth at her lodgings 1 ’ 
 
 Here the serjeant blushed, and repeated, ‘ The lady, sir ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Ay, a lady, a woman,’ cries the colonel, ‘ who supped with 
 us last night. She looked rather too much like a gentle¬ 
 woman for the mistress of a lodging-house.’ 
 
374 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. 
 
 The Serjeant’s cheeks glowed at this compliment to his 
 wife; and he was just going to own her when the colonel 
 proceeded : ‘ I think I never saw in my life so ill-looking, 
 sly, demure a b—; I would give something, methinks, to 
 know who she was.’ 
 
 ‘1 don’t know, indeed,’ cries the serjeant, in great con¬ 
 fusion ; ‘ I know nothing about her.’ 
 
 ‘I wish you would inquire,’ said the colonel, ‘and let me 
 know her name, and likewise what she is : I have a strange 
 curiosity to know, and let me see you again this evening 
 exactly at seven.’ 
 
 ‘ And Avill not your honour then go to the lieutenant this 
 morning 1 ’ said Atkinson. 
 
 ‘ It is not in my power,’ answered the colonel; ‘ I am en¬ 
 gaged another way. Besides, there is no haste in this affair. 
 If men will be imprudent they must suffer the consequences. 
 Come to me at seven, and bring me all the particulars you 
 can concerning that ill-looking jade I mentioned to you, for 
 I am resolved to know who she is. And so good-morrow to 
 you, serjeant; be assured I will take an opportunity to do 
 something for you.’ 
 
 Though some readers may, perhaps, think the serjeant not 
 unworthy of the freedom with which the colonel treated 
 him ; yet that haughty officer would have been very backward 
 to have condescended to such familiarity with one of his rank 
 had he not proposed some design from it. In truth, he be¬ 
 gan to conceive hopes of making the serjeant instrumental to 
 his design on Amelia ; in other words, to convert him into 
 a pimp; an office in which the colonel had been served by 
 Atkinson’s betters, and which, as he knew it was in his power 
 very well to reward him, he had no apprehension that the 
 serjeant would decline—an opinion which the serjeant might 
 have pardoned, though he had never given the least grounds 
 for it, since the colonel borrowed it from the knowledge of 
 his own heart. This dictated to him that he, from a bad 
 motive, was capable of desiring to debauch his friend’s wife; 
 and the same heart inspired him to hope that another, from 
 another bad motive, might be guilty of the same breach of 
 friendship in assisting him. Few men, I believe, think 
 better of others than of themselves; nor do they easily - 
 allow the existence of any virtue of which they perceive 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 375 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 no traces in their own minds; for which reason I have 
 observed, that it is extremely difficult to persuade a rogue 
 that you are an honest man; 'nor would you ever succeed in 
 the attempt by the strongest evidence, was it not for the 
 comfortable conclusion which the rogue draws, that he who 
 proves himself to he honest proves himself to be a fool at the 
 same time. 
 
 / 
 
376 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A CURIOUS CHAPTER, FROM WniCH A CURIOUS READER 
 MAT DRAW SUNDRY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 The serjeant retired from the colonel in a very dejected state 
 of mind: in which, however, we must leave him awhile and 
 return to Amelia; who, as soon as she was up, had despatched 
 “5 s Atkinson to pay off her former lodgings, and to bring 
 on all clothes and other moveables. 
 
 The trusty messenger returned without performing her 
 eirand, for Mrs Ellison had locked up all her rooms, and was 
 gone out very early that morning, and the servant knew not 
 whither she was gone. 
 
 The two ladies now sat down to breakfast, together with 
 
 melia s two children; after which, Amelia declared she 
 would take a coach and visit her husband. To this motion 
 Mrs Atkinson soon agreed, and offered to be her companion, 
 lo say truth, I think it was reasonable enough ; and the 
 great abhorrence which Booth had of seeing his wife in a 
 bailiff’s house was, perhaps, rather too nice and delicate. 
 
 When the ladies were both drest, and just going to send 
 for their vehicle, a great knocking was heard at the door and 
 presently Mrs James was ushered into the room. 
 
 This visit was disagreeable enough to Amelia, as it detained 
 her from the sight of her husband, for which she so eagerly 
 longed. However, as she had no doubt but that the visit 
 would be reasonably short, she resolved to receive the lady 
 with all the complaisance in her power. 
 
 Mrs Janies now behaved herself so very unlike the person 
 t at she lately appeared, that it might have surprized any one 
 who doth not know that besides that of a fine lady, which is 
 all mere art and mummery, every such woman hath some 
 real character at the bottom, in which, whenever nature frets 
 the better of her, she acts. Thus the finest ladies in & the 
 world will sometimes love, and sometimes scratch, according 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 377 
 
 to their different natural dispositions, with great fury and 
 violence, though both of these are equally inconsistent with 
 a fine lady’s artificial character. 
 
 Mrs Janies then was at the bottom a very good-natured 
 woman, and the moment she heard of Amelia’s misfortune 
 was sincerely grieved at it. She had acquiesced on the very 
 first motion with the colonel’s design of inviting her to her 
 house ; and this morning at breakfast, when he had acquainted 
 her that Amelia made some difficulty in accepting the offer, 
 very readily undertook to go herself and persuade her friend 
 to accept the invitation. 
 
 She now pressed this matter with such earnestness, that 
 Amelia, who was not extremely versed in the art of denying, 
 was hardly able to refuse her importunity ; nothing, indeed, 
 but her affection to Mrs Atkinson could have prevailed on 
 her to refuse ; that point, however, she would not give up, 
 and Airs James, at last, was contented with a promise that, 
 as soon as their affairs were settled, Amelia, with her husband 
 and family, would make her a visit, and stay some time with 
 her in the country, whither she was soon to retire. 
 
 Having obtained this promise, Mrs James, after many very 
 friendly professions, took her leave, and, stepping into her 
 coach, reassumed the fine lady, and drove away to join her 
 company at an auction. 
 
 The moment she was gone Mrs Atkinson, who had left the 
 room upon the approach of Mrs James, returned into it, and 
 was informed by Amelia of all that had passed. 
 
 ‘ Pray, madam,’ said Mrs Atkinson, ‘ do this colonel and 
 his lady live, as it is called, well together 1 ’ 
 
 1 If you mean to ask,’ cries Amelia, 4 whether they are a 
 very fond coujde, I must answer that I believe they are not.’ 
 
 ‘I have been told,’ says Mrs Atkinson, ‘ that there have 
 been instances of women who have become bawds to their 
 own husbands, and the husbands pimps for them.’ 
 
 ‘ Fie upon it! ’ cries Amelia. I hope there are no such 
 people. Indeed, my dear, this is being a little' too censorious.’ 
 
 ‘ Call it what you please,’ answered Mrs Atkinson ; ‘ it 
 arises from my love to you and my fears for your danger. 
 You know the proverb of a burnt child; and, if such a one 
 hath any good-nature, it will dread the fire on the account 
 of others as well as on its own. And, if I may speak my 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 378 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 sentiments freely, I cannot think you will be in safety at 
 this colonel’s house.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot but believe your apprehensions to be sincere,’ 
 replied Amelia; ‘ and I must think myself obliged to you 
 for them; but I am convinced you are entirely in an error. 
 I look on Colonel James as the most generous and best of 
 men. He was a friend, and an excellent friend too, to my 
 husband, long before I was acquainted with him, and he 
 hath done him a thousand good offices. What do you say 
 of his behaviour yesterday 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I wish,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ that this behaviour to-day 
 had been equal. What I am now going to undertake is the 
 most disagreeable office of friendship, but it is a necessary 
 one. I must tell you, therefore, what passed this morning 
 between the colonel and Mr Atkinson; for, though it will 
 hurt you, you ought, on many accounts, to know it.’ Here 
 she related the whole, which we have recorded in the pre¬ 
 ceding chapter, and with which the serjeant had acquainted 
 her while Mrs James was paying her visit to Amelia. And, 
 as the serjeant had painted the matter rather in stronger 
 colours than the colonel, so Mrs Atkinson again a little im¬ 
 proved on the serjeant. Neither of these good people, per¬ 
 haps, intended to aggravate any circumstance; but such is, 
 I believe, the unavoidable consequence of all reports. Mrs 
 Atkinson, indeed, may be supposed not to see what related 
 to James in the most favourable light, as the serjeant, with 
 more honesty than prudence, had suggested to his wife that 
 the colonel had not the kindest opinion of her, and had 
 called her a sly and demure— : — : it is true he omitted ill- 
 looking b—; two words which are, perhaps, superior to the 
 patience of any Job in petticoats that ever lived. He made 
 amends, however, by substituting some other phrases in 
 their stead, not extremely agreeable to a female ear. 
 
 It appeared to Amelia, from Mrs Atkinson’s relation, that 
 the colonel had grossly abused Booth to the serjeant, and 
 had absolutely refused to become his bail. Poor Amelia 
 became a pale and motionless statue at this account. At 
 length she cried, ‘ If this be true, I and mine are all, indeed, 
 undone. We have no comfort, no hope, no friend left. I 
 cannot disbelieve you. I know you would not deceive me. 
 Why should you, indeed, deceive me 1 But what can have 
 
CII. IX.l 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 379 
 
 caused this alteration since last night? Did I say or do 
 anything to offend him ? ’ 
 
 ‘You said and did rather, I believe, a great deal too 
 much to please him,’ answered Mrs Atkinson. ‘ Besides, he 
 is not in the least offended with you. On the contrary, he 
 said many kind things.’ 
 
 ‘ What can my poor love have done ? ’ said Amelia-. ‘ He 
 hath not seen the colonel since last night. Some villain 
 hath set him against my husband; he was once before sus¬ 
 picious of such a person. Some cruel monster hath belied 
 his innocence ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, dear madam,’ said Mrs Atkinson; ‘ I believe 
 the person who hath injured the captain with this friend of 
 his is one of the worthiest and best of creatures—nay, do 
 not be surprized; the person I mean is even your fair self : 
 sure you would not be so dull in any other case; but in 
 this, gratitude, humility, modesty, every virtue, shuts your 
 eyes. 
 
 Mortales hebetant visus> 
 
 as Virgil says. What in the world can be more consistent 
 than his desire to have you at his own house and to keep 
 your husband confined in another ? All that he said and 
 all that he did yesterday, and, what is more convincing to 
 me than both, all that he looked last night, are very con¬ 
 sistent with both these designs.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 Heavens ! ’ cries Amelia, ‘ you chill my blood with 
 horror ! the idea freezes me to death; I cannot, must not, 
 will not think it. Nothing but conviction! Heaven forbid 
 I should ever have more conviction! And did he abuse my 
 husband? what? did he abuse a poor, unhappy, distrest 
 creature, opprest, ruined, torn from his children, torn away 
 from his wretched wife; the honestest, worthiest, noblest, 
 tenderest, fondest, best—’ Here she burst into an agony 
 of grief, which exceeds the power of description. 
 
 In this situation Mrs Atkinson was doing her utmost to 
 support her when a most violent knocking was heard at the 
 door, and immediately the serjeant ran hastily into the 
 room, bringing with him a cordial which presently relieved 
 Amelia. What this cordial was, we shall inform the reader 
 in due time. In the mean while he must suspend his curi- 
 
380 AMELIA. [BK VIII. 
 
 osity; and the gentlemen at White’s may lay wagers whether 
 it was Ward’s pill or Dr James’s powder. 
 
 But before we close this chapter, and return back to the 
 bailiff’s house, we must do our best to rescue the character 
 of our heroine from the dulness of apprehension, which 
 several of our quick-sighted readers may lay more heavily to 
 her charge than was done by her friend Mrs Atkinson. 
 
 I must inform, therefore, all such readers, that it is not 
 because innocence is more blind than guilt that the former 
 often overlooks and tumbles into the pit which the latter 
 foresees and avoids. The truth is, that it is almost impossi¬ 
 ble guilt should miss the discovering of all the snares in its 
 way, as it is constantly prying closely into every corner in 
 order to lay snares for others. Whereas innocence, having 
 no such purpose, walks fearlessly and carelessly through life, 
 and is consequently liable to tread on the gins which cun¬ 
 ning hath laid to entrap it. To speak plainly and without 
 allegory or figure, it is not want of sense, but want of sus¬ 
 picion, by which innocence is often betrayed. Again, we 
 often admire at the folly of the dupe, when we should trans¬ 
 fer our whole surprize to the astonishing guilt of the be¬ 
 trayer. In a word, many an innocent person hath owed his 
 ruin to this circumstance alone, that the degree of villany 
 was such as must have exceeded the faith of every man 
 who was not himself a villain. 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 381 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IX WHICH ARE MAXY PROEOUXD SECRETS OE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Booth, having had enough of the author’s company the pre¬ 
 ceding day, chose now another companion. Indeed the 
 author was not very solicitous of a second interview \ for, as 
 he could have no hope from Booth’s pocket, so he was not 
 likely to receive much increase to his vanity from Booth’s 
 conversation ; for, low as this wretch was in virtue, sense, 
 learning, hirtli, and fortune, he was by no means low in his 
 vanity. This passion, indeed, was so high in him, and at 
 the same time so blinded him to his own demerits, that he 
 hated every man who did not either flatter him or give him 
 money. In short, he claimed a strange kind of right, either 
 to cheat all his acquaintance of their praise or to pick their 
 pockets of their pence, in which latter case he himself re¬ 
 paid very liberally with panegyric. 
 
 A very little specimen of such a fellow must have satis¬ 
 fied a man of Mr Booth’s temper. He chose, therefore, now 
 to associate himself with that gentleman of whom Bondum 
 had given so shabby a character. In short, Mr Booth s 
 opinion of the bailiff was such, that he recommended a man 
 most where he least intended it. Xay, the bailiff in the 
 present instance, though he had drawn a malicious conclu¬ 
 sion, honestly avowed that this was drawn only from the 
 poverty of the person, which is never, I believe, any forci¬ 
 ble disrecommendation to a good mind, hut he must have 
 had a very had mind indeed, who, in Mr Booth’s circum¬ 
 stances, could have disliked or despised another man because 
 that other man was poor. 
 
 Some previous conversation having passed between this 
 gentleman and Booth, in which they had both opened their 
 several situations to each other, the former, casting an 
 affectionate look on the latter, exprest great compassion for 
 his circumstances, for which Booth, thanking him, said, 
 ‘ You must have a great deal of compassion, and he a very 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 good man, in such, a terrible situation as you describe your¬ 
 self, to have any pity to spare for other people.’ 
 
 ‘ My affairs, sir,’ answered the gentleman, * are very bad, 
 it is true, and yet there is one circumstance which makes 
 you appear to me more the object of pity than I am to my¬ 
 self ; and it is this—that you must from your years be a 
 novice in affliction, whereas I have served a long apprentice¬ 
 ship to misery, and ought, by this time, to be a pretty good 
 master of my trade. To say the truth, I believe habit 
 teaches men to bear the burthens of the mind, as it inures 
 them to bear heavy burthens on their shoulders. Without 
 use and experience, the strongest minds and bodies both 
 will stagger under a weight which habit might render easy 
 and even contemptible. 
 
 ‘ There is great justice,’ cries Booth, ‘ in the comparison ; 
 and I think I have myself experienced the truth of it; for 
 I am not that tyro in affliction which you seem to appre¬ 
 hend me. And perhaps it is from the very habit you 
 mention that I am able to support my present misfortunes 
 a little like a man.’ 
 
 The gentleman smiled at this, and cried, ‘ Indeed, captain, 
 you are a young philosopher.’ 
 
 ‘ I think,’ cries Booth, ‘ I have some pretensions to that 
 philosophy which is taught by misfortunes, and you seem 
 to be of opinion, sir, that is one of the best schools of 
 philosophy.’ 
 
 i I mean no more, sir,’ said the gentleman, ‘ than that in 
 the days of our affliction we are inclined to think more 
 seriously than in those seasons of life when we are engaged 
 in the hurrying pursuits of business or pleasure, when we 
 have neither leisure nor inclination to sift and examine 
 things to the bottom. Now there are two considerations 
 which, from my having long fixed my thoughts upon them, 
 have greatly supported me under all my afflictions. The 
 one is the brevity of life even at its longest duration, which 
 the wisest of men hath compared to the short dimension of 
 a span. One of the Roman poets compares it to the dura¬ 
 tion of a race \ and another, to the much shorter transition 
 of a wave. 
 
 1 The second consideration is the uncertainty of it. Short 
 as its utmost limits are, it is far from being assured of reach- 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 383 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 ing those limits. The next day, the next hour, the next 
 moment, may be the end of our course. Now of what value 
 is so uncertain, so precarious a station ! This consideration, 
 indeed, however lightly it is passed over in our conception, 
 doth, in a great measure, level all fortunes and conditions, 
 and gives no man a right to triumph in the happiest state, 
 or any reason to repine in the most miserable. Would the 
 most worldly men see this in the light in which they 
 examine all other matters, they would soon feel and acknow¬ 
 ledge the force of this way of reasoning ; for which of them 
 would give any price for an estate from which they were 
 liable to be immediately ejected! or, would they not laugh 
 at him as a madman who accounted himself rich from such 
 an uncertain possession! This is the fountain, sir, from 
 which I have drawn my philosophy. Hence it is that I 
 have learnt to look on all those things which are esteemed 
 the blessings of life, and those which are dreaded as its 
 evils, with such a degree of indifference that, as I should 
 not be elated with possessing the former, so neither am I 
 greatly dejected and depressed by suffering the latter. Is 
 the actor esteemed happier to whose lot it falls to play the 
 principal part than he who plays the lowest! and yet the 
 drama may run twenty nights together, and by consequence 
 may outlast our lives ; but, at the best, life is only a little 
 longer drama, and the business of the great stage is conse¬ 
 quently a little more serious than that which is performed 
 at the Theatre-royal. But even here, the catastrophes and 
 calamities which are represented are capable of affecting us. 
 The wisest men can deceive themselves into feeling the dis¬ 
 tresses of a tragedy, though they know them to be merely 
 imaginary; and the children will often lament them as 
 realities : what wonder then, if these tragical scenes which I 
 allow to be a little more serious, should a little more affect 
 us 1 where then is the remedy but in the philosophy I have 
 mentioned, which, when once by a long course of medita¬ 
 tion it is reduced to a habit, teaches us to set a just value 
 on everything, and cures at once all eager Avishes and abject 
 fears, all violent joy and grief concerning objects Avliieh 
 cannot endure long, and may not exist a moment.’ 
 
 ‘You have exprest yourself extremely well/ cries Booth ; 
 1 end I entirely agree Avith the justice of your sentiments; 
 
384 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 but, however true all this may be in theory, I still doubt its 
 efficacy in practice. And the cause of the difference between 
 these two is this; that we reason from our heads, but act 
 from our hearts : 
 
 - Video mcliora , proboque ; 
 
 Deieriora sequor. 
 
 Nothing can differ more widely than wise men and fools in 
 their estimation of things; but, as both act from their 
 uppermost passion, they both often act alike. What com¬ 
 fort then can your philosophy give to an avaricious man 
 who is deprived of his riches or to an ambitious man who is 
 stript of his power 1 to the fond lover who is torn from his 
 mistress or to the tender husband who is dragged from his 
 wife ] Do you really think that any meditations on the 
 shortness of life will soothe them in their afflictions 1 Is 
 not this very shortness itself one.of their afflictions'? and if 
 the evil they suffer be a temporary deprivation of what they 
 love, will they not think their fate the harder, and lament 
 the more, that they are to lose any part of an enjoyment 
 to which there is so short and so uncertain a period ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I beg leave, sir,’ said the gentleman, ‘ to distinguish here. 
 By philosophy, I do not mean the bare knowledge of right 
 and wrong, but an energy, a habit, as Aristotle calls it ; and 
 this I do firmlv believe, with him and with the Stoics, is 
 superior to all the attacks of fortune.’ 
 
 He was proceeding when the bailiff came in, and in a 
 surly tone bade them both good-morrow ; after which he 
 asked the philosopher if he was prepared to go to Newgate ; 
 for that he must carry him thither that afternoon. 
 
 The poor man seemed very much shocked with this news. 
 4 1 hope/ cries he, ‘ you will give a little longer time, if not 
 till the return of the writ. But I beg yt>u particularly not 
 to carry me thither to-day, for I expect my wife and children 
 here in the evening.’ 
 
 ' I have nothing to do with wives and children,’ cries the 
 bailiff; ‘ I never desire to see any wives and children here. 
 I like no such company.’ 
 
 ‘ I entreat you,’ said the prisoner, ‘ give me another day. 
 I shall take it as a great obligation ; and you will dis¬ 
 appoint me in the cruellest manner in the world if you 
 refuse me.’ 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 385 
 
 ‘ I can’t help people’s disappointments/ cries the bailiff; 
 
 I must consider myself and my own family. I know not 
 where I shall be paid the money that’s due already. I can’t 
 afford to keep prisoners at my own expense.’ 
 
 \ I don’t intend it shall be at your expense/ cries the 
 philosopher ; ‘ my wife is gone to raise money this morning ; 
 and I hope to pay you all I owe you at her arrival. But 
 v r e intend to sup together to-night at your house ; and, if 
 you should remove me now, it would be the most barbarous 
 disappointment to us both, and will make me the most 
 miserable man alive.’ 
 
 1 Hay, f° r m y part/ said the bailiff, ‘ I don’t desire to do 
 anything barbarous. I know how to treat gentlemen with 
 civility as well as another. And when people pay as they 
 go, and spend their money like gentlemen, I am sure nobody 
 can accuse me of any incivility since I have been in the 
 office. And if you intend to be merry to-night I am not the 
 man that will prevent it. Though I say it, you may have 
 as good a supper drest here as at any tavern in town.’ 
 
 4 Since Mr Bondum is so kind, captain/ said the philoso¬ 
 pher,/I hope for the favour of your company. I assure 
 you, if it ever be my fortune to go abroad into the world, I 
 shall be proud of the honour of your acquaintance.’ 
 
 * Indeed, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘it is an honour I shall be very 
 ready to accept; but as for this evening, I cannot help 
 saying I hope to be engaged in another place.’ 
 
 ‘ I promise you, sir/ answered the other, ‘ I shall rejoice 
 at your liberty, though I am a loser by it.’ 
 
 ‘ \\ hy, as to that matter,’ cries Bondum with a sneer, ‘ I 
 fancy, captain,*you may engage yourself to the gentleman 
 without any fear of breaking your word; for I am very 
 much mistaken if we part to-day.’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, my good friend,’ said Booth, ‘ but I expect 
 my bail every minute.’ 
 
 4 Lookee, sir,’ cries Bondum, 1 1 don’t love to see gentle¬ 
 men in an error. I shall not take the serjeant’s bail; and as 
 for the colonel, I have been with him myself this morning 
 (for to be sure I love to do all I can for gentlemen), and he told 
 me he could not possibly be here to-day; besides, why 
 should I mince the matter! there is more stuff in the office.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean by stuff % ’ cries Booth. 
 
 25 
 
386 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK VIII. ' 
 
 ‘ I mean that there is another writ/ answered the bailiff, 
 
 ‘ at the suit of Mrs Ellison, the gentlewoman that was here 
 yesterday; and the attorney that was with her is concerned 
 against you. Some officers would not tell you all this ; hut 
 I loves to show civility to gentlemen while they behave 
 themselves as such. And I loves the gentlemen of the army 
 in particular. I had like to have been in the army myself 
 once; hut I liked the commission I have better. Come, 
 captain, let not your noble courage - he cast down ; what say 
 you to a glass of white wine, or a tiff of punch, by way of 
 whet 'l ’ 
 
 ‘ I have told you, sir, I never drink in the morning/ cries 
 Booth a little peevishly. 
 
 ‘ No offence I hope, sir/ said the bailiff; ‘ I hope I have 
 not treated you with any incivility. I don’t ask any gentle¬ 
 man to call for liquor in my house if he doth not choose it; 
 nor I don’t desire anybody to stay here longer than they have 
 a mind to. Newgate, to be sure, is the place for all debtors 
 that can’t find bail. I knows what civility is, and I scorn 
 to behave myself unbecoming a gentleman : but I’d have you 
 consider that the twenty-four hours appointed by act of par¬ 
 liament are almost out; and so it is time to think of removing. 
 As to bail, I would not have you flatter yourself; for I 
 knows very well there are other things coming against you. 
 Besides the sum you are already charged with is very large, 
 and I must see you in a place of safety. My house is 
 no prison, though I lock up for a little time in it. Indeed, 
 when gentlemen are gentlemen, and likely to find bail, I 
 don’t stand for a day or two ; but I have a good nose at a 
 bit of carrion, captain; I have not carried so $iuch carrion to 
 Newgate, without knowing the smell of it.’ 
 
 £ I understand not your cant/ cries Booth ; ‘ but I did not 
 think to have offended you so much by refusing to drink in 
 a morning.’ 
 
 ‘ Offended me, sir ! ’ cries the bailiff. 1 Who told you so ? 
 Do you think, sir, if I want a glass of wine I am under 
 any necessity of asking my prisoners for it 1 Damn it, sir, 
 I’ll show you I scorn your words. I can afford to treat you 
 with a glass of the best wine in England, if you comes to 
 that.’ He then pulled out a handful of guineas, saying, 
 ‘ There, sir, they are all my own ; I owe nobody a shilling. 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 387 
 
 I am no beggar, nor no debtor. I am the king’s officer as 
 well as you, and I will spend guinea for guinea as long as 
 you please.’ 
 
 ‘ Harkee, rascal,’ cries Booth, laying hold of the bailiffs 
 collar. 1 How dare you treat me with this insolence ? doth 
 the law give you any authority to insult me in my mis¬ 
 fortunes ? ’ At which words he gave the bailiff a good 
 shove, and threw him from him. 
 
 ‘ Very well, sir,’ cries the bailiff; ‘ I will swear both an 
 assault and an attempt to a rescue. If officers are to be 
 used in this manner, there is an end of all law and justice. 
 But, though I am not a match for you myself, I have those 
 below that are.’ He then ran to the door and called up two 
 ill-looking fellows, his followers, whom, as soon as they 
 entered the room, he ordered to seize on Booth, declaring he 
 would immediately carry him to Newgate; at the same time 
 pouring out a vast quantity of abuse, below the dignity of 
 history to record. 
 
 Booth desired the two dirty fellows to stand off, and 
 declared he would make no resistance; at the same time 
 bidding the bailiff carry him wherever he durst. 
 
 ‘ I’ll show you what I dare,’ cries the bailiff; and again 
 ordered the followers to lay hold of their prisoner, saying, 
 ‘ He has assaulted me already, and endeavoured a rescue. 
 I shan’t trust such a fellow to walk at liberty. A gentleman, 
 indeed ! ay, ay, Newgate is the properest place for such 
 gentry; as arrant carrion as ever was carried thither.’ 
 
 The fellows then both laid violent hands on Booth, and 
 the bailiff stept to the door to order a coach ; when, on a 
 sudden, the whole scene was changed in an instant; for now 
 the serjeant came running out of breath into the room; and, 
 seeing his friend the captain roughly handled by two ill- 
 looking fellows, without asking any questions stept briskly 
 up to his assistance, and instantly gave one of the assailants 
 so violent a salute with his fist, that he directly measured 
 his length on the floor. 
 
 Booth, having by this means his right arm at liberty, was 
 unwilling to be idle, or entirely to owe his rescue from both 
 the ruffians to the serjeant; he therefore imitated the ex¬ 
 ample which his friend had set him, and with a lusty blow 
 levelled the other follower with his companion on the ground. 
 
388 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk VIII. 
 
 The bailiff roared out, ‘ A rescue, a rescue ! ’ to which the 
 serjeant answered there was no rescue intended. ‘The 
 captain,’ said he, ‘ wants no rescue. Here are some friends 
 coming who will deliver him in a better manner.’ 
 
 The bailiff swore heartily he would carry him to Newgate 
 in spite of all the friends in the world. 
 
 f You carry him to Newgate ! ’ cried the serjeant, with the 
 highest indignation. ‘ Offer but to lay your hands on him, and 
 I will knock your teeth down your ugly jaws.’ Then, turning 
 to Booth, he cried, ‘ They will be all here within a minute, 
 sir ; we had much ado to keep my lady from coming herself ; 
 but she is at home in good health, longing to see your hon¬ 
 our; and I hope you will be with her within this half-hour.’ 
 
 And now three gentlemen entered the room; these were 
 an attorney, the person whom the serjeant had procured in 
 the morning to be his bail with Colonel James, and lastly 
 Doctor Harrison himself. 
 
 The bailiff no sooner saw the attorney, with whom he 
 was well acquainted (for the others he knew not), than he 
 began, as the phrase is, to pull in his horns, and ordered 
 the two followers, who were now got again on their legs, to 
 walk down-stairs. 
 
 ‘ So, captain,’ says the doctor, ‘ when last we parted, I 
 believe we neither of us expected to meet in such a place as 
 this.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, doctor,’ cries Booth, ‘ I did not expect to have 
 been sent hither by the gentleman who did me that favour.’ 
 
 ‘ How so, sir ? ’ said the doctor; ‘ you was sent hither by 
 some person, I suppose, to whom you was indebted. This 
 is the usual place, I apprehend, for creditors to send their 
 debtors to. But you ought to be more surprized that the 
 gentleman who sent you thither is come to release you. Mr 
 Murphy, you will perform all the necessary ceremonials.’ 
 
 The attorney then asked the bailiff with how many actions 
 Booth was charged, and was informed there were five besides 
 the doctor’s, which was much the heaviest of all. Proper 
 bonds were presently provided, and the doctor and the Ser¬ 
 jeant’s friend signed them; the bailiff, at the instance of the 
 attorney, making no objection to the bail. 
 
 Booth, we may be assured, made a handsome speech to 
 the doctor for such extraordinary friendship, with which, 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 389 
 
 however, we do not think proper to trouble the reader; and 
 now everything being ended, and the company ready to 
 depart, the bailiff stepped up to Booth, and told him he 
 hoped he would remember civility-money. 
 
 ‘ I believe/ cries Booth, ‘ you mean incivility-money; if 
 there are any fees due for rudeness, I must Own you have a 
 very just claim.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure, sir,’ cries the bailiff, * I have treated your 
 honour with all the respect in the world; no man, I am sure, 
 can charge me with using a gentleman rudely. I knows 
 what belongs to a gentleman better; but you can’t deny 
 that two of my men have been knocked down; and I doubt 
 not but, as you are a gentleman, you will give them some¬ 
 thing to drink.’ 
 
 Booth was about to answer with some passion, when 
 the attorney interfered, and whispered in his ear that it 
 was usual to make a compliment to the officer, and that 
 he had better comply with the custom. 
 
 ‘ If the fellow had treated me civilly,’ answered Booth, 
 ‘ I should have had no objection to comply with a bad 
 custom in his favour; but I am resolved I will never reward 
 a man for using me ill; and I will not agree to give him a 
 single farthing.’ 
 
 ’Tis very well, sir,’ said the bailiff; ‘ I am rightly served 
 for my good-nature ; but, if it had been to do again, I would 
 have taken care you should not have been bailed this day.’ 
 
 Doctor Harrison, to whom Booth referred the cause, after 
 giving him a succinct account of what had passed, declared 
 the captain to be in the right. He said it was a most horrid 
 imposition that such fellows were ever suffered to prey on 
 the necessitous; but that the example would be much worse 
 to reward them where they had behaved themselves ill. 
 ‘ And I think,’ says he, ‘ the bailiff is worthy of great rebuke 
 lor what he hath just now said; in which I hope he hath 
 boasted of more power than is in him. We do, indeed, with 
 great justice and propriety value ourselves on our freedom if 
 the liberty of the subject depends on the pleasure of such 
 fellows as these ! ’ 
 
 ‘ It is not so neither altogether,.’ cries the lawyer • 1 but 
 custom hath established a present or fee to them at the de¬ 
 livery of a prisoner, which they call civility-money, and ex- 
 
390 AMELIA. [BK VIII. 
 
 pect as in a manner tlieir due, though in reality they have 
 no right.’ 
 
 ‘ But will any man,’ cries Doctor Harrison , 1 after what the 
 captain hath told us, say that the bailiff hath behaved him¬ 
 self as he ought; and, if he had, is he to he rewarded for 
 acting in an unchristian and inhuman manner 1 ? it is pity 
 that, instead of a custom of feeding them out of the pockets 
 of the poor and wretched, when they do not behave them¬ 
 selves ill, there was not both a law and a practice to punish 
 them severely when they do. In the present case, I am so 
 far from agreeing to give the bailiff a shilling, that, if there 
 be any method of punishing him for his rudeness, I shall be 
 heartily glad to see it put in execution; for there are none 
 whose conduct should be so strictly watched as that of these 
 necessary evils in the society, as tlieir office concerns for the 
 most part those poor creatures who cannot do themselves 
 justice, and as they are generally the worst of men who 
 undertake it.’ 
 
 The bailiff then quitted the room, muttering that he 
 should know better what to do another time; and shortly 
 after, Booth and his friends left the house; but, as they 
 were going out, the author took Doctor Harrison aside, and 
 slipt a receipt into his hand, which the doctor returned, 
 saying, he never subscribed when he neither knew the work 
 nor the author; but that, if he would call at his lodgings, 
 he would be very willing to give all the encouragement to 
 merit which was in his power. 
 
 The author took down the doctor’s name and direction, 
 and made him as many bows as he would have done had he 
 carried off the half-guinea for which he had been fishing. 
 
 Mr Booth then took his leave of the philosopher, and 
 departed with the rest of his friends. 
 
BOOK IX. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTORY LOOKS BACKWARDS. 
 
 Before we proceed farther with our history it may he proper 
 to look hack a little, in order to account for the late conduct 
 of Doctor Harrison ; which, however inconsistent it may have 
 hitherto appeared, when examined to the bottom will he 
 found, I apprehend, to be truly congruous with all the rules 
 of the most perfect prudence as well as with the most con¬ 
 summate goodness. 
 
 We have already partly seen in what light Booth had been 
 represented to the doctor abroad. Indeed, the accounts 
 which were sent of the captain, as well by the curate as by 
 a gentleman of the neighboui-hood, were much grosser and 
 more to his disadvantage than the doctor was pleased to set 
 them forth in his letter to the person accused. What sense 
 he had of Booth’s conduct was, however, manifest by that 
 letter. Nevertheless, he resolved to suspend his final judg¬ 
 ment till his return ; and, though he censured him, would 
 not absolutely condemn him without ocular demonstration. 
 
 The doctor, on his return to his parish, found all the ac¬ 
 cusations which had been transmitted to him confirmed by 
 many witnesses, of which the curate’s wife, who had been 
 formerly a friend to Amelia, and still preserved the outward 
 appearance of friendship, was the strongest. She introduced 
 all with—‘ I am sorry to say it, and it is friendship which 
 bids me speak ; and it is for their good it should be told 
 you.’ After which beginnings she never concluded a single 
 speech without some horrid slander and bitter invective. 
 
392 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 Besides the malicious turn which was given to these affairs 
 in the country, which were owing a good deal to misfortune, 
 and some little perhaps to imprudence, the whole neighbour¬ 
 hood rung with several gross and scandalous lies, which were 
 merely the inventions of his enemies, and of which the scene 
 was laid in London since his absence. 
 
 Poisoned with all this malice, the doctor came to town ; 
 and, learning where Booth lodged, went to make him a 
 visit. Indeed, it was the doctor, and no other, who had 
 been at his lodgings that evening when Booth and Amelia 
 were walking in the Park, and concerning which the reader 
 may be pleased to remember so many strange and odd con¬ 
 jectures. 
 
 Here the doctor saw the little gold watch and all those fine 
 trinkets with which the noble lord had presented the chil¬ 
 dren, and which, from the answers given him by the poor 
 ignorant, innocent girl, he could have no doubt had been 
 purchased within a few days by Amelia. 
 
 This account tallied so well with the ideas he had imbibed 
 of Booth’s extravagance in the country, that he firmly believed 
 both the husband and wife to be the vainest, silliest, and 
 most unjust people alive. It was, indeed, almost incredible 
 that two rational beings should be guilty of such absurdity ; 
 but, monstrous and absurd as it was, ocular demonstration 
 appeared to be the evidence against them. 
 
 The doctor departed from their lodgings enraged at this 
 supposed discovery, and, unhappily for Booth, was engaged 
 to supper that very evening with the country gentleman of 
 whom Booth had rented a farm. As the poor captain hap¬ 
 pened to be the subject of conversation, and occasioned their 
 comparing notes, the account which the doctor gave of what 
 he had seen that evening so incensed the gentleman, to whom 
 Booth was likewise a debtor, that he vowed he would take 
 a writ out against him the next morning, and have his body 
 alive or dead; and the doctor was at last persuaded to do 
 the same. Mr Murphy was thereupon immediately sent for; 
 and the doctor in his presence repeated again what he had 
 seen at his lodgings as the foundation of his suing him, 
 which the attorney, as we have before seen, had blabbed to 
 Atkinson. 
 
 But no sooner did the doctor hear that Booth was arrested 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 393 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 than the wretched condition of his wife and family began to 
 affect his mind. The children, who were to he utterly undone 
 with their father, were entirely innocent; and as for Amelia 
 herself, though he thought he had most convincing proofs of 
 very blameable levity, yet his former friendship and affec¬ 
 tion to her were busy to invent every excuse, till, by very 
 heavily loading the husband, they lightened the suspicion 
 against the wife. 
 
 In this temper of mind he resolved to pay Amelia a second 
 visit, and was on his way to Mrs Ellison when the serjeant 
 met him and made himself known to him. The doctor took 
 his old servant into a coffee-house, where he received from 
 him such an account of Booth and his family, that he desired 
 the serjeant to show him presently to Amelia; and this was 
 the cordial which we mentioned at the end of the ninth 
 chapter of the preceding book. 
 
 The doctor became soon satisfied concerning the trinkets 
 which had given him so much uneasiness, and which had 
 brought so much mischief on the head of poor Booth. 
 Amelia likewise gave the doctor some satisfaction as to what 
 he had heard of her husband’s behaviour in the country; 
 and assured him, upon her honour, that Booth could so well 
 answer every complaint against his conduct, that she had no 
 doubt but that a man of the doctor’s justice and candour 
 would entirely acquit him, and would consider him as an 
 innocent unfortunate man, who was the object of a good 
 man’s compassion, not of his anger or resentment. 
 
 This worthy clergyman, who was not desirous of finding 
 proofs to condemn the captain or to justify his own vindictive 
 proceedings, but, on the contrary, rejoiced heartily in every 
 piece of evidence which tended to clear up the character of 
 his friend, gave a ready ear to all which Amelia said. To 
 this, indeed, he was induced by the love he always had for 
 that lady, by the good opinion he entertained of her, as well 
 as by pity for her present condition, than which nothing ap¬ 
 peared more miserable; for he found her in the highest 
 agonies of grief and despair, with her two little children 
 crying over their wretched mother. These are, indeed, to a 
 well-disposed mind, the most tragical sights that human 
 nature can furnish, and afford a juster motive to grief and 
 tears in the beholder than it would be to see all the heroes 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 394 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 who have ever infested the earth hanged all together in a 
 strong. 
 
 The doctor felt this sight as he ought. He immediately 
 endeavoured to comfort the afflicted; in which he so well 
 succeeded, that he restored to Amelia sufficient spirits to give 
 him the satisfaction we have mentioned : after which he de¬ 
 clared he would go and release her husband, which he ac¬ 
 cordingly did in the manner we have above related. 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 395 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTORY GOES EORWARD. 
 
 We now return to that period of our history to which we 
 had brought it at the end of our last book. 
 
 Booth and his friends arrived from the bailiff’s, at the 
 Serjeant’s lodgings, where Booth immediately ran up-stairs to 
 his Amelia; between whom I shall not attempt to describe 
 the meeting. Nothing certainly was ever more tender or 
 more joyful. This, however, I will observe, that a very few 
 of these exquisite moments, of which the best minds only 
 are capable, do in reality over-balance the longest enjoyments 
 which can ever fall to the lot of the worst. 
 
 Whilst Booth and his wife were feasting their souls with 
 the most delicious mutual endearments, the doctor was fallen 
 to play with the two little children below-stairs. While he 
 was thus engaged the little boy did somewhat amiss; upon 
 which the doctor said, ‘ If you do so any more I will take 
 your papa away from you again.’—‘ Again ! sir,’ said the 
 child; ‘ why, was it you then that took away papa before 1 ’ 
 4 Suppose it was,’ said the doctor; ‘ would not you forgive 
 me P ‘Yes,’ cries the child, ‘ I would forgive you; because 
 a Christian must forgive everybody; but I should hate you 
 as long as I live.’ 
 
 The doctor was so pleased with the boy’s answer, that he 
 caught him in his arms and kissed him; at which time 
 Booth and his wife returned. The doctor asked which of 
 them was their son’s instructor in his religion; Booth 
 answered that he must confess Amelia had all the merit of 
 that kind. 1 1 should have rather thought he had learnt of 
 his father,’ cries the doctor; ‘ for he seems a good soldier-like 
 Christian, and professes to hate his enemies with a very good 
 grace.’ 
 
 * How, Billy ! ’ cries Amelia. * I am sure I did not teach 
 you so.’ 
 
 ‘.I did not say I would hate my enemies, madam,’ cries 
 
396 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 the boy; * I only said I would hate papa’s enemies. Sure, 
 mamma, there is no harm in that; nay, I am sure there is no 
 harm in it, for I have heard you say the same thing a 
 thousand times.’ 
 
 The doctor smiled on the child, and, chucking him under 
 the chin, told him he must hate nobody; and now Mrs 
 Atkinson, who had provided a dinner for them all, desired 
 them to walk up and partake of it. 
 
 And now it was that Booth was first made acquainted with 
 the serjeant’s marriage, as was Dr Harrison; both of whom 
 greatly felicitated him upon it. 
 
 Mrs Atkinson, who was, perhaps, a little more confounded 
 than she would have been had she married a colonel, said, 
 ‘ If I have done wrong, Mrs Booth is to answer for it, for 
 she made the match; indeed, Mr Atkinson, you are greatly 
 obliged to the character which this lady gives of you.’ ‘ I 
 hope he will deserve it,’ said the doctor; ‘ and, if the army 
 hath not corrupted a good boy, I believe I may answer for 
 him.’ 
 
 While our little company were enjoying that happiness 
 which never fails to attend conversation where all present are 
 pleased with each other, a visitant arrived who was, perhaps, 
 not very welcome to any of them. This was no other than 
 Colonel James, who, entering the room with much gaiety, 
 went directly up to Booth, embraced him, and expressed 
 great satisfaction at finding him there; he then made an 
 apology for not attending him in the morning, which he said 
 had been impossible; and that he had, with the utmost diffi¬ 
 culty, put oft* some business of great consequence in order to 
 serve him this afternoon; ‘ but 1 am glad on your account,’ 
 cried he to Booth, ‘ that my presence was not necessary.’ 
 
 Booth himself was extremely satisfied with this declaration, 
 and failed not to return him as many thanks as be would 
 have deserved had he performed his promise; but the two 
 ladies were not quite so well satisfied. As for the serjeant, 
 he had slipt out of the room when the colonel entered, not 
 entirely out of that bashfulness which we have remarked 
 him to be tainted with, but indeed, from what had passed in 
 the morning, he hated the sight of the colonel as well on 
 the account of his wife as on that of his friend. 
 
 The doctor, on the contrary, on what he had formerly 
 
CIT. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 397 
 
 heard from both Amelia and her husband of the colonel's 
 generosity and friendship, had built so good an opinion of 
 him, that he was very much pleased with seeing him, and 
 took the first opportunity of telling him so. ‘ Colonel,’ said 
 the doctor, ‘ I have not the happiness of being known to 
 you; but I have long been desirous of an acquaintance with 
 a gentleman in whose commendation I have heard so much 
 from some present.’ The colonel made a proper answer to 
 this compliment, and they soon entered into a familiar con¬ 
 versation together; for the doctor was not difficult of access ; 
 indeed, he held the strange reserve which is usually practised 
 in this nation between people who are in any degree strangers 
 to each other to be very unbecoming the Christian character. 
 
 The two ladies soon left the room; and the remainder 
 of the visit, which was not very long, passed in discourse on 
 various common subjects, not worth recording. In the con¬ 
 clusion, the colonel invited Booth and his lady, and the 
 doctor, to dine with him the next day. 
 
 To give Colonel James his due commendation, he had shown 
 a great command of himself and great presence of mind on 
 this occasion; for, to speak the plain truth, the visit was 
 intended to Amelia alone; nor did he expect, or perhaps 
 desire, anything less than to find the captain at home. The 
 great joy which he suddenly conveyed into his countenance 
 at the unexpected sight of his friend is to be attributed to 
 that noble art which is taught in those excellent schools 
 called the several courts of Europe. By this, men are en¬ 
 abled to dress out their countenances as much at their own 
 pleasure as they do their bodies, and to put on friendship 
 with as much ease as they can a laced coat. 
 
 When the colonel and doctor were gone, Booth acquainted 
 Amelia with the invitation he had received. She was so 
 struck with the news, and betrayed such visible marks of 
 confusion and uneasiness, that they could not have escaped 
 Booth’s observation had suspicion given him the least hint 
 to remark; but this, indeed, is the great optic-glass helping 
 us to discern plainly almost all that passes in the minds of 
 others, without some use of which nothing is more purblind 
 than human nature. 
 
 Amelia, having recovered from her first perturbation, an¬ 
 swered, ‘ My dear, I will dine with you wherever you please 
 
398 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 to lay your commands on me/ ‘1 am obliged to yon, my 
 dear soul,’ cries Booth; ‘ your obedience shall be very easy, 
 for my command will be that you shall always follow your 
 own inclinations.’ ‘ My inclinations,’ answered she, ‘ would, 
 I am afraid, be too unreasonable a confinement to you; for 
 they would always lead me to be with you and your chil¬ 
 dren, with at most a single friend or two now and then.’ 
 ‘ 0 my dear ! ’ replied he, ‘ large companies give us a greater 
 relish for our own society when we return to it; and we 
 shall be extremely merry, for Doctor Harrison dines with us.’ 
 ‘1 hope you will, my dear,’ cries she; 4 but I own I should 
 have been better pleased to have enjoyed a few days with 
 yourself and the children, with no other person but Mrs 
 Atkinson, for whom I have conceived a violent affection, 
 and who would have given us but little interruption. How¬ 
 ever, if you have promised, I must undergo the penance.’ 
 ‘ Nay, child,’ cried he, ‘ I am sure I would have refused, 
 could I have guessed it had been in the least disagreeable to 
 you; though I know your objection.’ ‘ Objection ! ’ cries 
 Amelia, eagerly; ‘ I have no objection.’ ‘ Nay, nay,’ said 
 he, ‘ come, be honest, I know your objection, though you 
 are unwilling to own it.’ ‘ Good Heavens ! ’ cried Amelia, 
 frightened, ‘what do you mean 1 what objection V ‘Why,’ 
 answered he, ‘ to the company of Mrs James; and I must 
 confess she hath not behaved to you lately as you might 
 have expected; but you ought to pass all that by for the 
 sake of her husband, to whom we have both so many obliga¬ 
 tions, who is the worthiest, honestest, and most generous 
 fellow in the universe, and the best friend to me that ever 
 man had.’ 
 
 Amelia, who had far other suspicions, and began to fear 
 that her husband had discovered them, was highly pleased 
 when she saw him taking a wrong scent. She gave, there¬ 
 fore, a little into the deceit, and acknowledged the truth of 
 what he had mentioned; but said that the pleasure she 
 should have in complying with his desires would highly 
 recompense any dissatisfaction which might arise on any 
 other account; and shortly after ended the conversation on 
 this subject with her cheerfully promising to fulfil his 
 promise. 
 
 In reality, poor Amelia had now a most unpleasant task 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 399 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 to undertake; for she thought it absolutely necessary to con¬ 
 ceal from her husband the opinion she had conceived of the 
 coloneL Por, as she knew the characters, as well of her 
 husband as of his friend, or rather enemy (both being often 
 synonymous in the language of the world), she had the 
 utmost reason to apprehend something very fatal might 
 attend her husband's entertaining the same thought of 
 James which filled and tormented her own breast. 
 
 And, as she knew that nothing hut these thoughts could 
 justify the least unkind, or, indeed, the least reserved be¬ 
 haviour to James, who had, in all appearance, conferred the 
 greatest obligations upon Booth and herself, she was reduced 
 to a dilemma the most dreadful that can attend a virtuous 
 woman, as it often gives the highest triumph, and sometimes 
 no little advantage, to the men of professed gallantrv 
 
 In short, to avoid giving any umbrage to her husband, 
 Amelia was forced to act in a manner which she was con¬ 
 scious must give encouragement to the colonel; a situation 
 which perhaps requires as great prudence and delicacy as 
 any in which the heroic part of the female character can he 
 exerted. 
 
400 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 A CONVERSATION BETWEEN DR HARRISON AND OTHERS. 
 
 The next day Booth and his lady, with the doctor, met at 
 Colonel James’s, where Colonel Bath likewise made one of 
 the company. 
 
 Nothing very remarkable passed at dinner, or till the 
 ladies withdrew. During this time, however, the behaviour 
 of Colonel Janies was such as gave some uneasiness to 
 Amelia, who well understood his meaning, though the parti¬ 
 culars were too refined and subtle to be observed by any 
 other present. 
 
 When the ladies had gone, which was as soon as Amelia 
 could prevail on Mrs James to depart, Colonel Bath, who 
 had been pretty brisk with champagne at dinner, soon began 
 to display his magnanimity. ‘ My brother tells me, young 
 gentleman,’ said he to Booth, ‘ that you have been used 
 very ill lately by some rascals, and I have no doubt but you 
 will do yourself justice.' 
 
 Booth answered that he did not know what he meant. 
 ‘ Since I must mention it then,’ cries the colonel, 1 1 hear 
 you have been arrested; and I think you know what satis¬ 
 faction is to be required by a man of honour.’ 
 
 ‘ I beg, sir,’ says the doctor, ‘ no more may be mentioned 
 of that matter. I am convinced no satisfaction will be re¬ 
 quired of the captain till he is able to give it.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not understand what you mean by able,’ cries the 
 colonel. To which the doctor answered, ‘ That it was of 
 too tender a nature to speak more of.’ 
 
 ‘ Give me your hand, doctor,’ cries the colonel; ‘ I see 
 you are a man of honour, though you wear a gown. It is, 
 as you say, a matter of a tender nature. Nothing, indeed, 
 is so tender as a man’s honour. Curse my liver, if any 
 man—I mean, that is, if any gentleman, was to arrest me, I 
 would as surely cut his throat as—’ 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 401 
 
 ‘ H° w j sir ! ’ said the doctor, ‘ would you compensate one 
 breach of the law by a much greater, and pay your debts by 
 committing murder 1 * 
 
 ‘ Why d° y°u mention law between gentlemen %’ says the 
 colonel. ‘ A man of honour wears his law by his side; and 
 can the resentment of an affront make a gentleman guilty of 
 murder 1 and what greater affront can one man cast upon 
 another than by arresting him % I am convinced that he 
 who would put up an arrest would put up a slap in the face.’ 
 
 Here the colonel looked extremely fierce, and the divine 
 stared with astonishment at this doctrine ; when Booth, 
 who well knew the impossibility of opposing the colonel’s 
 humour with success, began to play with it; and, having 
 first conveyed a private wink to the doctor, he said there 
 might be cases undoubtedly where such an affront ought to 
 be resented; but that there were others where any resent¬ 
 ment was impracticable : 1 As, for instance,’ said he, 1 where 
 the man is arrested by a woman.’ 
 
 ‘ I could not be supposed to mean that case,’ cries the 
 colonel ; ‘ and you are convinced I did not mean it.’ 
 
 ‘ To put an end to this discourse at once, sir,’ said the 
 doctor, £ I was the plaintiff at whose suit this gentleman 
 was arrested.’ 
 
 1 Was you so, sir 1 ?’ cries the colonel; ‘ then I have no 
 more to say. Women and the clergy are upon the same 
 footing. The long-robed gentry are exempted from the laws 
 of honour.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not thank you for that exemption, sir,’ cries the 
 doctor; ‘ and, if honour and fighting are, as they seem to 
 be, synonymous words with you, I believe there are some 
 clergymen, who in defence of their religion, or their country, 
 or their friend, the only justifiable causes of fighting, except 
 bare self-defence, would fight as bravely as yourself, colonel; 
 and that without being paid for it.' 
 
 ^ Sh, you are privileged,’ says the colonel, with great dig- 
 nity ; ‘ and you have my leave to say what you please. I 
 respect your order, and you cannot offend me.’ 
 
 ‘ I will not offend you, colonel,’ cries the doctor; ‘ and 
 our order is very much obliged to you, since you profess so 
 much respect to’us, and pay none to our Master.’ 
 
 ‘ What Master, sir % ’ said the colonel. 
 
 x 26 
 
402 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 4 That Master/ answered the doctor, 4 who hath expressly 
 forbidden all that cutting of throats to which you discover 
 so much inclination. 7 
 
 4 0 ! your servant, sir,’ said the colonel ; 4 1 see what you 
 are driving at ; but you shall not persuade me to think that 
 religion forces me to be a coward. 7 
 
 4 1 detest and despise the name as much as you can, 7 cries 
 the doctor; 4 but you have a wrong idea of the word, 
 colonel. What were all the Greeks and Romans? were 
 these cowards ? and yet, did you ever hear of this butchery, 
 which we call duelling, among them ? 7 
 
 4 Yes, indeetl, have I, 7 cries the colonel. 4 What else is 
 all Mr Pope’s Homer full of but duels? Bid not what’s 
 his name, one of the Agamemnons, fight with that paltry 
 rascal Paris? and Diomede with what d’ye call him there? 
 and Hector with I forget his name, he that was Achilles’s 
 bosom-friend ; and afterwards with Achilles himself? Ray, 
 and in Dry den’s Yirgil, is there anything almost besides 
 fighting ? 7 
 
 4 You are a man of learning, colonel, 7 cries the doctor; 
 4 but— 7 
 
 4 1 thank you for that compliment, 7 said the colonel.— 
 4 Ho, sir, I do not pretend to learning; but I have some little 
 reading, and I am not ashamed to own it. 7 
 
 4 But are you sure, colonel, 7 cries the doctor, 4 that you 
 have not made a small mistake ? for I am apt to believe both 
 Mr Pope and Mr Dryden (though I cannot say I ever read 
 a word of either of them) speak of wars between nations, 
 and not of private duels; for of the latter I do not remember 
 one single instance in all the Greek and Roman story. In 
 short, it is a modern custom, introduced by barbarous nations 
 since the times of Christianity ; though it is a direct and 
 audacious defiance of the Christian law, and is consequently 
 much more sinful in us than it would have been in the 
 heathens. 7 
 
 4 Drink about, doctor, 7 cries the colonel; 4 and let us call 
 a new cause; for I perceive we shall never agree on this. 
 You are a Churchman, and I don’t expect you to speak your 
 mind. 7 
 
 4 We are both of the same Church, I ‘hope, 7 cries the 
 doctor. 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 403 
 
 ‘ I an ] of the Church of England, sir,’ answered the colonel, 
 ‘ an| i will fight for it to the last drop of my blood.’ 
 
 ‘ is ver y generous in you, colonel,’ cries the doctor, ‘ to 
 fight so zealously for a religion by which you are to be 
 damned.’ 
 
 ‘ It is well for you, doctor,’ cries the colonel, ‘ that you 
 wear a gown; for, by all the dignity of a man, if any other 
 person had said the words you have just uttered, I would 
 have made him eat them ; ay, d—n me, and my sword into 
 the bargain.’ 
 
 Booth began to be apprehensive that this dispute might 
 grow too warm; in which case he feared that the colonel’s 
 honour, together with the champagne, might hurry him so 
 far as to forget the respect due, and which he professed to 
 pay, to the sacerdotal robe. Booth therefore interposed be¬ 
 tween the disputants, and said that the colonel had very 
 rightly proposed to call a new subject; for that it was im¬ 
 possible to reconcile accepting a challenge with the Christian 
 religion, or refusing it with the modern notion of honour. 
 ‘And you must allow it, doctor,’ said he, ‘to be a very hard 
 injunction for a man to become infamous; and more espe¬ 
 cially for a soldier, who is to lose his bread into the 
 bargain.’ 
 
 Ay, sir/ says the colonel, with an air of triumph, ‘ what 
 say you to that ] ’ 
 
 ‘ Why, I say,’ cries the doctor, ‘ that it is much harder to 
 be damned on the other side.’ 
 
 ‘ That may be,’ said the colonel; ‘but d—n me, if I 
 would take an affront of any man breathing, for all that. 
 And yet I believe myself to be as good a Christian as wears 
 a head. My maxim is, never to give an affront, nor ever to 
 take one; and I say that it is the maxim of a good Christian, 
 and no man shall ever persuade me to the contrary.’ 
 
 ‘Well, sir,’ said the doctor, ‘since that is your resolution, 
 
 I hope no man will ever give you an affront.’ 
 
 ‘I am obliged to you for your hope, doctor,’ cries the 
 colonel, with a sneer; ‘ and he that doth will be obliged to 
 you for lending him your gown; for, by the dignity of a 
 man, nothing out of petticoats, I believe, dares affront me.’ 
 
 Colonel James had not hitherto joined in the discourse. 
 In truth, his thoughts had been otherwise employed; nor 
 
404 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 is it very difficult for the reader to guess what had been the 
 subject of them.' Being waked, however, from his reverie, 
 and having heard the two or three last speeches, he turned 
 to his brother, and asked him, why he would introduce such 
 a topic of conversation before a gentleman of Doctor Harri¬ 
 son’s character'? 
 
 ‘ Brother,’ cried Bath, ‘ I own it was wrong, and I ask the 
 doctor’s pardon : I know not how it happened to arise ; for 
 you know, brother, I am not used to talk of these matters. 
 They are generally poltroons that do. I think I need not 
 be beholden to my tongue to declare I am none. I have 
 shown myself in a line of battle. I believe there is no man 
 will deny that; I believe I may say no man dares deny that 
 I have done my duty.’ 
 
 The colonel was thus proceeding to prove that his prowess 
 was neither the subject of liis discourse nor the object of 
 his vanity, when a servant entered and summoned the com¬ 
 pany to tea with the ladies; a summons which Colonel 
 James instantly obeyed, and was followed by all the rest. 
 
 But as the tea-table conversation, though extremely de¬ 
 lightful to those who are engaged in it, may probably appear 
 somewhat dull to the reader, we will here put an end to the 
 chapter. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 405 
 
 CHAPTEB IY. 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN BOOTH AND AMELIA. 
 
 The next morning early, Booth went by appointment and 
 waited on Colonel Janies; whence he returned to Amelia in 
 that kind of disposition which, the great master of human 
 passions would describe in Andromache, when he tells us 
 she cried and smiled at the same instant. 
 
 Amelia plainly perceived the discomposure of his mind, 
 in which the opposite affections of joy and grief were strug¬ 
 gling for the superiority, and begged to know the occasion; 
 upon which Booth spoke as follows :— 
 
 J My dear,’ said he, 4 1 had no intention to conceal from 
 you what hath passed this morning between me and the 
 colonel, who hath oppressed me, if I may use that expres¬ 
 sion, with obligations. Sure never man had such a friend ; 
 for never was there so noble, so generous a heart—I cannot 
 help this ebullition of gratitude, I really cannot.’ Here he 
 paused a moment, and wiped his eyes, and then proceeded: 
 
 ‘ You know, my dear, how gloomy the prospect was yester¬ 
 day before our eyes, how inevitable ruin stared me in the 
 face; and the dreadful idea of having entailed beggary on 
 my Amelia and her posterity racked my mind; for though, 
 by the goodness of the doctor, I had regained my liberty, 
 the debt yet remained; and, if that worthy man had a 
 design of forgiving me his share, this must have been my 
 utmost hope, and the condition in which I must still have 
 found myself need not to be expatiated on. In what light, 
 then, shall I see, in what words shall I relate, the colonel’s 
 kindness 1 0 my dear Amelia ! he hath removed the whole 
 
 gloom at once, hath driven all despair out of my mind, and 
 hath filled it with the most sanguine, and, at the same time, 
 the most reasonable hopes of making a comfortable provision 
 for yourself and my dear children. In the first place, then, 
 he will advance me a sum of money to pay off all my debts; 
 and this on a bond to be repaid only when I shall become 
 
406 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 colonel of a regiment, and not before. In the next place, 
 he is gone this very morning to ask a company for me, 
 which is now vacant in the West Indies ; and, as he intends 
 to push this with all his interest, neither he nor I have any 
 doubt of his success. Now, my dear, comes the third, 
 which, though perhaps it ought to give me the greatest joy, 
 such is, I own, the weakness of my nature, it rends my very 
 heartstrings asunder. I cannot mention it, for I know it 
 will give you equal pain; though I know, on all proper 
 occasions, you can exert a manly resolution. You will not, 
 I am convinced, oppose it, whatever you must suffer in 
 complying. 0 my dear Amelia ! I must suffer likewise; 
 yet I have resolved to bear it. You know not what my 
 poor heart hath suffered since he made the proposal. It is 
 love for you alone which could persuade me to submit to it. 
 Consider our situation; consider that of our children; reflect 
 but on those poor babes, whose future happiness is at stake, 
 and it must arm your resolution. It is your interest and 
 theirs that reconciled me to a proposal which, when the 
 colonel first made it, struck me with the utmost horror; he 
 hath, indeed, from these motives, persuaded me into a reso¬ 
 lution which I thought impossible for any one to have per¬ 
 suaded me into. 0 my dear Amelia ! let me entreat you 
 to give me up to the good of your children, as I have pro¬ 
 mised the colonel to give you up to their interest and your 
 own. If you refuse these terms we are still undone, for he 
 insists absolutely upon them. Think, then, my love, how¬ 
 ever hard they may be, necessity compels us to submit to 
 them. I know in what light a woman, who loves like you, 
 must consider such a proposal; and yet how many instances 
 have you of women who, from the same motives, have sub¬ 
 mitted to the same ! ’ 
 
 ‘ What can you mean, Mr Booth 1 ’ cries Amelia, trem¬ 
 bling. 
 
 ‘Need I explain my meaning to you morel’ answered 
 Booth.—‘ Did I not say I must give up my Amelia 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Give me up ! ’ said she. 
 
 ‘ For a time only, I mean,’ answered he: ‘ for a short time 
 perhaps. The colonel himself will take care it shall not be 
 long—for I know his heart; I shall scarce have more joy in 
 receiving you back than lie will have in restoring you to my 
 
407 
 
 CH. IV.] AMELIA. 
 
 arms. In the mean time, lie will not only be a father to my 
 children, but a husband to you.’ 
 
 ‘ A husband to me ! ’ said Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Yes, my dear; a kind, a fond, a tender, an affectionate 
 husband. If I had not the most certain assurances of this, 
 doth my Amelia think I could be prevailed on to leave her 1 
 No, my Amelia, he is the only man on earth who could have 
 prevailed on me ; but I know his house, his purse, his pro¬ 
 tection, will be all at your command. And as for any dis¬ 
 like you have conceived do his wife, let not that be any 
 objection • for I am convinced he will not suffer her to 
 insult you; besides, she is extremely well bred, and, how 
 much soever she may hate you in her heart, she will at least 
 treat you with civility. 
 
 t Nay, the invitation is not his, but hers ; and I am con¬ 
 vinced they will both behave to you with the greatest 
 friendship : his I am sure will be sincere, as to the wife of a 
 friend entrusted to his care; and hers will, from good¬ 
 breeding, have not only the appearances but the effects of 
 the truest friendship/ 
 
 1 I understand you, my dear, at last/ said she (indeed she 
 had rambled into very strange conceits from some parts of 
 his discourse )• 1 and I will give you my resolution in a 
 word—I will do the duty of a wife, and that is, to attend 
 her husband wherever he goes.’ 
 
 Booth attempted to reason with her, but all to no purpose. 
 She gave, indeed, a quiet hearing to all he said, and even to 
 those parts which most displeased her ears; I mean those in 
 which he exaggerated the great goodness and disinterested 
 generosity of his friend; but her resolution remained inflexi¬ 
 ble, and resisted the force of all his arguments with a steadi¬ 
 ness of opposition which it would have been almost excus¬ 
 able in him to have construed into stubbornness. 
 
 The doctor arrived in the midst of the dispute; and, hav¬ 
 ing heard the merits of the cause on both sides, delivered 
 his opinion in the following words . 
 
 ‘ I have always thought it, my dear children, a matter of 
 the utmost nicety to interfere in any differences between 
 husband and wife; but, since you both desire me with such 
 earnestness to give you my sentiments on the present contest 
 between you, I will give you my thoughts as well as I am 
 
408 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 able. In the first place, then, can anything be more reason¬ 
 able than for a wife to desire to attend her husband ? It is, 
 as my favourite child observes, no more than a desire to do 
 her duty; and I make no doubt but that is one great reason 
 of her insisting on it. And how can you yourself oppose 
 it 1 Can love be its own enemy 1 or can a husband who is 
 fond of his wife, content himself almost on any account 
 with a long absence from her 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ You speak like an angel, my dear Doctor Harrison/ an¬ 
 swered Amelia : ‘ I am sure, if he loved as tenderly as I do, 
 he could on no account submit to it.’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, child,’ cries the doctor; ‘ there are some 
 reasons which would not only justify his leaving you, but 
 which must force him, if he hath any real love for you, 
 joined with common sense, to make that election. If it was 
 necessary, for instance, either to your good or to the good of 
 your children, he would not deserve the name of a man, I 
 am sure not that of a husband, if he hesitated a moment. 
 Hay, in that case, I am convinced you yourself would be an 
 advocate for what you now oppose. I fancy therefore I 
 mistook him when I apprehended he said that the colonel 
 made his leaving you behind as the condition of getting him 
 the commission; for I know my dear child hath too much 
 goodness, and too much sense, and too much resolution, to 
 prefer any temporary indulgence of her own passions to the 
 solid advantages of her whole family.’ 
 
 ‘ There, my dear! ’ cries Booth; ‘ I kneAv what opinion 
 the doctor would be of. Hay, I am certain there is not a 
 wise man in the kingdom who would say otherwise.’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t abuse me, young gentleman,’ said the doctor, ‘ with 
 appellations I don’t deserve.’ 
 
 ‘ I abuse you, my dear doctor ! ’ cries Booth. 
 
 1 Yes, my dear sir,’ answered the doctor; ‘ you insinuated 
 slily that I was wise, which, as the world understands the 
 phrase, I should be ashamed of; and my comfort is that no 
 one can accuse me justly of it. I have just given an in¬ 
 stance of the contrary by throwing away my advice.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘ that will not be the case.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir,’ answered the doctor. ‘ I know it will be the 
 case in the present instance, for either you will not go at 
 all, or my little turtle here will go with you.’ 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 409 
 
 ‘ Yon are in the right, doctor,’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘ I am sorry for it,’ said the doctor, ‘ for then I assure you 
 yon are in the wrong.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed,’ cries Amelia, ‘ if you knew all my reasons yon 
 would say they were very strong ones.’ 
 
 ‘ Very probably,’ cries the doctor. ‘ The knowledge that 
 they are in the wrong is a very strong reason to some women 
 to continue so.’ 
 
 ‘Nay, doctor,’ cries Amelia, ‘you shall never persuade me 
 of that. I will not believe that any human being ever did 
 an action merely because they knew it'to be wrong.’ 
 
 ‘ I am obliged to you, my dear child,’ said the doctor, 
 ‘ for declaring your resolution of not being persuaded. Your 
 husband would never call me a wise man again if, after that 
 declaration, I should attempt to persuade you.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I must be content,’ cries Amelia, ‘ to let you think 
 as you please.’ 
 
 ‘ That is very gracious, indeed,’ said the doctor. ‘ Surely, 
 in a country where the church suffers others to think as 
 they please, it would be very hard if they had not them¬ 
 selves the same liberty. And yet, as unreasonable as the 
 power of controlling men’s thoughts is represented, I will 
 show you how you shall control mine whenever you de¬ 
 sire it.’ 
 
 ‘ How, pray 1 ’ cries Amelia. ‘ I should greatly esteem 
 that power.’ 
 
 ‘Why, whenever you act like a wise woman,’ cries the 
 doctor, ‘ you will force me to think you so; and, whenever 
 you are pleased to act as you do now, I shall be obliged, 
 whether I will or no, to think as I do now.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, dear doctor,’ cries Booth, ‘ I am convinced my 
 Amelia will never do anything to forfeit your good opinion. 
 Consider but the cruel hardship of what she is to undergo, 
 and you will make allowances for the difficulty she makes in 
 complying. To say the truth, when I examine my own 
 heart, I have more obligations to her than appear at first 
 sight ; for, by obliging me to find arguments to persuade 
 her, she hath assisted me in conquering myself. Indeed, if 
 she had shown more resolution, I should have shown less.’ 
 
 ‘ So you think it necessary, then,’ said the doctor, ‘ that 
 there should be one fool at least in every married couple. 
 
410 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 A mighty resolution, truly ! and well worth your valuing 
 yourself upon, to part with your wife for a few months in 
 order to make the fortune of her and your children ; when 
 you are to leave her, too, in the care and protection of a 
 friend that gives credit to the old stories of friendship, and 
 doth an honour to human nature. What, in the name of 
 goodness ! do either of you think that you have made an 
 union to endure for ever 1 How will either of you bear 
 that separation which must, some time or other, and perhaps 
 very soon, be the lot of one of you 1 Have you forgot that 
 you are both mortal ? As for Christianity, I see you have 
 resigned all pretensions to it; for I make no doubt but that 
 you have so set your hearts on the happiness you enjoy here 
 together, that neither of you ever think a word of hereafter/ 
 
 Amelia now burst into tears; upon which Booth begged 
 the doctor to proceed no farther. Indeed, he would not 
 have wanted the caution; for, however blunt he appeared 
 in his discourse, he had a tenderness of heart which is rarely 
 found among men; for which I know no other reason than 
 that true goodness is rarely found among them; for I am 
 firmly persuaded that the latter never possessed any human 
 mind in any degree without being attended by as large a 
 portion of the former. 
 
 Thus ended the conversation on this subject; what fol¬ 
 lowed is not worth relating, till the doctor carried off Booth 
 with him to take a walk'in the Park. 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 411 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A CONVERSATION BETWEEN AMELIA AND DR HARRISON, 
 
 WITH THE RESULT. 
 
 Amelia, being left alone, began to consider seriously of her 
 condition • she saw it would be very difficult to resist the 
 importunities of her husband, backed by the authority of 
 the doctor, especially as she well knew how unreasonable 
 her declarations must appear to every one who was ignorant 
 of her real motives to persevere in it. On the other hand, she 
 was fully determined, whatever might be the consequence, 
 to adhere firmly to her resolution of not accepting the 
 colonel’s invitation. 
 
 When she had turned the matter every way in her mind, 
 and vexed and tormented herself with much uneasy reflec¬ 
 tion upon it, a thought at last occurred to her which im¬ 
 mediately brought her some comfort. This was, to make a 
 confidant of the doctor, and to impart to him the whole 
 truth. This method, indeed, appeared to her now to be so 
 advisable, that she wondered she had not hit upon it sooner; 
 but it is the nature of despair to blind us to all the means 
 of safety, however easy and apparent they may be. 
 
 Having fixed her purpose in her mind, she wrote a short 
 note to the doctor, in which she acquainted him that she 
 had something of great moment to impart to him, which 
 must be an entire secret from her husband, and begged that 
 she might have an opportunity of communicating it as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 Doctor Harrison received the letter that afternoon, and 
 immediately complied with Amelia’s request in visiting her. 
 He found her drinking tea with her husband and Mrs 
 Atkinson, and sat down and joined the company. 
 
 Soon after the removal of the tea-table Mrs Atkinson left 
 the room. The doctor then, turning to Booth, said, ‘ I hope, 
 captain, you have a true sense of the obedience due to the 
 church, though our clergy do not often exact it. However, 
 
412 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 it is proper to exercise our power sometimes, in order to 
 remind the laity of their duty. I must tell you, therefore, 
 that I have some private business with your wife; and I 
 expect your immediate absence.’ 
 
 ( Upon my word, doctor,’ answered Booth, 'no Popish 
 confessor, I firmly believe, ever pronounced his will and 
 pleasure with more gravity and dignity; none therefore was 
 ever more immediately obeyed than you shall be.’ Booth 
 then quitted the room, and desired the doctor to recall him 
 when his business with the lady was over. 
 
 Doctor Harrison promised he would; and then turning to 
 Amelia he said, ‘ Thus far, madam, I have obeyed your 
 commands, and am now ready to receive the important 
 secret which you mention in your note.’ 
 
 Amelia now informed her friend of all she knew, all she 
 had seen and heard, and all that she suspected, of the 
 colonel. The good man seemed greatly shocked at the rela¬ 
 tion, and remained in a silent astonishment. Upon which 
 Amelia said, ‘ Is villany so rare a thing, sir, that it should 
 so much surprize you 1 ’ ‘ Ho, child,’ cries he; ‘ but I am 
 
 shocked at seeing it so artfully disguised under the appear¬ 
 ance of so much virtue; and, to confess the truth, I believe 
 my own vanity is a little hurt in having been so grossly 
 imposed upon. Indeed, I had a very high regard for this 
 man; for, besides the great character given him by your 
 husband, and the many facts I have heard so much redound¬ 
 ing to his honour, he hath the fairest and most promising 
 appearance I have ever yet beheld. A good face, they say, 
 is a letter of recommendation. 0 Nature, Nature, why art 
 thou so dishonest as ever to send men with these false 
 recommendations into the world 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear sir, I begin to grow entirely sick of it,’ 
 cries Amelia; ‘ for sure all mankind almost are villains in 
 their hearts.’ 
 
 ‘ Pie, child ! ’ cries the doctor. ‘ Do not make a conclusion 
 so much to the dishonour of the great Creator. The nature 
 of man is far from being in itself evil; it abounds with be¬ 
 nevolence, charity, and pity, coveting praise and honour, and 
 shunning shame and disgrace. Bad education, bad habits, 
 and bad customs, debauch our nature, and drive it head¬ 
 long as it were into vice. The governors of the world, and I 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 4 1 Q 
 
 ID 
 
 am afraid the priesthood, are answerable for the badness of 
 it. Instead of discouraging wickedness to the utmost of their 
 power, both are too apt to connive at it. In the great sin of 
 adultery, for instance; hath the government provided any 
 law to punish it 1 or doth the priest take any care to correct 
 it ? on the contrary, is the most notorious practice of it any 
 detriment to a man’s fortune or to his reputation in the world 1 
 doth it exclude him from any preferment in the state, I had 
 almost said in the church 'l is it any blot in his escutcheon ? 
 any bar to his honour 1 is he not to be found every day in 
 the assemblies of women of the highest quality 1 in the closets 
 of the greatest men, and even at the tables of bishops % What 
 wonder then if the community in general treat this monstrous 
 crime as a matter of jest, and that men give way to the 
 temptations of a violent appetite, when the indulgence of it 
 is protected by law and countenanced by custom 1 I am con¬ 
 vinced there are good stamina in the nature of this very man; 
 for he hath done acts of friendship and generosity to your 
 husband before he could have any evil design on your chas¬ 
 tity ; and in a Christian society, which I no more esteem this 
 nation to be than I do any part of Turkey, I doubt not but 
 this very colonel would have made a worthy and valuable 
 member. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear sir,’ cries Amelia, ‘ you are the wisest as 
 well as best man in the world—’ 
 
 ‘ Not a word of my wisdom,’ cries the doctor. ‘ I have not 
 a grain—I am not the least versed in the Chrematistic * art, 
 as an old friend of mine calls it. I know not how to get a 
 shilling, or how to keep it in my pocket if I had it.’ 
 
 ‘ But you understand human nature to the bottom,’ an¬ 
 swered Amelia ; ‘ and your mind is the treasury of all ancient 
 and modern learning.’ 
 
 ‘ You are a little flatterer,’ cries the doctor; ‘ but I dislike 
 you not for it. And, to show you I don’t, I will return your 
 flattery, and tell you you have acted with great prudence in 
 concealing this affair from your husband ; but you have drawn 
 me into a scrape ; for I have promised to dine with this fel¬ 
 low again to-morrow, and you have made it impossible for me 
 to keep my word.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, but, dear sir,’ cries Amelia, ‘ for Heaven’s sake take 
 * The art of getting wealth is so called by Aristotle in his Politics, 
 
414 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 care ! If you show any kind of disrespect to the colonel, my 
 husband may be led into some suspicion—especially after our 
 conference.’ 
 
 ‘ Fear nothing, child. I will give him no hint; and, that 
 I may be certain of not doing it, I will stay away. You do 
 not think, I hope, that I will join in a cheerful conversation 
 with such a man ;• that I will so far betray my character as 
 to give any countenance to such flagitious proceedings. Be¬ 
 sides, my promise was only conditional; and I do not know 
 whether I could otherwise have kept it; for I expect an old 
 friend every day who comes to town twenty miles on foot to 
 see me, whom I shall not part with on any account; for, as 
 he is very poor, he may imagine I treat him with disrespect.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, sir,’ cries Amelia, ‘ I must admire you and love you 
 for your goodness.’ 
 
 ‘ Must you love me V cries the doctor. I could cure you 
 now in a minute if I pleased.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I defy you, sir,’ said Amelia. 
 
 ‘ If I could but persuade you,’ answered he, ‘ that I thought 
 you not handsome, away would vanish all ideas of goodness 
 in an instant. Confess honestly, would they not 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps I might blame the goodness of your eyes,’ replied 
 Amelia; ‘ and that is perhaps an honester confession than 
 you expected. But do, pray, sir, be serious, and give me your 
 advice what to do. Consider the difficult game I have to 
 play; for I am sure, after what I have told you, you would 
 not even suffer me to remain under the roof of this colonel.’ 
 
 ‘ No, indeed, would I not,’ said the doctor, ‘ whilst I have 
 a house of my own to entertain you.’ 
 
 ‘ But how to dissuade my husband,’ continued she, ‘ with¬ 
 out giving him any suspicion of the real cause, the conse¬ 
 quences of his guessing at which I tremble to think upon.’ 
 
 ‘ I will consult my pillow upon it,’ said the doctor; ‘ and 
 in the morning you shall see me again. In the mean time be 
 comforted, and compose the perturbations of your mind.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, sir,’ said she, ‘ I put my whole trust in you.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry to hear it,’ cries the doctor. * Your innocence 
 may give you a very confident trust in a much more power¬ 
 ful assistance. However, I will do all I can to serve you : 
 and now, if you please, we will call back your husband; for, 
 upon my word, he hath shown a good catholic patience. 
 
OH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 415 
 
 And where is the honest serjeant and his wife % I am 
 pleased with the behaviour of you both to that worthy fel¬ 
 low, in opposition to the custom of the world; which, in¬ 
 stead of being formed on the precepts of our religion to 
 consider each other as brethren, teaches us to regard those 
 who are a degree below us, either in rank or fortune, as a 
 species of beings of an inferior order in the creation.’ 
 
 The captain now returned into the room, as did the ser¬ 
 jeant and Mrs Atkinson ; and the two couple, with the 
 doctor, spent the evening together in great mirth and fes¬ 
 tivity ) for the doctor was one of the best companions in the 
 world, and a vein of cheerfulness, good humour, and plea¬ 
 santry, ran through his conversation, with which it was im¬ 
 possible to resist being pleased. 
 
416 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTAINING AS SURPRIZING AN ACCIDENT AS IS PERHAPS 
 
 RECORDED IN HISTORY. 
 
 Booth had acquainted the serjeant with the great goodness 
 of Colonel James, and with the cheerful prospects which he 
 entertained from it. This Atkinson, behind the curtain, 
 communicated to his wife. The conclusion which she drew 
 from it need scarce he hinted to the reader. She made, 
 indeed, no scruple of plainly and bluntly telling her hus¬ 
 band that the colonel had a most manifest intention to at¬ 
 tack the chastity of Amelia. 
 
 This thought gave the poor serjeant great uneasiness, and, 
 after having kept him long awake, tormented him in his 
 sleep with a most horrid dream, in which' he imagined that 
 he saw the colonel standing by the bed-side of Amelia, with 
 a naked sword in his hand, and threatening to stab her in¬ 
 stantly unless she complied with his desires. Upon this the 
 serjeant started up in his bed, and, catching his wife by the 
 throat, cried out, ‘ D—n you, put up your sword this instant, 
 and leave the room, or by Heaven I’ll drive mine to your 
 heart’s blood! ’ 
 
 This rough treatment immediately roused Mrs Atkinson 
 from her sleep, who no sooner perceived the position of her 
 husband, and felt his hand grasping her throat, than she 
 gave a violent shriek and presently fell into a fit. 
 
 Atkinson now waked likewise, and soon became sensible 
 of the violent agitations of his wife. He immediately leapt 
 out of bed, and, running for a bottle of water, began to 
 sprinkle her very plentifully; hut all to no purpose : she 
 neither spoke nor gave any symptoms of recovery. Atkinson 
 then began to roar aloud; upon which Booth, who lay under 
 him, jumped from his bed, and ran up with the lighted 
 candle in his hand. The serjeant had no sooner taken the 
 candle than he ran with it to the bed-side. Here he beheld 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 417 
 
 a sight which almost deprived him of his senses. The bed 
 appeared to be all over blood, and his wife weltering in the 
 midst of it. Upon this the serjeant, almost in a frenzy, 
 cried out, ‘ 0 Heavens ! I have killed my wife. I have 
 stabbed her! I have stabbed her ! ’ ‘What can be the 
 
 meaning of all this 1 ’ said Booth. ‘ 0, sir ! ’ cries the ser¬ 
 jeant, ‘ I dreamt I was rescuing your lady from the hands of 
 Colonel James, and I have killed my poor wife.’—Here he 
 threw himself upon the bed by her, caught her in his arms, 
 and behaved like one frantic with despair. 
 
 By this time Amelia had thrown on a wrapping-gown, 
 and was come up into the room, where the serjeant and his 
 wife were lying on the bed, and Booth standing like a 
 motionless statue by the bed-side. Amelia had some diffi¬ 
 culty to conquer the effects of her own surprize on this oc¬ 
 casion ; for a more ghastly and horrible sight than the bed 
 presented could not be conceived. 
 
 Amelia sent Booth to call up the maid of the house, in 
 order to lend her assistance ; but before his return Mrs At¬ 
 kinson began to come to herself j and soon after, to the in¬ 
 expressible joy of the serjeant, it was discovered she had no 
 wound. Indeed, the delifeate nose of Amelia soon made that 
 discovery, which the grosser smell of the serjeant, and per¬ 
 haps his fright, had prevented him from making ; for now it 
 appeared that the red liquor with which the bed was stained, 
 though it may, perhaps, sometimes run through the veins of 
 a fine lady, was not what is properly called blood, but was, 
 indeed, no other than cherryMrandy, a bottle of which Mrs 
 Atkinson always kept in her room to be ready for immediate 
 use, and to which she used to apply for comfort in all her 
 afflictions. This the poor serjeant, in his extreme hurry, 
 had mistaken for a bottle of water. Matters were now soon 
 accommodated, and no other mischief appeared to be done, 
 unless to the bed-clothes. Amelia and Booth returned back 
 to their room, and Mrs Atkinson rose from her bed in order 
 to equip it with a pair of clean sheets. 
 
 . And thus this adventure would have ended without pro¬ 
 ducing any kind of consequence, had not the words which 
 the serjeant uttered in his frenzy made some slight impres¬ 
 sion on Booth ' so much, at least, as to awaken his curiosity ’ 
 so that in the morning when he arose he sent for the serjeant, 
 
418 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 and desired to hear the particulars of this dream, since 
 Amelia was concerned in it. 
 
 The serjeant at first seemed unwilling to comply, and 
 endeavoured to make excuses. This, perhaps, increased 
 Booth’s curiosity, and he said, ‘ Nay, I am resolved to hear 
 it. Why, you simpleton, do you imagine me weak enough 
 to he affected by a dream, however terrible it may be ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, sir,’ cries the serjeant, ‘ as for that matter, dreams 
 have sometimes fallen out to be true. One of my own, I 
 know, did so, concerning your honour; for, when you 
 courted my young lady, I dreamt you was married to her; 
 and yet it was at a time when neither I myself, nor any of 
 the country, thought you would ever obtain her. But 
 Heaven forbid this dream should ever come to pass ! ’ 
 
 ‘ Why, what was this dream % ’ cries Booth. 4 1 insist on 
 knowing.’ 
 
 ‘ To be sure, sir,’ cries the serjeant, ‘ I must not refuse 
 you; but I hope you will never think any more of it. 
 Why then, sir, I dreamt that your honour was gone to the 
 West Indies, and had left my lady in the care of Colonel 
 James; and last night I dreamt the colonel came to my 
 lady’s bed-side, offering to ravish her, and with a drawn 
 sword in his hand, threatening to stab her that moment un¬ 
 less she would comply with his desires. How I came to be 
 by I know not; but I dreamt I rushed upon him, caught 
 him by the throat, and swore I would put him to death 
 unless he instantly left the room. Here I waked, and this 
 was my dream. I never paid any regard to a dream in my 
 life—but, indeed, I never dreamt anything so very plain as 
 this. It appeared downright reality. I am sure I have left 
 the marks of my fingers in my wife’s throat. I would not 
 have taken a hundred pound to have used her so.’ 
 
 ‘Faith,’ cries Booth, ‘it was an odd dream, and not.so 
 easily to be accounted for as that you had formerly of my 
 marriage; for, as Shakspear says, dreams denote a forgone 
 conclusion. Nov/ it is impossible you should ever have 
 thought of any such matter as this.’ 
 
 ‘ However, sir,’ cries the serjeant, ‘ it is in your honour’s 
 power to prevent any possibility of this dream’s coming to 
 pass, by not leaving my lady to the care of the colonel; if 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 419 
 
 you must go from her, certainly there are other places where 
 she may be with great safety; and, since my wife tells me 
 that my lady is so very unwilling, whatever reasons she may 
 have, I hope your honour will oblige he 
 
 1 ^ow I recollect it,’ cries Booth, ‘ Mrs Atkinson hath 
 once or twice dropt some disrespectful words of the colonel. 
 He hath done something to disoblige her.’ 
 
 ‘He hath indeed, sir/ replied the serjeant: ‘he hath said 
 that of her which she doth not deserve, and for which, if he 
 had not been my superior officer, I would have cut both his 
 ears off. Hay, for that matter, he can speak ill of other 
 people besides her/ 
 
 ‘Do you know, Atkinson,’ cries Booth, very gravely, 
 
 ‘ that you are talking of the dearest friend I have ? ’ 
 
 ‘ To be honest then/ answered the serjeant, ‘ I do not 
 think so. If I did, I should love him much better than 
 I do.’ 
 
 ‘ I must and will have this explained/ cries Booth. ‘ I 
 have too good an opinion of you, Atkinson, to think you 
 would drop such things as you have without some reason— 
 and I will know it.’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry I have dropt a word/ cries Atkinson. ‘ I 
 am sure I did not intend it; and your honour hath drawn 
 it from me unawares.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, Atkinson/ cries Booth, ‘ you have made me very 
 uneasy, and I must be satisfied.’ 
 
 ‘ Then, sir,’ said the serjeant, ‘ you shall give me your 
 word of honour, or I will be cut into ten thousand pieces 
 before I will mention another syllable.’ 
 
 ‘ What shall I promise ] ’ said Booth. 
 
 ‘ That you will not resent anything I shall lay to the 
 colonel/ answered Atkinson. 
 
 ‘ Besent!—Well, I give you my honour,’ said Booth. 
 
 The serjeant made him bind himself over and over again, 
 and then related to him the scene which formerly passed 
 between the colonel and himself, as far as concerned Booth 
 himself; but concealed all that more immediately related to 
 Amelia. 
 
 * Atkinson/ cries Booth, ‘ I cannot be angry with you, for 
 I know you love me, and I have many obligations to you • 
 
420 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 but you have done wrong in censuring tbe colonel for what 
 he said of me. I deserve all that he said, and his censures 
 proceeded from his friendship.’ 
 
 ‘ But it was not so kind, sir,’ said Atkinson, ‘ to say such 
 things to me who am but a serjeant, and at such a time 
 too.’ 
 
 ‘ I will hear no more,’ cries Booth. ‘ Be assured you are 
 the only man I would forgive on this occasion; and I for¬ 
 give you only on condition you never speak a word more of 
 this nature. This silly dream hath intoxicated you.’ 
 
 ‘1 have done, sir,’ cries the serjeant. ‘I know my dis¬ 
 tance, and whom I am to obey; but I have one favour to 
 beg of your honour, never to mention a word of what I have 
 said to my lady ; for I know she never would forgive me ; I 
 know she never would, by what my wife hath told me. Be¬ 
 sides, you need not mention it, sir, to my lady, for she knows 
 it all already, and a great deal more.’ 
 
 Booth presently parted from the serjeant, having desired 
 him to close his lips on this occasion, and repaired to his 
 wife, to whom he related the serjeant’s dream. 
 
 Amelia turned as white as snow, and fell into so violent a 
 trembling that Booth plainly perceived her emotion, and im¬ 
 mediately partook of it himself. ‘ Sure, my dear,’ said he, 
 staring wildly, ‘ there is more in this than I know. A silly 
 dream could not so discompose you. I beg you, I entreat 
 you to tell me—hath ever Colonel James—’ 
 
 At the very mention of the colonel’s name Amelia fell on 
 her knees, and begged her husband not to frighten her. 
 
 ‘What do I say, my dear love,’ cried Booth, ‘that can • 
 frighten you ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Nothing, my dear,’ said she; ‘ but my spirits are so dis¬ 
 composed with the dreadful scene I saw last night, that a 
 dream, which at another time I should have laughed at, hath 
 shocked me. Do but promise me that you will not leave 
 me behind you, and I am easy.’ 
 
 ‘You may be so,’ cries Booth, ‘for I will never deny you 
 anything. But make me easy too. I must know if you 
 have seen anything in Colonel James to displease you.’ 
 
 ‘ Why should you suspect it ? ’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘ You torment me to death,’ cries Booth. ‘ By Heavens ! 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 421 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 I will know the truth. Hath he ever said or done anything 
 which you dislike 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ How, my dear,’ said Amelia, ‘ can you imagine I should 
 dislike a man who is so much your friend 1 ? T hink of all 
 the obligations you have to him, and then you may easily 
 resolve yourself. Do you think, because I refuse to stay 
 behind you in his house, that I have any objection to him? 
 Ho, my dear, had he done a thousand times more than he 
 hath—was he an angel instead of a man, I would not quit 
 my Billy. There’s the sore, my dear—there’s the misery, to 
 be left by you.’ 
 
 Booth embraced her with the most passionate raptures, 
 and, looking on her with inexpressible tenderness, cried, 
 ‘ Upon my soul, I am not worthy of you : I am a fool, and 
 yet you cannot blame me. If the stupid miser hoards, with 
 such care, his worthless treasure—if he watches it with such 
 anxiety—if every apprehension of another’s sharing the least 
 part fills his soul with such agonies—0 Amelia ! what must 
 be my condition, what terrors must I feel, while I am 
 watching over a jewel of such real, such inestimable worth ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I can, with great truth, return the compliment,’ cries 
 Amelia. ‘ I have my treasure too; and am so much a miser, 
 that no force shall ever tear me from it.’ 
 
 ‘ I am ashamed of my folly,’ cries Booth ; 1 and yet it is 
 all from extreme tenderness. Hay, you yourself are the 
 occasion. Why will you ever attempt to keep a secret from 
 me ? Do you think I should have resented to my friend his 
 just censure of my conduct ? ’ 
 
 ‘ What censure, my dear love ? ’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘Hay, the serjeant hath told me all,’ cries Booth—‘nay, 
 and that he hath told it to you. Poor soul! thou couldst 
 not endure to hear me accused, though never so justly, and 
 by so good a friend. Indeed, my dear, I have discovered 
 the cause of that resentment to the colonel which you could 
 not hide from me. I love you, I adore you for it; indeed, 
 I could not forgive a slighting word on you. But, why do I 
 compare things so unlike?—what the colonel said of me 
 was just and true ; every reflexion on my Amelia must be 
 false and villanous.’ 
 
 The discernment of Amelia was extremely quick, and she 
 
422 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 now perceived what had happened, and how much her hus¬ 
 band knew of the truth. She resolved therefore to humour 
 him, and fell severely on Colonel James for what he had 
 said to the serjeant, which Booth endeavoured all he could 
 to soften; and thus ended this affair, which had brought 
 Booth to the very brink of a discovery which must have 
 given him the highest torment, if it had not produced any 
 of those tragical effects which Amelia apprehended. 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 423 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR APPEARS TO BE MASTER OE THAT 
 
 PROPOUND LEARNING CALLED THE KNOWLEDGE OP THE 
 
 TOWN. 
 
 Mrs James now came to pay a morning’s visit to Amelia. 
 She entered the room with her usual gaiety, and, after a 
 slight preface, addressing herself to Booth, said she had been 
 quarrelling with her husband on his account. ‘ I know not,’ 
 said she, ‘ what he means by thinking of sending you the 
 Lord knows whither. I have insisted on his asking some¬ 
 thing for you nearer home; and it would be the hardest 
 thing in the world if he should not obtain it. Are we re¬ 
 solved never to encourage merit, but to throw away all our 
 preferments on those who do not deserve them % AVhat a 
 set of contemptible wretches do we see strutting about the 
 town in scarlet! * 
 
 Booth made a very low bow, and modestly spoke in dis¬ 
 paragement of himself. To which she answered, 1 Indeed, 
 Mr Booth, you have merit ; I have heard it from my brother, 
 who is a judge of those matters, and I am sure cannot be 
 suspected of flattery. He is your friend as well as myself, 
 and we will never let Mr James rest till he hath got you a 
 commission in England.’ 
 
 Booth bowed again, and was offering to speak, but she in¬ 
 terrupted him, saying 1 , ( I will have no thanks, nor no fine 
 speeches; if I can do you any service I shall think I am 
 only paying the debt of friendship to my dear Mrs Booth.’ 
 
 Amelia, who had long since forgot the dislike she had 
 taken to Airs James at her first seeing her in town, had attri¬ 
 buted it to the right cause, and had begun to resume her 
 former friendship for her, expressed very warm sentiments 
 of gratitude on this occasion. She told Airs James she 
 should be eternally obliged to her if she could succeed in her 
 kind endeavours; for that the thoughts of parting again with 
 
424 AMELIA. [BK IX. 
 
 her husband had given her the utmost concern. ‘ Indeed/ 
 added she, ‘ I cannot help saying he hath some merit in the 
 service, for he hath received two dreadful wounds in it, one 
 of which very greatly endangered his life; and I am con¬ 
 vinced, if his pretensions were backed with any interest, he 
 would not fail of success.’ 
 
 ‘ They shall be backed with interest/ cries Mrs James, ‘ if 
 my husband hath any. He hath no favour to ask for him¬ 
 self, nor for any other friend that I know of; and, indeed, 
 to grant a man his just due ought hardly to be thought a 
 favour. Resume your old gaiety, therefore, my dear Emily. 
 Lord ! I remember the time when you was much the gayer 
 creature of the two. But you make an arrant mope of your¬ 
 self by confining yourself at home—one never meets you 
 anywhere. Come, you shall go with me to the Lady Betty 
 Castleton’s. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, you must excuse me, my dear/ answered Amelia, 
 
 ‘ I do not know Lady Betty.’ 
 
 ‘ Hot know Lady Betty ! how is that possible 1 —-but no 
 matter, I will introduce you. She keeps a morning rout ; 
 hardly a rout, indeed; a little bit of a drum—only four or 
 five tables. Come, take your capuchine; you positively shall 
 go. Booth, you shall go with us too. Though you are with 
 your wife, another woman will keep you in countenance.’ 
 
 ‘ La ! child/ cries Amelia, ‘ how you rattle ! ’ 
 
 ‘ I am in spirits/ answered Mrs James, ‘ this morning; for 
 I won four rubbers together last night; and betted the things, 
 and won almost every bet. I am in luck, and we will con¬ 
 trive to be partners—Come.’ 
 
 ‘Hay, child, you shall not refuse Mrs James/ said 
 Booth. 
 
 ‘ I have scarce seen my children to-day/ answered Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Besides, I mortally detest cards.’ 
 
 ‘Detest cards !’ cries Mrs James. ‘How can you be so 
 stupid 1 I would not live a day without them—nay, indeed, 
 I do not believe I should be able to exist. Is there so de¬ 
 lightful a sight in the world as the four honours in one’s own 
 hand, unless it be three natural aces at bragg 1 ?—And you 
 really hate cards ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Upon reflexion/ cries Amelia, ‘ I have sometimes had 
 great pleasure in them—in seeing my children build houses 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 425 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 with them. My little hoy is so dexterous that he will some¬ 
 times build up the whole pack.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, Booth/ cries Mrs James, ‘ this good woman of 
 yours is strangely altered since I knew her first;, hut she 
 will always he a good creature.’ 
 
 ‘Upon my word, my dear/ cries Amelia, ‘you are altered 
 too very greatly; hut I doubt not to live to see you alter 
 again, when you come to have as many children as I have.’ 
 
 ‘ Children ! ’ cries Mrs James ; ‘ you make me shudder. 
 How can you envy me the only circumstance which makes 
 matrimony comfortable 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Indeed, my dear/ said Amelia, ‘you injure me; for I 
 envy no woman’s happiness in marriage.’ At these words 
 such looks passed between Booth and his wife as, to a sen¬ 
 sible by-stander, would have made all the airs of Mrs Janies 
 appear in the highest degree contemptible, and would have 
 rendered herself the object of compassion. Uor could that 
 lady avoid looking a little silly on the occasion. 
 
 Amelia now, at the earnest desire of her husband, ac¬ 
 coutred herself to attend her friend; but first she insisted 
 on visiting her children, to whom she gave several hearty 
 kisses, and then, recommending them to the care of Mrs At¬ 
 kinson, she and her husband accompanied Mrs James to 
 the rout; where few of my fine readers will be displeased to 
 make part of the company. 
 
 The two ladies and Booth then entered an apartment beset 
 with card-tables, like the rooms at Bath and Tunbridge. 
 Mrs James immediately introduced her friends to Lady Betty, 
 who received them very civilly, and presently engaged Booth 
 and Mrs Janies in a party at whist; for, as to Amelia, she so 
 much declined playing, that as the party could be filled 
 without her, she was permitted to sit by. 
 
 And now, v T ho should make his appearance but the noble 
 peer of whom so much honourable mention hath already 
 been made in this history 1 He walked directly up to 
 Amelia, and addressed her with as perfect a confidence as if 
 he had not been in the least conscious of having in any 
 manner displeased her; though the reader will hardly sup¬ 
 pose that Mrs Ellison had kept anything a secret from him. 
 
 Amelia was not, however, so forgetful. She made him a 
 very distant curtesy, would scarce vouchsafe an answer to 
 
426 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 anything he said, and took the first opportunity of shifting 
 her chair and retiring from him. 
 
 Her behaviour, indeed, was such that the peer plainly 
 perceived that he should get no advantage by pursuing her 
 any farther at present. Instead, therefore, of attempting to 
 follow her, he turned on his heel and addressed his discourse 
 to another lady, though he could not avoid often casting 
 his eyes towards Amelia as long as she remained in the 
 room. 
 
 Fortune, which seems to have been generally no great 
 friend to Mr Booth, gave him no extraordinary marks of her 
 favour at play. He lost two full rubbers, which cost him 
 five guineas; after which, Amelia, who was uneasy at his 
 lordship’s presence, begged him in a whisper to return home ; 
 with which request he directly complied. 
 
 JSTothing, I think, remarkable happened to Booth, unless 
 the renewal of his acquaintance with an officer whom he had 
 known abroad, and who made one of his party at the whist- 
 table. 
 
 The name of this gentleman, with whom the reader will 
 hereafter he better acquainted, was Trent. He had formerly 
 been in the same regiment with Booth, and there was some 
 intimacy between them. Captain Trent exprest great delight 
 in meeting his brother officer, and both mutually promised 
 to visit each other. 
 
 The scenes which had passed the preceding night and that 
 morning had so confused Amelia’s thoughts, that, in the 
 hurry in which she was carried off by Mrs James, she had 
 entirely forgot her appointment with Dr Harrison. When 
 she was informed at her return home that the doctor had 
 been to wait upon her, and had expressed some anger at her 
 being gone out, she became greatly uneasy, and begged of 
 her husband to go to the doctor’s lodgings and make her 
 apology. 
 
 But, lest the reader should be as angry with the doctor as 
 he had declared himself with Amelia, we think proper to 
 explain the matter. Nothing then was farther from the 
 doctor’s mind than the conception of any anger towards 
 Amelia. On the contrary, when the girl answered him that 
 her mistress was not at home, the doctor said with great good 
 humour, ‘ How 1 not at home ! then tell your mistress she is 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 427 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 a giddy vagabond, and I will come to see her no more till 
 she sends for me.’ This the poor girl, from misunderstand¬ 
 ing one word, and half forgetting the rest, had construed 
 into great passion, several very had words, and a declaration 
 that he would never see Amelia any more. 
 
428 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 IN "WHICH TWO STRANGERS MAKE THEIR APPEARANCE. 
 
 Booth went to the doctor’s lodgings, and found him engaged 
 with his country friend and his son, a young gentleman who 
 was lately in orders; both whom the doctor had left, to keep 
 his appointment with Amelia. 
 
 After what we mentioned at the end of the last chapter 
 we need take little notice of the apology made by Booth, or 
 the doctor’s reception of it, which was in his peculiar manner. 
 
 ‘ Your wife,’ said he, ‘ is a vain hussy to think herself worth 
 my anger; hut tell her I have the vanity myself to think I 
 cannot he angry without a better cause. And yet tell her I 
 intend to punish her for her levity ; for, if you go abroad, I 
 have determined to take her down with me into the country, 
 and make her do penance there till you return.’ 
 
 ‘ Bear sir,’ said Booth, ‘ I know not how to thank you if 
 you are in earnest.’ 
 
 ‘ I assure you then I am in earnest,’ cries the doctor; 
 ‘ but you need not thank me, however, since you know not 
 how.’ 
 
 ‘ But would not that, sir,’ said Booth, ‘ be showing a slight 
 to the colonel’s invitation % and you know I have so many 
 obligations to him.’. 
 
 ‘ Don’t tell me of the colonel,’ cries the doctor; ‘the church 
 is to be first served. Besides, sir, I have priority of right, 
 even to you yourself. You stole my little lamb from me; 
 for I was her first love.’ 
 
 ‘Well, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘if I should be so unhappy to 
 leave her to any one, she must herself determine; and, I 
 believe, it will not be difficult to guess where her choice will 
 fall; for of all men, next to her husband, I believe, none 
 can contend with Dr Harrison in her favour.’ 
 
 ‘ Since you say so,’ cries the doctor, ‘ fetch her hither to 
 dinner with us; for I am at least so good a Christian to love 
 those that love me—I will show you my daughter, my old 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 429 
 
 friend, for I am really proud of her—and you may bring my 
 grand-children with you if you please.’ 
 
 Booth made some compliments, and then went on his 
 errand. As soon as he was gone the old gentleman said to 
 the doctor, 4 Pray, my good friend, what daughter is this of 
 yours 1 I never so much as heard that you was married.’ 
 
 4 And what then,’ cries the doctor; 4 did you ever hear 
 that a pope was married 1 and yet some of them have had 
 sons and daughters, I believe; hut, however, this young 
 gentleman will absolve nie without obliging me to penance.’ 
 
 4 I have not yet that power,’ answered the young clergy¬ 
 man ; 4 for I am only in deacon’s orders.’ 
 
 Are you not 1 ’ cries the doctor; 4 why then I will absolve 
 myself. You are to know, then, my good friend, that this 
 young lady was the daughter of a neighbour of mine, who is 
 since dead, and whose sins, I hope, are forgiven; for she had 
 too much to answer for on her child’s account. Her father 
 was my intimate acquaintance and friend ; a worthier man, 
 indeed, I believe, never lived. He died suddenly when his 
 children were infants; and, perhaps, to the suddenness of 
 his death it was owing that he did not recommend any care 
 of them to me. However, I, in some measure, took that 
 charge upon me; and particularly of her whom I call my 
 daughter. Indeed, as she grew up she discovered so many 
 good qualities that she wanted not the remembrance of her 
 father’s merit to recommend her. I do her no more than 
 justice when I say she is one of the best creatines I ever 
 knew. She hath a sweetness of temper, a generosity of spirit, 
 an openness of heart—in a word, she hath a true Christian 
 disposition. I may call her an Israelite indeed, in whom 
 there is no guile.’ 
 
 4 I wish you joy of your daughter,’ cries the old gentle¬ 
 man ; 4 for, to a man of your disposition, to find out an ade¬ 
 quate object of your benevolence is, I acknowledge, to find 
 a treasure.’ 
 
 4 It is, indeed, a happiness,’ cries the doctor. 
 
 4 The greatest difficulty/ added the gentleman, 4 which 
 persons of your turn of mind meet with, is in finding proper 
 objects of their goodness; for nothing sure can he more irk¬ 
 some to a generous mind than to discover that it hath thrown 
 away all its good offices on a soil that hears no other fruit 
 than ingratitude.’ 
 
 O r* 
 
430 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 ‘ I remember/ cries tlie doctor, ‘ Phocylides saitb, 
 
 Mr) kclk'ov tv ipZyQ’ cn rtiptiv ”htov tar ivi tt ovrip* 
 
 But lie speaks more like a philosopher than a Christian. I 
 am more pleased with a French writer, one of the best, in¬ 
 deed, that I ever read, who blames men for lamenting the ill 
 return which is so often made to the best offices, f A true 
 Christian can never be disappointed if he doth not receive 
 his reward in this world; the labourer might as well 
 complain that he is not paid his hire in the middle of the 
 day.’ 
 
 ‘ I own, indeed/ said the gentleman, ‘ if we see it in that 
 light—’ 
 
 ‘ And in what light should we see it ? ’ answered the 
 doctor. ‘ Are we like Agrippa, only almost Christians 1 or, 
 is Christianity a matter of bare theory, and not a rule for our 
 practice % 1 
 
 ‘ Practical, undoubtedly; undoubtedly practical/ cries the 
 gentleman. ‘ Your example might indeed have convinced 
 me long ago that we ought to do good to every one/ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, father/ cries the young divine, 1 that is 
 rather a heathenish than a Christian doctrine. Homer, I 
 remember, introduces in his Iliad one Axylus, of whom he 
 says,— 
 
 •- S’ f/V dv6pU)7TOt(Tl‘ 
 
 YYavTCig yap <pi\tt<JKtv.X 
 
 But Plato, who, of all the heathens, came nearest to the 
 Christian philosophy, condemned this as impious doctrine; 
 so Eustathius tells us, folio 474/ 
 
 ‘ I know he doth/ cries the doctor, c and so Barnes tells 
 us, in his note upon the place ; but if you remember the rest 
 of the quotation as well as you do that from Eustathius, you 
 might have added the observation which Mr Dryden makes 
 in favour of this passage, that he found not, in all the Latin 
 authors, so admirable an instance of extensive humanity. 
 You might have likewise remembered the noble sentiment 
 with which Mr Barnes ends his note, the sense of which is 
 taken from the fifth chapter of Matthew :— 
 
 * To do a kindness to a bad man is like sowing your seed in tlie sea. 
 
 f D’Esprit. 
 
 X He was a friend to mankind, for be loved them all. 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 431 
 
 -of Kci.i <pdog r/fX/oto 
 
 M iyd’ ayadoicn icaicolcri r' h r’ avSpdffiv IZavartWei. 
 
 1 It seems, therefore, as if this character rather became a 
 Christian than a heathen, for Homer could not have tran¬ 
 scribed it from any of his deities. Whom is it, therefore, 
 we imitate by such extensive benevolence ] ’ 
 
 ‘ What a prodigious memory you have!' cries the old 
 gentleman : ‘ indeed, son, you must not contend with the 
 doctor in these matters.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall not give my opinion hastily,’ cries the son. 1 1 
 know, again, what Mr Poole, m his annotations, says on that 
 verse of St Matthew—That it is only to heap coals of fire 
 upon their heads. How are we to understand, pray, the text 
 immediately preceding ?— Love your enemies, bless them that 
 curse you, do good to them that hate you.’ 
 
 ‘ You know, I suppose, young gentleman,’ said the doctor, 
 1 how these words are generally understood. The comment¬ 
 ator you mention, I think, tells us that love is not here to 
 be taken in-the strict sense, so as to signify the complacency 
 of the heart; you may hate your enemies as God’s enemies, 
 and seek due revenge of them for his honour; and, for your 
 own sakes too, you may seek moderate satisfaction of them ; 
 but then you are to love them with a love consistent with 
 these things ; that is to say, in plainer words, you are to love 
 them and liate them, and bless and curse, and do them good 
 and mischief.’ 
 
 ‘ Excellent ! admirable ! ’ said the old gentleman ; ‘ you 
 have a most inimitable turn to ridicule.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not approve ridicule,’ said the son, 1 on such 
 subjects.’ 
 
 ‘Nor I neither,’ cries the doctor; 1 1 will give you my 
 opinion, therefore, very seriously. The two verses taken 
 together contain a very positive precept, delivered in the 
 plainest words, and yet illustrated by the clearest instance 
 in the conduct of the Supreme Being; and lastly, the practice 
 of this precept is most nobly enforced by the reward an¬ 
 nexed— that ye may be the children, and so forth. Ho man 
 who understands what it is to love, and to bless, and to do 
 good, can mistake the meaning. But if they required any 
 comment, the Scripture itself affords enow. If thine enemy 
 hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; not rendering 
 
432 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 evil for evil or railing for railing , but contrariwise , blessing. 
 They do not, indeed, want the comments of men, who, when 
 they cannot bend their minds to the obedience of Scripture, 
 are desirous to wrest Scripture to a compliance with their 
 own inclinations/ 
 
 ‘ Most nobly and justly observed/ cries the old gentleman. 
 ‘ Indeed, my good friend, you have explained the text with 
 the utmost perspicuity/ 
 
 ‘ But if this be the meaning/ cries the son, ‘ there must be 
 an end of all law and justice, for I do not see how any man 
 can prosecute his enemy in a court of justice/ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, sir/ cries the doctor. 4 Indeed, as an enemy 
 merely, and from a spirit of revenge, he cannot, and he ought 
 not to prosecute him ; but as an offender against the laws of 
 his country he may, and it is his duty so to do. Is there 
 any spirit of revenge in the magistrates or officers of justice 
 when they punish criminals 1 Why do such, ordinarily I 
 mean, concern themselves in inflicting punishments, but be¬ 
 cause it is their duty ? and why may not a private man 
 deliver an offender into the hands of justice from the 
 same laudable motive? Revenge, indeed, Of all kinds, is 
 strictly prohibited; wherefore, as we are not to execute 
 it with our own hands, so neither are we to make use of 
 the law as the instrument of private malice, and to worry 
 each other with inveteracy and rancour. And where is the 
 great difficulty in obeying this wise, this generous, this noble 
 precept ? If revenge be, as a certain divine, not greatly to 
 his honour, calls it, the most luscious morsel the devil ever 
 dropt into the mouth of a sinner, it must be allowed at least 
 to cost us often extremely dear. It is a dainty, if indeed it 
 be one, which we come at with great inquietude, with great 
 difficulty, and with great danger. However pleasant it may 
 be to the palate while we are feeding on it, it is sure to leave 
 a bitter relish behind it; and so far, indeed, it may be called 
 a luscious morsel, that the most greedy appetites are soon 
 glutted, and the most eager longing for it is soon turned into 
 loathing and repentance. I allow there is something tempt¬ 
 ing in its outward appearance, but it is like the beautiful 
 colour of some poisons, from which, however they may 
 attract our eyes, a regard to our own welfare commands us 
 to abstain. And this is an abstinence to which wisdom 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 433 
 
 alone, without any Divine command, hath been often found 
 adequate, with instances of which the Greek and Latin 
 authors everywhere abound. May not a Christian, therefore, 
 be well ashamed of making a stumbling-block of a precept 
 which is not only consistent with his worldly interest, but 
 to which so noble an incentive is proposed 'l ’ 
 
 The old gentleman fell into raptures at this speech, and, 
 after making many compliments to the doctor upon it, he 
 turned to his son, and told him he had an opportunity now 
 of learning more in one day than he had learnt at the uni¬ 
 versity in a twelvemonth. 
 
 The son replied, that he allowed the doctrine to be ex¬ 
 tremely good in general, and that he agreed with the greater 
 part; ‘ but I must make a distinction,’ said he. However, 
 he was interrupted from his distinction at present, for now 
 Booth returned with Amelia and the children. 
 
 28 
 
434 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk JX. 
 
 CHAPTEB IX. 
 
 A SCENE OE MODERN "WIT AND HTJMOTJE. 
 
 In the afternoon the old gentleman proposed a walk to 
 Vauxhall, a place of which, he said, he had heard much, 
 hut had never seen it. 
 
 The doctor readily agreed to his friend’s proposal, and soon 
 after ordered two coaches to be sent for to carry the whole 
 company. But when the servant was gone for them Booth 
 acquainted the doctor that it was yet too early. ‘ Is it so V 
 said the doctor; ‘ why, then, I will carry you first to one of 
 the greatest and highest entertainments in the world.’ 
 
 The children pricked up their ears at this, nor did any of 
 the company guess what he meant; and Amelia asked what 
 entertainment he could carry them to at that time of day 1 
 
 ‘ Suppose,’ says the doctor, ‘ I should carry you to court.’ 
 
 ‘ At five o’clock in the afternoon ! ’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘ Ay, suppose I should have interest enough to introduce 
 you into the presence 1 ’ 
 
 ‘You are jesting, dear sir,’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I am serious,’ answered the doctor. ‘ I will 
 introduce you into that presence, compared to whom the 
 greatest emperor on the earth is many millions of degrees 
 meaner than the most contemptible reptile is to him. What 
 entertainment can there be to a rational being equal to this! 
 Was not the taste of mankind most wretchedly depraved, 
 where would the vain man find an honour, or where would 
 the love of pleasure propose so adequate an object as divine 
 worship 1 with what ecstasy must the contemplation of 
 being admitted to such a presence fill the mind ! The piti¬ 
 ful courts of princes are open to few, and to those only at 
 particular seasons ; but from this glorious and gracious pre¬ 
 sence we are none of us, and at no time excluded.’ 
 
 The doctor was proceeding thus when the servant returned, 
 saying the coaches were ready; and the whole company 
 
CH. IX. J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 435 
 
 with the greatest alacrity attended the doctor to St James’s 
 church. 
 
 When the service was ended, and they were again got 
 into their coaches, Amelia returned the doctor many thanks 
 for the light in which he had placed divine worship, assur¬ 
 ing him that she had never before had so much transport in 
 her devotion as at this time, and saying she believed she 
 should be the better for this notion he had given her as 
 long as she lived. 
 
 The coaches being come to the water-side, they all alighted, 
 and, getting into one boat, proceeded to Vauxhall. 
 
 The extreme beauty and elegance of this place is well 
 known to almost every one of my readers; and happy is it 
 for me that it is so, since to give an adequate idea of it 
 would exceed my power of description. To delineate the 
 particular beauties of these gardens would, indeed, require 
 as much pains, and as much paper too, as to rehearse all the 
 good actions of their master, whose life proves the truth of 
 an observation which I have read in some ethic writer, that 
 a truly elegant taste is generally accompanied with an excel¬ 
 lency of heart; or, in other words, that true virtue is, 
 indeed, nothing else but true taste. 
 
 Here our company diverted themselves with walking an 
 hour or two before the music began. Of all the seven, 
 Booth alone had ever been here before; so that, to all the 
 rest, the place, with its other charms, had that of novelty. 
 When the music played, Amelia, who stood next to the 
 doctor, said to him in a whisper, ‘ I hope I am not guilty of 
 profaneness; but, in jmrsuance of that cheerful chain of 
 thoughts with which you have inspired me this afternoon, I 
 was just now lost in a reverie, and fancied myself hi those 
 blissful mansions which we hope to enjoy hereafter. The 
 delicious sweetness of the place, the enchanting charms of 
 the music, and the satisfaction which appears in every one’s 
 countenance, carried my soul almost to heaven in its ideas. 
 I could not have, indeed, imagined there had been anything 
 like this in this world.’ 
 
 The doctor smiled, and said, ‘ You see, dear madam, there 
 may be pleasures of which you could conceive no idea till 
 you actually enjoyed them.’ 
 
 And now the little boy, who had long withstood the at- 
 
436 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK IX. 
 
 tractions of several cheesecakes that passed to and fro, could 
 contain no longer, but asked his mother to give him one, 
 saying, ‘1 am sure my sister would be glad of another, 
 though she is ashamed to ask/ The doctor, overhearing the 
 child, proposed that they should all retire to some place 
 where they might sit down and refresh themselves ; which 
 they accordingly did. Amelia now missed her husband; 
 but, as she had three men in her company, and one of them 
 was the doctor, she concluded herself and her children to be 
 safe, and doubted not but that Booth would soon find her out. 
 
 They now sat down, and the doctor very gallantly desired 
 Amelia to call for what she liked. Upon which the children 
 were supplied with cakes, and some ham and chicken were 
 provided for the rest of the company; with which while 
 they were regaling themselves witli the highest satisfaction, 
 two young fellows walking arm-in-arm, came up, and when 
 they came opposite to Amelia they stood still, staring Amelia 
 full in the face, and. one of them cried aloud to the other, 
 
 ‘ D—n me, my lord, if she is not an angel! ’—My lord 
 stood still, staring likewise at her, without speaking a word; 
 when two others of the same gang came up, and one of them 
 cried, ‘Come along, Jack, I have seen her before; but she 
 
 is too well manned already. Three-are enough for one 
 
 woman, or the devil is in it! ’ 
 
 ‘ D—n me,’ says he that spoke first, and whom they called 
 Jack, ‘ I will have a brush at her if she belonged to the 
 whole convocation/ And so saying, he went up to the 
 young clergyman, and cried, ‘ Doctor, sit up a little, if you 
 please, and don’t take up more room in a bed than belongs 
 to you/ At which words he gave the young man a push, 
 and seated himself down directly over against Amelia, and, 
 leaning both his elbows on the table, he fixed his eyes on 
 her in a manner with which modesty can neither look nor 
 bear to be looked at. 
 
 Amelia seemed greatly shocked at this treatment; upon 
 which the doctor removed her within him, and then, facing 
 the gentleman, asked him what he meant by this rude be¬ 
 haviour 1 —Upon which my lord stept up and said, ‘Don’t 
 be impertinent, old gentleman. Do you think such fellows 
 as you are to keep, d—n me, such fine wenches, d—n me, 
 to yourselves, d—n me 1 ’ 
 
t III HU 
 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 A MELT A. 
 
 437 
 
 ‘ Ho, no/ cries Jack, ‘the old gentleman is more reason¬ 
 able. Here’s the fellow that eats up the tithe-pig. Don’t 
 you see how his mouth waters at her 1 Where’s your slab¬ 
 bering bib?’ Dor, though the gentleman had rightly guessed 
 he was a clergyman, yet he had not any of those insignia on 
 with which it would have been improper to have appeared 
 there. 
 
 1 Such boys as you,’ cries the young clergyman, ‘ ought to 
 be well whipped at school, instead of being suffered to be¬ 
 come nuisances in society.’ 
 
 ‘Boys, sir!’ says Jack; ‘I believe I am as good a man 
 
 as yourself, Mr-, and as good a scholar too. Bos fur sus 
 
 quotque scwerdos. Tell me what’s next. D—n me, I’ll hold 
 you fifty pounds you don’t tell me what’s next.’ 
 
 ‘You have him, Jack,’ cries my lord. ‘It is over with 
 him, d—n me ! he can’t strike another blow.’ 
 
 ‘ If I had you in a proper place/ cries the clergyman, 
 i you should find I would strike a blow, and a pretty hard 
 one too.’ 
 
 ‘ There/ cries my lord, ‘there is the meekness of the 
 clergyman—there spoke the wolf in sheep’s clothing. D—n 
 me, how big he looks ! You must be civil to him, faith ! or 
 else he will burst with pride.’ 
 
 ‘Ay, ay/cries Jack, ‘let the clergy alone for pride; there’s 
 not a lord in the kingdom now hath half the pride of that 
 fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ Pray, sir,’ cries the doctor, turning to the other, ‘ are you 
 a lord ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, Mr-,’ cries he, ‘I have that honour, indeed.’ 
 
 ‘ And I suppose you have pride too,’ said the doctor. 
 
 ‘ I hope I have, sir,’ answered he, ‘ at your service.’ 
 
 ‘ If such a one as you, sir,’ cries the doctor, ‘ who are not 
 only a scandal to the title you bear as a lord, but even as a 
 man, can pretend to pride, why will you not allow it to a 
 clergyman ? I suppose, sir, by your dress, you are in the 
 army ? and, by the ribbon in your hat, you seem to be 
 proud of that too. How much greater and more honourable 
 is the service in which that gentleman is enlisted than 
 yours ! Why then should you object to the pride of the 
 clergy, since the lowest of the function is in reality every 
 way so much your superior ? ’ 
 
438 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 ‘ Tida Tidu Tidum/ cries my lord. 
 
 ‘ However, gentlemen,’ cries the doctor, ( if yon have the 
 least pretension to that name, I beg you will put an end to 
 your frolic; since you see it gives so much uneasiness to the 
 lady. Hay, I entreat you for your own sakes, for here is 
 one coming who will talk to you in a very different style 
 from ours.’ 
 
 ‘ One coming! ’ cries my lord; ‘ what care I who is 
 coming ’ 
 
 ‘ I suppose it is the devil,’ cries Jack; ‘ for here are two 
 of his livery servants already.’ 
 
 ‘ Let the devil come as soon as he will,’ cries my lord; 
 ‘ d—n me if I have not a kiss !' 
 
 Amelia now fell a trembling; and her children, perceiving 
 her fright, both hung on her, and began to cry; when Booth 
 and Captain Trent both came up. 
 
 Booth, seeing his wife disordered, asked eagerly wdiat was 
 the matter 1 At the same time the lord and his companion, 
 seeing Captain Trent, whom they well knew, said both to¬ 
 gether, ‘ What, doth this company belong to you ? ’ When 
 the doctor, with great presence of mind, as he was appre¬ 
 hensive of some fatal consequence if Booth should know 
 what had passed, said, ‘ So, Mr Booth, I am glad you are 
 returned; your poor lady here began to be frighted out of 
 her wits. But now you have him again,’ said he to Amelia, 
 
 ‘ I hope you will be easy.’ 
 
 Amelia, frighted as she was, presently took the hint, and 
 greatly chid her husband for leaving her. But the little 
 boy was not so quick-sighted, and cried, ‘ Indeed, papa, 
 those naughty men there have frighted my mamma out of 
 her wits.’ 
 
 ‘ How ! ’ cries Booth, a little moved; ‘ frightened ! Hath 
 any one frightened you, my dear '] ’ 
 
 ‘ Ho, my love,’ answered she, ‘ nothing. I know not 
 what the child means. Everything is well now I see you 
 safe.’ 
 
 Trent had been all the while talking aside with the young 
 sparks; and now, addressing himself to Booth, said, ‘ Here 
 hath been some little mistake; I believe my' lord mistook 
 Mrs Booth for some other lady 
 
 ‘ It is impossible/ cries my lord, ‘ to know every one. I 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 439 
 
 OH. IX.] 
 
 am sure, if I had known the lady to he a woman of fashion, 
 and an acquaintance of Captain Trent, I should have said 
 nothing disagreeable to her; but, if I have, I ask her pardon, 
 and the company’s.’ 
 
 ‘ I am in the dark,’ cries Booth. ‘ Pray what is all this 
 matter ^ ’ 
 
 i Nothing of any consequence,’ cries the doctor, ‘ nor 
 worth your inquiring into. You hear it was a mistake of 
 the person, and I really believe his lordship that all pro¬ 
 ceeded from his not knowing to whom the lady belonged.’ 
 
 i Come, come,’ says Trent, ‘ there is nothing in the matter, 
 I assure you. I will tell you the whole another time.’ 
 
 ‘Very well; since you say so,’ cries Booth, ‘I am con¬ 
 tented.’ So ended the affair, and the two sparks made their 
 congee, and sneaked off. 
 
 ‘ Now they are gone,’ said the young gentleman, ‘ I must 
 say I never saw two worse-bred jackanapes, nor fellows that 
 deserved to be kicked more. If I had had them in another 
 place I would have taught them a little more respect to the 
 church.’ 
 
 4 You took rather a better way,’ answered the doctor, ‘ to 
 teach them that respect.’ 
 
 Booth now desired his friend Trent to sit down with 
 them, and proposed to call for a fresh bottle of wine; but 
 Amelia’s spirits were too much disconcerted to give her any 
 prospect of pleasure that evening. She therefore laid hold 
 of the pretence of her children, for whom she said the hour 
 was already too late; with which the doctor agreed. So 
 they paid their reckoning and departed, leaving to the two 
 rakes the triumph of having totally dissipated the mirth of 
 this little innocent company, who were before enjoying com¬ 
 plete satisfaction. 
 
440 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A CURIOUS CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE DOCTOR, THE 
 YOUNG CLERGYMAN, AND THE YOUNG CLERGYMAN’S 
 EATHER. 
 
 The next morning, when the doctor and his two friends 
 were at breakfast, the young clergyman, in whose mind the 
 injurious treatment he had received the evening before was 
 very deeply impressed, renewed the conversation on that 
 subject. 
 
 ‘ It is a scandal/ said he, 6 to the government, that they 
 do not preserve more respect to the clergy, by punishing all 
 rudeness to them with the utmost severity. It was very 
 justly observed of you, sir,’ said he to the doctor, ‘ that the 
 lowest clergyman in England is in real dignity superior to 
 the highest nobleman. What then can be so shocking as to 
 see that gown, which ought to entitle us to the veneration 
 of all we meet, treated with contempt and ridicule! Are 
 we not, hi fact, embassadors from heaven to the world! and 
 do they not, therefore, in denying us our due respect, deny 
 it hi reality to Him that sent us ! ’ 
 
 £ If that be the case/ says the doctor, ‘ it behoves them to 
 look to themselves; for He who sent us is able to exact 
 most severe vengeance for the ill treatment of his ministers/ 
 ‘Yery true, sir/ cries the young one; ‘and I heartily 
 hope He will; but those punishments are at too great a dis¬ 
 tance to infuse terror into wicked minds. The government 
 ought to interfere with its immediate censures. Eines and 
 imprisonments and corporal punishments operate more forci¬ 
 bly on the human mind than all the fears of damnation.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you think so! ’ cries the doctor; ‘ then I am afraid 
 men are very little in earnest in those fears/ 
 
 ‘ Most justly observed/ says the old gentleman. ‘ Indeed, 
 I am afraid that is too much the case.’ 
 
 ‘ In that/ said the son, ‘ the government is to blame. Are 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 441 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 not books of infidelity, treating our holy religion as a mere 
 imposture, nay, sometimes as a mere jest, published daily, 
 and spread abroad amongst the people with perfect im¬ 
 punity ]' 
 
 ‘ You are certainly in the right,’ says the doctor ; ‘ there 
 is a most blameable remissness with regard to these matters; 
 but the whole blame doth not lie there; some little share of 
 the fault is, I am afraid, to be imputed to the clergy them¬ 
 selves.’ 
 
 ‘Indeed, sir,’ cries the young one, ‘ I did not expect that 
 charge from a gentleman of your cloth. Do the clergy give 
 any encouragement to such books 'l Do they not, on the 
 contrary, cry loudly out against the suffering them % This 
 is the invidious aspersion of the laity; and I did not expect 
 to hear it confirmed by one of our own cloth.’ 
 
 { Be not too impatient, young gentleman,’ said the doctor. 
 ‘I do not absolutely confirm the charge of the laity; it is 
 much too general and too severe ; but even the laity them¬ 
 selves do not attack them in that part to which you have 
 applied your defence. They are not supposed such fools as 
 to attack that religion to which they owe their temporal 
 welfare. They are not taxed with giving any other support 
 to infidelity than what it draws from the ill examples of their 
 lives; I mean of the lives of some of them. Here too the 
 laity carry their censures too far; for there are very few or 
 none of the clergy whose lives, if compared with those of 
 the laity, can be called profligate; but such, indeed, is the 
 perfect purity of our religion, such is the innocence and 
 virtue which it exacts to entitle us to its glorious rewards 
 and to screen us from its dreadful punishments, that he 
 must be a very good man indeed who lives up to it. Thus 
 then these persons argue. This man is educated in a perfect 
 knowledge of religion, is learned in its laws, and is by his 
 profession obliged, in a manner, to have them always before 
 his eyes. The rewards which it promises to the obedience 
 of these laws are so great, and the punishments threatened 
 on disobedience so dreadful, that it is impossible but all 
 men must fearfully fly from the one, and as eagerly pursue 
 the other. If, therefore, such a person lives in direct oppo¬ 
 sition to, and in a constant breach of, these laws, the infer¬ 
 ence is obvious. There is a pleasant story in Matthew 
 
442 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ek IX. 
 
 Paris, which. I will tell you as well as I can remember it. 
 Two young gentlemen, I think they were priests, agreed 
 together that whosoever died first should return and acquaint 
 his friend with the secrets of the other world. One of them 
 died soon after, and fulfilled his promise. The whole rela¬ 
 tion he gave is not very material; but, among other things, 
 he produced one of his hands, which Satan had made use of 
 to write upon, as the moderns do on a card, and had sent 
 his compliments to the priests for the number of souls which 
 the wicked examples of their lives daily sent to hell. This 
 story is the more remarkable as it was written by a priest, 
 and a great favourer of his order.’ 
 
 ‘ Excellent! ’ cried the old gentleman; e what a memory 
 you have.’ 
 
 ‘ But, sir,’ cries the young one, ‘ a clergyman is a man as 
 well as another; and, if such perfect purity be expected—’ 
 
 ‘ I do not expect it,’ cries the doctor; ‘ and I hope it will 
 not be expected of us. The Scripture itself gives us this 
 hope, where the best of us are said to fall twenty times 
 a-day. But sure we may not allow the practice of any of 
 those grosser crimes which contaminate the whole mind, j 
 We may expect an obedience to the ten commandments, and 
 an abstinence from such notorious vices as, in the first place, ■ 
 Avarice, which, indeed, can hardly subsist without the breach 
 of more commandments than one. Indeed, it would be ex¬ 
 cessive candour to imagine that a man who so visibly sets 
 his whole heart, not only on this world,, but on one of the 
 most worthless things in it (for so is money, without regard 
 to its uses), should be, at the same time, laying up his 
 treasure in heaven. Ambition is a second vice of this sort: 
 we are told we cannot serve God and Mammon. I might 
 have applied this to avarice; but I chose rather to mention 
 it here. When we see a man sneaking about in courts and 
 levees, and doing the dirty work of great men, from the 
 hopes of preferment, can we believe that a fellow whom we 
 see to have so many hard taskmasters upon earth ever thinks 
 of his Master which is in heaven 1 Must he not himself 
 think, if ever he reflects at all, that so glorious a Master will 
 disdain and disown a servant who is the dutiful topi of a 
 court-favourite, and employed either as the pimp of his 
 pleasure, or sometimes, perhaps, made a dirty channel to 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 443 
 
 CH. X.] 
 
 assist in the conveyance of that corruption which is clogging 
 up and destroying the very vitals of his country ? 
 
 ‘ The last vice which I shall mention is Pride. There is 
 not in the universe a more ridiculous nor a more contempt¬ 
 ible animal than a proud clergyman; a turkey-cock or a 
 jackdaw are objects of veneration when compared with him. 
 I don’t mean, by Pride, that noble dignity of mind to which 
 goodness can only administer an adequate object, which de¬ 
 lights in the testimony of its own conscience, and could not, 
 without the highest agonies, bear its condemnation. By 
 Pride I mean that saucy passion which exults in every little 
 eventual pre-eminence over other men: such are the ordinary 
 gifts of nature, and the paltry presents of fortune, wit, 
 knowledge, birth, strength, beauty, riches, titles, and rank. 
 That passion which is ever aspiring, like a silly child, to 
 look over the heads of all about them; which, while it 
 servilely adheres to the great, flies from the poor, as if afraid 
 of contamination; devouring greedily every murmur of 
 applause and every look of admiration; pleased and elated 
 with all kind of respect; and hurt and enflamed with the 
 contempt of the lowest and most despicable of fools, even 
 with such as treated you last night disrespectfully at Vaux- 
 hall. Can such a mind as this be fixed on things above'? 
 Can such a man reflect that he hath the ineffable honour to 
 be employed in the immediate service of his great Creator ? 
 or can he please himself with the heart-warming hope that 
 his ways are acceptable in the sight of that glorious, that in¬ 
 comprehensible Being ? 1 
 
 ‘Hear, child, hear/ cries the old gentleman; ‘hear, and 
 improve your understanding. Indeed, my good friend, no 
 one retires from you without carrying away some good in¬ 
 structions with him. Learn of the doctor, Tom, and you 
 will be the better man as long as you live/ 
 
 ‘Undoubtedly, sir/ answered Tom, ‘the doctor hath spoken 
 a great deal of excellent truth; and, without a compliment 
 to him, I was always a great admirer of his sermons, par¬ 
 ticularly of their oratory. But, 
 
 Nec tamen hoc tribuens dederim quoque ccetera. 
 
 I cannot agree that a clergyman is obliged to put up with 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 444 
 
 [bk IX. 
 
 an affront any more than another man, and more especially 
 when it is paid to the order.’ 
 
 ‘I am very sorry, young gentleman,’ cries the doctor, 
 ‘ that you should he ever liable to be affronted as a clergy¬ 
 man ; and I do assure you, if I had known your disposition 
 formerly, the order should never have been affronted through 
 you.’ 
 
 The old gentleman now began to check his son for his 
 opposition to the doctor, when a servant delivered the latter 
 a note from Amelia, which he read immediately to himself, 
 and it contained the following words : 
 
 ‘ My dear Sir,—S omething hath happened since I saw you which 
 gives me great uneasiness, and I beg the favour of seeing you as soon as 
 possible to advise with you upon it. 
 
 ‘I am 
 
 ‘.Your most obliged and dutiful daughter, 
 
 ‘ Amelia Booth.’ 
 
 The doctor’s answer was, that he would wait on the lady 
 directly ; and then, turning to his friend, he asked him if he 
 would not take a walk in the Park before dinner. ‘ I must 
 go,’ says he, ‘ to the lady who was with us last night; for I 
 am afraid, by her letter, some bad accident hath happened 
 to her. Come, young gentleman, I spoke a little too hastily 
 to you just now; but I ask your pardon. Some allowance 
 must be made to the warmth of your blood. I hope we shall, 
 in time, both think alike.’ 
 
 The old gentleman made his friend another compliment; 
 and the young one declared he hoped he should always think, 
 and act too, with the dignity becoming his cloth. After 
 which the doctor took his leave for a while, and went to 
 Amelia’s lodgings. 
 
 As soon as he was gone the old gentleman fell very 
 severely on his son. ‘ Tom,’ says he, ‘ how can you be such 
 a fool to undo, by your perverseness, all that I have been 
 doing J Why will you not learn to study mankind with the 
 attention which I have employed to that purpose 1 Do you 
 think, if I had affronted this obstinate old fellow as you do, 
 I should ever have engaged his friendship h 
 
 ‘ I cannot help it, sir,’ said Tom : ‘ I have not studied six 
 years at the university to give up my sentiments to every 
 one. It is true, indeed, he put together a set of sounding 
 
CH. X.] 
 
 AMELIA, 
 
 445 
 
 words ; but, in the main, I never heard any one talk more 
 foolishly.’ 
 
 ‘ What of that 1 ’ cries the father ; ‘ I never told you he 
 was a wise man, nor did I ever think him so. If he had 
 any understanding, he would have been a bishop long ago, to 
 my certain knowledge. But, indeed, he hath been always a 
 fool in private life ; for I question whether he is worth <£100 
 in the world, more than his annual income. He hath given 
 away above half his fortune to the Lord knows who. I be¬ 
 lieve I have had above £200 of him, first and last; and 
 would you lose such a milch-cow as this for want of a few 
 compliments'? Indeed, Tom, thou art as great a simpleton 
 as himself. How do you expect to rise in the church if you 
 cannot temporise and give in to the opinions of your supe¬ 
 riors % ’ 
 
 4 1 don’t know, sir,’ cries Tom, ‘ what you mean by my 
 superiors. In one sense, I own, a doctor of divinity is 
 superior to a bachelor of arts, and so far I am ready to 
 allow his superiority; but I understand Greek and Hebrew 
 as well as he, and will maintain my opinion against him, or 
 any other in the schools.’ 
 
 ‘ Tom,’ cries the old gentleman, ‘ till thou gettest the better 
 of thy conceit I shall never have any hopes of thee. If thou 
 art wise, thou wilt think every man thy superior of whom 
 thou canst get anything; at least thou wilt persuade him 
 that thou thinkest so, and that is sufficient. Tom, Tom, 
 thou hast no policy in thee.’ 
 
 ‘ What have I been learning these seven years,’ answered 
 he, ‘ in the university 1 However, father, I can account for 
 your opinion. It is the common failing of old men to at¬ 
 tribute all wisdom to themselves. Nestor did it long ago : 
 but, if you will inquire my character at college, I fancy you 
 will not think I want to go to school again.’ 
 
 The father and son then went to take their walk, during 
 which the former repeated many good lessons of policy to 
 his son, not greatly perhaps to his edification. In truth, if 
 the old gentleman’s fondness had not in a great measure 
 blinded him to the imperfections of his son, he would have 
 soon perceived that he was sowing all his instructions in a 
 soil so choked with self-conceit that it was utterly impossible 
 they should ever bear any fruit. 
 
ROOK X. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TO WHICH WE WILL PREFIX NO PREFACE. 
 
 The doctor found Amelia alone, for Booth was gone to walk 
 with his new-revived acquaintance, Captain Trent, who seemed 
 so pleased with the renewal of his intercourse with his old 
 brother-officer, that he had been almost continually with him 
 from the time of their meeting at the drum. 
 
 Amelia acquainted the doctor with the purport of her 
 message, as follows : ‘ I ask your pardon, my dear sir, for 
 troubling you so often with my affairs; but I know your ex¬ 
 treme readiness, as well as ability, to assist any one with your 
 advice. The fact is, that my husband hath been presented by 
 Colonel James with two tickets for a masquerade, which is to 
 be in a day or two, and he insists so strongly on my going 
 with him, that I really do not know how to refuse without 
 giving him some reason; and I am not able to invent any 
 other than the true one, which you would not, I am sure, 
 advise me to communicate to him. Indeed I had a most 
 narrow escape the other day; for I was almost drawn in in¬ 
 advertently by a very strange accident, to acquaint him with 
 the whole matter.’ She then related the serjeant’s dream, 
 with all the consequences that attended it. 
 
 The doctor considered a little with himself, and then said, 
 ‘ I am really, child, puzzled as well as you about this matter. 
 I would by no means have you go to the masquerade ; I do 
 not indeed like the diversion itself, as I have heard it de¬ 
 scribed to me ; not that I am such a prude to suspect every 
 woman who goes there of any evil intentions ; but it is a 
 pleasure of too loose and disorderly a kind for the recreation 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 447 
 
 of a sober mind. Indeed, yon have still a stronger and 
 more particular objection. I will try myself to reason him 
 out of it.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed it is impossible/ answered she ; 4 and therefore I 
 would not set you about it. I never saw him more set on 
 anything. There is a party, as they call it, made on the oc¬ 
 casion ; and he tells me my refusal will disappoint all.’ 
 
 4 I really do not know what to advise you,’ cries the doc¬ 
 tor ; 4 I have told you I do not approve of these diversions ; 
 but yet, as your husband is so very desirous, I cannot think 
 there will be any harm in going with him. However, I will 
 consider of it, and do all in my power for you.’ 
 
 Here Mrs Atkinson came in, and the discourse on this sub¬ 
 ject ceased; but soon after Amelia renewed it, saying there 
 was no occasion to keep anything a secret from her friend. 
 They then fell to debating on the subject, but could not come 
 to any resolution. But Mrs Atkinson, who was in an un¬ 
 usual flow of spirits, cried out, 4 Fear nothing, my dear 
 Amelia, two women surely will be too hard for one man. I 
 think, doctor, it exceeds Yirgil: 
 
 Una dolodivum si foe min a victa duorum est. ’ 
 
 ‘ Very well repeated, indeed ! ’ cries the doctor. 4 Do you 
 understand all Yirgil as well as you seem to do that line F 
 
 ‘ I hope I do, sir,’ said she, 4 and Horace too; or else my 
 father threw away his time to very little purpose in teaching 
 me.’ 
 
 4 1 ask your pardon, madam,’ cries the doctor. 4 1 own it 
 was an impertinent question.’ 
 
 4 Hot at all, sir,’ says she ; 4 and if you are one of those 
 who imagine women incapable of learning, I shall not be 
 offended at it. I know the common opinion ; but 
 
 Interdum vulgiis rectum videt , est ubi peccat.' 
 
 4 If I was to profess such an opinion, madam,’ said the 
 doctor, 4 Madam Dacier and yourself would bear testimony 
 against me. The utmost indeed that I should venture would 
 be to question the utility of learning in a young lady’s edu¬ 
 cation.’ 
 
 4 1 own,’ said Mrs Atkinson, 4 as the world is constituted, 
 it cannot be as serviceable to her fortune as it will be to that 
 of a man; but you will allow, doctor, that learning may 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 44S 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 afford a woman, at least, a reasonable and an innocent enter¬ 
 tainment.’ 
 
 ‘ But I will suppose,’ cried tlie doctor, ‘ it may have its 
 inconveniencies. As, for instance, if a learned lady should 
 meet with an unlearned husband, might she not be apt to 
 despise him V 
 
 < I think not,’ cries Mrs Atkinson—'and, if I may be al¬ 
 lowed the instance, I think I have shown, myself, that women 
 who have learning themselves can be contented without that 
 qualification in a man.’ 
 
 < To be sure,’ cries the doctor, ‘ there may be other quali¬ 
 fications which may have their weight in the balance. But 
 let us take the other side of the question, and suppose the 
 learned of both sexes to meet in the matrimonial union, may 
 it not afford one excellent subject of disputation, which is 
 
 the most learned V < 
 
 ‘ Not at all,’ cries Mrs Atkinson; ‘ for, if they had both 
 learning and good sense, they would soon see on which side 
 the superiority lay.’ 
 
 ‘ But if the learned man,’ said the doctor, ‘ should be a 
 little unreasonable in his opinion, are you sure that the 
 learned woman would preserve her duty to her husband, and 
 
 submit 1 ’ 
 
 £ But why,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ must we necessarily sup¬ 
 pose that a learned man would be unreasonable 1 
 
 Nay, madam,’ said the doctor, ‘ I am not your husband, 
 and you shall not hinder me from supposing what I please. 
 Surely it is not such a paradox to conceive that a man of 
 learning should be unreasonable. Are there no unreasonable 
 opinions in very learned authors, even among the critics 
 themselves 1 Bor instance, what can be a more strange, and 
 indeed unreasonable opinion, than to prefer the Metamor¬ 
 phoses of Ovid to the Adneid of Virgil 1 
 
 < It would be indeed so strange,’ cries the lady, ‘ that you 
 shall not persuade me it was ever the opinion of any man.’ 
 
 1 Perhaps not,’ cries the doctor \ i and I believe you and 1 
 should not differ in our judgments of any person who main¬ 
 tained such an .opinion—What a taste must he have ! 
 
 1 A most contemptible one indeed, cries Mrs Atkinson. 
 
 1 I am satisfied,’ cries the doctor. ' And, in the woids of 
 your own Horace, Vavbuvfi non ctinjplius culdcun. 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 449 
 
 ‘ But how provoking is this,’ cries Mrs Atkinson , c to draw 
 one in in such a manner ! I protest I was so warm in the 
 defence of my favourite Virgil, that I was not aware of your 
 design; but all your triumph depends on a supposition that 
 one should be so unfortunate as to meet with the silliest 
 fellow in the world.’ 
 
 ‘ Not in the least,’ cries the doctor. ‘ Doctor Bentley was 
 not such a person; and yet he would have quarrelled, I am 
 convinced, with any wife in the world, in behalf of one of 
 his corrections. I don’t suppose he would have given up 
 his Ingentia Fata to an angel.’ 
 
 ‘ But do you think,’ said she, ‘ if I had loved him, I would 
 have contended with him 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Perhaps you might sometimes,’ said the doctor, ‘be of 
 these sentiments ; but you remember your own Virgil— 
 Vavium et mutabile semper fcemina.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, Amelia,’ said Mrs Atkinson, ‘ you are now con¬ 
 cerned as well as I am; for he hath now abused the whole 
 sex, and quoted the severest thing that ever was said against 
 us, though I allow it is one of the finest.’ 
 
 ‘ With all my heart, my dear,’ cries Amelia. I have the 
 advantage of you, however, for I don’t understand him.’ 
 
 ‘Nor doth she understand much better than yourself,’ 
 cries the doctor; ‘ or she would not admire nonsense, even 
 that in Virgil.’ 
 
 ‘ Pardon me, sir,’ said she. 
 
 ‘ And pardon me, madam,’ cries the doctor, with a feigned 
 seriousness ; ‘ I say, a boy in the fourth form at Eton would 
 be whipt, or would deserve to be whipt at least, who made 
 the neuter gender agree with the feminine. You have heard, 
 however, that Virgil left hisAEneid incorrect; and, perhaps, 
 had he lived to correct it, we should not have seen the faults 
 we now see in it.’ 
 
 ‘ Why, it is very true as you say, doctor,’ cries Mrs Atkin¬ 
 son ; ‘ there seems to be a false concord. I protest I never 
 thought of it before.’ 
 
 ‘ And yet this is the Virgil,’ answered tne doctor, ‘ that 
 you are so fond of, who hath made you all of the neuter 
 gender ; or, as we say in English, he hath made mere animals 
 of you ; for, if we translate it thus, 
 
 Woman is a various and changeable animal, 
 
 29 
 
450 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK X. 
 
 there will be no fault, I believe, unless in point of civility to 
 the ladies ’ 
 
 Mrs Atkinson had just time to tell the doctor he was a 
 provoking creature, before the arrival of Booth and his friend 
 put an end to that learned discourse, in which neither °±^the 
 parties had greatly recommended themselves to each other, 
 the doctor’s opinion of the lady being not at all heightened by 
 her progress in the classics, and she, on the other hanc, 
 having conceived a great dislike in her heart towards the 
 doctor, which would have raged, perhaps, with no less fury 
 from the consideration that he had been her husband. 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 451 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE MASQUERADE. 
 
 From this time to the day of the masquerade nothing 
 happened of consequence enough to have a place in this 
 history. 
 
 On that day Colonel James came to Booth’s 'about nine 
 in the evening, where he stayed for Mrs James, who did 
 not come till near eleven. The four masques then set out 
 together in several chairs, and all proceeded to the Hay- 
 market. 
 
 When they arrived at the Opera-house the colonel and 
 Mrs Janies presently left them; nor did Booth and his lady 
 remain long together, hut were soon divided from each other 
 by different masques. 
 
 A domino soon accosted the lady, and had her away to the 
 upper end of the farthest room on the right hand, where 
 both the masques sat down; nor was it long before the he 
 domino began to make very fervent love to the she. It 
 would, perhaps, be tedious to the reader to run through the 
 whole process, which was not indeed in the most romantic 
 style. The lover seemed to consider his mistress as a mere 
 woman of this world, and seemed rather to apply to her 
 avarice and ambition than to her softer passions. 
 
 As he was not so careful to conceal his true voice as the 
 lady was, she soon discovered that this lover of her s was no 
 other than her old friend the peer, and presently a tnought 
 suggested itself to her of making an advantage of this accident. 
 She gave him therefore an intimation that she knew him, 
 and expressed some astonishment at his having found her 
 out. ‘ I suspect,’ says she, * my lord, that you have a friend 
 in the woman where I now lodge, as well as you had in Mrs 
 Ellison.’ My lord protested the contrary. To which she 
 answered, ‘ Ray, my lord, do not defend her so earnestly till 
 you are sure I should have been angry with her.’ 
 
 At these words, which were accompanied with a very be- 
 
452 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 witching softness, my lord flew into raptures rather too strong 
 for the place he was in. These the lady gently checked, 
 and begged him to take care they were not observed; for 
 that her husband, for aught she knew, was then in the room. 
 
 Colonel James came now up, and said, 4 So, madam, I have 
 the good fortune to find you again; I have been extremely 
 miserable since I lost you.’ The lady answered in her mas¬ 
 querade voice that she did not know him. 4 I am Colonel 
 James,’ said he in a whisper. 4 Indeed, sir,’ answered she, 
 4 you are mistaken; I have no acquaintance with any Colonel 
 James.’ 4 Madam/ answered he, in a whisper likewise, 4 1 
 am positive*I am not mistaken, you are certainly Mrs Booth.’ 
 
 4 Indeed, sir,’ said she, 4 you are very impertinent, and I beg 
 you will leave me.’ My lord then interposed, and, speaking 
 in his own voice, assured the colonel that the lady was a 
 woman of quality, and that they were engaged in a convers¬ 
 ation together; upon which the colonel asked the lady’s 
 pardon; for, as there was nothing remarkable in her dress, 
 he really believed he had been mistaken. 
 
 He then went again a hunting through the rooms, and soon 
 after found Booth walking without his mask between two 
 ladies, one of whom was in a blue domino, and the other in 
 the dress of a shepherdess. 4 Will,’ cries the colonel, 4 do 
 you know what is become of our wives; for I have seen 
 neither of them since we have been in the room 1 ’ Booth 
 answered, 4 That he supposed they were both together, and 
 they should find them by and by.’ 4 What ! ’ cries the lady 
 in the blue domino, 4 are you both come upon duty then with 
 your wives 1 as for yours, Mr Alderman,’ said she to the 
 colonel, 4 1 make no question but she is got into much better 
 company than her husband’s.’ 4 IIow can you be so cruel, 
 madam 1 ’ said the shepherdess; 4 you will make him beat 
 his wife by and by, for he is a military man I assure you.’ 
 
 4 In the trained bands, I presume,’ cries the domino, 4 for he 
 is plainly dated from the city.’ 4 1 own, indeed,’ cries the 
 other, 4 the gentleman smells strongly of Thames-street, and, 
 if I may venture to guess, of the honourable calling of a 
 tailor.’ 
 
 4 Why, what the devil hast thou picked up here 1 ’ cries 
 James. 
 
 4 Upon my soul, I don’t know,’ answered Booth; 4 1 wish J 
 you would take one of them at least.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 453 
 
 on. ii.] 
 
 ‘ What say you, madam % ’ cries the domino, ‘ will you go 
 with the colonel'? I assure you you have mistaken your 
 man, for he is no less a person than the great Colonel James 
 himself/ 
 
 ‘ No wonder, then, that Mr Booth gives him his choice 
 of us ; it is the proper office of a caterer, in which capacity 
 Mr Booth hath, I am told, the honour to serve the nohle 
 colonel/ 
 
 ‘ Much good may it do you with your ladies ! ’ said J ames; 
 
 ‘ I will go in pursuit of better game/ At which words he 
 walked off. 
 
 ‘You are a true sportsman,’ cries the shepherdess; ‘for 
 your only pleasure, I believe, lies in the pursuit/ 
 
 ‘Do you know the gentleman, madam 1 ’ cries the domino. 
 
 ‘ Who doth not know him 1 ’ answered the shepherdess. 
 
 ‘ What is his character % ’ cries the domino ; ‘ for, though 
 I have jested with him, I only know him by sight.’ 
 
 ‘ I know nothing very particular in his character,’ cries 
 the shepherdess. ‘ He gets every handsome woman he can, 
 and so they do all.’ 
 
 ‘ I suppose then he is not married 1 ’ said the domino. 
 
 ‘ 0 yes ! and married for love too,’ answered the other; 
 ‘ but he hath loved away all his love for her long ago, and 
 now, he says, she makes as fine an object of hatred. I think, 
 if the fellow ever appears to have any wit, it is when he 
 abuses his wife; and, luckily for him, that is his favourite 
 topic. I don’t know the poor wretch, but, as he describes 
 her, it is a miserable animal.’ 
 
 ‘ I know her very well,’ cries the other; ‘ and I am much 
 mistaken if she is not even with him; but hang him ! what 
 is become of Booth 1 ’ 
 
 At this instant a great noise arose near that part where the 
 two ladies were. This was occasioned by a large assembly 
 of young fellows whom they call bucks, who were got to¬ 
 gether, and were enjoying, as the phrase is, a letter, which 
 one of them had found in the room. 
 
 Curiosity hath its votaries among all ranks of people ; 
 whenever therefore an object of this appears it is as sure of 
 attracting a crowd in the assemblies of the polite as in those 
 of their inferiors. 
 
 When this crowd was gathered together, one of the bucks, 
 
454 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 at the desire of his companions, as well as of all present, 
 performed the part of a public orator, and read out the 
 following letter, which we shall give the reader, together 
 with the comments of the orator himself, and of all his 
 audience. 
 
 The orator then, being mounted on a bench, began as 
 follows : 
 
 ‘ Here beginneth the first chapter of-saint— Pox on’t, 
 
 Jack, what is the saint’s name 1 I have forgot.’ 
 
 ‘ Timothy, you blockhead,’ answered another; ‘—Timothy.’ 
 
 ‘Well, then,’ cries the orator, ‘of Saint Timothy. 
 
 ‘ “ Sir —I am very sorry to have any occasion of writing 
 on the following subject in a country that is honoured with 
 the name of Christian; much more am I concerned to address 
 myself to a man whose many advantages, derived both from 
 nature and fortune, should demand the highest return of 
 gratitude to the great Giver of all those good things. Is not 
 such a man guilty of the highest ingratitude to that most 
 beneficent Being, by a direct and avowed disobedience of his 
 most positive laws and commands ! 
 
 “‘I need not tell you that adultery is forbid in the laws 
 of the decalogue; nor need I, I hope, mention that it is ex¬ 
 pressly forbid in the Hew Testament.” 
 
 ‘ You see, therefore,’ said the orator, ‘ what the law is, and 
 therefore none of you will be able to plead ignorance when 
 you come to the Old Bailey in the other world. But here 
 goes again :— 
 
 ‘ “.If it had not been so expressly forbidden in Scripture, 
 still the law of Nature would have yielded light enough for 
 us to have discovered the great horror and atrociousness of 
 this crime. 
 
 ‘ “ And accordingly we find that nations, where the Sun 
 of righteousness hath yet never shined, have punished the 
 adulterer with the most exemplary pains and penalties ; not 
 only the polite heathens, but the most barbarous nations, 
 have concurred in these; in many places the most severe 
 and shameful corporal punishments, and in some, and 
 those not a few, death itself hath been inflicted on this 
 crime. 
 
 ‘ “ And sure in a human sense there is scarce any guilt 
 which deserves to be more severely punished. It includes in 
 

AMELIA. 
 
 455 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 it almost every injury and every mischief which one man 
 can do to, or can bring on, another. It is robbing him of 
 his property—” 
 
 ‘Mind that, ladies,’ said the orator; ‘you are all the 
 
 property of your husbands.-“And of that property 
 
 which, if he is a good man, he values above all others. It 
 is poisoning that fountain whence he hath a right to derive 
 the sweetest and most innocent pleasure, the most cordial 
 comfort, the most solid friendship, and most faithful assist¬ 
 ance in all his affairs, wants, and distresses. It is the de¬ 
 struction of his peace of mind, and even of his reputation. 
 The ruin of both wife and husband, and sometimes of the 
 whole family, are the probable consequence of this fatal 
 injury. Domestic happiness is the end of almost all our 
 pursuits, and the common reward of all our pains. When 
 men find themselves for ever barred from this delightful 
 fruition, they are lost to all industry, and grow careless of 
 all their worldly affairs. Thus they become bad subjects, 
 bad relations, bad friends, and bad men. Hatred and revenge 
 are the wretched passions which boil in their minds. De¬ 
 spair and madness very commonly ensue, and murder and 
 suicide often close the dreadful scene.” 
 
 ‘ Thus, gentlemen and ladies, .you see the scene is closed. 
 So here ends the first act—and thus begins the second:— 
 
 ‘ “ I have here attempted to lay before you a picture of 
 this vice, the horror of which no colours of mine can exag¬ 
 gerate. But what pencil can delineate the horrors of that • 
 punishment which the Scripture denounces against it 1 
 
 ‘ “And for what will you subject yourself to this punish¬ 
 ment 1 or for what reward will you inflict all this misery on 
 another 1 I will add, on your friend 1 for the possession of a 
 woman; for the pleasure of a moment ? But, if neither virtue 
 nor religion can restrain your inordinate appetites, are there 
 not many women as handsome as your friend’s wife, whom, 
 though not with innocence, you may possess with a much 
 less degree of guilt 1 What motive then can thus hurry you 
 on to the destruction of yourself and your friend 1 doth the 
 peculiar rankness of the guilt add any zest to the sin 1 doth 
 it enhance the pleasure as much as we may be assured it will 
 the punishment 1 
 
 ‘ “ But if you can be so lost to all sense of fear, and of 
 
456 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ek X. 
 
 shame, and of goodness, as not to be debarred by the evil 
 which yon are to bring on yourself, by the extreme baseness 
 of the action, nor by the ruin in which you are to involve 
 others* let me still urge the difficulty, I may say, the impos¬ 
 sibility of the success. You are attacking a fortress on a 
 rock; a chastity so strongly defended, as well by a happy 
 natural disposition of mind as by the strongest principles of 
 religion and virtue, implanted by education and nourished 
 and improved by habit, that the woman must be invincible 
 even without that firm and constant affection of her husband 
 which would guard a much looser and worse-disposed heart. 
 What therefore are you attempting but to introduce distrust, 
 and perhaps disunion, between an innocent and a happy 
 couple, in which too you cannot succeed without bringing, I 
 am convinced, certain destruction on your own head 1 
 
 ‘ “ Desist, therefore, let me advise you, from this enor¬ 
 mous crime ; retreat from the vain attempt of climbing a 
 precipice which it is impossible you should ever ascend, where 
 you must probably soon fall into utter perdition, and can have 
 no other hope but of dragging down your best friend into 
 perdition with you. 
 
 ‘ “ I can think of but one argument more, and that, indeed, 
 a very bad one ; you throw away that time in an impossible 
 attempt, which might, in other places, crown your sinful en¬ 
 deavours with success.” 
 
 •' And so ends the dismal ditty.’ 
 
 ‘ D—n me,’ cries one, ‘ did ever mortal hear such d—ned 
 stuff ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my soul,’ said another, ‘ I like the last argument 
 well enough. There is some sense in that; for d—n me if 
 I had not rather go to D—g—ss at any time than follow a 
 virtuous b-for a fortnight.’ 
 
 ‘ Tom,’ says one of them, ‘ let us set the ditty to music; 
 let us subscribe to have it set by Ilandel; it will make an ex¬ 
 cellent oratorio.’ 
 
 ‘ D—n me, Jack,’ says another, ‘ we’ll have it set to a 
 psalm-tune, and we’ll sing it next Sunday at St James’s 
 church, and I’ll bear a bob, d—n me.’ 
 
 •' Die upon it ! gentlemen, fie upon it ! ’ said a friar, who 
 came up; ‘ do you think there is any wit and humour in 
 this ribaldry; or, if there were, would it make any atone¬ 
 ment for abusing religion and virtue 1 ’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 457 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 < Heyday ! ’ cries one, ‘ this is a friar in good earnest.’ 
 
 < Whatever I am,’ said the friar, ‘ I hope at least you are 
 
 what you appear to he. Heaven forbid, for the sake oi our 
 posterity, that you should be gentlemen.’ ? 
 
 < Jack,’ cries one, £ let us toss the friar in a blanket.’ 
 
 < Me in a blanket 1 ’ said the friar : ‘ by the dignity of 
 man, I will twist the neck of every one of you as sure as ever 
 the neck of a dunghill-cock was twisted.’ At which words 
 he pulled off his masque, and the tremendous majesty of 
 Colonel Bath appeared, from which the bucks fled away as 
 fast as the Trojans heretofore from the face of Achilles. The 
 colonel did not think it worth while to pursue any other of 
 them except him who had the letter in his hand, which the 
 colonel desired to see, and the other delivered, saying it was 
 very much at his service. 
 
 The colonel being possessed of the letter, retired as pri¬ 
 vately as he could, in order to give it a careful perusal, for, 
 badly as it had been read by the orator, there were some 
 passages in it which had pleased the colonel. He had just 
 gone through it when Booth passed by him ; upon which the 
 colonel called to him, and, delivering him the letter, bid him 
 put it in his pocket and read it at his leisure. He made many 
 encomiums upon it, and told Booth it would be of service to 
 him, and was proper for all young men to read. 
 
 Booth had not yet seen his wife; but, as he concluded 
 she was safe with Mrs Janies, he was not uneasy. He had 
 been prevented searching farther after her by the lady in the 
 blue domino, who had joined him again. Booth had now 
 made these discoveries : that the lady was pretty well ac¬ 
 quainted with him, that she was a woman of fashion, and 
 that she had a particular regard for him. But, though he 
 was a gay man, he was in reality so fond of his Amelia, that 
 he thought of no other woman; wherefore, though not abso¬ 
 lutely a Joseph, as we have already seen, yet could he not 
 be guilty of premeditated inconstancy. He was indeed, so 
 very cold and insensible to the hints which were given him, 
 that the lady began to complain of his dulness. When the 
 shepherdess again came up and heard this accusation against 
 him, she confirmed it, saying, ‘ I do assure you, madam, he is 
 the dullest fellow in the world. Indeed, I should almost 
 take you for his wife, by finding you a second time with 
 
458 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK X. 
 
 him; for I do assure you the gentleman very seldom keeps 
 any other company.’ ‘ Are you so well acquainted with him, 
 madam h ’ said the domino. ‘ I have had that honour longer 
 than your ladyship, I believe,’ answered the shepherdess. 
 ‘ Possibly you may, madam,’ cries the domino ; ‘ hut I wish 
 you would not interrupt us at present, for we have some 
 business together.’ ‘ I believe, madam,’ answered the shep¬ 
 herdess, ‘ my business with the gentleman is altogether as 
 important as yours; and therefore your ladyship may with¬ 
 draw if you please.’ ‘ My dear ladies,’ cries Booth, ‘ I beg 
 you will not quarrel about me.’ £ ISTot at all,’ answered the 
 domino; 4 since you are so indifferent, I resign my pretensions 
 with all my heart. If you had not been the dullest fellow 
 upon earth, I am convinced you must have discovered me.’ 
 She then went off, muttering to herself that she was satisfied 
 the shepherdess was some wretched creature whom nobody 
 knew. 
 
 The shepherdess overheard the sarcasm, and answered it 
 by asking Booth what contemptible ’wretch he had picked 
 up 1 ‘ Indeed, madam,’ said he, ‘ you know as much of her 
 
 as I do; she is a masquerade acquaintance like yourself.’ 
 ‘ Like me ! ’ repeated she. ‘ Do you think if this had been 
 our first acquaintance I should have wasted so much time 
 with you as I have 1 for your part, indeed, I believe a woman 
 will get very little advantage by her having been formerly 
 intimate with you.’ ‘ I do not know, madam,’ said Booth, 
 ‘ that I deserve that character any more than I know the 
 person that now gives it me.’ ‘ And you have the assurance 
 then/ said she in her own voice, ‘ to affect not to remember 
 me V ‘I think,’ cries Booth, ‘ I have heard that voice before ; 
 but, upon my soul, I do not recollect it.’ ‘ Do you recollect,’ 
 said she, ‘ no woman that you have used with the highest 
 barbarity—I will not say ingratitude 1 ’ ‘No, upon my 
 honour,’ answered Booth. ‘ Mention not honour,’ said she, 
 ‘ thou wretch ! for, hardened as thou art, I could show thee 
 a face that, in spite of thy consummate impudence, would 
 confound thee with shame and horror. Dost thou not yet 
 know me V ‘I do, madam, indeed,’ answered Booth, ‘ and 
 I confess that of all women in the world you have the most 
 reason for what you said.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 459 
 
 CH. II.] 
 
 Here a long dialogue ensued between tbe gentleman and 
 the lady, whom, I suppose, I need not mention to have been 
 Miss Matthews; but, as it consisted chiefly of violent up- 
 braidings on her side, and excuses on his, I despair of making 
 it entertaining to the reader, and shall therefore return to the 
 colonel, who, having searched all the rooms with the utmost 
 diligence, without finding the woman he looked for, began 
 to suspect that he had before fixed on the right person, 
 and that Amelia had denied herself to him, being pleased 
 with her paramour, whom he had discovered to be the noble 
 peer. 
 
 He resolved, therefore, as he could have no sport himself, 
 to spoil that of others ; accordingly he found out Booth, and 
 asked him again what was become of both their wives ; for 
 that he had searched all over the rooms, and could find 
 neither of them. 
 
 Booth was now a little alarmed at this account, and, part¬ 
 ing with Miss Matthews, went along with the colonel in 
 search of his wife. As for Miss Matthews, he had at length 
 pacified her with a promise to make her a visit ; which pro¬ 
 mise she extorted from him, swearing bitterly, in the most 
 solemn manner, unless he made it to her, she would expose 
 both him and herself at the masquerade; 
 
 As he knew the violence of the lady’s passions, and to 
 what heights they were capable of rising, he was obliged to 
 come in to these terms : for he had, I am convinced, no fear 
 upon earth equal to that of Amelia’s knowing what it was in 
 the power of Miss Matthews to communicate to her, and 
 which, to conceal from her, he had already undergone so 
 much uneasiness. 
 
 The colonel led Booth directly to the place where he had 
 seen the peer and Amelia (such he was now well convinced 
 she was) sitting together. Booth no sooner saw her than he 
 said to the colonel, ‘ Sure that is my wife in conversation 
 with that masque V ‘I took her for your lady myself,’ said 
 the colonel; ‘ but I found I was mistaken. Hark ye, that 
 
 is my Lord-, and I have seen that very lady with him all 
 
 this night. 
 
 This conversation passed at a little distance, and out of 
 the hearing of the supposed Amelia; when Booth, looking 
 
460 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 stedfastly at the lady, declared with an oath that he was 
 positive the colonel was in the right. She then beckoned 
 to him with her fan; upon which he went directly to her, 
 and she asked him to go home, which he very readily 
 consented to. The peer then walked off; the colonel went 
 in pursuit of his wife, or of some other woman ; and Booth 
 and his lady returned in two chairs to their lodgings. 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 4G1 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONSEQUENCES OE THE MASQUERADE, NOT UNCOMMON NOR 
 
 SURPRIZING. 
 
 The lady, getting first put of her chair, ran hastily up into 
 the nursery to the children • for such was Amelia’s constant 
 method at her return home, at whatever hour. Booth then 
 walked into the dining-room, where he had not been long 
 before Amelia came down to him, and, with a most cheerful 
 countenance, said, ‘ My dear, I fancy we have neither of us 
 supped; shall I go down and see whether there is any cold 
 meat in the house 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Eor yourself, if you please,’ answered Booth; ‘ hut I 
 shall eat nothing.’ 
 
 4 How, my dear ! ’ said Amelia \ c I hope you have not lost 
 your appetite at the masquerade ! ’ for supper was a meal at 
 which he generally ate very heartily. 
 
 4 I know not well what I have lost,’ said Booth ) ‘ I find 
 myself disordered.—My head aches. I know not what is the 
 matter with me.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear, you frighten me,’ said Amelia; ‘ you 
 look, indeed, disordered. I wish the masquerade had been 
 far enough before you had gone thither.’ 
 
 ‘ Would to Heaven it had ! ’ cries Booth; ‘ but that is over 
 now. But pray, Amelia, answer me one question,—Who 
 was that gentleman with you when I came up to you'? ’ 
 
 ‘ The gentleman ! my dear,’ said Amelia ; ‘ what gentle¬ 
 man 1 ’ 
 
 4 The gentleman—the nobleman—when I came up ; sure 
 
 I speak plain.’ } 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, my dear, I don’t understand you, 
 answered she • 4 I did not know one person at the masquer¬ 
 ade.’ 
 
 < How ! ’ said he ; ‘ what ! spend the whole evening with 
 
 a masque without knowing him 1 ’ 
 
 4 Why, my dear,’ said she, ‘ you know we were not to¬ 
 gether.’ 
 
4G2 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 1 1 know we were not/ said lie, 4 but what is that to the 
 purpose 1 Sure you answer me strangely. I know we were 
 not together; and therefore I ask you whom you were 
 with ? ’ 
 
 4 Hay, but, my dear/ said she, 4 can I tell people in 
 masques 1 ’ 
 
 4 I say again, madam/ said he, 4 would you converse two 
 hours or more with a masque whom you did not know ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, child/ says she, 4 I know nothing of the methods 
 of a masquerade; for I never was at one in my life/ 
 
 ‘ I wish to Heaven you had not been at this ! ’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘ Hay, you will wish so yourself if you tell me truth.— 
 What have I said 'l do I—can I suspect you of not speaking 
 truth ? Since you are ignorant then I will inform you : the 
 man you have conversed with was no other than Lord-.’ 
 
 ‘ And is that the reason/ said she, 4 you wish I had not 
 been there ] * 
 
 ‘And is not that reason/ answered he, 4 sufficient 1 Is he 
 not the last man upon earth with whom I would have you 
 converse ? ’ 
 
 1 So you really wish then that I had not been at the mas¬ 
 querade 1 ’ 
 
 4 I do/ cried he, 4 from my soul.’ 
 
 4 So may I ever be able/ cried she, 4 to indulge you in 
 every wish as in this.—I was not there/ 
 
 4 Do not trifle, Amelia/ cried he; 4 you would not jest with 
 me if you knew the situation of my mind.’ 
 
 4 Indeed I do not jest with you/ said she. 4 Upon my 
 honour I was not there. Forgive me this first deceit I ever 
 practised, and indeed it shall be the last; for I have paid 
 severely for this by the uneasiness it hath given me/ She 
 then revealed to him the whole secret, which was thus : 
 
 I think it hath been already mentioned in some part of 
 this history that Amelia and Mrs Atkinson were exactly of 
 the same make and stature, and that there was likewise a 
 very near resemblance between their voices. When Mrs At¬ 
 kinson, therefore, found that Amelia was so extremely averse 
 to the masquerade, she proposed to go thither in her stead, 
 and to pass upon Booth for his own wife. 
 
 This was afterwards very easily executed ; for, when they 
 left Booth’s lodgings, Amelia, who went last to her chair, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 CII. III.] 
 
 ran back to fetch her masque, as she pretended, which she 
 had purposely left behind. She then whipt off her domino, 
 and threw it over Mrs Atkinson, who stood ready to receive 
 it, and ran immediately down-stairs, and, stepping into 
 Amelia’s chair, proceeded with the rest to the masquerade. 
 
 As her stature exactly suited that of Amelia, she had very 
 little difficulty to carry on the imposition; for, besides the 
 natural resemblance of their voices, and the opportunity of 
 speaking in a feigned one, she had scarce an intercourse of 
 six words with Booth during the whole time; for the moment 
 they got into the crowd she took the first opportunity of 
 slipping from him. And he, as the reader may remember, 
 being seized by other women, and concluding his 'wife to be 
 safe with Mrs James, was very well satisfied, till the colonel 
 set him upon the search, as we have seen before. 
 
 Mrs Atkinson, the moment she came home, ran up-stairs 
 to the nursery, where she found Amelia, and told her in haste 
 that she might very easily carry on the deceit with her 
 husband; for that she might tell him what she pleased to 
 invent, as they had not been a minute together during the 
 whole evening. 
 
 Booth was no sooner satisfied that his wife had not been 
 from home that evening than he fell into raptures with her, 
 gave a thousand tender caresses, blamed his own judgment, 
 acknowledged the goodness of hers, and vowed never to op¬ 
 pose her will more in any one instance during his life, 
 
 Mrs Atkinson, who was still in the nursery with her mas¬ 
 querade dress, was then summoned down-stairs, and, when 
 Booth saw her and heard her speak in her mimic tone, he 
 declared he was not surprized at his having been imposed 
 upon, for that, if they were both in the same disguise, he 
 should scarce be able to discover the difference between 
 them. 
 
 They then sat down to half an hour’s cheerful convers¬ 
 ation, after which they retired all in the most perfect good- 
 humour. 
 
464 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONSEQUENCES OF THE MASQUERADE. 
 
 W hen Booth rose in the morning he found in his pocket 
 that letter which had been delivered to him by Colonel Bath, 
 which, had not chance brought to his remembrance, he might 
 possibly have never recollected. 
 
 He had now, however, the curiosity to open the letter, and 
 beginning to read it, the matter of it drew him on till he 
 perused the whole; for, notwithstanding the contempt cast 
 upon it by those learned critics the bucks, neither the subject 
 nor the manner in which it was treated was altogether con¬ 
 temptible. 
 
 But there was still another motive which induced Booth 
 to read the whole letter, and this was, that he presently 
 thought he knew the hand. He did, indeed, immediately 
 conclude it was Dr Harrison; for the doctor wrote a vefy 
 remarkable one, and this letter contained all the particularities 
 of the doctor’s character. 
 
 He had just finished a second reading of this letter when 
 the doctor himself entered the room. The good man was 
 impatient to know the success of Amelia’s stratagem, for he 
 bore towards her all that love which esteem can create in a 
 good mind, without the assistance of those selfish considera¬ 
 tions from which the love of wives and children may be 
 ordinarily deduced. The latter of which, Nature, by very 
 subtle and refined reasoning, suggests to us to be part of our 
 dear selves; and the former, as long as they remain the ob¬ 
 jects of our liking, that same Nature is furnished with very 
 plain and fertile arguments to recommend to our affections. 
 But to raise that affection in the human breast which the 
 doctor had for Amelia, Nature is forced to use a kind of 
 logic which is no more understood by a bad man than Sir 
 Isaac N ewton’s doctrine of colours is by one born blind. And 
 yet in reality it contains nothing more abstruse than this, that 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 465 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 an injury is the object of anger, danger of fear, and praise of 
 vanity; for in the same simple manner it may be asserted 
 that goodness is the object of love. 
 
 The doctor enquired immediately for his child (for so he 
 often called Amelia) ; Booth answered that he had left her 
 asleep, for that she had had but a restless night. ‘ I hope 
 she is not disordered by the masquerade,’ cries the doctor. 
 Booth answered he believed she would be very well when 
 she waked. 1 1 fancy,’ said he, ‘ her gentle spirits were a 
 little too much fluttered last night ; that is all.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope, then,’ said the doctor, ‘ you will never more insist 
 on her going to such places, but know your own happiness 
 in having a wife that hath the discretion to avoid those 
 places ; which, though perhaps they may not be as some 
 represent them, such brothels of vice and debauchery as 
 would impeach the character of every virtuous woman who 
 was seen at them, are certainly, however, scenes of riot, dis¬ 
 order, and intemperance, very improper to be frequented by 
 a chaste and sober Christian matron.’ 
 
 Booth declared that he was very sensible of his error, and 
 that, so far from soliciting his wife to go to another 
 masquerade, he did not intend ever to go thither any more 
 himself. 
 
 The doctor highly approved the resolution ; and then 
 Booth said, ‘ And I thank you, my dear friend, as well as 
 my wife’s discretion, that she was not at the masquerade last 
 night.’ He then related to the doctor the discovery of the 
 plot; and the good man was greatly pleased with the success 
 of the stratagem, and that Booth took it in such good part. 
 
 ‘ But, sir,’ says Booth, ‘ I had a letter given me by a noble 
 colonel there, which is written in a hand so very like yours, 
 that I could almost swear to it. Nor the style, as far as I 
 can guess, unlike your own. Here it is, sir. Do you own 
 the letter, doctor, or do you not ] ’ 
 
 The doctor took the letter, and, having looked at it a 
 moment, said, ‘And did the colonel himself give you this 
 letter % ’ 
 
 ‘ The colonel himself,’ answered Booth. 
 
 ‘ Why then,’ cries the doctor, ‘ he is surely the most 
 impudent fellow that the world ever produced. What! 
 did he deliver it with an air of triumph 1' 
 
 30 
 
466 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK X. 
 
 ‘ He delivered it me with air enough/ cries Booth, ‘ after 
 his own manner, and bid me read it for my edification. To 
 say the truth, I am a little surprized that he should single 
 me out of all mankind to deliver the letter to; I do not 
 think I deserve the character of such a husband. It is 
 well I am not so very forward to take an affront as some 
 folks.’ 
 
 ‘1 am glad to see you are not/ said the doctor; £ and your 
 behaviour in this affair becomes both the man of sense and 
 the Christian; for it would he surely the greatest folly, as 
 well as the most daring impiety, to risk your own life for the 
 impertinence of a fool. As long as you are assured of the 
 virtue of your own wife, it is wisdom in you to despise the 
 efforts of such a wretch. Hot, indeed, that your wife accuses 
 him of any downright attack, though she hath observed 
 enough in his behaviour to give offence to her delicacy.’ 
 
 ‘ You astonish me, doctor/ said Booth. ‘ What can you 
 mean 1 my wife dislike his behaviour ! hath the colonel ever 
 offended her 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I do not say he hath ever offended her by any open 
 declarations; nor hath he done anything which, according 
 to the most romantic notion of honour, you can or ought to 
 resent; hut there is something extremely nice in the chastity 
 of a truly virtuous woman.’ 
 
 ‘ And hath my wife really complained of anything of that 
 kind in the colonel 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Look ye, young gentleman/ cries the doctor; i I will 
 have no quarrelling or challenging ; I find I have made some 
 mistake, and therefore I insist upon it, by all the rights of 
 friendship, that you give me your word of honour you will 
 not quarrel with the colonel on this account.’ 
 
 ‘ I do, with all my heart,’ said Booth ; ‘ for, if I did not 
 know your character, I should absolutely think you was 
 jesting with me. I do not think you have mistaken my 
 wife, hut I am sure she hath mistaken the colonel, and hath 
 misconstrued some over-strained point of gallantry, some¬ 
 thing of the Quixote kind, into a design against her chastity ; 
 hut I have that opinion of the colonel, that I hope you will 
 not he offended when I declare I know not which of you two 
 I should he the sooner jealous of.’ 
 
 ‘ I would hy no means have you jealous of any one/ cries 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 467 
 
 the doctor; ‘ for I think my child’s virtue may be firmly 
 relied on; but I am convinced she would not have said what 
 she did to me without a cause ; nor should I, without such 
 a conviction, have written that letter to the colonel, as I 
 own to you I did. However, nothing I say hath yet passed 
 which, even in the opinion of false honour, you are at liberty 
 to resent; but as to declining any great intimacy, if you will 
 take my advice, I think that would be prudent.’ 
 
 ‘ You will pardon me, my dearest friend,’ said Booth, ‘but 
 I have really such an opinion of the colonel that I would 
 pawn my life upon his honour; and as for women, I do not 
 believe he ever had an attachment to any.’ 
 
 ‘ Be it so,’ said the doctor : ‘ I have only two things to 
 insist on. The first is, that, if ever you change your opinion, 
 this letter may not be the subject of any quarrelling or 
 fighting : the other is, that you never mention a word of this 
 to your wife. By the latter I shall see whether you can keep a 
 secret; and, if it is no otherwise material, it will be a whole¬ 
 some exercise to your mind ; for the practice of any virtue is 
 a kind of mental exercise, and serves to maintain the health 
 and vigour of the soul.’ 
 
 ‘ I faithfully promise both,’ cries Booth. And now the 
 breakfast entered the room, as did soon after Amelia and 
 Mrs Atkinson. 
 
 The conversation ran chiefly on the masquerade; and Mrs 
 Atkinson gave an account of several adventures there; but 
 whether she told the Avhole truth with regard to herself I 
 will not determine, for, certain it is, she never once mentioned 
 the name of the noble peer. Amongst the rest, she said there 
 was a young fellow that had preached a sermon there upon 
 a stool, in praise of adultery, she believed; for she could not 
 get near enough to hear the particulars. 
 
 During that transaction Booth had been engaged with the 
 blue domino in another room, so that he knew nothing of it; 
 so that what Mrs Atkinson had now said only brought to 
 his mind the doctor’s letter to Colonel Bath, for to him he 
 supposed it was written; and the idea of the colonel being 
 a lover to Amelia struck him in so ridiculous a light, that it 
 threw him into a violent fit of laughter. 
 
 The doctor, who, from the natural jealousy of an author, 
 imputed the agitation of Booth’s muscles to his own sermon 
 
468 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 or letter on that subject, was a little offended, and said, 
 gravely, ‘I should be glad to know the -reason of this 
 immoderate mirth. Is adultery a matter of jest in your 
 opinion V 
 
 ‘ Far otherwise,’ answered Booth. 1 But how is it possible 
 to refrain from laughter at the idea of a fellow preaching a 
 sermon in favour of it at such a place 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I am very sorry,’ cries the doctor, ‘ to find the age is 
 grown to so scandalous a degree of licentiousness, that we 
 have thrown off not only virtue, but decency. How aban¬ 
 doned must be the manners of any nation where such insults 
 upon religion and morality can be committed with impunity! 
 Ho man is fonder of true wit and humour than myself; but 
 to profane sacred things with jest and scoffing is a sure sign 
 of a weak and a wicked mind. It is the very vice which 
 Homer attacks in the odious character of Thersites. The 
 ladies must excuse my repeating the passage to you, as I know 
 you have Greek enough to understand it :— 
 
 ‘ Of p iirta (pptcriv tjcriv atcocrpa re, 7ro\\a~TS ySg. 
 
 Mat/') arap ov Kara koct/jiov tpi&ptvai ficunXtucriv, 
 
 ’AXX’ o, n ol ticjcuTo ytXouov ’Apyeioiaiv 
 " Eppevai.* * * § 
 
 And immediately adds, 
 
 - aiaxiGTOQ ok avr/p inro "iXiov yXOt.f 
 
 ‘ Horace, again, describes such a rascal: 
 
 - Solutos 
 
 Qui captat risus hominum famamque dicacis,X 
 
 1 and says of him, 
 
 Hie niger est , hunc tu, Romane , caveto?\ 
 
 1 0 charming Homer ! ’ said Mrs Atkinson, ‘ how much 
 above all other writers 1 ’ 
 
 * Thus paraphrased by Mr Pope : 
 
 ‘ Awed by no shame, by no respect control!d, 
 
 In scandal busy, in reproaches bold, 
 
 "With witty malice, studious to defame, 
 
 Scorn all liis joy, and laughter all his aim.’ 
 
 f ‘ He was the greatest scoundrel in the whole army.’ 
 
 + ‘ Who trivial bursts of laughter strives to raise, 
 
 And courts of prating petulance the praise.’—F rancis. 
 
 § ‘ This man is black; do thou, 0 Roman ! shun this man. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 469 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon, madam/ said the doctor; ‘ I forgot 
 you was a scholar; but, indeed, I did not know you under¬ 
 stood Greek as well as Latin.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not pretend,’ said she, ‘ to be a critic in the Greek ; 
 but I think I am able to read a little of Homer, at least with 
 the help of looking now and then into the Latin.’ 
 
 ‘Pray, madam,’ said the doctor, 1 how do you like this 
 passage in the speech of Hector to Andromache : 
 
 - Ei’g oikov iovca rgt aavTijr tpya k6/m%6, 
 
 'I <jt6v t i)\aKaTi]v re, icai aiMpnroXoun iciXtvs 
 "E pyov iTToi'xt.GScu ? * 
 
 4 Or how do you like the character of Hippodamia, who, 
 by being the prettiest girl and best workwoman of her age, 
 got one of the best husbands in all Troy ]—I think, indeed, 
 Homer enumerates her discretion with her other qualifica¬ 
 tions ; but I do not remember he gives us one character of a 
 woman of learning.—Don’t you conceive this to be a great 
 omission in that charming poet] However, Juvenal makes 
 you amends, for he talks very abundantly of the learning of 
 the Poman ladies in his time.’ 
 
 ‘ You are a provoking man, doctor,’ said Mrs Atkinson; 
 4 where is the harm in a woman’s having learning as well as 
 a man ] ’ 
 
 ‘ Let me ask you another question/ said the doctor. 
 ‘ Where is the harm in a man’s being a fine performer with 
 a needle as well as a woman ] And yet, answer me honestly ; 
 would you greatly choose to marry a man with a thimble 
 upon his finger] Would you in earnest think a needle be¬ 
 came the hand of your husband as well as a halberd ] ’ 
 
 ‘ As to war, I am with you,’ said she. ‘ Homer himself, 
 I well remember, makes Hector tell his wife that warlike 
 works—What is the Greek word—Pollemy—something— 
 belonged to men only; and I readily agree to it. I hate a 
 masculine woman, an Amazon, as much as you can do ; but 
 what is there masculine in learning ] ’ 
 
 ‘ Nothing so masculine, take my word for it. As for your 
 Pollemy, I look upon it to be the true characteristic of a 
 devil. So Homer everywhere characterizes Mars.’, 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear/ cries the serjeant, ‘ you had better not 
 
 * * Go home and mind your own business. Follow your spinning, and 
 keep your maids to their work.’ 
 
470 AMELIA. [BK X. 
 
 dispute with the doctor ; for, upon my word, he will he too 
 hard for you/ 
 
 ‘Nay, I beg you will not interfere/ cries Mrs Atkinson; 
 ‘ I am sure you can he no judge in these matters/ 
 
 At which the doctor and Booth hurst into a loud laugh ; 
 and Amelia, though fearful of giving her friend offence, could 
 not forbear a gentle smile. 
 
 ‘ You may laugh, gentlemen, if you please/ said Mrs 
 Atkinson; ‘ but I thank Heaven I have married a man who 
 is not jealous of my understanding. I should have been the 
 most miserable woman upon earth with a starched pedant who 
 was possessed of that nonsensical opinion that the difference 
 of sexes causes any difference in the mind. Why don’t you 
 honestly avow the Turkish notion that women have no souls ? 
 for you say the same thing in effect/ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear/ cries the Serjeant, greatly concerned to 
 see his wife so angry, ‘ you have mistaken the doctor/ 
 
 ‘ I beg, my dear/ cried she, ‘ you will say nothing upon 
 these subjects—I hope you at least clo not despise my under¬ 
 standing/ 
 
 ‘ I assure you, I do not/ said the serjeant; ‘ and I hope 
 you will never despise mine; for a man may have some 
 understanding, I hope, without learning/ 
 
 Mrs Atkinson reddened extremely at these words; and the 
 doctor, fearing he had gone too far, began to soften matters, 
 in which Amelia assisted him. By these means, the storm 
 rising in Mrs Atkinson before was in some measure laid, at 
 least suspended from bursting at present; but it fell after¬ 
 wards upon the poor serjeant’s head in a torrent, who had 
 learned perhaps one maxim from his trade, that a cannon-ball 
 always doth mischief in proportion to the resistance it meets 
 with, and that nothing so effectually deadens its force as a 
 woolpack. The serjeant therefore bore all with patience; 
 and the idea of a woolpack, perhaps, bringing that of a 
 feather-bed into his head, he at last not only quieted his 
 wife, but she cried out with great sincerity, ‘ Well, my dear, 
 I will say one thing for you, that I believe from my sold, 
 though you have no learning, you have the best understanding 
 of any man upon earth; and I must own I think the latter 
 far the more profitable of the two.’ 
 
 Bar different was the idea she entertained of the doctor, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 471 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 whom, from this day, she considered as a conceited pedant; 
 nor could all Amelia’s endeavours ever alter her sentiments. 
 
 The doctor now took his leave of Booth and his wife for 
 a week, he intending to set out within an hour or two with 
 his old friend, with whom our readers were a little acquainted, 
 at the latter end of the ninth hook, and of whom, perhaps, 
 they did not then conceive the most favourable opinion/ 
 
 Nay 1 am aware that the esteem which some readers be¬ 
 fore had for the doctor may be here lessened; since he may 
 appear to have been too easy a dupe to the gross flattery of 
 the old gentleman. If there be any such critics, we are 
 heartily sorry, as well for them as for the doctor; but it is 
 our business to discharge the part of a faithful historian, and 
 to describe human nature as it is, not as we would wish it 
 
 to be. 
 
472 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 IN WHICH COLONEL BATH APPEAES IN GEEAT GLOET. 
 
 That afternoon, as Booth, was walking in the Park, he met 
 with Colonel Bath, who presently asked him for the letter 
 which he had given him the night before ; upon which Booth 
 immediately returned it. 
 
 ‘ Don’t you think,’ cries Bath, 1 it is writ with great dignity 
 of expression and emphasis of—of—of judgment 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I am surprized, though,’ cries Booth, ‘ that any one should 
 write such a letter to you, colonel.’ 
 
 ‘ To me ! ’ said Bath. ‘ What do you mean, sir 1 I hope 
 you don’t imagine any man durst write such a letter to me 1 
 d—n me, if I knew a man who thought’ me capable of de¬ 
 bauching my friend’s wife, I would-d—n me.’ 
 
 4 I believe, indeed, sir,’ cries Booth, 4 that no man living 
 dares put his name to such a letter 3 but you see it is 
 anonymous.’ 
 
 ‘I don’t know what you mean by ominous,’ cries the 
 colonel 3 ‘ but, blast my reputation, if I had received such a 
 letter, if I would not have searched the world to have found 
 the writer. D—n me, I would have gone to the East Indies 
 to have pulled off his nose.’ 
 
 4 He would, indeed, have deserved it,’ cries Booth. 4 But 
 pray, sir, how came you by it V 
 
 4 1 took it,’ said the colonel, 4 from a set of idle young 
 rascals, one of whom was reading it out aloud upon a stool, 
 while the rest were attempting to make a jest, not only of 
 the letter, but of all decency, virtue, and religion. A set of 
 fellows that you must have seen or heard of about town, 
 that are, d—n me, a disgrace to the dignity of manhood 3 
 puppies that mistake noise and impudence, rudeness and pro- 
 fanehess, for wit. If the drummers of my company had not 
 more understanding than twenty such fellows, I’d have them 
 both whipt out of the regiment.’ 
 
 4 So, then, you do not know the person to whom it was 
 writ 1 ’ said Booth. 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 473 
 
 4 Lieutenant/ cries the colonel, 4 your question deserves no 
 answer. I ought to take time to consider whether I ought 
 not to resent the supposition. Do you think, sir, I am ac¬ 
 quainted with a rascal 1 ’ 
 
 4 I do not suppose, colonel,’ cries Booth, 4 that you would 
 willingly cultivate an intimacy with such a person ; hut a 
 man must have good luck who hath any acquaintance, if 
 there are not some rascals among them.’ 
 
 4 I am not offended with you, child,’ says the colonel. 4 I 
 know you did not intend to offend me.’ 
 
 4 Ho man, I believe, dares intend it,’ said Booth. 
 
 4 1 believe so too/ said the colonel; 4 d—n me, I know it. 
 But you know, child, how tender I am on this subject. If 
 I had been ever married myself, I should have cleft the man’s 
 skull who had dared look wantonly at my wife.’ 
 
 4 It is certainly the most cruel of all injuries,’ said 
 Booth. 4 How finely doth Shakespeare express it in his 
 Othello ! 
 
 ‘ But there, where I had treasured up my soul.’ 
 
 4 That Shakespeare/ cries the colonel, 4 was a fine fellow, 
 lie was a very pretty poet indeed. Was it not Shakespeare 
 that wrote the play about Hotspur 1 You must remember 
 these lines. I got them almost by heart at the playhouse ; 
 for I never missed that play whenever it was acted, if I was 
 in town:— 
 
 By Heav’n it was an easy leap, 
 
 To pluck bright honour into the full moon, 
 
 Or drive into the bottomless deep. 
 
 And—and—faith, I have almost forgot them; but I know 
 it is something about saving your honour from drowning— 
 0 1 it is very fine ! I say, d—n me, the man that writ those 
 lines was the greatest poet the world ever produced. There 
 is dignity of expression and emphasis of thinking, d—n me.’ 
 
 Booth assented to the colonel’s criticism, and then cried, 
 4 1 wish, colonel, you would be so kind to give me that letter.’ 
 The colonel answered, if he had any particular use for it he 
 would give it him with all his heart, and presently delivered 
 it ; and soon afterwards they parted. 
 
 Several passages now struck all at once upon Booth’s mind, 
 which gave him great uneasiness. He became confident now 
 
474 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 that he had mistaken one colonel for another; and, though 
 he could not account for the letter’s getting into those hands 
 from whom Bath had taken it (indeed James had dropt it 
 out of his pocket), yet a thousand circumstances left him no 
 room to doubt the identity of the person, who was a man 
 much more liable to raise the suspicion of a husband than 
 honest Bath, who would at any time have rather fought with 
 a man than lain with a woman. 
 
 The whole behaviour of Amelia now rushed upon his 
 memory. Her resolution not to take up her residence at the 
 colonel’s house, her backwardness even to dine there, her 
 unwillingness to go to the masquerade, many of her unguarded 
 expressions, and some where she had been more guarded, all 
 joined together to raise such an idea in Mr Booth, that he 
 had almost taken a resolution to go and cut the colonel to 
 pieces in his own house. Cooler thoughts, however, sug¬ 
 gested themselves to him in time. He recollected the promise 
 he had so solemnly made to the doctor. He considered, 
 moreover, that he was yet in the dark as to the extent of 
 the colonel’s guilt. Having nothing, therefore, to fear from 
 it, he contented himself to postpone a resentment which he 
 nevertheless resolved to take of the colonel hereafter, if he 
 found he was in any degree a delinquent. 
 
 The first step he determined to take was, on the first 
 opportunity, to relate to Colonel James the means by which 
 he became possessed of the letter, and to read it to him; on 
 which occasion, he thought he should easily discern by the 
 behaviour of the colonel whether he had been suspected 
 either by Amelia or the doctor without a cause ; but as for 
 his wife, he fully resolved not to reveal the secret to her till 
 the doctor’s return. 
 
 While Booth was deeply engaged by himself in these 
 meditations, Captain Trent came up to him, and familiarly 
 slapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 They were soon joined by a third gentleman, and presently 
 afterwards by a fourth, both acquaintances of Mr Trent; and 
 all having walked twice the length of the Mall together, it 
 being now past nine in the evening, Trent proposed going to 
 the tavern, to which the strangers immediately consented; 
 and Booth himself, after some resistance, was at length per¬ 
 suaded to comply. 
 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 47 5 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 To the King’s Arms then they went, where the bottle went 
 very briskly round till after eleven; at which time Trent 
 proposed a game at cards, to which proposal likewise Booth’s 
 consent was obtained, though not without much difficulty; 
 for, though he had naturally some inclination to gaming, and 
 had formerly a little indulged it, yet he had entirely left it 
 off for many years. 
 
 Booth and his friend were partners, and had at first some 
 success; but Fortune, according to her usual conduct, soon 
 shifted about, and persecuted Booth with such malice, that 
 in about two hours he was stripped of all the gold in his 
 pocket, which amounted to twelve guineas, being more than 
 half the cash which he was at that time worth. 
 
 How easy it is for a man who is at all tainted with the 
 itch of gaming to leave off play in such a situation, especially 
 when he is likewise heated with liquor, I leave to the 
 gamesters to determine. Certain it is that Booth had no in¬ 
 clination to desist; but, on the contrary, was so eagerly bent 
 on playing on, that he called his friend out of the room, and 
 asked him for ten pieces, which he promised punctually to 
 pay the next morning. 
 
 Trent chid him for using so much formality on the occasion. 
 ‘ You know,’ said he , i dear Booth, you may have what money 
 you please of me. Here is a twenty-pound note at your 
 service; and, if you want five times the sum, it is at your 
 service. We will never let these fellows go away with our 
 money in this manner; for we have so much the advantage, 
 that if the knowing ones were here they would lay odds of 
 our side.’ 
 
 But if this was really Mr Trent’s opinion, he was very 
 much mistaken; for the other two honourable gentlemen 
 were not only greater masters of the game, and somewhat 
 soberer than poor Booth, having, with all the art in their 
 power, evaded the bottle, but they had, moreover, another 
 small advantage over their adversaries, both of them, by 
 means of some certain private signs, previously agreed upon 
 between them, being always acquainted with the principal 
 cards in each other’s hands. It cannot be wondered, there¬ 
 fore, that Fortune was on their side; for, however she may 
 be reported to favour fools, she never, I believe, shows them 
 any countenance when they engage in play with knaves. 
 
476 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK X. 
 
 The more Booth lost, the deeper he made his bets ; the 
 consequence of which was, that about two in the morning, 
 besides the loss of his own money, he was fifty pounds 
 indebted to Trent: a sum, indeed, which he would not have 
 borrowed, had not the other, like a very generous friend, 
 pushed it upon him. 
 
 Trent’s pockets became at last dry by means of these loans. 
 His own loss, indeed, was trilling; for the stakes of the games 
 were no higher than crowns, and betting (as it is called) was 
 that to which Booth owed his ruin. The gentlemen, there¬ 
 fore, pretty well knowing Booth’s circumstances, and being 
 kindly unwilling to win more of a man than he was worth, 
 declined playing any longer, nor did Booth once ask them 
 to persist, for he was ashamed of the debt which he had 
 already contracted to Trent, and very far from desiring to 
 increase it. 
 
 The company then separated. The two victors and Trent 
 went off in their chairs to their several houses near Grosvenor- 
 square, and poor Booth, in a melancholy mood, walked home 
 to his lodgings. He was, indeed, in such a fit of despair, 
 that it more than once came into his head to put an end 
 to his miserable being. 
 
 But before we introduce him to Amelia we must do her 
 the justice to relate the manner in which she spent this un¬ 
 happy evening. It was about seven when Booth left her to 
 walk in the Park; from this time till past eight she was 
 employed with her children, in playing with them, in giving 
 them their supper, and in putting them to bed. 
 
 When these offices were performed she employed herself 
 another hour in cooking up a little supper for her husband, 
 this being, as we have already observed, his favourite meal, 
 as indeed it was her’s; and, in a most pleasant and delight¬ 
 ful manner, they generally passed their time at this season, 
 though their fare was very seldom of the sumptuous kind. 
 
 It now grew dark, and her hashed mutton was ready for 
 the table, but no Booth appeared. Having waited therefore 
 for him a full hour, she gave him over for that evening ; nor 
 was she much alarmed at his absence, as she knew he was in 
 a night or two to be at the tavern with some brother-officers; 
 she concluded therefore that they had met in the Park, and 
 had agreed to spend this evening together. 
 
CH. Y.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 477 
 
 At ten then she sat down to supper by herself, for Mrs 
 Atkinson was then abroad. And here we cannot help re¬ 
 lating a little incident, however trivial it may appear to some. 
 Having sat some time alone, reflecting on their distressed 
 situation, her spirits grew very low; and she was once or 
 twice going to ring the hell to send her maid for half-a-pint 
 of white wine, hut checked her inclination in order to save 
 the little sum of sixpence, which she did the more resolutely 
 as she had before refused to gratify her children with tarts 
 for their supper from the same motive. And this self-denial 
 she was very probably practising to save sixpence, while her 
 husband was paying a debt of several guineas incurred by the 
 ace of trumps being in the hands of his adversary. 
 
 Instead therefore of this cordial she took up one of the ex¬ 
 cellent Farquhar’s comedies, and read it half through ; when, 
 the clock striking twelve, she retired to bed, leaving the maid 
 to sit up for her master. She would, indeed, have much 
 more willingly sat up herself, but the delicacy of her own 
 mind assured her that Booth would not thank her for the 
 compliment. This is, indeed, a method which some wives 
 take of upbraiding their husbands for staying abroad till too 
 late an hour, and of engaging them, through tenderness and 
 good nature, never to enjoy the company of their friends too 
 long when they must do this at the expense of their wives’ 
 rest. 
 
 To bed then she went, but not to sleep. Thrice indeed 
 she told the dismal clock, and as often heard the more dismal 
 watchman, till her miserable husband found his way home, 
 and stole silently like a thief to bed to her; at which time, 
 pretending then first to awake, she threw her snowy arms 
 around him; though, perhaps, the more witty property of 
 snow, according to Addison, that is to say its coldness, rather 
 belonged to the poor captain. * 
 
478 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [ek X. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEAD, GAMESTER, AND OBSERVE. 
 
 Booth could not so well disguise tlie agitations of his mind 
 from Amelia but that she perceived sufficient symptoms to 
 assure her that some misfortune had befallen him. This 
 made her in her turn so uneasy that Booth took notice of it, 
 and after breakfast said, ‘ Sure, my dear Emily, something 
 hath fallen out to vex you.’ 
 
 Amelia, looking tenderly at him, answered, ‘ Indeed, my 
 dear, you are in the right; I am indeed extremely vexed.’ 
 ‘ For Heaven’s sake,’ said he, ‘ what is it 1 ’ ‘ Nay, my love,’ 
 
 cries she, ‘ that you must answer yourself. Whatever it is 
 which hath given you all that disturbance that you in vain 
 endeavour to conceal from me, this it is which causes all my 
 affliction' 
 
 ‘ You guess truly, my sweet,’ replied Booth; ‘ I am indeed 
 afflicted, and I will not, nay I cannot, conceal the truth from 
 you. I have undone myself, Amelia.’ 
 
 ‘ What have you done, child % ’ said she, in some conster¬ 
 nation ; ‘ pray, tell me.’ 
 
 1 1 have lost my money at play,’ answered he. 
 
 ‘ Pugh ! ’ said she, recovering herself,—‘ what signifies the 
 trifle you had in your pocket 1 Resolve never to play again, 
 and let it give you no further vexation ; I warrant you, we 
 will contrive some method to repair such a loss.’ 
 
 ‘ Thou heavenly angel! thou comfort of my soul! ’ cried 
 Booth, tenderly embracing her ; then starting a little from 
 her arms, and looking with eager fondness in her eyes, he 
 said, ‘ Let me survey thee; art thou really human, or art thou 
 not rather an angel in a human form ? 0, no,’ cried he, flying 
 again into her arms, ‘ thou art my dearest woman, my best, 
 my beloved wife ! ’ 
 
 Amelia, having returned all his caresses with equal kind¬ 
 ness, told him she had near eleven guineas in her purse, and 
 asked how much she should fetch him. ‘ I would not advise 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 479 
 
 you, Billy, to carry too much in your pocket, for fear it should 
 he a temptation to you to return to gaming, in order to retrieve 
 your past losses. Let me beg you, on all accounts, never 
 to think more, if possible, on the trifle you have lost, any 
 more than if you had never possessed it.’ 
 
 Booth promised her faithfully he never would, and refused 
 to take any of the money. He then hesitated a moment, 
 and cried—‘ You say, my dear, you have eleven guineas • 
 you have a diamond ring, likewise, which was your grand¬ 
 mother’s—I believe that is worth twenty pounds \ and your 
 own and the child’s watch are worth as much more.’ 
 
 ‘ I believe they would sell for as much,’ cried Amelia; 
 ‘ for a pawnbroker of Mrs Atkinson’s acquaintance offered 
 to lend me thirty-five pounds upon them when you was in 
 your last distress. But why are you computing their value 
 now 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I was only considering,’ answered he, ‘ how much we 
 could raise in any case of exigency.’ 
 
 ‘ I have computed it myself,’ said she; ‘ and I believe all 
 we have in the world, besides our bare necessary apparel, 
 would produce about sixty pounds : and suppose, my dear,’ 
 said she, ‘ while we have that little sum, we should think of 
 employing it some way or other, to procure some small sub¬ 
 sistence for ourselves and our family. As for your depend¬ 
 ence on the colonel’s friendship, it is all vain, I am afraid, 
 and fallacious. Nor do I see any hopes you have from any 
 other quarter, of providing for yourself again in the army. 
 And though the sum which is now in our power is very 
 small, yet we may possibly contrive with it to put ourselves 
 into some mean way of livelihood. I have a heart, my Billy, 
 which is capable of undergoing anything for your sake ; and 
 I hope my hands are as able to work as those which have 
 been more inured to it. But think, my dear, think what 
 must be our wretched condition, when the very little we 
 now have is all mouldered away, as it will soon be in this 
 town.’ 
 
 When poor Booth heard this, and reflected that the time 
 which Amelia foresaw was already arrived, (for that he had 
 already lost every farthing they were worth,) it touched him 
 to the quick; he turned pale, gnashed his teeth, and cried 
 out, ‘ Damnation ! this is too much to bear.’ 
 
480 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 Amelia was thrown into the utmost consternation by this 
 behaviour; and, with great terror in her countenance, cried 
 out, ‘ Good Heavens ! my dear love, what is the reason of 
 this agony h ’ 
 
 ‘ Ask me no questions,’ cried he, ‘ unless you would drive 
 me to madness.’ 
 
 ‘ My Billy ! my love ! ’ said she, ‘ what can be the meaning 
 of this 'l —I beg you will deal openly with me, and tell me 
 all your griefs.’ 
 
 ‘ Have you dealt fairly with me, Amelia 1 ’ said he. 
 
 ‘ Yes, surely,’ said she; ‘ Heaven is my witness how 
 fairly.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, do not call Heaven,’ cried he, ‘ to witness a false¬ 
 hood. You have not dealt openly with me, Amelia. You 
 have concealed secrets from me ; secrets which I ought to 
 have known, and which, if I had known, it had been better 
 for us both.’ 
 
 ‘ You astonish me as much as you shock me,’ cried she. 
 
 ‘ What falsehood, what treachery have I been guilty of 1 ’ 
 
 ‘You tell me,’ said he, ‘that I can have no reliance on 
 James ; why did not you tell me so before ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I call Heaven again,’ said she, ‘ to witness ; nay, I appeal 
 to yourself for the truth of it; I have often told you so. I 
 have told you I disliked the man, notwithstanding the many 
 favours he had done you. I desired you not to have too 
 absolute a reliance upon him. I own I had once an extreme 
 good opinion of him, but I changed it, and I acquainted you 
 that I had so—’ 
 
 ‘But not,’ cries he, ‘with the reasons why you had 
 changed it.’ 
 
 ‘ I was really afraid, my clear,’ said, she, ‘ of going too far. 
 I knew the obligations you had to him ; and if I suspected 
 that he acted rather from vanity than true friendship—’ 
 
 ‘Vanity!’ cries he; ‘take care, Amelia: you know his 
 motive to be much worse than vanity—a motive which, if 
 he had piled obligations on me till they had reached the skies, 
 would tumble all down to hell. It is in vain to conceal it 
 longer—I know all—your confidant hath told me all.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, then,’ cries she, ‘ on my knees I entreat you to be 
 pacified, and hear me out. It was, my dear, for you, my 
 dread of your jealous honour, and the fatal consequences.’ 
 
cn. yi.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 481 
 
 1 Is not Amelia, then,’ cried he, e equally jealous of my 
 honour? Would she, from a weak tenderness for my person, 
 go privately about to betray, to midermine the most invaluable 
 treasure of my soul? Would she have me pointed at as the 
 credulous dupe, the easy fool, the tame, the kind cuckold of 
 a rascal, with whom I conversed as a friend ? ’ 
 
 < Indeed you injure me,’ said Amelia. ‘ Heaven forbid I 
 should have the trial! but I think I could sacrifice all I 
 hold most dear to preserve your honour. I think I have 
 shown I can. But I will—when you are cool, I will—satisfy 
 you I have done nothing you ought to blame.’ 
 
 ‘ I am cool then,’ cries he; 1 I will with the greatest 
 coolness hear you.—But do not think, Amelia, I have the 
 least jealousy, the least suspicion, the least doubt of your 
 honour. It is your want of confidence in me alone which I 
 blame.’ 
 
 ‘ When you are calm,’ cried she, ‘ I will speak, and not 
 before.’ 
 
 He assured her he was calm ; and then she said, 
 
 ‘ You have justified my conduct by your present passion, 
 in concealing from you my suspicions ; for they were no 
 more, nay, it is possible they were unjust; for since the 
 doctor, in betraying the secret to you, hath so far falsified 
 my opinion of him, why may I not be as well deceived in 
 my opinion of the colonel, since it was only formed on some 
 particulars in his behaviour which I disliked ? for, upon my 
 honour, he never spoke a word to. me, nor hath been ever 
 guilty of any direct action, which I could blame.’ She then 
 went on, and related most of the circumstances which she 
 had mentioned to the doctor, omitting one or two of the 
 strongest, and giving such a turn to the rest, that, if Booth 
 had not had some of Othello’s blood in him, his wife would 
 have almost appeared a prude in his eyes. Even he, how¬ 
 ever, was pretty well pacified by this narrative, and said he 
 was glad to find a possibility of the colonel’s innocence ; but 
 that he greatly commended the prudence of his wife, and 
 only wished she would for the future make him her only 
 confidant. 
 
 Amelia, upon that, expressed some bitterness against the 
 doctor for breaking his trust; when Booth, in his excuse, 
 related all the circumstances of the letter, and plainly con- 
 
 31 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 482 
 
 [bk s. 
 
 yinced her that the secret had dropt by mere accident from 
 the mouth of the doctor. 
 
 Thus the husband and wife became again reconciled, and 
 poor Amelia generously forgave a passion of which the 
 sagacious reader is better acquainted with the real cause than 
 was that unhappy lady. 
 
CH. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA- 
 
 483 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH BOOTH RECEIVES A VISIT EROM CAPTAIN 
 
 TRENT. 
 
 When Booth grew perfectly cool, and began to reflect that 
 he had broken his word to the doctor, in having made the 
 discovery to his wife which we have seen in the last chapter, 
 that thought gave him great uneasiness ; and now, to com-* 
 fort him, Captain Trent came to make him a visit. 
 
 This was, indeed, almost the last man in the w'orld whose 
 company he wished for; for he was the only man he was 
 ashamed to see, for a reason well known to gamesters; among, 
 whom, the most dishonourable of all things is not to pay a debt, 
 contracted at the gaming-table, the next day, or the next 
 time at least that you see the party. 
 
 Booth made no doubt but that Trent was come on purpose 
 to receive this debt; the latter had been therefore scarce a 
 minute in the room before Booth began, in an awkward 
 manner, to apologize; but Trent immediately stopt his mouth, 
 and said, f I do not want the money, Mr Booth, and you 
 may pay it me whenever you are able ; and, if you are never 
 able, I assure you I will never ask you for it.’ 
 
 This generosity raised such a tempest of gratitude in 
 Booth (if I may be allowed the expression), that the tears 
 burst from his eyes, and it was some time before he could 
 find any utterance for those sentiments with which his mind 
 overflowed; but* when he began to express his thankfulness, 
 Trent immediately stopt him, and gave a sudden turn to 
 their discourse. 
 
 Mrs Trent had been to visit Mrs Booth on the masquerade 
 evening, which visit Mrs Booth had not yet returned. In¬ 
 deed, this was only the second day since she had received it. 
 Trent therefore now told his friend that he should take it 
 extremely kind if he and his lady would waive all ceremony, 
 and sup at their house the next evening. Booth hesitated 
 
484 AMELIA.' [BE X. 
 
 a moment, but presently said, 1 1 am pretty certain my vdfe 
 is not engaged, and I ■will undertake for ber. I am sure ^lie 
 will not refuse anything Mr Trent can ask." And soon after 
 Trent took Booth with him to walk in the Park. 
 
 There were few greater loxers of a bottle than Trent; he 
 soon proposed therefore to adjourn to the King s Arms tavern, 
 where Booth, though much against his inclination, accom¬ 
 panied him. But Trent was very importunate, and Booth 
 did not think himself at liberty to refuse such a request to 
 a man from whom he had so lately received such obligations. 
 
 "When they came to the tavern, however, Booth recollected 
 the omission* he had been guilty of the night before. He 
 wrote a short note therefore to his wife, acquainting her that 
 he should not come home to supper; but comforted her with 
 a faithful promise that he would on no account engage him¬ 
 self in gaming. 
 
 The first bottle passed in ordinary conversation; but, 
 when they had tapped the second, Booth, on some hints 
 which Trent gave him, very fairly laid open to him his whole 
 circumstances, and declared he almost despaired of mending 
 them. ‘ My chief relief,’ said he, ‘ was in the interest of 
 Colonel James; but I have given up those hopes.’ 
 
 £ And verv wisely too,’ said Trent. 1 I say nothing of the 
 colonel s good will. A ery likely he may be your sincere 
 friend; but I do not believe he hath the interest he pretends 
 to. He hath had too many favours in his own family to ask 
 any more yet a while. But I am mistaken if you have not 
 a much more powerful friend than the colonel; one who is 
 both able and willing to serve you. I dined at his table 
 within these two days, and I never heard kinder nor warmer 
 expressions from the mouth of man than he made me of to¬ 
 wards you. X make no doubt you know whom X mean. 
 
 ‘ Upon mv honour I do not/ answered Booth ; ‘ nor did 
 I guess that*I had such a friend in the world as you men- 
 
 tion.’ , _ , - 
 
 ‘ I am glad then,’ cries Trent, ‘ that I have the pleasure of 
 
 informing you of it,’ He then named the noble peer who 
 hath X>een already so often mentioned in this history. 
 
 Booth turned pale and started at his name. ‘ I forgive 
 you, my dear Trent/ cries Booth, ‘ for mentioning his name 
 to me, as you are a stranger to what hath passed between us. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 485 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 1 Nay, I know nothing that hath passed between you,’ an¬ 
 swered Trent. 4 I am sure, if there is any quarrel between 
 you of two days’ standing, all is forgiven on his part.’ 
 
 4 D—n his forgiveness 1 ’ said Booth. 4 Perhaps I ought 
 to blush at what I have forgiven.’ 
 
 4 You surprize me 1 ’ cries Trent. ‘ Pray what can be the 
 matter 'l ’ 
 
 4 Indeed, my dear Trent,’ cries Booth, very gravely, 4 he 
 would have injured me in the tenderest part. I know not 
 how to tell it you; but he would have dishonoured me with 
 my wife.’ 
 
 4 Sure, you aTe not in earnest! * answered Trent; 4 but, if 
 you are, you will pardon me for thinking that impossible.’ 
 
 4 Indeed,’ cries Booth, 4 I have so good an opinion of my 
 wife as to believe it impossible for him to succeed ; but that 
 lie should intend me the favour you will not, I believe, think 
 an impossibility.’ 
 
 4 Faith ! not in the least,’ said Trent. 4 Mrs Booth is a 
 very fine woman; and, if I had the honour to be her hus¬ 
 band, I should not be angry with any man for liking her.’ 
 
 4 But you would be angry,’ said Booth, 4 with a man, who 
 should make use of stratagems and contrivances to seduce 
 her virtue ; especially if he did this under the colour of en¬ 
 tertaining the highest friendship for yourself.’ 
 
 4 Not at all,’ cries Trent. 4 It is human nature.’ 
 
 4 Perhaps it is,’ cries Booth ; 4 but it is human nature de¬ 
 praved, stript of all its worth, and loveliness, and dignity, 
 and degraded down to a level with the vilest brutes.’ 
 
 4 Look ye, Booth,’ cries Trent, 4 1 would not be misunder¬ 
 stood. I think, when I am talking to you, I talk to a man 
 of sense and to an inhabitant of this country, not to one who 
 dwells in a land of saints. If you have really such an 
 opinion as you express of this noble lord, you have the finest 
 opportunity of making a complete fool and bubble of him 
 that any man can desire, and of making your own fortune at 
 the same time. I do not say that your suspicions are ground¬ 
 less ; for, of all men upon earth I know, my lord is the 
 greatest bubble to women, though I believe he hath had very 
 few. And this I am confident of, that he hath not the least 
 jealousy of these suspicions. Now, therefore, if you will act 
 the part of a wise man, I will undertake that you shall make 
 
486 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 your fortune without the least injury to the chastity of Mrs 
 Booth.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not understand you, sir/ said Booth. 
 
 ‘ Nay/ cries Trent, ‘if you will not understand me, I have 
 lone. I meant only your service; and I thought I had 
 known you better.’ 
 
 Booth begged him to explain himself. ‘ If you can,’ said 
 he, ‘ show me any way to improve such circumstances as I 
 have opened to you, you may depend on it I shall readily 
 embrace it, and own my obligations to you.’ 
 
 ‘ That is spoken like a man/ cries Trent. ‘ Why, what is 
 it more than this] Carry your suspicions in your own 
 bosom. Let Mrs Booth, in whose virtue I am sure you may 
 be justly confident, go to the public places; there let her 
 treat my lord with common civility only; I am sure he will 
 bite. And thus, without suffering him to gain his purpose, 
 you will gain yours. I know several who have succeeded 
 with him in this manner.’ 
 
 ‘ I am very sorry, sir,’ cries Booth, ‘ that you are acquainted 
 with any such rascals. I do assure you, rather than I would 
 act such a part, I would submit to the hardest sentence that 
 fortune could pronounce against me.’ 
 
 ‘ Do as you please, sir,’ said Trent; ‘ I have only ventured 
 to advise you as a friend. But do you not think your nicety 
 is a little over-scrupulous ] ’ 
 
 ( You will excuse me, sir/ said Booth; 4 but I think no man 
 can be too scrupulous in points which concern his honour.’ 
 
 ‘ I know many men of very nice honour,’ answered 
 Trent, ‘who have gone much farther; and no man, I am 
 sure, had ever a better excuse for it than yourself. You will 
 forgive me, Booth, since what I speak proceeds from my love 
 to you; nay, indeed, by mentioning your affairs to me, which 
 I am heartily sorry for, you have given me a right to speak. 
 You know best what friends you have to depend upon ; but, 
 if you have no other pretensions than your merit, I can assure 
 you you would fail, if it was possible you could have ten 
 times more merit than you have. And, if you love your 
 wife, as I am convinced you do, what must be your condition 
 in seeing her want the necessaries of life ] ’ 
 
 ‘ I know my condition is very hard/ cries Booth ; ‘ but I 
 have one comfort in it, which I will never part with, and 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 487 
 
 JCK. til] 
 
 that is innocence. As to the mere necessaries of life, how¬ 
 ever, it is pretty difficult to deprive us of them; this, I am 
 sure of, no one can want them long.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, sir,’ cries Trent, i I did not know you 
 had been so great a philosopher. But, believe me, these 
 matters look much less terrible at a distance than when they 
 are actually present. You will then find, I am afraid, that 
 honour hath no more skill in cookery than Shakspere tells 
 us it hath in surgery. D—n me if I don’t wish his lordship 
 loved my wife as well as he doth yours, I promise you I 
 •would trust her virtue ; and, if he should get the better of 
 it, I should have people of fashion enough to keep me in 
 countenance.’ 
 
 Their second bottle being now almost out, Booth, without 
 making any answer, called for a bill. Trent pressed very 
 much the drinking another bottle, but Booth absolutely re¬ 
 fused, and presently afterwards they parted, not extremely 
 well satisfied with each other. They appeared, indeed, one 
 to the other, in disadvantageous lights of a very different 
 kind. Trent concluded Booth to be a very silly fellow, and 
 Booth began to suspect that Trent was very little better than 
 a scoundrel. 
 
488 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONTAINS A LETTER AND OTHER MATTERS. 
 
 We will now return to Amelia; to whom, immediately upon 
 her husband’s departure to walk with Mr Trent, a porter 
 brought the following letter, which she immediately opened 
 and read: 
 
 * Madam, —The quick despatch which I have given to your 
 first commands will I hope assure you of the diligence with 
 which I shall always obey every command that you are pleased 
 to honour me with. I have, indeed, in this trifling affair, 
 acted as if my life itself had been at stake ; nay, I know not 
 but it may be so; for this insignificant matter, you was 
 pleased to tell me, would oblige the charming person in whose 
 power is not only my happiness, but, as I am well persuaded, 
 my life too. Let me reap therefore some little advantage in 
 your eyes, as you have in mine, from this trifling occasion; 
 for, if anything could add to the charms of which you are 
 mistress, it would be perhaps that amiable zeal with which 
 you maintain the cause of your friend. I hope, indeed, she 
 will be my friend and advocate with the most lovely of her 
 sex, as I think she hath reason, and as you was pleased to 
 insinuate she had been. Let me beseech you, madam, let 
 not that dear heart, whose tenderness is so inclined to com¬ 
 passionate the miseries of others, be hardened only against 
 the sufferings which itself occasions. Let not that man alone 
 have reason to think you cruel, who, of all others, would do 
 the most to procure your kindness. How often have I lived 
 over in my reflections, in my dreams, those two short minutes 
 we were together ! But, alas ! how faint are these mimicries 
 of the imagination! What would I not give to purchase 
 the reality of such another blessing! This, madam, is ii 
 your power to bestow on the man who hath no wish, no will, 
 no fortune, no heart, no life, but what are at your disposal. 
 
 Grant me only the favour to be at lady-’s assembly. 
 
 You can have nothing to fear from indulging me with a 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 489 
 
 4 - 
 
 moment’s sight, a moment’s conversation; I will ask no more. 
 I know your delicacy, and had rather die than offend it. 
 Could I have seen you sometimes, I believe the fear of offend- 
 ^ n o you would have kept my love for ever buried in my own 
 bosom; but, to be totally excluded even from the sight of 
 what my soul doats on is what I cannot bear. It is that 
 alone which hath extorted the fatal secret from me. Let 
 that obtain your forgiveness for me. I need not sign this 
 letter otherwise than with that impression of my heart which 
 I hope it bears ; and, to conclude it in any form, no language 
 hath words of devotion strong enough to tell you with°what 
 truth, what anguish, what zeal, what adoration I love you.’ 
 
 Amelia had just strength to hold out to the end, when her 
 trembling grew so violent that she dropt the letter, and 
 had probably dropt herself, had not Mrs Atkinson come 
 timely in to support her. 
 
 ‘ Good Heavens ! ’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ what is the mat¬ 
 ter with you, madam 1 ’ 
 
 I know not what is the matter,’ cries Amelia; ‘ but I 
 have^received a letter at last from that infamous colonel.’ 
 
 Lou will take my opinion again then, I hope, madam.’ 
 cries Mrs Atkinson. ‘ But don’t be so affected ; the letter 
 cannot eat you or run away with you. Here it lies, I see; 
 will you give me leave to read it 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Read it with all my heart,’ cries Amelia; ‘and give me 
 your advice how to act, for I am almost distracted.’ 
 
 Heyday ! says Mrs Atkinson, ‘ here is a piece of parch¬ 
 ment too what is that ? ’ In truth, this parchment had 
 dropt from the letter when Amelia first opened it; but her 
 attention was so fixed by the contents of the letter itself that 
 she had never read the other. Mrs Atkinson had now opened 
 the parchment first; and, after a moment’s perusal, the fire 
 flashed from her eyes, and the blood flushed into her cheeks, 
 and she crid out, in a rapture, ‘ It is a commission for my 
 husband ! upon my soul, it is a commission for my husband ! ’ 
 and, at the same time, began to jump about the room in a 
 kind of frantic fit of joy. 
 
 ‘What can be the meaning of all this?’ cries Amelia, 
 under the highest degree of astonishment. 
 
 ‘ Ho not I tell you, my dear madam,’ cries she, ‘ that it is 
 
490 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 t 
 
 a commission for my husband 'l and can you wonder at my 
 being overjoyed at what I know will make him so happy 1 
 And now it is all out. The letter is not from the colonel, 
 hut from that noble lord of whom I have told you so much. 
 But, indeed, madam, I have some pardons to ask of you. 
 However, I know your goodness, and I will tell you all. 
 
 ‘ You are to know then, madam, that I had not been in 
 the Operadiouse six minutes before a masque came up, and, 
 taking me by the hand, led me aside. I gave the masque 
 my hand; and, seeing a lady at that time lay hold on Cap¬ 
 tain Booth, I took that opportunity of slipping away from 
 him ; for though, by the help of the squeaking voice, and by 
 attempting to mimic yours, I had pretty well disguised my 
 own, I was still afraid, if I had much conversation with your 
 husband, he would discover me. I walked therefore away 
 with this masque to the upper end of the farthest room, where 
 we sat down in a corner together. He presently discovered 
 to me that he took me for you, and I soon after found out 
 who he was; indeed, so far from attempting to disguise him¬ 
 self, he spoke in his own voice and in his own person. He 
 now began to make very violent love to me, but it was rather 
 in the style of a great man of the present age than of an Ar¬ 
 cadian swain. In short, he laid his whole fortune at my 
 feet, and bade me make whatever terms I pleased, either for 
 myself or for others. By others, I suppose he meant your 
 husband. This, however, put a thought into my head of 
 turning the present occasion to advantage. I told him there 
 were two kinds of persons, the fallaciousness of whose pro¬ 
 mises had become proverbial in the world. These were lovers, 
 and great men. What reliance, then, could I have on the 
 promise of one who united in himself both those characters 'l 
 That I had seen a melancholy instance, in a very worthy 
 woman of my acquaintance (meaning myself, madam), of his 
 want of generosity. I said I knew the obligations that he 
 had to this woman, and the injuries he had done her, all 
 which I was convinced she forgave, for that she had said the 
 handsomest things in the world of him to me. He answered 
 that he thought he had not been deficient in generosity to 
 this lady (for I explained to him whom I meant); but that 
 indeed, if she had spoke well of him to me (meaning your¬ 
 self, madam), he would not fail to reward her for such an 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 491 
 
 obligation. I then told him she had married a very deserving 
 man, who had served long in the army abroad as a private 
 man, and who was a serjeant in the guards; that I knew it 
 was so very easy for him to get him a commission, that I 
 should not think he had any honour or goodness in the 
 world if he neglected it. I declared this step must be a pre¬ 
 liminary to any good opinion he must ever hope for of mine. 
 I then professed the greatest friendship to that lady (in which 
 I am convinced you will think me serious), and assured him 
 he would give me one of the highest pleasures in letting me 
 be the instrument of doing her such a service. He promised 
 me in a moment to do what you see, madam, he hath since 
 done. And to you I shall always think myself indebted for it.’ 
 
 1 1 know not how you are indebted to me,’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ( Indeed, I am very glad of any good fortune that can attend 
 poor Atkinson, but I wish it had been obtained some other 
 way. Good Heavens ! what must be the consequence of 
 this h What must this lord think of me for listening to his 
 mention of love 1 nay, for making any terms with him for 
 what must he suppose those terms mean ] Indeed, Mrs 
 Atkinson, you carried it a great deal too far. Ho wonder 
 he had the assurance to write to me in the manner he hath 
 done. It is too plain what he conceives of me, and who 
 knows what he may say to others h You may have blown 
 up my reputation by your behaviour.’ 
 
 i How is that possible ’ answered Mrs Atkinson. ‘ Is it 
 not in my power to clear up all matters 1 If you will but 
 give me leave to make an appointment in your name I will 
 meet him myself, and declare the whole secret to him.’ 
 
 ‘ I will consent to no such appointment,’ cries Amelia. * I 
 am heartily sorry I ever consented to practise any deceit. I 
 plainly see the truth of what Dr Harrison hath often told 
 me, that, if one steps ever so little out of the ways of virtue 
 and innocence, we know not how we may slide, for all the 
 ways of vice are a slippery descent.’ 
 
 ‘ That sentiment,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ is much older than 
 Dr Harrison. Omne vitium in joroclivi est .’ 
 
 ‘ However new or old it is, I find it is true,’ cries Amelia 
 — 4 But, pray, tell me all, though I tremble to hear it.’ 
 
 4 Indeed, my dear friend,’ said Mrs Atkinson, 4 you are 
 terrified at nothing—indeed, indeed, you are too great a 
 prude.’ 
 
492 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 4 I do not know what you mean by prudery,’ answered 
 Amelia. 4 I shall never be ashamed of the strictest regard to 
 decency, to reputation, and to that honour in which the 
 dearest of all human creatures hath his share. But, pray, 
 give me the letter, there is an expression in it which alarmed 
 me when I read it. Pray, what doth he mean by his two 
 short minutes, and by purchasing the reality of such another 
 blessing ? ’ 
 
 4 Indeed, I know not what he means by two minutes,’ cries 
 Mrs Atkinson, 4 unless he calls two hours so ; for we were 
 not together much less. And as for any blessing he had, I 
 am a stranger to it. Sure, I hope you have a better opinion 
 of me than to think I granted him the last favour.’ 
 
 4 1 don’t know what favours you granted him, madam,’ 
 answered Amelia, peevishly, 4 but I am sorry you granted him 
 any in my name.’ 
 
 4 Upon my word,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, 4 you use me un¬ 
 kindly, and it is an usage I did not expect at your hands, 
 nor do I know that I have deserved it. I am sure I went 
 to the masquerade with no other view than to oblige you, 
 nor did I say or do anything there which any woman who 
 is not the most confounded prude upon earth would have 
 started at on a much less occasion than what induced me. 
 Well, I declare upon my soul then, that, if I was a man, 
 rather than be married to a woman who makes such a fuss 
 with her virtue, I would wish my wife was without such a 
 troublesome companion.’ 
 
 ‘Very possibly, madam, these maybe your sentiments,’ 
 cries Amelia, 4 and I hope they are the sentiments of your 
 husband.’ 
 
 4 1 desire, madam,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, 4 you would 
 not reflect on my husband. He is as worthy a man and as 
 brave a man as yours; yes, madam, and he is now as much 
 a captain.’ 
 
 She spoke these words with so loud a voice, that Atkin¬ 
 son, who was accidentally going up-stairs, heard them ; and, 
 being surprized at the angry tone of his wife’s voice, he 
 entered the room, and, with a look of much astonishment, 
 begged to know what was the matter. 
 
 4 The matter, my dear,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, 4 is that I have 
 got a commission for you, and your good old friend here is 
 angry with me for getting it.’ 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 493 
 
 ‘ I have not spirits enow/ cries Amelia, 4 to answer you as 
 you deserve; and, if I had, you are below my anger.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know, Mrs Booth,’ answered the other, 4 whence 
 this great superiority over me is derived; hut, if your virtue 
 gives it you, I would have you to know, madam, that I 
 despise a prude as much as you can do a-.’ 
 
 ‘ Though you have several times,’ cries Amelia, 4 insulted 
 me with that word, I scorn to give you any ill language in 
 return. If you deserve any had appellation, you know it, 
 without my telling it you.’ 
 
 Poor Atkinson, who was more frightened than he had 
 ever heen in his life, did all he could to procure peace. 
 He fell upon his knees to his wife, and hegged her t<4 com¬ 
 pose herself; for indeed she seemed to be in a most furious 
 rage. 
 
 While he was in this posture Booth, who had knocked so 
 gently at the door, for fear of disturbing his wife, that he 
 had not heen heard in the tempest, came into the room. 
 The moment Amelia saw him, the tears which had heen 
 gathering for some time, hurst in a torrent from her eyes, 
 which, however, she endeavoured to conceal with her hand¬ 
 kerchief. The entry of Booth turned all in an instant 
 into a silent picture, in which the first figure which struck 
 the eyes of the captain was the serjeant on his knees to his 
 wife. 
 
 Booth immediately cried, 4 What’s the meaning of this 1 ’ 
 hut received no answer. He then cast his eyes towards 
 Amelia, and, plainly discerning her condition, he ran to her, 
 and in a very tender phrase hegged to know what was the 
 matter. To which she answered, ‘Nothing, my dear, 
 nothing of any consequence.’ He replied that he would 
 know, and then turned to Atkinson, and asked the same 
 question. 
 
 Atkinson answered, 4 Upon my honour, sir, I know 
 nothing of it. Something hath passed between madam 
 and my wife; hut what it is I know no more than your 
 honour.’ 
 
 4 Your wife,’said Mrs Atkinson, ‘hath used me cruelly 
 ill, Mr Booth. If you must be satisfied, that is the whole 
 matter.’ 
 
 Booth rapped out a great oath, and cried, 4 It is impossible ; 
 my wife is not capable of using any one ill.’ 
 
494 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 Amelia then cast herself upon her knees to her husband, 
 and cried, ‘ For Heaven’s sake do not throw yourself into a 
 passion—some few words have passed—perhaps I may he in 
 the wrong.’ 
 
 ‘ Damnation seize me if I think so ! ’ cries Booth. ‘ And 
 I wish whoever hath drawn these tears from your eyes may 
 pay it with as many drops of their heart’s blood.’ 
 
 * You see, madam,’ cries Mrs Atkinson, ‘ you have your 
 bully to take your part; so I suppose you will use your 
 triumph.’ 
 
 Amelia made no answer, but still kept hold of Booth, who, 
 in a violent rage, cried out, ‘ My Amelia triumph over such 
 a wretch as thee !—What can lead thy insolence to such pre¬ 
 sumption ! Serjeant, I desire you’ll take that monster out 
 of the room, or I cannot answer for myself.’ 
 
 The serjeant was beginning to beg his wife to retire (for 
 he perceived very plainly that she had, as the phrase is, taken 
 a sip too much that evening) when, with a rage little short 
 of madness, she cried out, ‘ And do you tamely see me insulted 
 in such a manner, now that you are a gentleman, and upon 
 a footing with him 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ It is lucky for us all, perhaps,’ answered Booth, ‘ that he 
 is not my equal.’ 
 
 ‘ You lie, sirrah,’ said Mrs Atkinson; ‘he is every way 
 your equal; he is as good a gentleman as yourself, and as 
 much an officer. Ho, I retract what I say; he hath not the 
 spirit of a gentleman, nor of a man neither, or he would not 
 bear to see his wife insulted.’ 
 
 ‘ Let me beg of you, my dear,’ cries the serjeant, * to go 
 with me and compose yourself.’ 
 
 ‘ Go with thee, thou wretch ! ’ cries she, looking with the 
 utmost disdain upon him : ‘ no, nor ever speak to thee more.’ 
 At which words she burst out of the room, and the serjeant, 
 without saying a word, followed her. 
 
 A very tender and pathetic scene now passed between 
 Booth and his wife, in which, when she was a little com¬ 
 posed, she related to him the whole story. For, besides that 
 it was not possible for her otherwise to account for the 
 quarrel which he had seen, Booth was now possessed of the 
 letter that lay on the floor. 
 
 Amelia, having emptied her mind to her husband, and 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 amelia- 
 
 495 
 
 obtained his faithful promise that he would not resent the 
 affair to my lord, was pretty well composed, and began to 
 relent a little towards Mrs Atkinson; but Booth was so 
 highly incensed with her, that he declared he would leave 
 her house the next morning; which they both accordingly 
 did, and immediately accommodated themselves with con¬ 
 venient apartments within a few doors of their friend the 
 doctor. 
 
496 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk X. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME THINGS WOETHY OBSEEVATION. 
 
 Notwithstanding the exchange of his lodgings, Booth did 
 not forget to send an excuse to Mr Trent, of whose convers¬ 
 ation he had taken a full surfeit the preceding evening. 
 
 That day in his walks Booth met with an old brother- 
 officer, who had served with him at Gibraltar, and was on 
 half-pay as well as himself. He had not, indeed, had the 
 fortune of being broke with his regiment, as was Booth, hut 
 had gone out, as they call it, on half-pay as a lieutenant, a 
 rank to which he had risen in five-and-thirty years. 
 
 This honest gentleman, after some discourse with Booth, 
 desired him to lend him half-a-crown, 'which he assured him 
 he 'would faithfully pay the next day, when he was to receive 
 some money for his sister. The sister was the widow of an 
 officer that had been killed in the sea-service ; and she and 
 her brother lived together, on their joint stock, out of which 
 they maintained likewise an old mother and two of the 
 sister’s children, the eldest of which was about nine years old. 
 ‘ You must know,’ said the old lieutenant, ‘ I have- been dis¬ 
 appointed this morning by an old scoundrel, who wanted 
 fifteen per cent, for advancing my sister’s pension 1 hut I 
 have now got an honest fellow who hath promised it me to¬ 
 morrow at ten per cent.’ 
 
 ‘ And enough too, of all conscience,’ cries Booth. 
 
 1 Why, indeed, I think so too,’ answered the other; 1 con¬ 
 sidering it is sure to he paid one time or other. To say the 
 truth, it is a little hard the government doth not pay those 
 pensions better; for my sister’s hath been due almost these 
 two years; that is my way of thinking.’ 
 
 Booth answered he was ashamed to refuse him such a sum; 
 hut, ‘ Upon my soul,’ said he, 4 1 have not a single halfpenny 
 in my pocket; for I am in a worse condition, if possible, 
 than yourself; for I have lost all my money, and, what is 
 worse, I owe Mr Trent, whom you remember at Gibraltar, 
 fifty pounds.’ 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 497 
 
 ‘ Remember him ! yes, d—n him ! I remember him very 
 well,’ cries the old gentleman, ‘ though he will not remember 
 me. He is grown so great now that he will not speak to his 
 old acquaintance; and yet I should be ashamed of myself 
 to be great in such a manner.’ 
 
 ‘What manner do you mean?’ cries Booth, a little 
 eagerly. 
 
 ‘Why. by pimping,’ answered the other; ‘he is pimp in 
 
 ordinary to my lord-, who keeps his family; or how the 
 
 devil he lives else I don’t know, for his place is not worth 
 three hundred pounds a year, and he and his wife spend a 
 thousand at least. But she keeps an assembly, which, I be¬ 
 lieve, if you was to call a bawdy-house, you would not mis¬ 
 name it. But d—n me if I had not rather be an honest 
 man, and walk on foot, with holes in my shoes, as I do now, 
 or go without a dinner, as I and all my family will to-day, 
 than ride in a chariot and feast by such means. I am honest 
 Bob Bound, and always will be ; that’s my way of thinking; 
 and there’s no man shall call me otherwise; for if he doth, 
 I will knock him down for a lying rascal; that is my way of 
 thinking.’ 
 
 ‘ And a very good way of thinking too,’ cries Booth. 
 
 ‘ However, you shall not want a dinner to-day; for if you 
 will go home with me, I will lend you a crown with all my 
 heart.’ 
 
 ‘ Lookee,’ said the old man, ‘ if it be anywise inconvenient 
 to you I will not have it; for I will never rob another man 
 of his dinner to eat myself—that is my way of thinking.’ 
 
 ‘ Pooh ! ’ said Booth ; ‘ never mention such a trifle twice 
 between you and me. Besides, you say you can pay it 
 me to-morrow; and I promise you that will be the same 
 thing.’ 
 
 They then walked together to Booth’s lodgings, where 
 Booth, from Amelia’s pocket, gave his friend double the little 
 sum he had asked. Upon which the old gentleman shook 
 him heartily by the hand, and, repeating his intention of 
 paying him the next day, made the best of his way to a 
 butcher’s, whence he carried off a leg of mutton to a family 
 that had lately kept Lent without any religious merit. 
 
 When he was gone Amelia asked her husband who that 
 old gentleman was ] Booth answered he was one of the 
 
 32 
 
498 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK X. 
 
 scandals of his country; that the duke of Marlborough had 
 about tliirty years before made him an ensign from a private 
 man for very particular merit; and that he had not long 
 since gone out of the army with a broken heart, upon having 
 several boys put over his head. He then gave her an account 
 of his family, which he had heard from the old gentleman in 
 their way to his house, and with which we have already in 
 a concise manner acquainted the reader. 
 
 ‘ Good Heavens ! ’ cries Amelia ; ‘ what are our great men 
 made of 1 are they in reality a distinct species from the rest 
 of mankind 1 are they bom without hearts h ’ 
 
 ‘ One would, indeed, sometimes,’ cries Booth, ‘ be inclined 
 to think so. In truth, they have no perfect idea of those 
 common distresses of mankind which are far removed from 
 their own sphere. Compassion, if thoroughly examined, 
 will, I believe, appear to be the fellow-feeling only of men 
 of the same rank and degree of life for one another, on ac¬ 
 count of the evils to which they themselves are liable. Our 
 sensations are, I am afraid, very cold towards those who are 
 at a great distance from us, and whose calamities can conse¬ 
 quently never reach us.’ 
 
 e I remember,’ cries Amelia, ‘ a sentiment of Dr Harrison’s, 
 which he told me was in some Latin book; I am a man my¬ 
 self , and my heart is interested in whatever can befal the rest 
 of mankind. That is the sentiment of a good man, and 
 whoever thinks otherwise is a bad one.’ 
 
 ‘ I have often told you, my dear Emily,’ cries Booth, ‘ that 
 all men, as well the best as the worst, act alike from the 
 principle of self-love. "Where benevolence therefore is the 
 uppermost passion, self-love directs you to gratify it by doing 
 good, and by relieving the distresses of others; for they are 
 then in reality your own. But where ambition, avarice, 
 pride, or any other passion, governs the man and keeps his 
 benevolence down, the miseries of all other men affect him 
 no more than they would a stock or a stone. And thus the 
 man and his statue have often the same degree of feeling or 
 compassion.’ 
 
 ‘ I have often wished, my dear,’ cries Amelia, 1 to hear you 
 converse with Dr Harrison on this subject; for I am sure he 
 would convince you, though I can’t, that there are really such 
 things as religion and virtue.’ 
 
cn. ix.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 499 
 
 This was not the first hint of this kind which Amelia had 
 given; for she sometimes apprehended from his discourse 
 that he was little better than an atheist: a consideration 
 which did not diminish her affection for him, but gave her 
 great uneasiness. On all such occasions Booth immediately 
 turned the discourse to some other subject; for, though he 
 had in.other points a great opinion of his wife's capacity, yet 
 as a divine or a philosopher he did not hold her in a very 
 respectable light, nor did he lay any great stress on her senti¬ 
 ments in such matters. He now, therefore, gave a speedy 
 turn to the conversation, and began to talk of affairs below 
 the dignity of this history. 
 
BOOK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONTAINING A YEEY POLITE SCENE. 
 
 We will now look back to some personages who, though not 
 the principal characters in this history, have yet made too 
 considerable a figure in it to be abruptly dropt: and these 
 are Colonel James and his lady. 
 
 This fond couple never met till dinner the day after the 
 masquerade, when they happened to be alone together in an 
 antechamber before the arrival of the rest of the company. 
 
 The conversation began with the colonel’s saying, ‘ I hope, 
 madam, you got no cold last night at the masquerade.’ To 
 which the lady answered by much the same question. 
 
 They then sat together near five minutes without opening 
 their mouths to each other. At last Mrs James said, ‘ Pray, 
 sir, who was that masque with you in the dress of a shep¬ 
 herdess 1 How could you expose yourself hy walking with 
 such a trollop in public ; for certainly no woman of any 
 figure would appear there in such a dress ? You know, Mr 
 James, I never interfere with your affairs; but I would, 
 methinks, for my own sake, if I was you, preserve a little 
 decency in the face of the world.’ 
 
 4 Upon my word,’ said James, 1 1 do not know wnom you 
 mean. A woman in such a dress might speak to me for 
 aught I know. A thousand people speak to me at a mas¬ 
 querade. But, I promise you, I spoke to no woman ac¬ 
 quaintance there that I know of. Indeed, I now recollect 
 there was a woman in a dress of a shepherdess ; and there 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 501 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 was another awkward thing in a blue domino that plagued 
 me a little, but I soon got rid of them.’ 
 
 ‘ And I suppose you do not know the lady in the blue 
 domino neither ]’ 
 
 ‘ Not I, I assure you/ said James. ‘ But pray, why do you 
 ask me these questions] it looks so like jealousy.’, 
 
 ‘ Jealousy ! ’ cries she ; ‘1 jealous ! no, Mr James, I shall 
 never be jealous, I promise you, especially of the lady in the 
 blue domino; for, to my knowledge, she despises you of all 
 human race.’ 
 
 < I am heartily glad of it,’ said James; ‘ for I never saw 
 such a tall awkward monster in my life.’ 
 
 ‘ That is a very cruel way of telling me you knew me.’ 
 
 ‘ You, madam ! ’ said James ; ‘ you were in a black domino.’ 
 
 ‘ It is not so unusual a thing, I believe, you yourself know, 
 to change dresses. I own I did it to discover some of your 
 tricks. I did not think you could have distinguished the 
 tall awkward monster so well.’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my soul,’ said James, ‘ if it was you I did not even 
 suspect it ) so you ought not to be offended at what I have 
 said ignorantly.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir,’ cries she, ‘ you cannot offend me by anything 
 you can say to my face; no, by my soul, I despise you too 
 much. But I wish, Mr James, you would not make me the 
 subject of your conversation amongst your wenches. I desire 
 I may not be afraid of meeting them for fear of their insults; 
 that I may not be told by a dirty trollop you make me the 
 subject of your wit amongst them, of which, it seems, I am 
 the favourite topic. Though you have married a tall awk¬ 
 ward monster, Mr James, I think she hath a right to be 
 treated, as your wife, with respect at least: indeed, I shall 
 never require any more; indeed, Mr James, I never shall. I 
 think a wife hath a title to that.’ 
 
 ‘ Who told you this, madam] ’ said James. 
 
 ‘Your slut,’ said she ; ‘ your wench, your shepherdess.’ 
 
 ‘ By all that’s sacred ! ’ cries James, ‘ I do not know who 
 the shepherdess was. 
 
 ‘ By all that’s sacred then,’ says she, 1 she told me so, and 
 I am convinced she told me truth. But I do not wonder at 
 you denying it; for that is equally consistent with honour 
 as to behave in such a manner to a wife who is a gentle- 
 
502 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BE XI. 
 
 woman. I hope you will allow me that, sir. Because I had 
 not quite so great a fortune I hope you do not think me be¬ 
 neath you, or that you did me any honour in marrying me. 
 I am come of as good a family as yourself, Mr James ; and 
 if my brother knew how you treated me he would not hear 
 
 it.’ . 
 
 ‘ Do you threaten me with your brother, madam 1 ’ said 
 
 James. 
 
 ‘ I will not he ill-treated, sir/ answered she. 
 
 ‘ Nor I neither, madam/ cries he; 4 and therefore I desire 
 you will prepare to go into the country to-morrow morning. 
 
 4 Indeed, sir/ said she, 4 I shall not.’ 
 
 4 By heavens ! madam, hut you shall/ answered he : 4 1 
 will have my coach at the door to-morrow morning by seven; 
 and you shall either go into it or be carried.’ 
 
 4 1 hope, sir, you are not in earnest/ said she. 
 
 4 Indeed, madam/ answered he, 4 hut I am in earnest, and 
 resolved ; and into the country you go to-morrow.’ 
 
 4 But why into the country,’ said she, 4 Mr James'? Why 
 will you be so barbarous £o deny me the pleasures of the 
 town 1 ’ 
 
 4 Because you interfere with my pleasures/ cried James, 
 4 which I have told you long ago I would not submit to. It 
 is enough for fond couples to have these scenes together. I 
 thought we had been upon a better footing, and had cared 
 too little for each other to become mutual plagues. I thought 
 you had been satisfied with the full liberty of doing what 
 you pleased.’ 
 
 ‘Solam; I defy you to say I have ever given you any 
 uneasiness.’ 
 
 4 How !’ cries he; 4 have you not just now upbraided me 
 with what you heard at the masquerade ] ’ 
 
 4 1 own/ said she, 4 to be insulted by such a creature to my 
 face stung me to the soul. I must have had no spirit to 
 bear the insults of such an animal. Nay, she spoke of you 
 with equal contempt. Whoever she is, I promise you Mr 
 Booth is her favourite. But, indeed, she is unworthy any 
 one’s regard, for she behaved like an arrant dragoon.’ 
 
 4 Hang her ! ’ cries the colonel, 4 1 know nothing of her.’ 
 
 4 Well, but, Mr James, I am sure you will not send me 
 into the country, Indeed I will not go into the country.’ 
 
AMELIx\. 
 
 503 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 ‘ If you was a reasonable woman,’ cries James, ‘ perhaps I 
 should not desire it. And on one consideration—’ 
 
 ‘ Come, name your consideration,’ said she. 
 
 ‘Let' me first experience your discernment,’ said he. 
 ‘ Come, Molly, let me try your judgment. Can you guess at 
 any woman of your acquaintance that I like 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Sure,’ said she, ‘ it cannot be Mrs Booth ! ’ 
 
 ‘ And why not Airs Booth 1 ’ answered he. ‘Is she. not 
 the finest woman in the- world ? ’ 
 
 ‘ ^ r ery far from it,’ replied she, ‘ in my opinion.’ 
 
 ‘ Pray what faults,’ said he, ‘ can you find in her 1 ’ 
 
 1 fhe first place,’ cries Mrs James, ‘ her eyes are too 
 large ; and she hath a look with them that I don’t know how 
 to describe ; but I know I don’t like it. Then her eyebrows 
 are too large ; therefore, .indeed, she doth all in her power to 
 remedy this with her pincers ; for if it was not for those her 
 eyebrows would be preposterous. Then her nose, as well 
 proportioned as it is, has a visible scar on one side. Her 
 neck, likewise* is too protuberant for the genteel size, espe¬ 
 cially as she laces herself; for no woman, in my opinion, 
 can be genteel who is not entirely flat before. And, lastly, 
 she is both too short and too tall. Well, you may laugh, 
 Mr James, I know what I mean, though I cannot well ex¬ 
 press it: I mean that she is too tall for a pretty woman and 
 too. short for a fine woman. There is such a thing as a kind 
 of insipid medium—a kind of something that is neither one 
 thing nor another. I know not how to express it more clearly; 
 but when I say such a one is a pretty woman, a pretty thing, 
 a pretty creature, you know very well I mean a little woman; 
 ana when I say such a one is a very fine woman, a very fine 
 person of a woman, to be sure I must mean a tall woman. 
 Aow a woman that is between both is certainly neither the 
 one nor the other.’ 
 
 ‘ W ell, I own,’ said he, ‘ you have explained yourself with 
 great dexterity; but, with all these imperfections, I cannot 
 help liking her.’ 
 
 1 I hat you need not tell me, Mr James,’ answered the lady, 
 ‘ for that I knew before you desired me to invite her to your 
 house. And nevertheless, did not I, like an obedient wife, 
 comply with your desires ? did I make any objection to the 
 party you proposed for the masquerade, though I knew very 
 
504 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 well your motive 1 what can the best of wives do more ? to 
 procure you success is not in my power; and. if I may give 
 you my opinion, I believe you will never succeed with her.’ 
 
 ‘ Is her virtue so very impregnable 1 ’ said he, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 ‘ Her virtue,’ answered Mrs James, ‘ hath the best guard 
 in the world, which is a most violent love for her husband.’ 
 
 ‘ All pretence and affectation,’ cries the colonel. ‘ It is im¬ 
 possible she should have so little taste, or indeed so little 
 delicacy, as to like such a fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, I do not much like him myself,’ said she. ‘ He is 
 not indeed at all such a sort of man as I should like; hut I 
 thought he had been generally allowed to be handsome.’ 
 
 ‘ He handsome ! ’ cries James. ‘ What, with a nose like the 
 proboscis of an elephant, with the shoulders of a porter, and 
 the legs of a chairman 1 The fellow hath, not in the least 
 the look of a gentleman, and one would rather think he had 
 followed the plough than the camp all his life.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, now I protest,’ said she, ‘ I think you do him in¬ 
 justice. He is genteel enough in my opinion. It is true, 
 indeed, he is not quite of the most delicate make ; but, what¬ 
 ever he is, I am convinced she thinks him the finest man in 
 the world.’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot believe it,’ answered he peevishly; ‘ but will you 
 invite her to dinner here to-morrow 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ With all my heart, and as often as you please,’ answered 
 she. ‘ But I have some favours to ask of you. hirst, I 
 must hear no more of going out of town till I please.’ 
 
 £ Yery well,’ cries he. 
 
 ‘ In the next place,’ said she, ‘ I must have two hundred 
 guineas within these two or three days.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I agree to that too,’ answered he. 
 
 ‘ And when I do go out of town, I go to Tunbridge—I 
 insist upon that; and from Tunbridge I go to Bath—posi¬ 
 tively to Bath. And I promise you faithfully I will do all 
 in my power to carry Mrs Booth with me.’ 
 
 ‘ On that condition,’ answered he, ‘ I promise you you shall 
 go wherever you please. And, to show you I will even pre¬ 
 vent your wishes by my generosity, as soon as I receive the 
 five thousand pounds which I am going to take up on one 
 of my estates, you shall have two hundred more.’ 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 505 
 
 CH. I.] 
 
 She thanked him with a low curtesy ; and he was in such 
 good humour that he offered to kiss her. To this kiss she 
 coldly turned her cheek, and then, flirting her fan, said, 
 ‘ Mr James, there is one thing I forgot to mention to you— 
 I think you intended to get a commission in some regiment 
 abroad for this young man. Now, if you would take my ad¬ 
 vice, I know this will not oblige his wife; and, besides, I 
 am positive she resolves to go with him. But, if you can 
 provide for him in some- regiment at home, I know she will 
 dearly love you for it, and when he is ordered to quarters 
 she will be left behind ; and Yorkshire or Scotland, I think, 
 is as good a distance as either of the Indies.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I will do what I can,’ answered James ; ‘ but I can¬ 
 not ask anything yet; for I got two places of a hundred a 
 year each for two of my footmen, within this fortnight. 
 
 At this instant a violent knock at the door signified the 
 arrival of their company, upon which both husband and wife 
 put on their best looks to receive their guests; and, from 
 their behaviour to each other during the rest of the day, a 
 stranger might have concluded he had been in company with 
 the fondest couple in the imiverse. 
 
506 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MATTERS POLITICAL. 
 
 Before we return to Booth we will relate a scene in which 
 Dr Harrison was concerned. 
 
 This good man, while in the country, happened to be in 
 the neighbourhood of a nobleman of his acquaintance, and 
 whom he knew to have very considerable interest with the 
 ministers at that time. 
 
 The doctor, who was very well known to this nobleman, 
 took this opportunity of paying him a visit in order to 
 recommend poor Booth to his favour. Hor did he much 
 doubt of his success, the favour he was to ask being a very 
 small one, and to which he thought the service of Booth gave 
 him so just a title. 
 
 The doctor’s name soon gained him an admission to the 
 presence of this great man, who, indeed, received him with 
 much courtesy and politeness; not so much, perhaps, from 
 any particular regard to the sacred function, nor from any 
 respect to the doctor’s personal merit, as from some considera¬ 
 tions which the reader will perhaps guess anon. After many 
 ceremonials, and some previous discourse on different sub¬ 
 jects, the doctor opened the business, and told the great man 
 that he was come to him to solicit a favour for a young 
 gentleman who had been an officer in the army and was now 
 on half-pay. ‘ All the favour I ask, my lord,’ said he, ‘ is, 
 that this gentleman may be again admitted ad eundem. I 
 am convinced your lordship will do me the justice to think 
 I would not ask for a worthless person; but, indeed, the 
 young man I mean hath very extraordinary merit. He was 
 at the siege of Gibraltar, in which he behaved with distin¬ 
 guished bravery, and was dangerously wounded at two 
 several times in the service of his country. I will add that 
 he is at present in great necessity, and hath a wife and several 
 children, for whom he hath no other means of providing \ 
 and, if it will recommend him farther to your lordship’s 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 507 
 
 favour, his wife, I believe, is one of the best and worthiest 
 of all her sex.’ 
 
 ‘ As to that, my dear doctor,’ cries the nobleman, 4 I shall 
 make no doubt. Indeed any service I shall do the gentle¬ 
 man will be upon your account. As to necessity, it is the 
 plea of so many that it is impossible to serve them all. And 
 with regard to the personal merit of these inferior officers, I 
 believe I need not tell you that it is very little regarded. 
 But if you recommend him, let the person be what he will, 
 I am convinced it will be done; for I know it is in your 
 power at present to ask for a greater matter than this.’ 
 
 4 1 depend entirely upon your lordship,’ answered the 
 doctor. 
 
 4 Indeed, my worthy friend,’ replied the lord, 4 1 will not 
 take a merit to myself which will so little belong to me. 
 You are to depend on yourself. It falls out very luckily too 
 at this time, when you have it in your power so greatly to 
 oblige us.’ 
 
 4 What, my lord, is in my power ? ’ cries the doctor. 
 
 4 You certainly know,’ answered his lordship, ‘how hard 
 Colonel Trompington is run at your town in the election of 
 a mayor; they tell me it will be a very near thing unless 
 you join us. But we know it is in your power to do the busi¬ 
 ness, and turn the scale. I heard your name mentioned the 
 other day on that account, and I know you may have any¬ 
 thing in reason if you will give us your interest.’ 
 
 4 Sure, my lord,’ cries the doctor, 4 you are not in earnest 
 in asking my interest for the colonel ? ’ 
 
 ( Indeed I am,’ answered the peer ; 4 whv should vou 
 doubt it 1 ’ 
 
 4 For many reasons,’ answered the doctor. ‘First, I am 
 an old friend and acquaintance of Mr Fairfield, as your lord- 
 ship, I believe, very well knows. The little interest, there¬ 
 fore, that I have, you may be assured, will go in his favour. 
 Indeed, I do not concern myself deeply in these affairs, for 
 I do not think it becomes my cloth so to do. But, as far as 
 I think it decent to interest myself, it will certainly be on 
 the side of Mr Fairfield. Indeed, I should do so if I was 
 acquainted with both the gentlemen only by reputation; the 
 one being a neighbouring gentleman of a very large estate, a 
 very sober and sensible man, of known probity and attach- 
 
508 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 ment to the true interest of his country • the other is a mere 
 stranger, a hoy, a soldier of fortune, and, as far as I can dis¬ 
 cern from the little conversation I have had with him, of a 
 very shallow capacity, and no education.’ 
 
 ‘No education, my dear friend!’ cries the nobleman. 
 4 Why, he hath been educated in half the courts of Europe.’ 
 
 ‘Perhaps so, my lord,’ answered the doctor; ‘but I shall 
 always he so great a pedant as to call a man of no learning a 
 man of no education. And, from my own knowledge, I can 
 aver that I am persuaded there is scarce a foot-soldier in the 
 army who is more illiterate than the colonel.’ 
 
 ‘ Why, as to Latin and Greek, you know,’ replied the lord, 
 ‘ they are not much required in the army.’ 
 
 ‘ It may be so,’ said the doctor. ‘ Then let such persons 
 keep to their own profession. It is a very low civil capacity 
 indeed for which an illiterate mail can be qualified. And, 
 to speak a plain truth, if your lordship is a friend to the 
 colonel, you would do well to advise him to decline an 
 attempt in which I am certain he hath no probability of 
 success.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, sir,’ said the lord, ‘ if you are resolved against us, 
 I must deal as freely with you, and tell you plainly I cannot 
 serve you in your affair. Hay, it will be the best thing I 
 can do to hold my tongue ; for, if I should mention his name 
 with your recommendation after what you have said, he 
 would perhaps never get provided for as long as he lives.’ 
 
 ‘ Is his own merit, then, my lord, no recommendation % ’ 
 cries the doctor. 
 
 ‘ My dear, dear sir,’ cries the other, ‘ what is the merit of 
 a subaltern officer 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Surely, my lord,’ cries the doctor, ‘ it is the merit which 
 should recommend him to the post of a subaltern officer. 
 And it is a merit which will hereafter qualify him to serve 
 his country in a higher capacity. And I do assure you of 
 this young man, that he hath not only a good heart but a 
 good head too. And I have been told by those who are 
 judges that he is, for his age, an excellent officer.’ 
 
 ‘ Very probably ! ’ cries my lord. ‘ And there are abund¬ 
 ance with the same merit and the same qualifications who 
 want a morsel of bread for themselves and their families.’ 
 
 ‘ It is an infamous scandal on the nation,’ cries the doctor; 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 509 
 
 ‘ and I am heartily sorry it can he said even with a colour of 
 truth. ’ 
 
 4 How can it be otherwise ? ’ says the peer. 4 Do you think 
 it is possible to provide for all men of merit ? ’ 
 
 4 Yes, surely do 1/ said the doctor; 4 and very easily 
 too.’ 
 
 4 How, pray 'l ’ cries the lord. 4 Upon my word, I shall be 
 glad to know T .’ 
 
 4 Only by not providing for those who have none. The 
 men of merit in any capacity are not, I am afraid, so ex¬ 
 tremely numerous that we need starve any of them, unless 
 we wickedly suffer a set of worthless fellows to eat their 
 bread.’ 
 
 4 This is all mere Utopia,’ cries his lordship; 4 the chimerical 
 system of Plato’s commonwealth, with which we amused 
 ourselves at the university; politics which are inconsistent 
 with the state of human affairs.’ 
 
 4 Sure, my lord,’ cries the doctor, 4 we have read of states 
 where such doctrines have been put in practice. "What is 
 your lordship’s opinion of Rome in the earlier ages of the 
 commonwealth, of Sparta, and even of Athens itself in some 
 periods of its history 'l ’ 
 
 4 Indeed, doctor,’ cries the lord, 4 all these notions are obso¬ 
 lete and long since exploded. To apply maxims of govern¬ 
 ment drawn from the Greek and Roman histories to this 
 nation is absurd and impossible. But, if you will have 
 Roman examples, fetch them from those times of the republic 
 that were most like our own. Do you not know, doctor, 
 that this is as corrupt a nation as ever existed under the sun ? 
 And w'ould you think of governing such a people by the 
 strict principles of honesty and morality ? ’ 
 
 4 If it be so corrupt,’ said the doctor, 4 1 think it is high 
 time to amend it: or else it is easy to foresee that Roman and 
 British liberty will have the same fate; for corruption in the 
 body politic as naturally tends to dissolution as in the natural 
 body.’ 
 
 4 1 thank you for your simile/ cries my lord ; 4 for, in the 
 natural body, I believe, you will allow there is the season of 
 youth, the season of manhood, and the season of old age; 
 and that, when the last of these arrives, it will be an im¬ 
 possible attempt by all the means of art to restore the body 
 
510 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 again to its youth, or to the vigour of its middle age. The 
 same periods happen to every great kingdom. In its youth, 
 it rises by arts and arms to power and prosperity. This it 
 enjoys and flourishes with a while ; and then it maybe said 
 to be in the vigour of its age, enriched at home with all the 
 emoluments and blessings of peace, and formidable abroad 
 with all the terrors of war. At length this very prosperity 
 introduces corruption, and then <?omes on its old age. Virtue 
 and learning, art and industry, decay by degrees. The peo¬ 
 ple sink into sloth and luxury and prostitution. It is enerv¬ 
 ated at home—becomes contemptible abroad; and such 
 indeed is its misery and wretchedness, that it resembles a 
 man in the last decrepit stage of life, who looks with uncon¬ 
 cern at his approaching dissolution/ 
 
 ‘ This is a melancholy picture indeed,’ cries the doctor; 
 i and, if the latter part of it can be applied to our case, I see 
 nothing but religion, which would have prevented this 
 decrepit state of the constitution, should prevent a man of 
 spirit from hanging himself out of the way of so wretched a 
 contemplation.’ 
 
 ‘ Why so h ’ said the peer; ‘ why hang myself, doctor ] 
 Would it not be wiser, think you, to make the best of your 
 time, and the most you can, in such a nation 'l ’ 
 
 ‘ And is religion, then, to be really laid out of the ques¬ 
 tion h ’ cries the doctor. 
 
 ‘ If I am to speak my own opinion, sir,’ answered the peer, 
 ‘you know I shall answer in the negative. But you are too 
 well acquainted with the world to be told that the conduct 
 of politicians is not formed upon the principles of religion.’ 
 
 I am very sorry for it,’ cries the doctor ; ‘ but I will talk 
 to them then of honour and honesty; this is a language which 
 I hope they will at least pretend to understand. Now to 
 deny a man the preferment which he merits, and to give it 
 to another man who doth not merit it, is a manifest act of 
 injustice, and is consequently inconsistent with both honour 
 and honesty. JSTor is it only an act of injustice to the man 
 himself, but to the public, for whose good principally all 
 public offices are, or ought to be, instituted. hTow this good 
 can never be completed nor obtained but by employing all 
 persons according to their capacities. Wherever true merit 
 is liable to be superseded by favour and partiality, and men 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 511 
 
 are intrusted with offices without any regard to capacity or 
 integrity, the affairs of that state will always he in a deplor¬ 
 able situation. Such, as Livy tells us, was the state of Capua 
 a little before its final destruction, and the consequence your 
 lordship well knows. But, my lord, there is another mischief 
 which attends this kind of injustice, and that is, it hath a 
 manifest tendency to destroy all virtue and all ability among 
 the people, by taking away all that encouragement and in¬ 
 centive which should promote emulation and raise men to 
 aim at excelling in any art, science, or profession. Nor can 
 anything, my lord, contribute more to render a nation con¬ 
 temptible among its neighbours ; for what opinion can other 
 countries have of the councils, or what terror can they con¬ 
 ceive of the arms, of such a people 1 and it was chiefly owing 
 to the avoiding this error that Oliver Cromwell carried the 
 reputation of England higher than it ever was at any other 
 time. I will add only one argument more, and that is founded 
 on the most narrow and selfish system of politics; and this 
 is, that such a conduct is sure to create universal discontent 
 and grumbling at home; for nothing can bring men to rest 
 satisfied, when they see others preferred to them, but an 
 opinion that they deserve that elevation; for, as one of the 
 greatest men this country ever produced observes, 
 
 One worthless man that gains what he pretends 
 
 Disgusts a thousand unpretending friends. 
 
 With what heart-burnings then must any nation see them¬ 
 selves obliged to contribute to the support of a set of men of 
 whose incapacity to serve them they are well apprized, and 
 who do their country a double diskindness, by being them¬ 
 selves employed in posts to which they are unequal, and by 
 keeping others out of those employments for which they are 
 qualified ! ’ 
 
 ‘ And do you really think, doctor,’ cries the nobleman, 
 
 ‘ that any minister could support himself in this country 
 upon such principles as you recommend 1 Do you think he 
 would be able to baffle an opposition unless he should oblige 
 his friends by conferring places often contrary to his own 
 inclinations and his own opinion ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, really do I,’ cries the doctor. ‘Indeed, if a minister 
 is resolved to make good his confession in the liturgy, by 
 leaving undone all those things which he ought to have done ,. 
 
512 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 and by doing all those things which lie ought not to have done, 
 such, a minister, I grant, will be obliged to baffle opposition, 
 as you are pleased to term it, by these arts j for, as Shake¬ 
 speare somewhere says, 
 
 Things ill begun strengthen themselves by ill. 
 
 But if, on the contrary, he will please to consider the true 
 interest of his country, and that only in great and national 
 points ; if he will engage his country in neither alliances 
 nor quarrels but where it is really interested ; if he will 
 raise no money but what is wanted, nor employ any civil or 
 military officers but what are useful, and place in these em¬ 
 ployments men of the hightest integrity, and of the greatest 
 abilities ; if he will employ some few of his hours to advance 
 our trade, and some few more to regulate our domestic 
 government; if he would do this, my lord, I will answer 
 for it, he shall either have no opposition to baffle, or he shall 
 baffle it by a fair appeal to his conduct. Such a minister 
 may, in the language of the law, put himself on his country 
 when he pleases, and he shall come off with honour and 
 applause.’ 
 
 ‘ And do you really believe, doctor,’ cries the peer, ‘ there 
 ever was such a minister, or ever will be h ’ 
 
 ‘ Why not, my lord ? ’ answered the doctor. 4 It requires 
 no very extraordinary parts, nor any extraordinary degree of 
 virtue. He need practise no great instances of self-denial. 
 He shall have power, and honour, and riches, and, perhaps, 
 all in a much greater degree than he can ever acquire by 
 pursuing a contrary system. He shall have more of each and 
 much more of safety.’ 
 
 ‘ Pray, doctor,’ said my lord, 4 let me ask you one simple 
 question. Ho you really believe any man upon earth was 
 ever a rogue out of choice ? ’ 
 
 4 Really, my lord,’ says the doctor, 4 1 am ashamed to 
 answer in the affirmative ; and yet I am afraid experience 
 would almost justify me if I should. Perhaps the opinion 
 of the world may sometimes mislead men to think those 
 measures necessary which in reality are not so. Or the truth 
 may be, that a man of good inclinations finds his office filled 
 with such corruption by the iniquity of his predecessors, that 
 he may despair of being capable of purging it ; and so sits 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 . AMELIA. 
 
 513 
 
 down contented, as Augeas did with the filth of his stables 
 not because he thought them the better, or that such filth 
 was really necessary to a stable, but that he despaired of 
 sufficient force to cleanse them.’ 
 
 ‘ 1 will ask you one question more, and I have done,’ said 
 the nobleman. < Do you imagine that if any minister was 
 really as good as you would have him, that the people in 
 general would believe that he was so 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Truly, my lord,’ said the doctor, 1 1 think they may be 
 justified in not believing too hastily. But I beg leave to answer 
 your lordship’s question by another. Doth your lordship 
 believe that the people of Greenland, when they see the light 
 of the sun and feel his warmth, after so long a season of cold 
 and darkness, will really be persuaded that he shines upon 
 
 M y lord smiled at the conceit ; and then the doctor took 
 an opportunity to renew his suit, to which his lordship 
 answered, ‘ He would promise nothing, and could give him 
 no hopes of success; but you may be assured,’ said he, with 
 a leering countenance, ‘ X shall do him all the service in 
 my power.’ A language which the doctor well understood ; 
 and soon after took a civil, but not a very ceremonious 
 leave. 
 
514 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HISTORY OE MR TRENT. 
 
 We will now return to Mr Booth and his wife. The former 
 had spent his time very uneasily ever since he had discovered 
 what sort of man he was indebted to; but, lest he should 
 forget it, Mr Trent thought now proper to remind him in 
 the following letter, which he read the next morning after 
 he had put off the appointment. . 
 
 ‘ Sir, — I am sorry the necessity of my affairs obliges me 
 to mention that small sum which I had the honour to lend 
 you the other night at play; and which I shall be much 
 obliged to you if you will let me have some time either to¬ 
 day or to-morrow. I am, sir, 
 
 Your most obedient, most humble servant, 
 
 ‘George Trent/ 
 
 This letter a little surprized Booth, after the genteel, and, 
 indeed, as it appeared, generous behaviour of Trent. But 
 lest it should have the same effect upon the reader, we will 
 now proceed to account for this, as well as for some other 
 phenomena that have appeared in this history, and which, 
 perhaps, we shall be forgiven for not having opened more 
 largely before. 
 
 Mr Trent then was a gentleman possibly of a good family, 
 for it was not certain whence he sprung on the father’s side. 
 His mother, who was the only parent he ever knew or heard 
 of, was a single gentlewoman, and for some time carried on 
 the trade of a milliner in Covent-garden. She sent her son, 
 at the age of eight years old, to a charity-school, where he 
 remained till he was of the age of fourteen, without making 
 any great proficiency in learning. Indeed it is not very 
 probable he should; for the master, who, in preference to a 
 very learned and proper man, was chosen by a party into 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 515 
 
 this school, the salary of which was upwards of a hundred 
 pounds a-year, had himself never travelled through the Latin 
 Grammar, and was, in truth, a most consummate blockhead. 
 
 At the age of fifteen Mr Trent was put clerk to an attorney, 
 where he remained a very short time before he took leave of 
 his master; rather, indeed, departed without taking leave; 
 and, having broke open his mother’s escritoire, and carried 
 ofl with him all the valuable effects he there found, to the 
 amount of about fifty pounds, he marched off to sea, and 
 went on board a merchantman, whence he was afterwards 
 pressed into a man of war. 
 
 In this service he continued above three years; during 
 which time he behaved so ill in his moral character that he 
 twice underwent a very severe discipline for thefts in which 
 he was detected; but, at the same time, he behaved so well 
 as a sailor in an engagement with some pirates, that he wiped 
 off all former scores, and greatly recommended himself to 
 his captain. 
 
 At his return home, he being then about twenty years of 
 age, he found that the attorney had in his absence married 
 his mother, had buried her, and secured all her effects, to the 
 amount, as he was informed, of about fifteen hundred pounds. 
 I rent applied, to his stepfather, but to no purpose; the 
 attorney utterly disowned him, nor would he suffer him to 
 come a second time within his doors. 
 
 It happened that the attorney had, by a former wife, an 
 only daughter, a great favourite, who was about the same 
 age with I rent himself, and had, during his residence at her 
 father’s house, taken a very great liking to this young fellow, 
 who was extremely handsome and perfectly well made. 
 This her liking was not, during his absence, so far extinguished 
 but that it immediately revived on his return. Of this she 
 took care to give Mr Trent proper intimation; for she was not 
 one of those backward and delicate ladies who can die rather 
 than make the first overture. Trent was overjoyed at this, and 
 with reason, for she was a very lovely girl in her person, the 
 only child of a rich father; and the prospect of so complete 
 a revenge on the attorney charmed him above all the rest. 
 J o be as short in the matter as the parties, a marriage was 
 soon consummated between them. 
 
 The attorney at first raged and was implacable; but at last 
 
516 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 fondness for his daughter so far overcame resentment that 
 he advanced a sum of money to buy his son-in-law (for now 
 he acknowledged him as such) an ensign’s commission in a 
 marching regiment then ordered to Gibraltar ; at which place 
 the attorney heartily hoped that Trent might be knocked on 
 the head; for in that case he thought he might marry his 
 daughter more agreeably to his own ambition and to her 
 advantage. 
 
 The regiment into which Trent purchased was the same 
 with that in which Booth likewise served * the one being 
 an ensign, and the other a lieutenant, in the two additional 
 companies. 
 
 Trent had no blemish in his military capacity. Though 
 he had had but an indifferent education, he was naturally 
 sensible and genteel, and Nature, as we have said, had given 
 him a very agreeable person. He was likewise a very bold 
 fellow, and, as he really behaved himself every way well 
 enough while he was at Gibraltar, there was some degree of 
 intimacy between him and Booth. 
 
 When the siege was over, and the additional companies 
 were again reduced, Trent returned to his wife, who received 
 him with great joy and affection. Soon after this an accident 
 happened which proved the utter ruin of his father-in-law, 
 and ended in breaking his heart. This was nothing but 
 making a mistake pretty common at this day, of writing 
 another man’s name to a deed instead of his own. In truth 
 this matter was no less than what the law calls forgery, and 
 was just then made capital by an act of parliament. From 
 this offence, indeed, the attorney was acquitted, by not ad¬ 
 mitting the proof of the party, who was to avoid his own 
 deed by his evidence, and therefore no witness, according to 
 those excellent rules called the law of evidence; a law very 
 excellently calculated for the preservation of the lives of 
 his majesty’s roguish subjects, and most notably used for that 
 purpose. 
 
 But though by common law the attorney was honourably 
 acquitted, yet, as common sense manifested to every one that 
 he was guilty, he unhappily lost his reputation, and of con¬ 
 sequence his business ; the chagrin of which latter soon put 
 an end to his life 
 
 This prosecution had been attended with a very great ex- 
 
CH. III. 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 517 
 
 pense; for, besides the ordinary costs of avoiding the gallows 
 by the lielp of the law, there was a very high article, of no 
 less than a thousand pounds, paid down to remove out of 
 the way a witness against whom there was no legal excep¬ 
 tion. The poor gentleman had besides suffered some losses 
 in business ; so that, to the surprize of all his acquaintance, 
 when his debts were paid there remained no more than a 
 small estate of fourscore pounds a-year, which he settled upon 
 his daughter, far out of the reach of her husband, and about 
 two hundred pounds hi money. 
 
 The old gentleman had not long been in his grave before 
 Trent set himself to consider seriously of the state of his 
 affairs. He had lately begun to look on his wife with a much 
 less degree of liking and desire than formerly; for he was 
 one of those who think too much of one thing is good for 
 nothing. Indeed, he had indulged these speculations so far, 
 that I believe his wife, though one of the prettiest women 
 in town, was the last subject that he would have chose for 
 any amorous dalliance. 
 
 Many other persons, however, greatly differed from him 
 in his opinion. Amongst the rest was the illustrious peer of 
 amorous memory. This noble peer, having therefore got a 
 view of Mrs Trent one day in the street, did, by means of 
 an emissary then with him, make himself acquainted with 
 her lodging, to which he immediately laid siege in form, 
 setting himself down in a lodging directly opposite to her, 
 from whence the battery of ogles began to play the very next 
 morning. 
 
 The siege had not continued long before the governor of 
 the garrison became sufficiently apprized of all the works 
 which were carrying on, and, having well reconnoitered the 
 enemy, and discovered who he was, notwithstanding a false 
 name and some disguise of his person, he called a council of 
 war within his own breast. In fact, to drop all allegory, 
 he began to consider whether his wife was not really a more 
 valuable possession than he had lately thought her. In 
 short, as he had been disappointed in her fortune, he now 
 conceived some hopes of turning her beauty itself into a 
 fortune. 
 
 Without communicating these views to her, he soon scraped 
 an acquaintance with his opposite neighbour by the name 
 
518 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 which, he there usurped, and counterfeited an entire ignorance 
 of his real name and title. On this occasion Trent had his 
 disguise likewise, for he affected the utmost simplicity ; of 
 which affectation, as he was a very artful fellow, he was ex¬ 
 tremely capable. 
 
 The peer fell plumb into this snare; and when, by the 
 simplicity, as he imagined, of the husband, he became ac¬ 
 quainted with the wife, he was so extravagantly charmed 
 with her person, that he resolved, whatever was the cost or 
 the consequence, he would possess her. 
 
 His lordship, however, preserved some caution in his 
 management of this affair; more, perhaps, than was necessary. 
 As for the husband, none was requisite, for he knew all he 
 could; and, with regard to the wife herself, as she had for 
 some time perceived the decrease of her husband’s affection 
 (for few women are, I believe, to he imposed upon in that 
 matter), she was not displeased to find the return of all that 
 complaisance and endearment, of those looks and languish- 
 ments, from another agreeable person, which she had formerly 
 received from Trent, and which she now found she should 
 receive from him no longer. 
 
 My lord, therefore, having been indulged with as much 
 opportunity as he could wish from Trent, and having received 
 rather more encouragement than he could well have hoped 
 from the lady, began to prepare all matters for a storm, when 
 luckily, Mr Trent declaring he must go out of town for two 
 days, he fixed on the first day of his departure as the time 
 of carrying his design into execution. 
 
 And now, after some debate with himself in what manner 
 he should approach his love, he at last determined to do it 
 in his own person ; for he conceived, and perhaps very 
 rightly, that the lady, like Semele, was not void of ambition, 
 and would have preferred Jupiter in all his glory to the 
 same deity in the disguise of an humble shepherd. He 
 dressed himself, therefore, in the richest embroidery of which 
 he was master, and appeared before his mistress arrayed in 
 all the brightness of peerage; a sight whose charms she had 
 not the power to resist, and the consequences are only to he 
 imagined. In short, the same scene which Jupiter acted 
 with his above-mentioned mistress of old was more than be¬ 
 ginning when Trent hurst from the closet into which he 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 519 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 had conveyed himself, and unkindly interrupted the action. 
 
 His lordship presently ran to his sword; but Trent, with 
 great calmness, answered, ‘ That, as it was very well known 
 he durst fight, he should not draw his sword on this occasion ; 
 for sure,’ says he, * my lord, it would be the highest imprud¬ 
 ence in me to kill a man who is now become so considerably 
 my debtor.’ At which words he fetched a person from 
 the closet, who had been confined with him, telling him he 
 had done his business, and might now, if he pleased, retire. 
 
 It would be tedious here to amuse the reader with all that 
 passed on the present occasion; the rage and confusion of 
 the wife, or the perplexity in which my lord was involved. 
 We will omit therefore all such matters, and proceed directly 
 to business, as Trent and his lordship did soon after. And 
 in the conclusion my lord stipulated to pay a good round 
 sum, and to provide Mr Trent with a good place‘on the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 On the side of Mr Trent were stipulated absolute remission 
 of all past, and full indulgence for the time to come. 
 
 Trent now immediately took a house at the polite end of 
 the town, furnished it elegantly, and set up his equipage, 
 rigged out both himself and his wife with very handsome 
 clothes, frequented all public places where he could get ad¬ 
 mission, pushed himself into acquaintance, and his wife soon 
 afterwards began to keep an assembly, or, in the fashionable 
 phrase, to be at home once a-week ; when, by my lord’s 
 assistance, she was presently visited by most men of the first 
 rank, and by all such women of fashion as are not very nice 
 in their company. 
 
 My lord’s amour with this lady lasted not long ; for, as we 
 have before observed, he was the most inconstant of all 
 human race. Mrs Trent’s passion was not hoAvever of that 
 kind which leads to any very deep resentment of such fickle¬ 
 ness. Her passion, indeed, was principally founded upon 
 interest; so that foundation served to support another super¬ 
 structure ; and she was easily prevailed upon, as well as her 
 husband, to be useful to my lord in a capacity which, though 
 very often exerted in the polite world, hath not as yet, to my 
 great surprize, acquired any polite name, or, indeed, any 
 which is not too coarse to be admitted in this history. 
 
 After this preface, which we thought necessary to account 
 
520 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [be XI. 
 
 for a character of which some of my country and collegiate 
 readers might possibly doubt the existence, I shall proceed 
 to what more immediately regards Mrs Booth. The reader 
 may he pleased to remember that Mr Trent was present at 
 the assembly to which Booth and his wife were carried by 
 Mrs James, and where Amelia was met by the noble peer. 
 
 His lordship, seeing there that Booth and Trent were old 
 acquaintance, failed not, to use the language of sportsmen, 
 to put Trent upon the scent of Amelia. Bor this purpose 
 that gentleman visited Booth the very next clay, and had 
 pursued him close ever since. By his means, therefore, my 
 lord learned that Amelia was to be at the masquerade, to 
 which place she was dogged by Trent in a sailor’s jacket, 
 who, meeting my lord, according to agreement, at the en¬ 
 trance of the opera-house, like the four-legged gentleman of 
 the same vocation, made a dead point, as it Is called, at the 
 game. 
 
 My lord was so satisfied and delighted with his conversa¬ 
 tion at the masquerade with the supposed Amelia, and the 
 encouragement which in reality she had given him, that, 
 when he saw Trent the next morning, he embraced him with 
 great fondness, gave him a bank note of a hundred pounds, 
 and promised him both the Indies on his success, of which 
 he began now to have no manner of doubt. 
 
 The affair that happened at the gaming-table was likewise 
 a scheme of Trent’s, on a hint given by my lord to him to 
 endeavour to lead Booth into some scrape or distress; his 
 lordship promising to pay whatever expense Trent might be 
 led into by such means. Upon his lordship’s credit, there¬ 
 fore, the money lent to Booth was really advanced. And 
 hence arose all that seeming generosity and indifference as to 
 the payment; Trent being satisfied with the obligation con¬ 
 ferred on Booth, by means of which he hoped to effect his 
 purpose. 
 
 But now the scene was totally changed; for Mrs Atkin¬ 
 son, the morning after the quarrel, beginning seriously to 
 recollect that she had carried the matter rather too far, and 
 might really injure Amelia’s reputation, a thought to which 
 the warm pursuit of her own interest had a good deal blinded 
 her at the time, resolved to visit my lord himself, and to let 
 him into the whole story j for, as she had succeeded already 
 
CH. III.] AMELIA. 521 
 
 iii her favourite point, she thought she had not reason to fear 
 any consequence of the discovery. This resolution she im¬ 
 mediately executed. 
 
 Trent came to attend his lordship, just after Mrs Atkin¬ 
 son had left him. He found the peer in a very ill humour, 
 and brought no news to comfort or recruit his spirits ; for he 
 had himself just received a billet from Booth, with an ex¬ 
 cuse for himself and his wife, from accepting the invitation 
 at Trent’s house that evening, where matters had been pre¬ 
 viously concerted for their entertainment, and when his 
 lordship was by accident to drop into the room where Amelia 
 was, while Booth was to be engaged at play in another. 
 
 And now after much debate, and after Trent had ac¬ 
 quainted my lord with the wretched situation of Booth’s cir¬ 
 cumstances, it was resolved that Trent should immediately 
 demand his money of Booth, and upon his not paying it, for 
 they both concluded it impossible he should pay it, to put 
 the note which Trent had for the money in suit against him, 
 by the genteel means of paying it away to a nominal third 
 person ; and this they both conceived must end immediately 
 in the ruin of Booth, and, consequently, in the conquest of 
 Amelia. 
 
 In this project, and with this hope, both my lord and his 
 setter, or (if the sportsmen please) setting-dog, both greatly 
 exulted; and it was next morning executed, as we have al¬ 
 ready seen. 
 
522 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME DISTEESS. 
 
 Trent’s letter drove Booth almost to madness. To be in¬ 
 debted to such a fellow at any rate bad stuck much in his 
 stomach, and had given him very great uneasiness; hut to 
 answer this demand in any other manner than by paying the 
 money, was absolutely what he could not hear. Again, to 
 pay this money, he very plainly saw there was hut one way; 
 and this was, by stripping his wife, not only of every far¬ 
 thing, hut almost of every rag she had in the world; a 
 thought so dreadful that it chilled his very soul with 
 horror : and yet pride, at last, seemed to represent this as the 
 lesser evil of the two. 
 
 But how to do this was still a question. It was not sure, 
 at least he feared it was not, that Amelia herself would 
 readily consent to this ; and so far from persuading her to 
 such a measure, he could not hear even to propose it. At 
 length his determination was to acquaint his wife with the 
 whole affair, and to ask her consent, by way of asking her 
 advice; for he was well assured she could find no other 
 means of extricating him out of his dilemma. This he ac¬ 
 cordingly did, representing the affair as had as he could; 
 though, indeed, it was impossible for him to aggravate the 
 real truth. 
 
 Amelia heard him patiently, without once interrupting 
 him. When he had finished she remained silent some time : 
 indeed, the shock she received from this story almost deprived 
 her of the power of speaking. At last she answered, 1 Well, 
 my dear, you ask my advice ; I certainly can give you no 
 other than that the money must he paid.’ 
 
 ‘ But how must it be paid 1 ’ cries he. ‘ 0 heavens ! thou 
 sweetest creature ! what, not once upbraid me for bringing 
 this ruin on thee 1 
 
 ‘ Upbraid you, my dear ! ’ says she — 1 Would to Heaven I 
 could prevent your upbraiding yourself. But do not despair. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 523 
 
 CH. IY.] 
 
 I will endeavour by some means or other to get you the 
 money.’ 
 
 ‘ Alas ! my dear love/ cries Booth, ‘ I know the only way 
 by which you can raise it. How can I consent to that 1 do 
 you forget the fears you so lately expressed of what would 
 be our 'wretched condition when our little all was mouldered 
 away 1 0 my Amelia ! they cut my very heart-strings when 
 
 you spoke then ; for I had then lost this little all. Indeed, 
 I assure you, I have not played since, nor ever will more.’ 
 
 ‘ Keep that resolution/ said she, ‘ my dear, and I hope we 
 shall yet recover the past.’—At which words, casting her 
 eyes on the children, the tears burst from her eyes, and she 
 cried,— ‘Heaven will, I hope, provide for us.’ 
 
 A pathetic scene now ensued between the husband and 
 wife, which would not, perhaps, please many readers to see 
 drawn at too full a length. It is sufficient to say that this 
 excellent woman not only used her utmost endeavours to stifle 
 and conceal her own concern, but said and did everything 
 in her power to allay that of her husband. 
 
 Booth was, at this time, to meet a person whom we have 
 formerly mentioned in the course of our history. This gen¬ 
 tleman had a place in the war office, and pretended to be a 
 man of great interest and consequence; by which means he 
 did not only receive great respect and court from the inferior 
 officers, but actually bubbled several of their money, by un¬ 
 dertaking to do them services which, in reality, were not 
 within his power. In truth, I have known few great men 
 who have not been beset with one or more such fellows as 
 these, through whom the inferior part of mankind are obliged 
 to make their court to the great men themselves ; by which 
 means, I believe, principally, persons of real merit have been 
 often deterred from the attempt; for these subaltern cox¬ 
 combs ever assume an equal state with their masters, and 
 look for an equal degree of respect to be paid. to them; to 
 which men of spirit, who are in every light their betters, are 
 not easily brought to submit. These fellows, indeed, them¬ 
 selves have a jealous eye towards all great abilities, and are 
 sure, to the utmost of their power, to keep all who are so en¬ 
 dowed from the presence of their masters. They use their 
 masters as bad ministers have sometimes used a prince—they 
 keep all men of merit from his ears, and daily sacrifice his 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 524 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 true honour and interest to their own profit and their own 
 vanity. 
 
 As soon as Booth was gone to his appointment with this 
 man, Amelia immediately betook herself to her business with 
 the highest resolution. She packed up, not only her own 
 little trinkets, and those of the children, but the greatest part 
 of her own poor clothes (for she was but barely provided), 
 and then drove in a hackney-coach to the same pawnbroker’s 
 who had before been recommended to her by Mrs Atkinson, 
 who advanced her the money she deshed. 
 
 Being now provided with her sum, she returned well 
 pleased home, and her husband coming in soon after, she 
 with much cheerfulness delivered him all the money. 
 
 Booth was so overjoyed with the prospect of discharging 
 his debt to Trent, that he did not perfectly reflect on the 
 distress to which his family was now reduced. The good- 
 humour which appeared in the countenance of Amelia was, 
 perhaps, another help to stifle those reflexions; but, above 
 all, were the assurances he had received from the great man, 
 whom he had met at a coffee-house, and who had promised 
 to do him all the service in his power; which several half- 
 pay subaltern officers assured him was very considerable. 
 
 With this comfortable news he acquainted his wife, who 
 either was, or seemed to be, extremely well pleased with it. 
 And now he set out with the money in his pocket to pay 
 his friend Trent, who unluckily for him happened not to be 
 at home. 
 
 On his return home he met his old friend the lieutenant, 
 who thankfully paid him his crown, and insisted on his going 
 with him and taking part of a bottle. This invitation was 
 so eager and pressing, that poor Booth, who could not resist 
 much importunity, complied. 
 
 While they were over this bottle Booth acquainted his 
 friend with the promises he had received that afternoon at 
 the coffee-house, with which the old gentleman was very well 
 pleased : ‘Bor I have heard/ says he, ‘ that gentleman hath 
 very powerful interest ; ’ but he informed him likewise that 
 he had heard that the great man must be touched, for that 
 he never did anything without touching. Of this, indeed, 
 the great man himself had given some oblique hints, by say¬ 
 ing, with great sagacity and slyness, that he knew where 
 fifty pound might be deposited to much advantage. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 525 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 Booth answered that he would very readily advance a 
 small sum if he had it in his power, but that at present it 
 was not so, for that he had no more in the world than the 
 sum of fifty pounds, which he owed Trent, and which he in¬ 
 tended to pay him the next morning. 
 
 ‘ It is very right, undoubtedly, to pay your debts,’ says 
 the old gentleman ; ‘ but sure, on such an occasion, any man 
 but the rankest usurer would be contented to stay a little 
 while for his money; and it will be only a little while I am 
 convinced; for, if you deposit this sum in the great man’s 
 hands, I make no doubt but you will succeed immediately 
 in getting your commission; and then I will help you to a 
 method of taking up such a sum as this.’ The old gentle¬ 
 man persisted in this advice, and backed it with every argu¬ 
 ment he could invent, declaring, as was indeed true, that he 
 gave the same advice which he would pursue was the case 
 his own. 
 
 Booth long rejected the opinion of his friend, till, as they 
 had not argued with dry lips, he became heated with wine, 
 and then at last the old gentleman succeeded. Indeed, such 
 was his love, either for Booth or for his own opinion, and 
 perhaps for both, that he omitted nothing in his power. He 
 even endeavoured to palliate the character of Trent, and “un¬ 
 said half what he had before said of that gentleman. In the 
 end, he undertook to make Trent easy, and to go to him the 
 very next morning for that purpose. 
 
 Poor Booth at last yielded, though with the utmost diffi¬ 
 culty. Indeed, had he known quite as much of Trent as the 
 reader doth, no motive whatsoever would have prevailed on 
 him to have taken the old gentleman’s advice. 
 
526 
 
 AMELIA, 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 CONTAINING MORE WORMWOOD AND OTHER INGREDIENTS. 
 
 In the morning Booth communicated the matter to Amelia, 
 who told him she would not presume to advise him in an 
 affair of which he was so much the better judge. 
 
 While Booth remained in a doubtful state what conduct 
 to pursue Bound came to make him a visit, and informed 
 him that he had been at Trent’s house, but found him not at 
 home, adding that he would pay him a second visit that very 
 day, and would not rest till he found him. 
 
 Booth was ashamed to confess his wavering resolution in 
 an affair in which he had been so troublesome to his friend; 
 he therefore dressed himself immediately, and together they 
 both went to wait on the little great man, to whom Booth 
 now hoped to pay his court in the most effectual manner. 
 
 Bound had been longer acquainted with the modem 
 methods of business than Booth; he advised his friend, 
 therefore, to begin with tipping (as it is called) the great 
 man’s servant. He did so, and by that means got speedy 
 access to the master. 
 
 The great man received the money, not as a gudgeon doth 
 a bait, but as a pike receives a poor gudgeon into his maw. 
 To say the truth, such fellows as these may well be likened 
 to that voracious fish, who fattens himself by devouring all 
 the little inhabitants of the river. As soon as the great man 
 had pocketed the cash he shook Booth by the hand, and told 
 him he would be sure to slip no opportunity of serving him, 
 and would send him word as soon as any offered. 
 
 Here I shall stop one moment, and so, perhaps, will my 
 good-natured reader; for surely it must be a hard heart whicli 
 is not affected with reflecting on the manner in which this 
 poor little sum was raised, and on the manner in which it 
 was bestowed. A worthy family, the wife and children of a 
 man who had lost his blood abroad in the service of his 
 country, parting with their little all, and exposed to cold and 
 hunger, to pamper such a fellow as this ! 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 527 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 And if any such, reader as I mention should happen to he 
 in reality a great man, and in power, perhaps the horror of 
 this picture may induce him to put a final end to this abomin¬ 
 able practice of touching, as it is called ; by which, indeed, a 
 set of leeches are permitted to suck the blood of the brave 
 and the indigent, of the widow and the orphan. 
 
 Booth now returned home, where he found his wife with 
 Mrs James. Amelia had, before the arrival of her husband, 
 absolutely refused Mrs James’s invitation to dinner the next 
 day; but when Booth came in the lady renewed her applica¬ 
 tion, and that in so pressing a manner, that Booth seconded 
 her; for, though he had enough of jealousy in his temper, 
 yet such was his friendship to the colonel, and such his 
 gratitude to the obligations which he had received from him, 
 that his own unwillingness to believe anything of him, co¬ 
 operating with Amelia’s endeavours to put everything in the 
 fairest light, had brought him to acquit his friend of any ill 
 design. To this, perhaps, the late affair concerning my lord 
 had moreover contributed • for it seems to me that the same 
 passion cannot much energize on two different objects at one 
 and the same time: an observation which, I believe, will 
 hold as true with regard to the cruel passions of jealousy and 
 anger as to the gentle passion of love, in which one great and 
 mighty object is sure to engage the whole passion. 
 
 When Booth grew importunate, Amelia answered, ‘My 
 dear, I should not refuse you whatever was in my power; 
 but this is absolutely out of my power; for since I must 
 declare the truth, I cannot dress myself.’ 
 
 ‘ Why so 1 ’ said Mrs James. 1 1 am sure you are in 
 good health.’ 
 
 ‘ Is there no other impediment to dressing but want of 
 health, madam ? ’ answered Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Upon my word, none that I know of,’ replied Mrs James. 
 
 ‘ What do you think of want of clothes, madam ? ’ said 
 Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Itidiculous ! ’ cries Mrs James. ‘ What need have you to * 
 dress yourself out ? You will see nobody but our own family, 
 and I promise you I don’t expect. it. A plain night-gown 
 will do very well.’ 
 
 ‘ But if I must be plain with you, madam,’ said Amelia, 
 
 1 1 have no other clothes but what I have now on mv back. 
 
528 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 I have not even a clean shift in the world; for you must 
 know, my dear,’ said she to Booth, ‘that little Betty is 
 walked off this morning, and hath carried all my linen with 
 
 her.’ # 
 
 ‘ How, my dear 1 ’ cries Booth \ ‘ little Betty robbed you . 
 
 ‘ It is even so,’ answered Amelia. Indeed, she spoke 
 truth; for little Betty, having perceived the evening before 
 that her mistress was moving her goods, was willing to lend 
 all the assistance in her power, and had accordingly moved 
 off early that morning, taking with her whatever she could 
 
 lay her hands on. 
 
 Booth expressed himself with some passion on the occa¬ 
 sion, and swore he would make an example of the girl. If 
 the little slut be above-ground,’ cried he, ‘ I will find her out, 
 and bring her to justice.’ 
 
 ‘ I am really sorry for this accident,’ said Mrs James, ‘ and 
 (though I know not how to mention it) I beg you 11 give me 
 ieave to offer you any linen of mine till you can make new 
 of your own.’ 
 
 Amelia thanked Mrs James, but declined the favour, 
 saying, she should do well enough at home; and that, as she 
 had no servant now to take care of her children, she could 
 not, nor would not, leave them on any account. 
 
 ( Then bring master and miss with you/ said Mrs James. 
 
 4 You shall positively dine with us to-morrow.’ 
 
 ‘ I beg, madam, you will mention it no more, said Amelia , 
 < for, besides the substantial reasons I have already given, I 
 have some things on my mind at present which make me unfit 
 for company \ and I am resolved nothing shall prevail on me 
 
 to stir from home.’ 
 
 Mrs James had carried her invitation already to the very 
 utmost limits of good breeding, if prot beyond them. She 
 desisted therefore from going any further, and, after some 
 short stay longer, took her leave, with many expressions of 
 concern, which, however, great as it was, left her heart and 
 her mouth together before she was out of the house. 
 
 Booth now declared that he would go in pursuit of little 
 Betty, against whom he vowed so much vengeance, that 
 Amelia endeavoured to moderate his anger by representing to 
 him the girl’s youth, and that this was the first fault she had 
 ever been guilty of. ‘Indeed,’ sa} r s she, ‘I should be \ ei^ 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 529 
 
 glad to have my things again, and I would have the girl too 
 punished in some degree, which might possibly he for her 
 own good; hut I tremble to think of taking away her life; ’ 
 for Booth in his rage had sworn he would hang her. 
 
 I know the tenderness of your heart, my dear,’ said 
 Booth, ‘ and I love you for it; hut I must heg leave to dis¬ 
 sent from your opinion. I do not think the girl in any light 
 an object of mercy. She is not only guilty of dishonesty 
 hut of cruelty; for she must know our situation, and the very 
 little we had left. She is besides guilty of ingratitude to 
 you, who have treated her with so much kindness, that you 
 have rather acted the part of a mother than of a mistress. 
 And, so far from thinking her youth an excuse, I think it 
 rather an aggravation. It is true, indeed, there are faults 
 which the youth of the party very strongly recommends to 
 our j)ardon. Such are all those which proceed from careless¬ 
 ness and want of thought; hut crimes of this black dye, 
 which are committed with deliberation, and imply a bad 
 mind, deserve a more severe punishment in a young person 
 than in one of riper years; for what must the mind be in 
 old age which hath acquired such a degree of perfection in 
 villany so very early 1 Such persons as these it is really a 
 charity to the public to put out of society; and, indeed, a 
 religious man would put them out of the world for the sake 
 of themselves; for whoever understands anything of human 
 nature must know that such people, the longer they live, the 
 more they will accumulate vice and wickedness.’ 
 
 ‘Well, my dear,’ cries Amelia, ‘ I cannot argue with you 
 on these subjects. I shall always submit to your superior 
 judgment, and I know you too well to think that you will 
 ever do anything cruel.’ 
 
 Booth then left Amelia to take care of her children, and 
 went in pursuit of the thief. 
 
 34 
 
530 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A SCENE OF THE TEAGIC KIND. 
 
 He had not been long gone before a thundering knock was 
 heard at the door of the house where Amelia lodged, and 
 presently after a figure all pale, ghastly, and almost breath¬ 
 less, rushed into the room where she then was with her 
 children. 
 
 This figure Amelia soon recognized to be Mrs Atkinson, 
 though indeed she was so disguised that at her first entrance 
 Amelia scarce knew her. Her eyes were sunk in her head, 
 her hair dishevelled, and not only her dress but every feature 
 in her face was in the utmost disorder. 
 
 Amelia was greatly shocked at this sight, and the little 
 girl was much frightened; as for the boy, he immediately 
 knew her, and, running to Amelia, he cried, ‘ La ! mamma, 
 what is the matter with poor Mrs Atkinson ? ’ 
 
 As soon as Mrs Atkinson recovered her breath she cried 
 out, ‘ 0, Mrs Booth ! I am the most miserable of women—• 
 I have lost the best of husbands.’ 
 
 Amelia, looking at her with all the tenderness imaginable, 
 forgetting, I believe, that there had ever been any quarrel 
 between them, said—‘ Good Heavens, madam, what’s the 
 matter 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ 0, Mrs Booth! ’ answered she, ‘ I fear I have lost my 
 husband : the doctor says there is but little hope of his life. 
 0, madam ! however I have been in the wrong, I am sure 
 you will forgive me and pity me. I am sure I am severely 
 punished; for to that cursed affair I owe all my misery.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, madam,’ cries Amelia, ‘ I am extremely concerned 
 for your misfortune. But pray tell me, hath anything hap¬ 
 pened to the serjeant 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ 0, madam ! ’ cries she, ‘ I have the greatest reason to fear 
 I shall lose him. The doctor hath almost given him over— 
 he says he hath scarce any hopes. 0, madam ! that evening 
 that the fatal quarrel happened between us my dear captain 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 531 
 
 took it so to heart that he sat up all night and drank a whole 
 bottle of brandy. Indeed, he said he wished to kill himself ; 
 for nothing could have hurt him so much in the world, he 
 said, as to have any quarrel between you and me. His concern, 
 and what he drank together, threw him into a high fever. So 
 that, when I came home from my lord’s—(for indeed, madam, 
 I have been, and set all to rights—your reputation is now in 
 no danger)—when I came home, I say, I found the poor man 
 in a raving delirious fit, and in that he hath continued ever 
 since till about an hour ago, when he came perfectly to his 
 senses; but now he says he is sure he shall die, and begs for 
 Heaven’s sake to see you first. Would you, madam, would you 
 have the goodness to grant my poor captain’s desire 1 consider 
 he is a dying man, and neither he nor I shall ever ask you a 
 second favour. He says he hath something to say to you 
 that he can mention to no other person, and that he cannot 
 die in peace unless he sees you.’ 
 
 ‘Upon my word, madam,’ cries Amelia, ‘I am extremely 
 concerned at what you tell me. I knew the poor serjeant 
 from his infancy, and always had an affection for him, as I 
 think him to be one of the best-natured and honestest 
 creatures upon earth. I am sure if I could do him any 
 service—but of what use can my going be h ’ 
 
 ‘ Of the highest in the world,’ answered Mrs Atkinson. 
 
 ‘ If you knew how earnestly he entreated it, how his poor 
 breaking heart begged to see you, you would not refuse.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, I do not absolutely refuse,’ cries Amelia. ‘ Some¬ 
 thing to say to me of consequence, and that he could not 
 die in peace unless he said it! did he say that, Mrs Atkinson % ’ 
 
 ‘ Upon my honour he did,’ answered she, ‘ and much more 
 than I have related.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I will go with you,’ cries Amelia. ‘ I cannot guess 
 what this should be ; but I will go.’ 
 
 Mrs Atkinson then poured out a thousand blessings and 
 thanksgivings; and, taking hold of Amelia’s hand, and 
 eagerly kissing it, cried out, * How could that fury passion 
 drive me to quarrel with such a creature ] ’ 
 
 Amelia told her she had forgiven and forgot it; and then, 
 calling up the mistress of the house, and committing to her 
 the care of the children, she cloaked herself up as well as 
 she could and set out with Mrs Atkinson. 
 
532 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 When they arrived at the house, Mrs Atkinson said she 
 would go first and give the captain some notice; for that, if 
 Amelia entered the room unexpectedly, the surprize might 
 have an ill effect. She left therefore Amelia in the parlour, 
 and proceeded directly up-stairs. 
 
 Poor Atkinson, weak and bad as was his condition, no 
 sooner heard that Amelia was come than he discovered great 
 joy in his countenance, and presently afterwards she was in¬ 
 troduced to him. 
 
 Atkinson exerted his utmost strength to thank her for 
 this goodness to a dying man (for so he called himself). He 
 said he should not have presumed to give her this trouble, 
 had he not had something which he thought of consequence 
 to say to her, and which he could not mention to any other 
 person. He then desired his wife to give him a little box, 
 of which he always kept the key himself, and afterwards 
 begged her to leave the room for a few minutes; at which 
 neither she nor Amelia expressed any dissatisfaction. 
 
 When he was alone with Amelia, he spoke as follows: 
 ‘ This, madam, is the last time my eyes will ever behold what 
 -—do pardon me, madam, I will never offend you more.’ 
 Here he sunk down in his bed, and the tears gushed from 
 his eyes. 
 
 ‘Why should you fear to offend me, JoeP said Amelia. 
 ‘ I am sure you never did anything willingly to offend me.’ 
 
 ‘ No, madam,* answered he, ‘ I would die a thousand 
 times before I would have ventured it in the smallest mat¬ 
 ter. But—I cannot speak—and yet I must. You cannot 
 pardon me, and yet, perhaps, as I am a dying man, and never 
 shall see you more—indeed, if I was to live after this dis¬ 
 covery, I should never dare to look you in the face again; 
 and yet, madam, to think I shall never see you more is worse 
 than ten thousand deaths.* 
 
 ‘ Indeed, Mr Atkinson,’ cries Amelia, blushing, and look¬ 
 ing down on the floor, ‘ I must not hear you talk in this 
 manner. If you have anything to say, tell it me, and do 
 not be afraid of my anger; for I think I may promise to 
 forgive whatever it was possible you should do.’ 
 
 ‘ Here then, madam,’ said he, ‘ is your picture; I stole it 
 when I was eighteen years of age, and have kept it ever 
 since. It is set in gold, with three little diamonds; and yet 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 533 
 
 CH. VI.] 
 
 I can truly say it was not the gold nor the diamonds which 
 I stole—it was that face; which, if I had been the emperor 
 of the world—’ 
 
 * I must not hear any more of this,’ said she. ‘ Comfort 
 yourself, Joe, and think no more of this matter. Be assured, 
 I freely and heartily forgive you—But pray compose your 
 self; come, let me call in your wife.’ 
 
 ‘ First, madam, let me beg one favour,’ cried he: ‘ consider 
 it is the last, and then I shall die in peace—let me kiss that 
 hand before I die.’ 
 
 * Well, nay,’ says she, ‘ I don’t know what I am doing— 
 well—there.’ She then carelessly gave him her hand, which 
 he put gently to his lips, and then presently let it drop, and 
 fell back in the bed. 
 
 Amelia now summoned Mrs Atkinson, who was indeed no 
 further off than just without the door. She then hastened 
 down-stairs, and called for a great glass of water, which 
 having drank off, she threw herself into a chair, and the tears 
 ran plentifully from her eyes with compassion for the poor 
 wretch she had just left in his bed. 
 
 To say the truth, without any injury to her chastity, that 
 heart, which had stood firm as a rock to all the attacks of 
 title and equipage, of finery and flattery, and which all the 
 treasures of the universe could not have purchased, was yet 
 a little softened by the plain, honest, modest, involuntary, 
 delicate, heroic passion of this poor and humble swain ; for 
 whom, in spite of herself, she felt a momentary tenderness 
 and complacence, at which Booth, if he had known it, would 
 perhaps have been displeased. 
 
 Having staid some time in the parlour, and not finding 
 Mrs Atkinson come down, (for indeed her husband was then 
 so bad she could not quit him,) Amelia left a message with 
 the maid of the house for her mistress, purporting that she 
 should be ready to do anything in her power to serve her, 
 and then left the house with a confusion on her mind that 
 she had never felt before, and which any chastity that is not 
 hewn out of marble must feel on so tender and delicate an 
 
 occasion. 
 
534 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XI. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR BOOTH MEETS WITH MORE THAN ONE 
 
 ADYENTTJRE. 
 
 Booth, having hunted about for two hours, at last saw a 
 young lady in a tattered silk gown stepping out of a shop in 
 Monmouth-street into a hackney-coach. This lady, notwith¬ 
 standing the disguise of her dress, he presently discovered 
 to he no other than little Betty. 
 
 He instantly gave the alarm of stop thief, stop coach ! upon 
 which Mrs Betty was immediately stopt in her vehicle, and 
 Booth and his myrmidons laid hold of her. 
 
 The girl no sooner found that she was seized by her master 
 than the consciousness of her guilt overpowered her; for she 
 was not yet an experienced offender, and she immediately 
 confessed her crime. 
 
 She was then carried before a justice of peace, where she 
 was searched, and there was found in her possession four 
 shillings and sixpence in money, besides the silk gown, which 
 was indeed proper furniture for rag-fair, and scarce worth a 
 single farthing, though the honest shopkeeper in Monmouth- 
 street had sold it for a crown to this simple girl. 
 
 The girl, being examined by the magistrate, spoke as 
 follows :—‘ Indeed, sir, an’t please your worship, I am very 
 sorry for what I have done ; and to be sure, ap’t please your 
 honour, my lord, it must have been the devil that put me 
 upon it; for to be sure, please your majesty, I never thought 
 upon such a thing in my whole life before, any more than 
 I did of my dying-day; but, indeed, sir, an’t please your 
 worship—’ 
 
 She was running on in this manner when the justice 
 interrupted her, and desired her to give an account , of what 
 she had taken from her master, and what she had done 
 with it. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, an’t please your majesty/ said she, ‘1 took no 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 535 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 more than two shifts of madam’s, and I pawned them for 
 five shillings, which I gave for the gown that’s upon my 
 hack; and as for the money in my pocket, it is every farthing 
 of it my own. I am sure I intended to carry back the 
 shifts too as soon as ever I could get money to take them 
 out.’ 
 
 The girl having told them where the pawnbroker lived, 
 the justice sent to him, to produce the shifts, which he 
 presently did ; for he expected that a warrant to search his 
 house would be the consequence of his refusal. 
 
 The shifts being produced, on which the honest pawnbroker 
 had lent five shillings, appeared plainly to be worth above 
 thirty; indeed, when new they had cost much more : so 
 that, by their goodness as well as by their size, it was certain 
 they could not have belonged to the girl. Booth grew very 
 warm against the pawnbroker. i I hope, sir,’ said he to the 
 justice, ‘ there is some punishment for this fellow likewise, 
 who so plainly appears to have known that these goods were 
 stolen. The shops of these fellows may indeed be called the 
 fountains of theft; for it is in reality the encouragement 
 which they meet with from these receivers of their goods 
 that induces men very often to become thieves, so that 
 these deserve equal if not severer punishment than the 
 thieves themselves.’ 
 
 The pawnbroker protested his innocence, and denied the 
 taking in the shifts. Indeed, in this he spoke truth, for he 
 had slipt into an inner room, as was always his custom on 
 these occasions, and left a little boy to do the business ; by 
 which means he had carried on the trade of receiving stolen 
 goods for many years with impunity, and had been twice 
 acquitted at the Old Bailey, though the juggle appeared upon 
 the most manifest evidence. 
 
 As the justice was going to speak he was interrupted by 
 the girl, who, falling upon her knees to Booth, with many 
 tears begged his forgiveness. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, Betty,’ cries Booth, 4 you do not deserve forgive¬ 
 ness ; for you know very good reasons why you should not 
 have thought of robbing your mistress, particularly at this 
 time. And what farther aggravates your crime is, that you 
 robbed the best and kindest mistress in the world. hTay, you 
 are not only guilty of felony, but of a felonious breach of 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 536 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 trust, for you know very well everything your mistress had 
 was intrusted to your care.’ 
 
 Now it happened, by very great accident, that the justice 
 before whom the girl was brought understood the law. 
 Turning therefore to Booth, he said, ‘ Do you say, sir, that 
 this girl was intrusted with the shifts ? ’ 
 
 ‘Yes, sir/ said Booth, ‘she was intrusted with every¬ 
 thing.’ 
 
 ‘ And will you swear that the goods stolen/ said the just¬ 
 ice, ‘ are worth forty shillings 1 ’ 
 
 ‘hTo, indeed, sir/ answered Booth, ‘nor that they are 
 worthy thirty either.’ 
 
 ‘ Then, sir/ cries the justice, ‘ the girl cannot be guilty of 
 felony.’ 
 
 ‘ How, sir/ said Booth, ‘ is it not a breach of trust 1 
 and is not a breach of trust felony, and the worst felony 
 too 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ No, sir/ answered the justice ; ‘ a breach of trust is no 
 crime in our law, unless it be in a servant; and then the act 
 of parliament requires the goods taken to be of the value of 
 forty shillings.’ 
 
 ‘ So then a servant/ cries Booth, ‘ may rob his master of 
 thirty-nine shillings whenever he pleases, and he can’t be 
 punished.’ 
 
 ‘If the goods are under his care, he can’t,’ cries the 
 justice. 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon, sir/ says Booth. ‘ I do not doubt 
 what you say; but sure this is a very extraordinary law.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps I think so too/ said the justice; ‘ but it belongs 
 not to my office to make or to mend laws. My business is 
 only to execute them. If therefore the case be as you say, 
 I must discharge the girl.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope, however, you will punish the pawnbroker/ cries 
 Booth. 
 
 ‘ If the girl is discharged/ cries the justice, ‘ so must be 
 the pawnbroker; for, if the goods are not stolen, he cannot 
 be guilty of receiving them knowing them to be stolen. 
 And, besides, as to his offence, to say the truth, I am almost 
 weary of prosecuting it; for such are the difficulties laid in 
 the way of this prosecution, that it is almost impossible to 
 convict any one on it. And, to speak my opinion plainly, 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 537 
 
 CH. VII.] 
 
 such are the laws, and such the method of proceeding, that 
 one would almost think our laws were rather made for the 
 protection of rogues than for the punishment of them/ 
 
 Thus ended this examination: the thief and the receiver 
 went about their business, and Booth departed in order to 
 go home to his wife. 
 
 In his way home Booth was met by a lady in a chair, 
 who, immediately upon seeing him, stopt her chair, bolted 
 out of it, and, going direetly up to him, said, ‘ So, Mr Booth, 
 you have kept your word with me/ 
 
 This lady was no other than Miss Matthews, and the speech 
 she meant was of a promise made to her at the masquerade 
 of visiting her within a day or two; which, whether he ever 
 intended to keep I cannot say, but, in truth, the several 
 accidents that had since happened to him had so discomposed 
 his mind that he had absolutely forgot it. 
 
 Booth, however, was too sensible and too well-bred to 
 make the excuse of forgetfulness to a lady; nor could he 
 readily find any other. While he stood therefore hesitating, 
 and looking not over-wise, Miss Matthews said, * Well, sir, 
 since by your confusion I see you have some grace left, I 
 will pardon you on one condition, and that is that you will 
 sup with me this night. But, if you fail me now, expect all 
 the revenge of an injured woman/ She then bound herself 
 by a most outrageous oath that she would complain to his 
 wife—‘ And I am sure/ says she, ‘ she is so much a woman 
 of honour as to do me justice. And, though I miscarried 
 in my first attempt, be assured I will take care of my 
 second/ 
 
 Booth asked what she meant by ner first attempt: to 
 which she answered that she had already writ his wife an 
 account of his ill-usage of her, but that she was pleased it 
 had miscarried. She then repeated her asseveration that she 
 would now do it effectually if he disappointed her. 
 
 This threat she reckoned would most certainly terrify poor 
 Booth; and, indeed, she was not mistaken; for I believe it 
 would have been impossible, by any other menace or by any 
 other means, to have brought him once even to balance in 
 his mind on this question. But by this threat she prevailed ; 
 and Booth promised, upon his word and honour, to come to 
 her at the hour she appointed. After which she took leave 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 538 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 of him with a squeeze by the hand, and a smiling counte¬ 
 nance, and walked back to her chair. 
 
 But, however she might be pleased with having obtained 
 this promise, Booth was far from being delighted with the 
 thoughts of having given it. He looked, indeed, upon the 
 consequences of this meeting with horror; but, as to the 
 consequence which was so apparently intended by the lady, 
 he resolved against it. At length he came to this determina¬ 
 tion, to go according to his appointment, to argue the matter 
 with the lady, and to convince her, if possible, that, from a 
 regard to his honour only, he must discontinue her acquaint¬ 
 ance. If this failed to satisfy her, and she still persisted in 
 her threats to acquaint his wife with the affair, he then re¬ 
 solved, whatever pains it cost him, to communicate the whole 
 truth himself to Amelia, from whose goodness he doubted 
 not but to obtain an absolute remission. 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 539 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN WHICH AMELIA APPEAES IN A LIGHT MOEE AMIABLE 
 
 THAN GAT. 
 
 % 
 
 We will now return to Amelia, whom we left in some per¬ 
 turbation of mind departing from Mrs Atkinson. 
 
 Though she had before walked through the streets in a 
 very improper dress with Mrs Atkinson, she was unwilling, 
 especially as she was alone, to return in the same manner. 
 Indeed, she was scarce able to walk in her present con¬ 
 dition ; for the case of poor Atkinson had much affected 
 her tender heart, and her eyes had overflown with many 
 tears. 
 
 It occurred likewise to her at present that she had not a 
 single shilling in her pocket or at home to provide food for 
 herself and her family. In this situation she resolved to go 
 immediately to the pawnbroker whither she had gone before, 
 and to deposit her picture for what she could raise upon it. 
 She then immediately took a chair and put her design in 
 execution. 
 
 The intrinsic value of the gold in which this picture was 
 set, and of the little diamonds which surrounded it, amounted 
 to nine guineas. This therefore was advanced to her, and 
 the prettiest face in the world (such is often the fate of 
 beauty) was deposited, as of no value, into the bargain. 
 
 When she came home she found the following letter from 
 Mrs Atkinson :— 
 
 * My deaeest Madam,— As I know your goodness, I could 
 not delay a moment acquainting you with the happy turn of 
 my affairs since you went. The doctor, on his return to 
 visit my husband, has assured me that the captain was on 
 the recovery, and in very little danger; and I really think 
 he is since mended. I hope to wait on you soon with better 
 news. Heaven bless you, dear madam ! and believe me to 
 be, with the utmost sincerity, 
 
 Your most obliged, obedient, humble servant, 
 
 ‘ Atkinson.’ 
 
540 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 Amelia was really pleased witli tliis letter; and now, it 
 being past four o’clock, she despaired of seeing her husband 
 till the evening. She therefore provided some tarts for 
 her children, and then, eating nothing but a slice of bread 
 and butter herself, she began to prepare for the captain’s 
 supper. 
 
 There were two things of which her husband was particu¬ 
 larly fond, which, though it may bring the simplicity of his 
 taste into great contempt with some of my readers, I will 
 venture to name. These were a fowl and egg sauce and 
 mutton broth; both which Amelia immediately purchased. 
 
 As soon as the clock struck seven the good creature went 
 down into the kitchen, and began to exercise her talents in 
 cookery, of which she was a great mistress, as she was of 
 every economical office from the highest to the lowest; and, 
 as no woman could outshine her in a drawing-room, so none 
 could make the drawing-room itself shine brighter than 
 Amelia. And, if I may speak a bold truth, I question 
 whether it be possible to view this fine creature in a more 
 amiable light than while she was dressing her husband’s 
 supper, with her little children playing round her. 
 
 It was now half an hour past eight, and the meat almost 
 ready, the table likewise neatly spread with materials 
 borrowed from her landlady, and she began to grow a little 
 uneasy at Booth’s not returning when a sudden knock at the 
 door roused her spirits, and she cried, ‘ There, my dear, there 
 is your good papa; ’ at which words she darted swiftly up¬ 
 stairs and opened the door to her husband. 
 
 She desired her husband to walk up to the dining-room, 
 and she would come to him in an instant; for she was de¬ 
 sirous to increase his pleasure by surprising him with his 
 two favourite dishes. She then went down again to the 
 kitchen, where the maid of the house undertook to send up 
 the supper, and she with her children returned to Booth. 
 
 He then told her concisely what had happened with rela¬ 
 tion to the girl—to which she scarce made any answer, but 
 asked him if he had not dined 1 He assured her he had not 
 ate a morsel the whole day. ‘Well,’ says she, ‘my dear, I 
 am a fellow-sufferer ; but we shall both enjoy our supper the 
 more; for I have made a little provision for you, as I guessed 
 what might be the case. I have got you a bottle of wine 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 541 
 
 too. And here is a clean cloth and a smiling countenance, 
 my dear Will. Indeed, I am in unusual good spirits to¬ 
 night, and I have made a promise to the children, which you 
 must confirm; I have promised to let them sit up this one 
 night to supper with us.—Nay, don’t look so serious: cast 
 off all uneasy thoughts, I have a present for you here—no 
 matter how I came by it.’—At which words she put eight 
 guineas into his hand, crying, ‘ Come, my dear Bill, he gay 
 -—Fortune will yet he kind to us—at least let us be happy 
 this night. Indeed, the pleasures of many women during 
 their whole lives will not amount to my happiness this night 
 if you will he in good humour/ 
 
 Booth fetched a deep sigh, and cried, ‘ How unhappy am 
 I, my dear, that I can’t sup with you to night ! ’ 
 
 As in the delightful month of June, when the sky is all 
 serene, and the whole face of nature looks with a pleasing and 
 smiling aspect, suddenly a dark cloud spreads itself over the 
 hemisphere, the sun vanishes from our sight, and every ob¬ 
 ject is obscured by a dark and horrid gloom ; so happened 
 it to Amelia: the joy that had enlightened every feature 
 disappeared in a moment; the lustre forsook her shining eyes, 
 and all the little loves that played and wantoned in her 
 cheeks hung their drooping heads, and with a faint trembling 
 voice she repeated her husband’s words, ‘ Not sup with me 
 to-night, my dear! ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, my dear,’ answered he, ‘ I cannot. I need not 
 tell you how uneasy it makes me, or that I am as much disap¬ 
 pointed as yourself; but I am engaged to sup abroad. I 
 have absolutely given my honour; and besides, it is on busi¬ 
 ness of importance.’ 
 
 ‘My dear,’ said she, ‘I say no more. I am convinced you 
 would not willingly sup from me. I own it is a very par¬ 
 ticular disappointment to me to-night, when I had proposed 
 unusual pleasure ; but the same reason which is sufficient to 
 you ought to be so to me.’ 
 
 Booth made his wife a compliment on her ready compli¬ 
 ance, and then asked her what she intended by giving him 
 that money, or how she came by it 1 
 
 ‘ I intend, my dear,’ said she, ‘ to give it you ; that is all. 
 As to the manner in which I came by it, you know, Billy, 
 that is not very material. You are well assured I got it by 
 
542 AMELIA. [BK XI. 
 
 no means which would displease you ; and, perhaps, another 
 time I may tell you.’ 
 
 Booth asked no farther questions; but he returned her, 
 and insisted on her taking, all but one guinea, saying she was 
 the safest treasurer. He then promised her to make all the 
 haste home in his power, and he hoped, he said, to be with 
 her in an hour and half at farthest, and then took his 
 leave. 
 
 When he was gone the poor disappointed Amelia sat down 
 to supper with her children, with whose company she was 
 forced to console herself for the absence of her husband. 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 543 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A VEEY TEAGIC SCENE. 
 
 The clock had struck eleven, and Amelia was just proceeding 
 to put her children to bed, when she heard a knock at the 
 street-door; upon which the hoy cried out, ‘ There’s papa, 
 mamma ) pray let me stay and see him before I go to bed.’ 
 This was a favour very easily obtained; for Amelia instantly 
 ran down-stairs, exulting in the goodness of her husband for 
 returning so soon, though half an hour was already elapsed 
 beyond the time in which he promised to return. 
 
 Poor Amelia was now again disappointed * for it was not 
 her husband at the door, but a servant with a letter for him, 
 which he delivered into her bands. She immediately re¬ 
 turned up-stairs, and said—‘ It was not your papa, my dear; 
 but I hope it is one who hath brought us some good news.’ 
 Eor Booth had told her that he hourly expected to receive 
 such from the great man, and had desired her to open any 
 letter which came to him in his absence. 
 
 Amelia therefore broke open the letter, and read as follows : 
 
 1 Sie,— After what hath passed between us, I need only 
 tell you that I know you supped this very night alone with 
 Miss Matthews : a fact which will upbraid you sufficiently, 
 without putting me to that trouble, and w ill very well ac¬ 
 count for my desiring the favour of seeing you to-morrow in 
 Hide-park at six in the morning. You will forgive me re¬ 
 minding you once more how inexcusable this behaviour is in 
 you, who are possessed in youx own wife of the most in¬ 
 estimable jewel. 
 
 ‘ Yours, &c. 
 
 ‘ I shall bring pistols with me/ 
 
 1 T. James. 
 
 It is not easy to describe the agitation of Amelia’s mind 
 v lien she read this letter. She threw herself into her chair, 
 turned as pale as death, began to tremble all over, and had 
 
544 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 just power enough, left to tap the bottle of wine, which she 
 had hitherto preserved entire for her husband, and to drink 
 off a large bumper. 
 
 The little boy perceived the strange symptoms which ap¬ 
 peared in his mother; and running to her, he cried, ‘ What’s 
 the matter, my dear mamma'? you don’t look well!—No 
 harm hath happened to poor papa, I hope—Sure that bad 
 man hath not carried him away again ? ’ 
 
 Amelia answered, ‘ No, child, nothing—nothing at all.’ 
 And then a large shower of tears came to her assistance, 
 which presently after produced the same in the eyes of both 
 the children. 
 
 Amelia, after a short silence, looking tenderly at her chil¬ 
 dren, cried out, ‘ It is too much, too much to bear. Why 
 did I bring these little wretches into the world ? why were 
 these innocents born to such a fate ? ’ She then threw her 
 arms round them both (for they were before embracing her 
 knees), and cried, ‘ 0 my children! my children ! forgive 
 me, my babes ! Forgive me that I have brought you into 
 such a world as this ! You are undone—my children are 
 undone!’ 
 
 The little boy answered with great spirit, ‘ How undone, 
 mammy h my sister and I don’t care a farthing for being un¬ 
 done. Don’t cry so upon our accounts—we are both very 
 well; indeed we are. But do pray tell us. I am sure some 
 accident hath happened to poor papa.’ 
 
 ‘ Mention him no more,’ cries Amelia ; ‘ your papa is—- 
 indeed he is a wicked man—he cares not for any of us. 0 
 Heavens ! is this the happiness I promised myself this even¬ 
 ing % ’ At which words she fell into an agony, holding both 
 her children in her arms. 
 
 The maid of the house now entered the room, with a letter 
 in her hand which she had received from a porter, whose 
 arrival the reader will not wonder to have been unheard by 
 Amelia in her present condition. 
 
 The maid, upon her entrance into the room, perceiving the 
 situation of Amelia, cried out, ‘ Good Heavens ! madam, 
 what’s the matter ? ’ Upon which Amelia, who had a little 
 recovered herself after the last violent vent of her passion, 
 started up and cried, ‘ Nothing, Mrs Susan—nothing extra¬ 
 ordinary. I am subject to these fits sometimes; but I am 
 
CFL IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 545 
 
 very well now. Come, my dear children, I am very well 
 again ; indeed I am. You must now go to bed; Mrs Susan 
 will be so good as to put you to bed/ 
 
 ‘ But why doth not papa love us ? ’ cries the little boy. 
 ‘ I am sure we have none of us done anything to disoblige 
 him.’ 
 
 This innocent question of the child so stung Amelia that 
 she had the utmost difficulty to prevent a relapse. However, 
 she took another dram of wine ; for so it might be called to 
 her, who was the most temperate of women, and never ex¬ 
 ceeded three glasses on any occasion. In this glass she drank 
 her children’s health, and soon after so well soothed and 
 composed them that they went quietly away with Mrs 
 Susan. 
 
 The maid, in the shock she had conceived at the melan¬ 
 choly, indeed frightful scene, which had presented itself to 
 her at her first coming into the room, had quite forgot the 
 letter which she held in her hand. However, just at her 
 departure she recollected it, and delivered it to Amelia, who 
 was no sooner alone than she opened it, and read as follows : 
 
 ‘My dearest, sweetest Love,— I write this from the 
 bailiff’s house where I was formerly, and to which I am again 
 brought at the suit of that villain Trent. I have the mis¬ 
 fortune to think I owe this accident (I mean that it hap¬ 
 pened to-night) to my own folly in endeavouring to keep 
 a secret from you. 0 my dear ! had I had resolution to 
 confess my crime to you, your forgiveness would, I am con¬ 
 vinced, have cost me only a few blushes, and I had now been 
 happy in your arms. Fool that I was, to leave you on such 
 an account, and to add to a former transgression a new one ! 
 —Yet, by Heavens ! I mean not a transgression of the like 
 kind; for of that I am not nor ever will be guilty; and 
 when you know the true reason of my leaving you to-night 
 I think you will pity rather than upbraid me. I am sure 
 you would if you knew the compunction with which I left 
 you to go to the most worthless, the most infamous. Do 
 guess the rest—guess that crime with which I cannot stain 
 
 my paper-but still believe me no more guilty than I am, 
 
 or, if it will lessen your vexation at what hath befallen me. 
 believe me as guilty as you please, and think me, for a while 
 
 35 
 
546 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XI. 
 
 at least, as undeserving of you as I think myself. 4 his 
 paper and pen are so had, I question whether you can read 
 what I write : I almost doubt whether I wish you should. 
 Yet this I will endeavour to make as legible as I can. Be 
 comforted, my dear love, and still keep up your spirits with 
 the hopes of better days. The doctor will be in town to¬ 
 morrow, and I trust on his goodness for my delivery once 
 more from this place, and that I shall soon be able to repay 
 him. That Heaven may bless and preserve you is the prayer 
 of, my dearest love, 
 
 ‘ Your ever fond, affectionate, and hereafter 
 ‘ faithful husband, 
 
 ‘ TY. Booth.’ 
 
 Amelia pretty well guessed the obscure meaning of this 
 letter, which, though at another time it might have given her 
 unspeakable torment, was at present rather of the medicinal 
 kind, and served to allay her anguish. Her anger to Booth 
 too began a little to abate, and was softened by her concern 
 for his misfortune. Upon the Avhole, however, she passed 
 a miserable and sleepless night, her gentle mind torn and 
 distracted with various and contending passions, distressed 
 with doubts, and wandering in a kind of twilight which pre¬ 
 sented her only objects of different degrees of horror, and 
 where black despair closed at a small distance the gloomy 
 prospect. 
 
BOOK XII. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BOOK BEGINS WITH POLITE HISTORY. 
 
 Before we return to the miserable couple whom we left at 
 the end of the last hook we will give our reader the more 
 cheerful view of the gay and happy family of Colonel James. 
 
 Mrs James, when she could not, as we have seen, prevail 
 with Amelia to accept that invitation which, at the desire of 
 the colonel, she had so kindly and obediently carried her, 
 returned to her husband and acquainted him with the ill 
 success of her embassy; at which, to say the truth, she was 
 almost as much disappointed as the colonel himself; for he 
 had not taken a much stronger liking to Amelia than she 
 herself had conceived for Booth. This will account for some 
 passages which may have a little surprized the reader in the 
 former chapters of this history, as we were not then at leisure 
 to communicate to them a hint of this kind ; it was, indeed, 
 on Mr Booth’s account that she had been at the trouble of 
 changing her dress at the masquerade. 
 
 But her passions of this sort, happily for her, were not 
 extremely strong;’ she was therefore easily balked; and, as 
 she met with no encouragement from Booth, she soon gave 
 way to the impetuosity of Miss Matthews, and from that time 
 scarce thought more of the affair till her husband’s design 
 against the wife revived tier’s likewise; insomuch that her 
 passion was at this time certainly strong enough for Booth to 
 produce a good hearty hatred for Amelia, whom she now 
 abused to the colonel in very gross terms, both on the ac¬ 
 count of her poverty and her insolence, for so she termed the 
 refusal of all her offers. 
 
548 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 The colonel, seeing no hopes of soon possessing his new 
 mistress, began, like a prudent and wise man, to turn his 
 thoughts towards the securing his old one. From what his 
 wife had mentioned concerning the behaviour of the shep¬ 
 herdess, and particularly her preference of Booth, he had 
 little doubt but that this was the identical Miss Matthews. 
 He resolved therefore to watch her closely, in hopes of dis¬ 
 covering Booth’s intrigue with her. In this, besides the re¬ 
 mainder of affection which he yet preserved for that lady, he 
 had another view, as it would give him a fair pretence to 
 quarrel with Booth ; who, by carrying on this intrigue, would 
 have broke his word and honour given to him. And he be¬ 
 gan now to hate poor Booth heartily, from the same reason 
 from which Mrs James had contracted her aversion to 
 Amelia. 
 
 The colonel therefore employed an inferior kind of pimp 
 to watch the lodgings of Miss Matthews, and to acquaint him 
 if Booth, whose person was known to the pimp, made any 
 visit there. 
 
 The pimp faithfully performed his office, and, having last 
 night made the wished-for discovery, immediately acquainted 
 his master with it. 
 
 Upon this news the colonel presently despatched to Booth 
 the short note which we have before seen. He sent it to his 
 own house instead of Miss Matthews’s, with hopes of that 
 very accident which actually did happen. Hot that he had 
 any ingredient of the bully in him, and desired to be pre¬ 
 vented from fighting, but with a prospect of injuring Booth 
 in the affection and esteem of Amelia, and of recommending 
 himself somewhat to her by appearing in the light of her 
 champion; for which purpose he added that compliment to 
 Amelia in his letter. He concluded upon the whole that, if 
 Booth himself opened the letter, he would certainly meet 
 him the next morning ; but if his wife should open it before 
 he came home it might have the effects before mentioned; 
 and, for his future expostulation with Booth, it would not 
 be in Amelia’s power to prevent it. 
 
 How it happened that this pimp had more masters than 
 one. Amongst these was the worthy Mr Trent, for whom 
 he had often done business of the pimping vocation. He 
 had been employed indeed in the service of the great peer 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 549 
 
 himself, under the direction of the said Trent, and was the 
 very person who had assisted the said Trent in dogging Booth 
 and his wife to the opera-house on the masquerade night. 
 
 This subaltern pimp was with his superior Trent yesterday 
 morning, w T hen he found a bailiff with him in order to re¬ 
 ceive his instructions for the arresting Booth, when the 
 bailiff said it would be a very difficult matter to take him, 
 for that to his knowledge he was as shy a cock as any in 
 England. The subaltern'immediately acquainted Trent with 
 the business in which he was employed by the colonel; upon 
 which Trent enjoined him the moment he had set him to give 
 immediate notice to the bailiff, which he agreed to, and per¬ 
 formed accordingly. 
 
 The bailiff, on receiving the notice, immediately set out for 
 his stand at an alehouse within three doors of Miss Matthews’s 
 lodgings; at which, unfortunately for poor Booth, he arrived 
 a very few minutes before Booth left that lady in order to 
 return to Amelia. 
 
 These were several matters of which we thought necessary 
 our reader should be informed; for, besides that it conduces 
 greatly to a perfect understanding of all history, there is no 
 exercise of the mind of a sensible reader more pleasant than 
 the tracing the several small and almost imperceptible links 
 in every chain of events by which all the great actions of the 
 world are produced. We will now in the next chapter pro¬ 
 ceed with our history. 
 
550 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN WHICH AMELIA VISITS HER HUSBAND. 
 
 Amelia, after much, anxious thinking, in which she some¬ 
 times flattered herself that her husband was less guilty than 
 she had at first imagined him, and that he had some good 
 excuse to make for himself (for, indeed, she was not so able 
 as willing to make one for him), at length resolved to set out 
 for the bailiff’s castle. Having therefore strictly recommended 
 the care of her children to her good landlady, she sent for 
 a hackney coach, and ordered the coachman to drive to 
 Gray’s-inn-lane. 
 
 When she came to the house, and asked for the captain, 
 the bailiff’s wife, who came to the door, guessing, by the 
 greatness of her beauty and the disorder of her dress, that 
 she was a young lady of pleasure, answered surlily, 1 Cap¬ 
 tain ! I do not know of any captain that is here, not I ! ’ 
 Eor this good woman was, as well as dame Purgante in 
 Prior, a bitter enemy to all whores, epecially to those of the 
 handsome kind; for some such she suspected to go shares 
 with her in a certain property to which the law gave her the 
 sole right. 
 
 Amelia replied she was certain that Captain Booth was 
 there. ‘ Well, if he is so,’ cries the bailiff’s wife, ‘ you may 
 come into the kitchen if you will, and he shall be called down 
 to you if you have any business with him.’ At the same time 
 she muttered something to herself, and concluded a little 
 more intelligibly, though still in a muttering voice, that she 
 kept no such house. 
 
 Amelia, whose innocence gave her no suspicion of the true 
 cause of this good woman’s sullenness, was frightened, and 
 began to fear she knew not what. At last she made a shift 
 to totter into the kitchen, when the mistress of the house 
 asked her, ‘Well, madam, who shall I tell the captain wants 
 to speak with him 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I ask your pardon, madam,’ cries Amelia ; ‘ in my con- 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. . 
 
 551 
 
 fusion I really forgot you did not know me—tell him, if you 
 please, that I am his wife.’ 
 
 4 And are you indeed his wife, madam]’ cries Mrs Bailiff, 
 a little softened. 
 
 ‘ Yes, indeed, and upon my honour,’ answers Amelia. 
 
 ‘ If this he the case,’ cries the other, ‘ you may walk up¬ 
 stairs if you please. Heaven forbid I should part man and 
 wife ! Indeed, I think they can never be too much together. 
 But I never will suffer any bad doings in my house, nor any 
 cf the town ladies to come to gentlemen here.’ 
 
 Amelia answered that she liked her the better : for, indeed, 
 in her present disposition, Amelia was as much exasperated 
 against wicked women as the virtuous mistress of the house, 
 or any other virtuous woman could be. 
 
 The bailiff’s wife then ushered Amelia up-stairs, and, 
 having unlocked the prisoner’s doors, cried, ‘ Captain, here 
 is your lady, sir, come to see you.’ At which words Booth 
 started up from his chair, and caught Amelia in his arms, 
 embracing her for a considerable time with so much rapture, 
 that the bailiff’s wife, who was an eye-witness of this violent 
 fondness, began to suspect whether Amelia had really told 
 her truth. However, she had some little awe of the 
 captain ; and for fear of being in the wrong did not interfere, 
 but shut the door and turned the key. 
 
 When Booth found himself alone with his wife, and had 
 vented the first violence of his rapture in kisses and embraces, 
 he looked tenderly at her, and cried, ‘ Is it possible, Amelia, 
 is it possible you can .have this goodness to follow such a 
 wretch as me to such a place as this—or do you come to 
 upbraid me with my guilt, and to sink me down to that per¬ 
 dition I so justly deserve]’ 
 
 ‘ Am I so given to upbraiding then ] ’ says she, in a gentle 
 voice ; ‘ have I ever given you occasion to think I would sink 
 you to perdition ] ’ 
 
 Far lie it from me, my love, to think so,’ answered he. 
 ‘ And yet you may forgive the utmost fears of an offending, 
 penitent sinner. I know, indeed, the extent of your good¬ 
 ness, and yet I know my guilt so great—’ 
 
 ‘ Alas ! Mr Booth,’ said she, ‘ what guilt is this which you 
 mention, and which you writ to me of last night ]—Sure, by 
 your mentioning to me so much, you intend to tell me more, 
 
552 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 EK XII. 
 
 —nay, indeed, to tell me all; and not leave my mind open 
 to suspicions perhaps ten times worse than the truth.’ 
 
 ‘Will you give me a patient hearing]’ said he. 
 
 ‘I will indeed,’ answered she; ‘nay, I am prepared to 
 hear the worst you can unfold ; nay, perhaps, the worst is 
 short of my apprehensions.’ 
 
 Booth then, after a little further apology, began and related 
 to her the whole that had passed between him and Miss 
 Matthews, from their first meeting in the prison to their 
 separation the preceding evening. All which, as - the reader 
 knows it already, it would he tedious and unpardonable to 
 transcribe from his mouth. He told her likewise all that he 
 had done and suffered to conceal his transgression from her 
 knowledge. This he assured her was the business of his 
 visit last night, the consequence of which was, he declared 
 in the most solemn manner, no other than an absolute quarrel 
 with Miss Matthews, of whom he had taken a final leave. 
 
 When he had ended his narration, Amelia, after a short 
 silence, answered, ‘ Indeed, I firmly believe every word you 
 have said, but I cannot now forgive you the fault you have 
 confessed; and my reason is—because I have forgiven it long 
 ago. Here, my dear,’ said she, ‘ is an instance that I am 
 likewise capable of keeping a secret.’—She then delivered 
 her husband a letter which she had some time ago received 
 from Miss Matthews, and which was the same which that 
 lady had mentioned, and supposed, as Booth had never heard 
 of it, that it had miscarried; for she sent it by the penny 
 post. In this letter, which was signed by a feigned name, 
 she had acquainted Amelia with the infidelity of her husband, 
 and had besides very greatly abused him ; taxing him with 
 many falsehoods, and, among the rest, with having spoken 
 very slightingly and disrespectfully of his wife. 
 
 Amelia never shined forth to Booth in so amiable and 
 great a light; nor did his own unworthiness ever appear to 
 him so mean,and contemptible as at this instant. However, 
 when he had read the letter, he uttered many violent pro¬ 
 testations to her, that all which related to herself was 
 absolutely false. 
 
 ‘ I am convinced it is,’ said she. ‘ I would not have 
 a suspicion of the contrary for the world. I assure you I 
 had, till last night revived it in my memory, almost forgot 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 553 
 
 the letter; for, as I well knew from whom it came, by her 
 mentioning obligations which she had conferred on you, and 
 which you had more than once spoken to me of, I made 
 large allowances for the situation you was then in; and I 
 was the more satisfied, as the letter itself, as well as many 
 other circumstances, convinced me the affair was at an end.’ 
 
 Booth now uttered the most extravagant expressions of 
 admiration and fondness that his heart could dictate, and 
 accompanied them with the warmest embraces. All which 
 warmth and tenderness she returned; and tears of love and 
 joy gushed from both their eyes. So ravished indeed were 
 their hearts, that for some time they both forgot the dreadful 
 situation of their affairs. 
 
 This, however, was but a short reverie. It soon recurred 
 to Amelia, that, though she had the liberty of leaving that 
 house when she pleased, she could not take her beloved hus¬ 
 band with her. This thought stung her tender bosom to the 
 quick, and she could not so far command herself as to refrain 
 from many sorrowful exclamations against the hardship of 
 their destiny • but when she saw the effect they had upon 
 Booth she stifled her rising grief, forced a little cheerfulness 
 into her countenance, and, exerting all the spirits she could 
 raise within herself, expressed her hopes of seeing a speedy 
 end to their sufferings. She then asked her husband what 
 she should do for him, and to whom she should apply for 
 his deliverance ] 
 
 * You know, my dear,’ cries Booth, ‘ that the doctor is to 
 be in town some time to-day. My hopes of immediate 
 redemption are only in him ; and, if that can be obtained, 
 I make no doubt of the success of that affair which is in 
 the hands of a gentleman who had faithfully promised, and 
 in whose power I am so well assured it is to serve me.’ 
 
 Thus did this poor man support his hopes by a dependence 
 on that ticket which he had so dearly purchased of one who 
 pretended to manage the wheels in the great state lottery of 
 preferment. A lottery, indeed, which hath this to recom¬ 
 mend it—that many poor wretches feed their imaginations 
 with the prospect of a prize during their whole lives, and 
 never discover they have drawn a blank. 
 
 Amelia, who was of a pretty sanguine temper, and was 
 entirely ignorant of these matters, was full as easy to be de- 
 
554 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 ceived into hopes as her husband; but in reality at present 
 she turned her eyes to no distant prospect; the desire of 
 regaining her husband’s liberty having engrossed her whole 
 mind. 
 
 While they were discoursing on these matters they heard a 
 violent noise in the house, and immediately after several 
 persons passed by their door up-stairs to the apartment over 
 their head. This greatly terrified the gentle spirit of Amelia, 
 and she cried—‘ Good Heavens, my dear, must I leave you 
 in this horrid place 1 I am terrified with a thousand fears 
 concerning you.’ 
 
 Booth endeavoured to comfort her, saying that he was in 
 no manner of danger, and that he doubted not but that the 
 doctor would soon be with him—‘ And stay, my dear,’ cries 
 he; 4 now I recollect, suppose you should apply to my old 
 friend James; for I believe you are pretty well satisfied that 
 your apprehensions of him were groundless. I have no 
 reason to think but that he would be as ready to serve me as 
 formerly.’ 
 
 Amelia turned pale as ashes at the name of James, and, 
 instead of making a direct answer to her husband, she laid 
 hold of him, and cried, ‘ My dear, I have one favour to beg 
 of you, and I insist on your granting it me.' 
 
 Booth readily swore he would deny her nothing. 
 
 ‘ It is only this, my dear,’ said she, 4 that, if that detested 
 colonel comes, you will not see him. Let the people of the 
 house tell him you are not here.’ 
 
 ‘ He knows nothing of my being here,’ answered Booth ; 
 1 but why should I refuse to see him if he should be kind 
 enough to come hither to see me 1 Indeed, my Amelia, you 
 have taken a dislike to that man without sufficient reason.’ 
 
 ‘ I speak not upon that account,’ cries Amelia ; ‘ but I 
 have had dreams last night about you two. Perhaps you 
 will laugh at my folly, but pray indulge it. Hay, I insist 
 on your promise of not denying me.’ 
 
 ‘ Dreams ! my dear creature,’ answered he. ‘ What dream 
 can you have had of usP 
 
 ‘ One too horrible to be mentioned,’ replied she.—‘ I can¬ 
 not think of it without horror ; and, unless you will promise 
 me not to see the colonel till I return, I positively will 
 never leave you.’ 
 
CH. II. J 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 555 
 
 4 Indeed, my Amelia/ said Booth, ‘ I never knew yon 
 unreasonable before. How can a woman of your sense 
 talk of dreams 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Suffer me to be once at least unreasonable/ said Amelia, 
 ‘as you are so good-natured to say I am not often so. 
 Consider what I have lately suffered, and how weak my 
 spirits must be at this time.’ 
 
 As Booth was going to speak, the bailiff, without any cere¬ 
 mony, entered the room,- and cried, ‘ Ho offence, I hope, 
 madam; my wife, it seems, did not knoAV you. She thought 
 the captain had a mind for a bit of flesh by the bye. But 
 I have quieted all matters; for I know you very well: I 
 have seen that handsome face many a time when I have been 
 waiting upon the captain formerly. Ho offence, I hope, 
 madam; but if my wife was as handsome as you are I should 
 not look for worse goods abroad.’ 
 
 Booth conceived some displeasure at this speech, but he 
 did not think proper to express more than a pish; and then 
 asked the bailiff what was the meaning of the noise they 
 heard just now 1 
 
 ‘ I know of no noise/ answered the bailiff. ‘ Some of 
 my men have been carrying a piece of bad luggage up-stairs; 
 a poor rascal that resisted the law and justice ; so I gave 
 him a cut or two with a hanger. If they should prove 
 mortal, he must thank himself for it. If a man will not 
 behave like a gentleman to an officer, he must take the 
 consequence; but I must say that for you, captain, you 
 behave yourself like a gentleman, and therefore I shall 
 always use you as such; and I hope you will find bail soon 
 with all my heart. This is but a paltry sum to what the 
 last was; and I do assure you there is nothing else against 
 you in the office.’ 
 
 The latter part of the bailiffs speech somewhat comforted 
 Amelia, who had been a little frightened by the former; and 
 she soon after took leave of her husband to go in quest of 
 the doctor, who, as Amelia had heard that morning, was ex¬ 
 pected in town that very day, which was somewhat sooner 
 than he had intended at his departure. 
 
 Before she went, however, she left a strict charge with the 
 bailiff, who ushered her very civilly down-stairs, that if one 
 Colonel James came there to inquire for her husband he 
 should deny that he was there. 
 
556 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 She then departed; and the bailiff immediately gave a 
 very strict charge to his wife, his maid, and his followers, 
 that if one Colonel James, or any one from him, should 
 enquire after the captain, that they should let him know he 
 had the captain above-stairs; for he doubted not but that 
 the colonel was one of Booth’s creditors, and he hoped for 
 a second bail-bond by his means. 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 557 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONTAINING MATTER PERTINENT TO THE HISTORY. 
 
 Amelia, in her way to the doctor’s, determined just to stop 
 at her own lodgings, which lay a little out of the road, and 
 to pay a momentary visit to her children. 
 
 This was fortunate enough; for, had she called at the 
 doctor’s house, she would have heard nothing of him, which 
 would have caused in her some alarm and disappointment; 
 for the doctor was set down at Mrs Atkinson’s, where he 
 was directed to Amelia’s lodgings, to which he went before 
 he called at his own; and here Amelia now found him playing 
 with her two children. 
 
 The doctor had been a little surprized at not finding 
 Amelia at home, or any one that could give an account of 
 her. He was now more surprized to see her come in such a 
 dress, and at the disorder which he very plainly perceived 
 in her pale and melancholy countenance. He addressed her 
 first (for indeed she was in no great haste to speak), and 
 cried, ‘ My dear child, what is the matter 'l where is your 
 husband 1 some mischief I am afraid hath happened to him 
 in my absence.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 my dear doctor ! ’ answered Amelia, ‘ sure some good 
 angel hath sent you hither. My poor Will is arrested again. 
 I left him in the most miserable condition in the very house 
 whence your goodness formerly redeemed him.’ 
 
 ‘ Arrested ! ’ cries the doctor. ‘ Then it must be for some 
 very inconsiderable trifle.’ 
 
 ‘ I wish it was,’ said Amelia; 1 but it is for no less than 
 fifty pounds.’ 
 
 ‘ Then,’ cries the doctor, ‘ he hath been disingenuous with 
 me. He told me he did not owe ten pounds in the world 
 for which he was liable to be sued.’ 
 
 £ I know not what to say,’ cries Amelia. ‘ Indeed, I am 
 afraid to tell you the truth.’ 
 
558 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 ‘ How, child ? ’ said the doctor—‘ I hope you will never 
 disguise it to any one, especially to me. Any prevarication, 
 I promise you, will forfeit my friendship for ever.’ 
 
 ‘ I will tell you the whole/ cries Amelia, ‘ and rely entirely 
 on your goodness.’ She then related the gaming story, not 
 forgetting to set in the fullest light, and to lay the strongest 
 emphasis on, his promise never to play again. 
 
 The doctor fetched a deep sigh when he had heard Amelia’s 
 relation, and cried, J I am sorry, child, for the share you are 
 to partake in your husband’s sufferings; but as for him, I 
 really think he deserves no compassion. You say he hath 
 promised never to play again, hut I must tell you he hath 
 broke his promise to me already; for I had heard he was 
 formerly addicted to this vice, and had given him sufficient 
 caution against it. You will consider, child, I am already 
 pretty largely engaged for him, every farthing of which I am 
 sensible I must pay. You know I would go to the utmost 
 verge of prudence to serve you ; but I must not exceed my 
 ability, which is not very great; and I have several families 
 on my hands who are by misfortune alone brought to want. 
 I do assure you I cannot at present answer for such a sum 
 as this without distressing my own circumstances.’ 
 
 Then Heaven have mercy upon us all! ’ cries Amelia 
 1 for we have no other friend on earth : my husband is un¬ 
 done, and these poor little wretches must be starved.’ 
 
 The doctor cast his eyes on the children, and then cried, 
 
 < I hope not so. I told you I must distress my circumstances, 
 and I will distress them this once on your account, and on 
 the account of these poor little babes. But things must not 
 go on any longer in this way. You must take an heroic 
 resolution. I will hire a coach for you to-morrow morning 
 which shall carry you all down to my parsonage-house. There 
 you shall have my protection till something can be done for 
 your husband; of which, to be plain with you, I at present 
 see no likelihood.’ 
 
 Amelia fell upon her knees in an ecstasy of thanksgiving 
 to the doctor, who immediately raised her up, and placed 
 her in her chair. She then recollected herself, and said, 
 
 < 0 my worthy friend, I have still another matter to mention 
 to you, in which I must have both your advice and assist¬ 
 ance. My soul blushes to give you all this trouble; but 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 559 
 
 CH. III.] 
 
 what other friend have 11—indeed, what other friend could 
 I apply to so properly on such an occasion % ’ 
 
 The doctor, with a very kind voice and countenance, de¬ 
 sired her to speak. She then said, ‘0 sir ! that wicked 
 colonel whom I have mentioned to you formerly hath picked 
 some quarrel with my husband (for she did not think proper 
 to mention the cause), and hath sent him a challenge. It 
 came to my hand last night after he was arrested: I opened 
 and read it.’ 
 
 ‘ Give it me, child,’ said the doctor. 
 
 She answered she had burnt it, as was indeed true. 
 
 1 But I remember it was an appointment to meet with sword 
 and pistol this morning at Hide-park.’ 
 
 1 Make yourself easy, my dear child,’ cries the doctor; 
 ‘ I will take care to prevent any mischief.’ 
 
 £ But consider, my dear sir,’ said she, ‘ this is a tender 
 matter. My husband’s honour is to he preserved as well as 
 his life.’ 
 
 ‘ And so is his soul, which ought to he the dearest of all 
 things,’ cries the doctor. ‘ Honour ! nonsense ! Can honour 
 dictate to him to disobey the express commands of his Maker, 
 in compliance with a custom established by a set of block¬ 
 heads, founded on false principles of virtue, in direct opposi¬ 
 tion to the plain and positive precepts of religion, and tending 
 manifestly to give a sanction to ruffians, and to protect them 
 in all the ways of impudence and villany 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ All this, I believe, is very true,’ cries Amelia; ‘but yet 
 you know, doctor, the opinion of the world.’ 
 
 ‘ You talk simply, child,’ cries the doctor. c What is the 
 opinion of the world opposed to religion and virtue r l hut you 
 are in the wrong. It is not the opinion of the world ; it is 
 the opinion of the idle, ignorant, and profligate. It is 
 impossible it should he the opinion of one man of sense, w ho 
 is in earnest in his belief of our religion. Chiefly, indeed, 
 it hath been upheld by the nonsense of women, who, either 
 from their extreme cowardice and desire of protection, or, as 
 Mr Bayle thinks, from their excessive vanity, have been al¬ 
 ways forward to countenance a set of hectors and hravoes, 
 and to despise all men of modesty and sobriety; though these 
 are often, at the bottom, not oidy the better hut the braver 
 men.’ 
 
5 GO 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 1 You know, doctor/ cries Amelia, ‘I have never presumed 
 to argue with you; your opinion is to me always instruction, 
 and your word a law.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, child,’ cries the doctor, 1 1 know you are a good 
 woman ; and yet I must observe to you, that this very desire 
 of feeding the passion of female vanity with the heroism of 
 her man, old Homer seems to make the characteristic of a 
 bad and loose woman. He introduces Helen upbraiding her 
 gallant with having quitted the fight, and left the victory to 
 Menelaus, and seeming to be sorry that she had left her 
 husband only because he was the better duellist of the two : 
 but in how different a light doth he represent the tender and 
 chaste love of Andromache to her worthy Hector ! she dis¬ 
 suades him from exposing himself to danger, even in a just 
 cause. This is indeed a weakness, but it is an amiable one, 
 and becoming the true feminine character; but a woman 
 w r ho, out of heroic vanity (for so it is), would hazard not 
 only the life but the soul too of her husband in a duel, is a 
 monster, and ought to be painted in no other character but 
 that of a Fury.’ 
 
 ‘ I assure you, doctor,’ cries Amelia, ‘ I never saw this 
 matter in the odious light in which you have truly repre¬ 
 sented it, before. I am ashamed to recollect what I 
 have formerly said on this subject. And yet, whilst the 
 opinion of the world is as it is, one would wish to comply 
 as far as possible, especially as my husband is an officer 
 of the army. If it can be done, therefore, with safety to his 
 honour—’ 
 
 ‘ Again honour !’ cries the doctor; 1 indeed I will not suffer 
 that noble word to be so basely and barbarously prostituted. 
 I have known some of these men of honour, as they call 
 themselves, to be the most arrant rascals in the universe.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I ask your pardon,’ said she ; ‘reputation then, if 
 you please, or any other word you like better ; you know my 
 meaning very well.’ 
 
 ‘ I do know your meaning,’ cries the doctor, ‘ and Virgil 
 knew it a great while ago. The next time you see your 
 friend Mrs Atkinson, ask her what it was made Dido fall in 
 love with iEneas 1 ’ 
 
 £ Hay, dear sir,’ said Amelia, 1 do not rally me so unmerci¬ 
 fully ; think where my poor husband is now.’ 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 561 
 
 ‘ He is,’ answered the doctor, ‘ where I will presently he 
 with him. In the mean time, do you pack up everything in 
 order for your journey to-morrow; for if you are wise, you 
 will not trust your husband a day longer in this town— 
 therefore to packing.’ 
 
 Amelia promised she would, though indeed she wanted 
 not any warning for her journey on this account; for when 
 she packed up herself in the coach, she packed up her all. 
 However, she Aid not think proper to mention this to the 
 doctor; for, as he was now in pretty good humour, she did 
 not care to venture again discomposing his temper. 
 
 The doctor then set out for G-ray’s-inn-lane, and, as soon 
 as he was gone, Amelia began to consider of her incapacity 
 to take a journey in her present situation without even a 
 clean shift. At last she resolved, as she was possessed of 
 seven guineas and a half, to go to her friend and redeem 
 some of her own and her husband’s linen out of captivity; 
 indeed just so much as would render it barely possible for 
 them to go out of town with any kind of decency. And 
 this resolution she immediately executed. 
 
 As soon as she had finished her business with the pawn¬ 
 broker (if a man who lends under thirty per cent, deserves 
 that name), he said to her, ‘ Pray, madam, did you know 
 that man who was here yesterday when you brought the 
 picture ? ’ Amelia answered in the negative. ‘ Indeed, ma¬ 
 dam,’ said the broker, ‘ he knows you, though he did not re¬ 
 collect you while you was here, as your hood was drawn 
 over your face; but the moment you was gone he begged to 
 look at the picture, which I, thinking no harm, permitted. 
 He had scarce looked upon it when he cried out, “ By 
 heaven and earth it is her picture!” He then asked me if I 
 knew you. “ Indeed,” says I, “I never saw the lady 
 before.” ’ 
 
 In this last particular, however, the pawnbroker a little 
 savoured of his profession, and made a small deviation from 
 the truth, for, when the man had asked him if he knew the 
 lady, he answered she was some poor undone woman who 
 had pawned all her clothes tc him the day before; and I 
 suppose, says he, this picture is the last of her goods and 
 chattels. This hint wrn thought proper to give the reader, as 
 it may chance to be material. 
 
 36 
 
562 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 Amelia answered coldly that she had taken so very little 
 notice of the man that she scarce remembered he was there. 
 
 ‘I assure you, madam/ says the pawnbroker, £ he hath 
 taken very great notice of you ; for the man changed counte¬ 
 nance upon what I said, and presently after begged me to give 
 him a dram. Oho ! thinks I to myself, are you thereabouts ? 
 I would not be so much in love with some folks as some 
 people are for more interest than I shall ever make of a 
 thousand pounds.’ 
 
 Amelia blushed, and said, with some peevishness, ‘ That 
 she knew nothing of the man, but supposed he was some 
 impertinent fellow or other.’ 
 
 ‘ Nay, madam,’ answered the pawnbroker, ‘ I assure you 
 he is not worthy your regard. He is a poor wretch, and I 
 believe I am possessed of most of his moveables. However, 
 I hope you are not offended, for indeed he said no harm \ 
 but he was very strangely disordered, that is the truth of it.’ 
 
 Amelia was very desirous of putting an end to this con¬ 
 versation, and altogether as eager to return to her children; 
 she therefore bundled up her things as fast as she could, and, 
 calling for a hackney-coach, directed the coachman to her 
 lodgings, and bid him drive her home with all the haste he 
 could. 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 563 
 
 CHAPTEB IV. 
 
 IN WHICH HE, HAEEISON VISITS COLONEL JAMES. 
 
 The doctor, when he left Amelia, intended to go directly to 
 Booth, hut he presently changed his mind, and determined 
 first to call on the colonel, as he thought it was proper to 
 put an end to that matter before he gave Booth his liberty. 
 
 The doctor found the two colonels, James and Bath, to¬ 
 gether. They both received him very civilly, for James -was 
 a very well-bred man, and Bath always showed a particular 
 respect to the clergy, he being indeed a perfect good Christian, 
 except in the articles of fighting and swearing. 
 
 Our divine sat some time without mentioning the subject 
 of his errand, in hopes that Bath would go away, but when 
 he found no likelihood of that (for indeed Bath was of the 
 two much the most pleased with his company), he told James 
 that he had something to say to him relating to Mr Booth, 
 which he believed he might speak before his brother. 
 
 4 Undoubtedly, sir,’ said James; 4 for there can be no 
 secrets between us which my brother may not hear.’ 
 
 4 1 come then to you, sir/ said the doctor, 4 from the most 
 unhappy woman in the world, to whose afflictions you have 
 very greatly and very cruelly added by sending a challenge 
 to her husband, which hath very luckily fallen into her 
 hands ; for, had the man for whom you designed it received 
 it, I am afraid you would not have seen me upon this occa¬ 
 sion.’ 
 
 4 If I writ such a letter to Mr Booth, sir,’ said James, 4 you 
 may be assured I did not expect this visit in answer to it.’ 
 
 4 1 do not think you did,’ cries the doctor; 4 but you have 
 great reason to thank Heaven for ordering this matter con¬ 
 trary to your expectations. I know not what trifle may have 
 drawn this challenge from you, but, after what I have some 
 reason to know of you, sir, I must plainly tell you that, if 
 you had added to your guilt already committed against this 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 564 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 man that of having his blood upon your hands, your soul 
 would have become as black as hell itself.’ 
 
 4 Give me leave to say,’ cries the colonel, 4 this is a language 
 which I am not used to hear; and if your cloth was not 
 your protection you should not give it me with impunity. 
 After what you know of me, sir ! What do you presume to 
 know of me to my disadvantage 1 ’ 
 
 4 You say my cloth is my protection, colonel,’ answered the 
 doctor; 4 therefore pray lay aside your anger : I do not come 
 with any design of affronting or offending you.’ 
 
 4 Very well,’ cries Bath ; 4 that declaration is sufficient from 
 a clergyman, let him say what he pleases.’ 
 
 4 Indeed, sir,’ says the doctor very mildly, ‘I consult equally 
 the good of you both, and, in a spiritual sense, more especially 
 yours; for you know you have injured this poor man.’ 
 
 4 So far, on the contrary,’ cries James, 4 that I have been 
 his greatest benefactor. I scorn to upbraid him, but you 
 force me to it. FTor have I ever done him the least injury.’ 
 
 4 Perhaps not,’ said the doctor; 4 1 will alter what I have 
 said. But for this I apply to your honour—Have you not 
 intended him an injury, the very intention of which cancels 
 every obligation 'l ’ 
 
 4 How, sir 1 ’ answered the colonel; 4 what do you mean 1 ’ 
 
 4 My meaning,’ replied the doctor, 4 is almost too tender to 
 mention. Come, colonel, examine your own heart, and then 
 answer me, on your honour, if you have not intended to do 
 him the highest wrong which one man can do another 1 ’ 
 
 4 1 do not know what you mean by the question,’ answered 
 the colonel. 
 
 4 D—n me, the question is very transparent! ’ cries Bath. 
 4 From any other man it would be an affront with the strong¬ 
 est emphasis, but from one of the doctor’s cloth it demands 
 a categorical answer.’ 
 
 4 1 am not a papist, sir,’ answered Colonel James, 4 nor am 
 I obliged to confess to my priest. But if you have anything 
 to say speak openly, for I do not understand your meaning.’ 
 
 4 1 have explained my meaning to you already,’ said the 
 doctor, 4 in a letter I wrote to you on the suin’ect—a subject 
 which I am sorry I should have any occasion to write upon 
 to a Christian.’ 
 
 4 1 do remember now,’ cries the colonel, 4 that I received a 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 505 
 
 CH. iv.] 
 
 very impertinent letter, something like a sermon, against 
 adultery; but I did not expect to hear the author own it to 
 my face.’ 
 
 ‘ That brave man then, sir/ answered the doctor, £ stands 
 before you who dares own he wrote that letter, and dares 
 affirm too that it was writ on a just and strong foundation. 
 But if the hardness of your heart could prevail on you to 
 treat my good intention with contempt and scorn, what, pray, 
 could induce you to show it, nay, to give it Mr Booth i 
 What motive could you have for that, unless you meant to 
 insult him, and provoke your rival to give you that opportun¬ 
 ity of putting him out of the world which you have since 
 wickedly sought by your challenge % ’ 
 
 ‘ I give him the letter ! ’ said the colonel. 
 
 ‘ Yes, sir,’ answered the doctor, ‘ he showed me the letter, 
 and affirmed that you gave it him at the masquerade.’ 
 
 ‘ He is a lying rascal, then ! ’ said the colonel very passion¬ 
 ately. ‘ I scarce took the trouble of reading the letter, and 
 lost it out of my pocket.’ 
 
 Here Bath interfered, and explained this affair in the manner 
 in which it happened, and with which the reader is already 
 acquainted. He concluded by great eulogiums on the per¬ 
 formance, and declared it was one of the most enthusiastic 
 (meaning, perhaps, ecclesiastic) letters that ever Avas Avritten. 
 ‘ And d—n me/ says he, £ if I do not respect the author with 
 the utmost emphasis of thinking.’ 
 
 The doctor now recollected what had passed Avith Booth, 
 and perceived he had made a mistake of one colonel for an¬ 
 other. This he presently acknoAvledged to Colonel James, 
 and said that the mistake had been his, and not Booth’s. 
 
 Bath now collected all his gravity and dignity, as he 
 called it, into his countenance, and, addressing himself to 
 James, said, ‘ And Avas that letter writ to you, brother 1—I 
 hope you unver deserved any suspicion of this kind.’ 
 
 ‘ Brother/ cries James, ‘ I am accountable to myself for my 
 actions, and shall not render an account either to you or to 
 that gentleman.’ 
 
 ‘ As to me, brother,’ answered Bath, ‘ you say right; but 
 I think this gentleman may call you to an account; nay, I 
 think it is his duty so to do. And let me tell you, brother, 
 there is one much greater than he to whom you must give an 
 
566 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 account. Mrs Booth is really a fine woman, a lady of most 
 imperious and majestic presence. I have heard you often 
 say that you liked her; and, if you have quarrelled with her 
 husband upon this account, by all the dignity of man I 
 think you ought to ask his pardon.’ 
 
 ‘Indeed, brother,’ cries James, ‘I can hear this no longer 
 —you will make me angry presently.’ 
 
 ‘ Angry ! brother James,’ cries Bath; ‘ angry !—I love you, 
 brother, and have obligations to you. I will say no more, but 
 I hope you know I do not fear making any man angry.’ 
 
 James answered he knew it well; and then the doctor, 
 apprehending that while he was stopping up one breach he 
 should make another, presently interfered, and turned the 
 discourse back to Booth. ‘ You tell me, sir,’ said he to 
 James, ‘ that my gown is my protection; let it then at least 
 protect me where I have had no design in offending—where 
 I have consulted your highest welfare, as-in truth I did in 
 writing this letter. And if you did not in the least deserve 
 any such suspicion, still you have no cause for resentment. 
 Caution against sin, even to the innocent, can never be un¬ 
 wholesome. But this I assure you, whatever anger you have 
 to me, you can have none to poor Booth, who was entirely 
 ignorant of my writing to you, and who, I am certain, never 
 entertained the least suspicion of you ; on the contrary, 
 reveres you with the highest esteem, and love, and gratitude. 
 Let me therefore reconcile all matters between you, and bring 
 you together before he hath even heard of this challenge.’ 
 
 ‘ Brother,’ cries Bath, ‘ I hope I shall not make you angry 
 —I lie when I say so; for I am indifferent to any man’s 
 anger. Let me be an accessory to what the doctor hath said. 
 I think I may be trusted with matters of this nature, and it 
 is a little unkind that, if you intended to send a challenge, 
 you did not make me the bearer. But, indeed, as to what 
 appears to me, this matter may be very well made up; and, 
 as Mr Booth doth not know of the challenge, I don’t see why 
 he ever should, any more than your giving him the he just 
 now; but that he shall never have from me, nor, I believe, 
 from this gentleman ; for, indeed, if he should, it would be 
 incumbent upon him to cut your throat.’ 
 
 ‘ Lookee, doctor,’ said James, ‘ I do not deserve the unkind 
 suspicion you just now threw out against me. I never 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 567 
 
 CH. IV.] 
 
 thirsted after any man’s blood; and, as for what hath passed 
 since this discovery hath happened, I may, perhaps, not think 
 it worth my while to trouble myself any more about it.’ 
 
 The doctor was not contented with perhaps, he insisted on 
 a firm promise, to be bound with the colonel’s honour. This 
 at length he obtained, and then departed well satisfied. 
 
 In fact, the colonel was ashamed to avow the real cause of 
 the quarrel to this good man, or, indeed, to his brother Bath, 
 who would not only have .condemned him equally with the 
 doctor, but would possibly have quarrelled with him on his 
 sister’s account, whom, as the reader must have observed, he 
 loved above all things; and, in plain truth, though the colonel 
 was a brave man, and dared to fight, yet he was altogether 
 as willing to let it alone; and this made him now and then 
 give a little way to the wrongheadedness of Colonel Bath, 
 who, with all the other principles of honour and humanity, 
 made no more of cutting the throat of a man upon any of 
 his punctilios than a butcher doth of killing sheep. 
 
568 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 WHAT PASSED AT THE BAILIEF’s HOUSE. 
 
 The doctor now set forwards to his friend Booth, and, as lie 
 passed by the door of his attorney in the way, he called upon 
 him and took him with him. 
 
 The meeting between him and Booth need not be expa¬ 
 tiated on. The doctor was really angry, and, though he 
 deferred his lecture to a more proper opportunity, yet, as he 
 was no dissembler (indeed, he was incapable of any disguise), 
 he could not put on a show of that heartiness with which he 
 had formerly used to receive his friend. 
 
 Booth at last began himself in the following manner: 
 ‘ Doctor, I am really ashamed to see you • and, if you knew 
 the confusion of my soul on this occasion, I am sure you 
 would pity rather than upbraid me; and yet I can say with 
 great sincerity I rejoice in this last instance of my shame, 
 since I am like to reap the most solid advantage from it.’ 
 The doctor stared at this, and Booth thus proceeded: 
 ‘ Since I have been in this wretched place I have employed 
 my time almost entirely in reading over a series of sermons 
 which are contained in that book (meaning Dr Barrow’s 
 works, which then lay on the table before him) in proof 
 of the Christian religion ; and so good an effect have they 
 had upon me, that I shall, I believe, be the better man 
 for them as long as I live. I have not a doubt (for I own 
 I have had such) which remains now unsatisfied. If ever 
 an angel might be thought to guide the pen of a writer, 
 surely the pen of that great and good man had such an 
 assistant.’ The doctor readily concurred in the praises of Dr 
 Barrow, and added, 4 You say you have had your doubts, 
 young gentleman ; indeed, I did not know that—and, pray, 
 what were your doubts 1 ’ ‘ Whatever they were, sir,’ said 
 
 Booth, ‘ they are now satisfied, as I believe those of every 
 impartial and sensible reader will be if he will, with due 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 569 
 
 attention, read over these excellent sermons.’ ‘ Very well,’ 
 answered the doctor, ‘ though I have conversed, I find, with 
 a false brother hitherto, I am glad you are reconciled to truth 
 at last, and I hope your future faith will have some influence 
 on your future life.’ ‘ I need not tell you, sir,’ replied Booth, 
 ‘that will always he the case where faith is sincere, as I 
 assure you mine is. Indeed, I never was a rash disbeliever; 
 my chief doubt was founded on this—that, as men appeared 
 to me to act entirely from their passions, their actions could 
 have neither merit nor demerit.’ ‘ A very worthy conclusion 
 truly ! ’ cries the doctor; ‘ hut if men act, as I believe they 
 do, from their passions, it would he fair to conclude that 
 religion to be true which applies immediately to the strongest 
 of these passions, hope and fear ; choosing rather to rely on 
 its rewards and punishments than on that native beauty of 
 virtue which some of the ancient philosophers thought proper 
 to recommend to their disciples. But we will defer this dis¬ 
 course till another opportunity ; at present, as the devil hath 
 thought proper to set you free, I will try if I can prevail on 
 the bailiff to do the same.’ 
 
 The doctor had really not so much money in town as 
 Booth’s debt amounted to, and therefore, though he would 
 otherwise very willingly have paid it, he was forced to give 
 hail to the action. For which purpose, as the bailiff was a 
 man of great form, he was obliged to get another person to 
 be bound with him. This person, however, the attorney 
 undertook to procure, and immediately set out in quest of him. 
 
 During his absence the bailiff came into the room, and, 
 addressing himself to the doctor, said, ‘ I think, sir, your 
 name is Doctor Harrison 1 ’ The doctor immediately acknow¬ 
 ledged his name. Indeed, the bailiff had seen it to a bail- 
 bond before. ‘ Why then, sir,’ said the bailiff, £ there is a 
 man above in a dying condition that desires the favour of 
 speaking to you; I believe he wants you to pray by him.’ 
 
 The bailiff himself was not more ready to execute his 
 office on all occasions for his fee than the doctor was to 
 execute his for nothing. Without making any further 
 inquiry therefore into the condition of the man, he immedi¬ 
 ately went up-stairs. 
 
 As soon as the bailiff returned down-stairs, wdiich was 
 immediately after he had lodged the doctor in the room, 
 
570 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 Booth had the curiosity to ask him who this man was. 
 
 ‘ Why, I don’t know much of him/ said the bailiff; ‘ I had 
 him once in custody before now : I remember it was when 
 your honour was here last; and now I remember, too, he 
 said that he knew your honour very well. Indeed, I had 
 some opinion of him at that time, for he spent his money 
 very much like a gentleman; but I have discovered since 
 that he is a poor fellow, and worth nothing. He is a mere 
 shy cock ; I have had the stuff about me this week, and 
 could never get at him till this morning; nay, I don’t be¬ 
 lieve we should ever have found out his lodgings had it not 
 been for the attorney that was here just now, who gave us 
 information. And so we took him this morning by a comical 
 way enough ; for we dressed up one of my men in women’s 
 clothes, who told the people of the house that he was his 
 sister, just come to town—for we were told by the attorney 
 that he had such a sister, upon which he was let up-stairs— 
 and so kept the door ajar till I and another rushed in. Let 
 me tell you, captain, there are as good stratagems made use 
 of in our business as any in the army.’ 
 
 ‘ But pray, sir,’ said Booth, * did not you tell me this 
 morning that the poor fellow was desperately wounded ; nay, 
 I think you told the doctor that he was a dying man 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I had like to have forgot that,’ cries the bailiff. 1 No¬ 
 thing would serve the gentleman but that he must make 
 resistance, and he gave my man a blow with a stick ; but I 
 soon quieted him by giving him a wipe or two with a hanger. 
 Not that, I believe, I have done his business neither; but 
 the fellow is faint-hearted, and the surgeon, I fancy, frightens 
 him more than he need. But, however, let the worst come 
 to the worst, the law is all on my side, and it is only se fen- 
 dendo. The attorney that was here just now told me so, and 
 bid me fear nothing; for that he would stand my friend, and 
 undertake the cause ; and he is a devilish good one at a de¬ 
 fence at the Old Bailey, I promise you.. I have known him 
 bring off several that everybody thought would have been 
 hanged.’ 
 
 ‘ But suppose you should be acquitted,’ said Booth, ‘ would 
 not the blood of this poor wretch lie a little heavy at your 
 heart 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Why should it, captain % ’ said the bailiff. ‘ Is not all 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 571 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 done in a lawful way 1 Why will people resist the law when 
 they know the consequence 1 To be sure, if a man was to 
 kill another in an unlawful manner as it were, and what the 
 law calls murder, that is quite and clear another thing. I 
 should not care to he convicted of murder any more than 
 another man. Why now, captain, you have been abroad in 
 the wars they tell me, and to be sure must have killed 
 men in your time. Pray, was you ever afraid afterwards of 
 seeing their ghosts 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ That is a different affair,’ cries Booth ; ‘ but I would not 
 kill a man in cold blood for all the world.’ 
 
 ‘ There is no difference at all, as I can see,’ cries the bailiff. 
 
 ‘ One is as much in the way of business as the other. When 
 gentlemen behave themselves like unto gentlemen, I know 
 how to treat them as such, as well as any officer the king 
 hath ; and when they do not, why they must take what fol¬ 
 lows, and the law doth not call it murder.’ 
 
 Booth very plainly saw that the bailiff had squared his 
 conscience exactly according to law, and that he could not 
 easily subvert his way of thinking. He therefore gave up 
 the cause, and desired the bailiff to expedite the bonds, which 
 he promised to do, saying; he hoped he had used him with 
 proper civility this time, if he had not the last, and that he 
 should be remembered for it. 
 
 But before we close this chapter we shall endeavour to satis¬ 
 fy an enquiry, which may arise in our most favourite readers 
 (for so are the most curious), how it came to pass that such 
 a person as was Doctor Harrison should employ such a fellow 
 as this Murphy 1 
 
 The case then was thus : this Murphy had been clerk to 
 an attorney in the very same town in which the doctor lived, 
 and, when he was out of his time, had set up with a character 
 fair enough, and had married a maid-servant of Mrs Harris, 
 by which means he had all the business to which that lady 
 and her friends, in which number was the doctor, could re¬ 
 commend him. 
 
 Murphy went on with his business, and thrived very well, 
 till he happened to make an unfortunate slip, in which he 
 was detected by a brother of the same calling. But, though 
 we call this by the gentle name of a slip, in respect to its 
 being .so extremely common, it was a matter in which the 
 
572 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 law, if it had ever come to its ears, would have passed a very 
 severe censure, being, indeed, no less than perjury and sub¬ 
 ornation of perjury. 
 
 This brother attorney, being a very good-natured man, 
 and unwilling to bespatter his own profession, and consider¬ 
 ing, perhaps, that the consequence did in no wise affect the 
 public, who had no manner of interest in the alternative 
 whether A., in whom the right was, or B., to whom Mr 
 Murphy, by the means aforesaid, had transferred it, suc¬ 
 ceeded in an action ; we mention this particular, because, as 
 this brother attorney was a very violent party man, and a 
 professed stickler for the public, to suffer any injury to have 
 been done to that, would have been highly inconsistent with 
 his principles. 
 
 This gentleman, therefore, came to Mr Murphy, and, after 
 showing him that he had it in his power to convict him of 
 the aforesaid crime, very generously told him that he had 
 not the least delight in bringing any man to destruction, nor 
 the least animosity against him. All that he insisted upon 
 was, that he would not live in the same town or county with 
 one who had been guilty of such an action. He then told 
 Mr Murphy that he would keep the secret on two conditions; 
 the one was, that he immediately quitted that country; the 
 other was, that he should convince him he deserved this 
 kindness by his gratitude, and that Murphy should transfer 
 to the other all the business which he then had in those 
 parts, and to which he could possibly recommend him. 
 
 It is the observation of a very wise man, that it is a very 
 common exercise of wisdom in this world, of two evils to 
 choose the least. The reader, therefore, cannot doubt but 
 Mr Murphy complied with the alternative proposed by his 
 kind brother, and accepted the terms on which secrecy was 
 to be obtained. 
 
 This happened while the doctor was abroad, and with all 
 this, except the departure of Murphy, not only the doctor, 
 but the whole town (save his aforesaid brother alone), were 
 to this day unacquainted. 
 
 The doctor, at his return, hearing that Mr Murphy was 
 gone, applied to the other attorney in his affairs, who still 
 employed this Murphy as his agent in town, partly, perhaps, 
 out of good will to him, and partly from the recommendation 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 573 
 
 CH. V.] 
 
 of Miss Harris; for, as lie had married a servant of the family, 
 and a particular favourite of hers, there can be no wonder that 
 she, who was entirely ignorant of the affair above related, as 
 well as of his conduct in town, should continue her favour 
 to him. It will appear, therefore, I apprehend, no longer 
 strange that the doctor, who had seen this man but three 
 times since his removal to town, and then conversed with 
 him only on business, should remain as ignorant of his life 
 and character, as a man generally is of the character of the 
 hackney-coachman who drives him. Nor doth it reflect more 
 on the honour or understanding of the doctor, under these 
 circumstances, to employ Murphy, than it would if he had 
 been driven about the town by a thief or a murderer. 
 
574 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 * 
 
 CHAPTER VI. ' 
 
 WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THE DOCTOK AND THE SICK 
 
 MAN. 
 
 We left the doctor in the last chapter with the wounded 
 man, to whom the doctor, in a very gentle voice, spoke as 
 follows:— 
 
 ‘ I am sorry, friend, to see you in this situation, and am 
 very ready to give you any comfort or assistance within my 
 power.’ 
 
 ‘ I thank you kindly, doctor,’ said the man. ‘ Indeed I 
 should not have presumed to have sent to you had I not 
 known your character; for, though I believe I am not at all 
 known to you, I have lived many years in that town where 
 you yourself had a house \ my name is Robinson. I used 
 to write for the attorneys in those parts, and I have been 
 employed on your business in my time.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not recollect you nor your name,’ said the doctor; 
 ‘but consider, friend, your moments are precious, and your 
 business, as I am informed, is to offer up your prayers to that 
 great Being before whom you are shortly to appear. But 
 first let me exhort you earnestly to a most serious repentance 
 of all your sins.’ 
 
 ‘ 0 doctor ! ’ said the man; ‘ pray, what is your opinion of 
 a death-bed repentance.’ 
 
 ‘ If repentance is sincere,’ cries the doctor, ‘ I hope, through 
 the mercies and merits of our most powerful and benign In¬ 
 tercessor, it will never come too late.’ 
 
 ‘ But do not you think, sir,’ cries the man, ‘ that, in order 
 to obtain forgiveness of any great sin we have committed, by 
 an injury done to our neighbours, it is necessary, as far as in 
 us lies, to make all the amends we can to the party injured, 
 and to undo, if possible, the injury we have done ? ’ 
 
 ‘Most undoubtedly,’ cries the doctor; ‘our pretence to 
 repentance would otherwise be gross hypocrisy, and an irnpu- 
 
C!H. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 575 
 
 dent attempt to deceive and impose upon our Creator him¬ 
 self/ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, I am of the same opinion/ cries the penitent; 
 ‘ and I think further, that this is thrown in my way, and 
 hinted to me by that great Being ; for an accident happened 
 to me yesterday, by which, as things have fallen out since, I 
 think I plainly discern the hand of Providence. I went yes¬ 
 terday, sir, you must know, to a pawnbroker’s, to pawn the 
 last moveable, which, except the poor clothes you see on my 
 hack, I am worth in the world. While I was there a young 
 lady came in to pawn her picture. She had disguised herself 
 so much, and pulled her hood so over her face, that I did not 
 know her while she stayed, which was scarce three minutes. 
 As soon as she was gone the pawnbroker, taking the picture 
 in his hand, cried out, Upon my word, this is the handsomest 
 face I ever saw in my life ! I desired him to let me look on 
 the picture, which he readily did—and I no sooner cast my 
 eyes upon it, than the strong resemblance struck me, and I 
 knew it to be Mrs Booth/ 
 
 ‘ Mrs Booth ! what Mrs Booth % ’ cries the doctor. 
 
 ‘ Captain Booth’s lady, the captain who is now below/ said 
 the other. 
 
 ‘ How ? ’ cries the doctor with great impetuosity. 
 
 ‘ Have patience/ said the man, ‘ and you shall hear all. I 
 expressed some surprize to the pawnbroker, and asked the 
 lady’s name. He answered, that he knew not her name; 
 but that she was some undone wretch, who had the day be¬ 
 fore left all her clothes with him in pawn. My guilt imme¬ 
 diately flew in my face, and told me I had been accessary to 
 this lady’s undoing. The sudden shock so affected me, that, 
 had it not been for a dram which the pawnbroker gave me, 
 I believe I should have sunk on the spot.’ 
 
 1 Accessary to her undoing ! how accessary % ’ said the doc¬ 
 tor. ‘ Pray tell me, for I am impatient to hear.’ 
 
 ‘ I will tell you all as fast as I can/ cries the sick man. 
 
 ‘ You know, good doctor, that Mrs Harris of our town had 
 two daughters, this Mrs Booth and another. How, sir, it 
 seems the other daughter had, some way or other, disobliged 
 her mother a little before the old lady died; therefore she 
 made a will, and left all her fortune, except one thousand 
 pounds, to Mrs Booth; to which will. Mr Murphy, myself, 
 
576 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 and another who is now dead, were the witnesses. Mrs 
 Harris afterwards died suddenly; upon which it was con¬ 
 trived by her other daughter and Mr Murphy to make a 
 new will, in which Mrs Booth had a legacy of ten pounds, 
 and all the rest was given to the other. To this will, Mur¬ 
 phy, myself, and the same third person, again set our hands. 
 
 ‘ Good Heaven ! how wonderful is thy providence ! ’ cries 
 
 the doctor—‘ Murphy, say you ? ’ 
 
 ‘ He himself, sir/ answered Robinson; ‘ Murphy, who is 
 the greatest rogue, I believe, now in the world. 
 
 1 Pray, sir, proceed/ cries the doctor. 
 
 ‘ Ror this service, sir/ said Robinson, ‘ myself and the third 
 person, one Carter, received two hundred pounds each. "What 
 reward Murphy himself had X know not. Garter died soon 
 afterwards; and from that time, at several payments, I have by 
 threats extorted above a hundred pounds more. And this, 
 sir, is the whole truth, which I am ready to testify if it would 
 please Heaven to prolong my life.’ 
 
 < I hope it will/ cries the doctor ; ‘ but something must be 
 done for fear of accidents. I will send to counsel immedi¬ 
 ately to know how to secure your testimony.—Whom can I 
 get to send 1—Stay, ay—he will do—but I know not where 
 his house or his chambers are. I will go myself but I may 
 be wanted here/ 
 
 While the doqtor was in this violent agitation the surgeon 
 made his appearance. The doctor stood still in a meditating 
 posture, while the surgeon examined his patient.. After 
 which the doctor begged him to declare his opinion, and 
 whether he thought the wounded man in any immediate 
 danger of death. ‘ I do not know/ answered the surgeon, 
 1 what you call immediate. He may live several days—-nay, 
 he may recover. It is impossible to give any certain opinion 
 in these cases.’ He then launched forth into a set of terms 
 which the doctor, with all his scholarship, could not under¬ 
 stand. To say the truth, many of them were not to be found 
 in any dictionary or lexicon. 
 
 One discovery, however, the doctor made, and that was, 
 that the surgeon was a very ignorant, conceited fellow, and 
 knew nothing of his profession. He resolved, therefore, to 
 get better advice for the sick; but this he postponed at 
 present, and, applying himself to the surgeon, said, ‘ He 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 577 
 
 cn. vi.] 
 
 should be very much obliged to him, if he knew where to 
 find such a counsellor, and would fetch him thither. I 
 should not ask such a favour of you, sir,’ says the doctor, 
 
 ‘ lf & was on business of the last importance, or if I could 
 find any other messenger.’ 
 
 ‘ I fetch, sir ! ’ said the surgeon very angrily. ‘ Do you 
 take me for a footman or a porter ? I don’t know who you 
 are; but I believe you are full as proper to go on such an 
 errand as I am.’ (dor as the doctor, who was just come off 
 his journey, was very roughly dressed, the surgeon held him 
 in no great respect.) The surgeon then called aloud from 
 the top of the stairs, ‘Let my coachman draw uj),’ and 
 strutted off without any ceremony, telling his patient he 
 would call again the next day. 
 
 At this very instant arrived Murphy with the other bail, 
 and, finding Booth alone, he asked the bailiff at the door 
 what was become of the doctor ? ‘ "Why the doctor,’ answered 
 
 he, is above-stairs, praying with-——* How ! ’ cries 
 
 Murphy. 4 How came you not to carry him directly to New¬ 
 gate, as you promised me ? ’ ‘ Why, because he was wounded,’ 
 cries the bailiff. ‘ I thought it was charity to take care of 
 him; and, besides, why should one make more noise about 
 the matter than is necessary ? ’ ‘ And Doctor Harrison with 
 
 him?’ said Murphy. ‘Yes, he is,’ said the bailiff; ‘he 
 desired to speak with the doctor very much, and they have 
 been praying together almost this hour.’ ‘All is up and 
 undone ! cries Murphy. ‘ Let me come by, I have thought 
 of something which I must do immediately.’ 
 
 Low, as by means of the surgeon’s leaving the door open 
 the doctor heard Murphy’s voice naming Bobinson peevishly, 
 he drew softly to the top of the stairs, where he heard the 
 foregoing dialogue; and as soon as Murphy had uttered his 
 last words, and was moving downwards, the doctor immedi¬ 
 ately sallied from his post, running as fast as he could, and 
 crying, Stop the villain ! stop the thief! 
 
 The attorney wanted no better hint to accelerate his pace; 
 and, having the start of the doctor, got down-stairs, and out 
 into the street; but the doctor was so close at his heels, and 
 being in foot the nimbler of the two, he soon overtook him, 
 and laid hold of him, as he would have done on either 
 Broughton or Slack in the same cause. 
 
 37 
 
578 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 This action in the street, accompanied with the frequent 
 cry of Stop thief by the doctor during the chase, presently 
 drew together a large mob, who began, as is usual, to enter 
 immediately upon business, and to make strict inquiry into 
 the matter, in order to proceed to do justice in their sum¬ 
 mary way. 
 
 Murphy, who knew well the temper of the mob, cried 
 out, ‘ If you are a bailiff, show me your writ. Gentlemen, 
 he pretends to arrest me here without a writ.’ 
 
 Upon this, one of the sturdiest and forwardest of the 
 mob, and who by a superior strength of body and of lungs 
 presided in this assembly, declared he would suffer no such 
 thing. ‘ D—n me,’ says he, ‘ away to the pump with the 
 catchpole directly—show me your writ, or let the gentleman 
 go—you shall not arrest a man contrary to law.’ 
 
 He then laid his hands on the doctor, who, still fast griping 
 the attorney, cried out, ‘ He is a villain—I am no bailiff, but 
 a clergyman, and this lawyer is guilty of forgery, and hath 
 ruined a poor family.’ 
 
 ‘ How ! ’ cries the spokesman — 1 a lawyer !—that alters the 
 case.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, faith,’ cries another of the mob, ‘it is lawyer Murphy. 
 I know him very well.’ 
 
 ‘ And hath he ruined a poor family 1—like enough, faith, 
 if he’s a lawyer. Away with him to the justice immediately.’ 
 
 The bailiff now came up, desiring to know what was the 
 matter; to whom Doctor Harrison answered that he had 
 arrested that villain for a forgery. ‘ How can you arrest 
 him ] ’ cries the bailiff; ‘ you are no officer, nor have any 
 warrant. Mr Murphy is a gentleman, and he shall be used 
 as such.’ 
 
 ‘ Hay, to be sure,’ cries the spokesman, 1 there ought to 
 be a warrant; that’s the truth on’t.’ 
 
 ‘ There needs no warrant,’ cries the doctor. ‘ I accuse him 
 of felony; and I know so much of the law of England, that 
 any man may arrest a felon without any warrant whatever. 
 This villain hath undone a poor family ; and I will die on 
 the spot before I part with him.’ 
 
 ‘ If the law be so,’ cries the orator, ‘ that is another matter. 
 And to be sure, to ruin a poor man is the greatest of sins. 
 And being a lawyer too makes it so much the worse. He 
 
CII. VI.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 579 
 
 shall go before the justice, d—n me if he shan’t go before 
 the justice ! I says the word, he shall.’ 
 
 ‘ I say he is a gentleman, and shall he used according to 
 law,’ cries the bailiff; ‘ and, though you are a clergyman,’ 
 said he to Harrison, ‘ you don’t show yourself as one by your 
 actions.’ 
 
 ‘ That’s a bailiff,’ cries one of the mob : ‘ one lawyer will 
 always stand by another; but I think the clergyman is a 
 very good man, and acts becoming a clergyman, to stand by 
 the poor.’ 
 
 At which words the mob all gave a great shout, and 
 several cried out, ‘ Bring him along, away with him to the 
 justice ! ’ 
 
 And now a constable appeared, and with an authoritative 
 voice declared what he was, produced his staff, and demanded 
 the peace. 
 
 The doctor then delivered his prisoner over to the officer, 
 and charged him with felony; the constable received him, 
 the attorney submitted, the bailiff was hushed, and the waves 
 of the mob immediately subsided. „ 
 
 The doctor now balanced with himself how he should 
 proceed: at last he determined to leave Booth a little longer 
 in captivity, and not to quit sight of Murphy before he had 
 lodged him safe with a magistrate. They then all moved for¬ 
 wards to the justice; the constable and his prisoner marching 
 first, the doctor and the bailiff following next, and about five 
 thousand mob (for no less number were assembled in a very 
 few minutes) following in the procession. 
 
 They found the magistrate just sitting down to his dinner; 
 however, when he was acquainted with the doctor’s pro¬ 
 fession, he immediately admitted him, and heard his busi¬ 
 ness ; which he no sooner perfectly understood, with all its 
 circumstances, than he resolved, though it was then very late, 
 and he had been fatigued all the morning with public busi¬ 
 ness, to postpone all refreshment till he had discharged his 
 duty. He accordingly adjourned the prisoner and his cause 
 to the bailiff’s house, whither he himself, with the doctor, 
 immediately repaired, and whither the attorney was followed 
 by a much larger number of attendants than he had been 
 honoured with before. 
 
580 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HISTORY DRAWS TOWARDS A CONCLUSION. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the astonishment of Booth at the be¬ 
 haviour of the doctor at the time when he sallied forth in 
 pursuit of the attorney; for which it was so impossible for 
 him to account in any manner whatever. He remained a 
 long time in the utmost torture of mind, till at last the bailiff’s 
 wife came to him, and asked him if the doctor was not a 
 madman 1 and, in truth, he could hardly defend him from 
 that imputation. 
 
 While he was in this perplexity the maid of the house 
 brought him a message from Robinson, desiring the favour 
 of seeing him above-stairs. With this he immediately com¬ 
 plied. 
 
 When these two were alone together, and the key turned 
 on them (for the bailiff’s wife was a most careful person, and 
 never omitted that ceremony in the absence of her husband, 
 having always at her tongue’s end that excellent proverb of 
 4 Safe bind, safe lind’), Robinson, looking stedfastly upon 
 Booth, said, 4 I believe, sir, you scarce remember me.’ 
 
 Booth answered that he thought he had seen his face 
 somewhere before, but could not then recollect when or 
 where. 
 
 ‘ Indeed, sir,’ answered the man, ‘ it was a place which no 
 man can remember with pleasure. But do you not remem¬ 
 ber, a few weeks ago, that you had the misfortune to be in a 
 certain prison in this town, where you lost a trifling sum at 
 cards to a fellow-prisoner 1 ’ 
 
 This hint sufficiently awakened Booth’s memory, and he 
 now recollected the features of his old friend Robinson. He 
 answered him a little surlily, 4 1 know you now very well, 
 but I did not imagine you would ever have reminded me of 
 that transaction.’ 
 
 4 Alas, sir ! ’ answered Robinson, 4 whatever happened then 
 
CII. VII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 581 
 
 was very trifling compared to the injuries I have done you ; 
 but if my life he spared long enough I will now undo it all : 
 and, as I have been one of your worst enemies, I will now 
 be one of your best friends/ 
 
 He was just entering upon his story when a noise was 
 heard below which might be almost compared to what have 
 been heard in Holland when the dykes have given way, and 
 the ocean in an inundation breaks in upon the land. It 
 seemed, indeed, as if the whole world was bursting into the 
 house at once. 
 
 Booth was a man of great firmness of mind, and he had 
 need of it all at this instant. As for poor Robinson, the 
 usual concomitants of guilt attended him, and he began to 
 tremble in a violent manner. 
 
 The first person who ascended the stairs was the doctor, 
 who no sooner saw Booth than he ran to him and embraced 
 him, crying, ‘ My child, I wish you joy with all my heart. 
 Your sufferings are all at an end, and Providence hath done 
 you the justice at last which it will, one day or other, render 
 to all men. You will hear all presently; but I can now 
 only tell you that your sister is discovered and the estate is 
 your own.’ 
 
 Booth was in such confusion that he scarce made any 
 answer, and now appeared the justice and his clerk, and im¬ 
 mediately afterwards the constable with his prisoner, the 
 bailiff, and as many more as could possibly crowd up-stairs. 
 
 The doctor now addressed himself to the sick man, and 
 desired him to repeat the same information before the justice 
 which he had made already; to which Robinson readily 
 consented. 
 
 While the clerk was taking down the information the 
 attorney expressed a very impatient desire to send instantly 
 for his clerk, and expressed so much uneasiness at the con¬ 
 fusion in which he had left his papers at home, that a thought 
 suggested itself to the doctor that, if his house was searched 
 some lights and evidence relating to this affair would certainly 
 be found; he therefore desired the justice to grant a search- 
 warrant immediately to search his house. 
 
 The justice answered that he had no such power; that, if 
 there was any suspicion of stolen goods, he could grant a 
 warrant to search for them. 
 
582 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 ‘ How, sir ! ’ said the doctor, ‘ can you grant a warrant to 
 search a man’s house for a silver tea-spoon, and not in a case 
 like this, where a man is robbed of his whole estate % 1 
 
 ‘ Hold, sir,’ says the sick man; * I believe I can answer 
 that point; for I can swear he hath several title-deeds of the 
 estate now in his possession, which I am sure were stolen 
 from the right owner.’ 
 
 The justice still hesitated. He said title-deeds savoured 
 of the Realty, and it was not felony to steal them. If, in¬ 
 deed, they were taken away in a box, then it would be felony 
 to steal the box. 
 
 ‘ Savour of the Realty ! Savour of the fartalty,’ said the 
 doctor. ‘ I never heard such incomprehensible nonsense. 
 This is impudent, as well as childish trifling with the lives 
 and properties of men.’ 
 
 ‘Well, sir,’ said Robinson, ‘I now am sure I can do his 
 business; for I know he hath a silver cup in his possession 
 which is the property of this gentleman (meaning Booth), 
 and how he got it but by stealth let him account if he can.’ 
 
 ‘ That null do,’ cries the justice, with great pleasure. ‘ That 
 will do; and if you will charge him on oath with that, I 
 will instantly grant my warrant to search his house for it.’ 
 ‘ And I will go and see it executed,’ cries the doctor • for it 
 was a maxim of his that no man could descend below him¬ 
 self in doing any act which may contribute to protect an 
 Innocent person or to bring a rogue to the gallows. 
 
 The oath was instantly taken, the warrant signed, and the 
 doctor attended the constable in the execution of it. 
 
 The clerk then proceeded in taking the information of 
 Robinson, and had just finished it, when the doctor returned 
 with the utmost joy in his countenance, and declared that 
 he had sufficient evidence of the fact in his possession. He 
 had, indeed, two or three letters from Miss Harris in answer 
 to the attorney’s frequent demands of money for secrecy, 
 that fully explained the whole villany. 
 
 The justice now asked the prisoner what he had to say for 
 himself, or whether he chose to say anything in his own 
 defence. 
 
 ‘ Sir,’ said the attorney, with great confidence, * I am not 
 to defend myself here. It will be of no service to me ; for 
 I know you neither can nor will discharge me. But I am 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 583 
 
 Gii. vii.] 
 
 extremely innocent of all this matter, as I doubt not but to 
 make appear to the satisfaction of a court of justice/ 
 
 The legal previous ceremonies were then gone through of 
 binding over the prosecutor, &c., and then the attorney was 
 committed to Newgate, whither he was escorted amidst the 
 acclamations of the populace. 
 
 When Murphy was departed, and a little calm restored in 
 the house, the justice made his compliments of congratulation 
 to Booth, who, as well as he could in his present tumult of 
 joy, returned his thanks to both the magistrate and the 
 doctor. They were now all preparing to depart, when Mr 
 Bondum stept up to Booth, and said, ‘ Hold, sir, you have 
 forgot one thing—you have not given bail yet/ 
 
 This occasioned some distress at this time, for the attorney’s 
 friend was departed ; but when the justice heard this, he 
 immediately offered himself as the other bondsman, and thus 
 ended the affair. 
 
 It was now past six o’clock, and none of the gentlemen 
 bad yet dined. They very readily, therefore, accepted the 
 magistrate’s invitation, and went all together to his house. 
 
 And now the very first thing that was done, even before 
 they sat down to dinner, was to despatch a messenger to one 
 of the best surgeons in town to take care of Bobinson, and 
 another messenger to Booth’s lodgings to prevent Amelia’s 
 concern at their staying so long. 
 
 The latter, however, was to little purpose; for Amelia’s 
 patience had been worn out before, and she had taken a 
 hackney-coach and driven to the bailiff’s, where she arrived 
 a little after the departure of her husband, and was thence 
 directed to the justice’s. 
 
 Though there was no kind of reason for Amelia’s fright at 
 hearing that her husband and Doctor Harrison were gone be¬ 
 fore the justice, and though she indeed imagined that they 
 were there in the light of complainants, not of offenders, yet 
 so tender were her fears for her husband, and so much had 
 her gentle spirits been lately agitated, that she had a thousand 
 apprehensions of she knew not what. When she arrived, 
 therefore, at the house, she ran directly into the room where 
 all the company were at dinner, scarce knowing what she 
 did or whither she was going. 
 
 She found her husband in such a situation, and discovered 
 
584 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [l3K XII. 
 
 such cheerfulness in his countenance, that so violent a turn 
 was given to her spirits that she was just able, with the as¬ 
 sistance of a glass of water, to support herself. She soon, 
 however, recovered her calmness, and in a little time began 
 to eat what might indeed be almost called her breakfast. 
 
 The justice now wished her joy of what had happened 
 that day, for which she kindly thanked him, apprehending 
 he meant the liberty of her husband. His worship might 
 perhaps have explained himself more largely had not the 
 doctor given him a timely wink; for this wise and good 
 man was fearful of making such a discovery all at once to 
 Amelia, lest it should overpower her, and luckily the justice’s 
 wife was not well enough acquainted with the matter to say 
 anything more on it than barely to assure the lady that she 
 joined in her husband’s congratulation. 
 
 Amelia was then in a clean white gown, which she had 
 that day redeemed, and was, indeed, dressed all over with 
 great neatness and exactness ; with the glow therefore which 
 arose in her features from finding her husband released from 
 his captivity, she made so charming a figure, that she at¬ 
 tracted the eyes of the magistrate and of his wife, and they 
 both agreed when they were alone that they had never seen 
 so charming a creature; nay, Booth himself afterwards told 
 her that he scarce ever remembered her to look so extremely 
 beautiful as she did that evening. 
 
 Whether Amelia’s beauty, or the reflexion on the remark¬ 
 able act of justice he had performed, or whatever motive 
 filled the magistrate with extraordinary good humour, and 
 opened his heart and cellars, I will not determine; but he 
 gave them so hearty a welcome, and they were all so pleased 
 with each other, that Amelia, for that one night, trusted the 
 care of her children to the woman where they lodged, nor did 
 the company rise from table till the clock struck eleven. 
 
 They then separated. Amelia and Booth, having been set 
 down at their lodgings, retired into each other’s arms ; nor 
 did Booth that evening, by the doctor’s advice, mention one 
 word of the grand affair to his wife. 
 
ch. vm.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 585 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THUS THIS HISTORY DRAWS HEARER TO A CONCLUSION. 
 
 Ih tlie mornin 0 early Amelia received the following letter 
 from Mrs Atkinson : 
 
 dire surgeon of the regiment, to which the captain my 
 husband lately belonged, and who came this evening to see 
 the captain, hath almost frightened me out of my wits by a 
 strange story of your husband being committed to prison by 
 a justice ox peace for forgery. Eor Heaven’s sake send me 
 the truth, rf my husband can be of any service, weak as 
 he is, he will be carried in a chair to serve a brother officer 
 for . whom he hath a regard, which I need not mention. 
 Or if the sum of twenty pounds will be of any service to you, 
 I will wait upon you with it the moment I can get my clothes 
 on, the morning you receive this; for it is too late to send 
 to-night. The captain begs his hearty service and respects, 
 and believe me, 
 
 ‘ dear madam, 
 
 i T our ever affectionate friend, and humble servant, 
 
 ‘ E. Atkinson.’ 
 
 M hen Amelia read this letter to Eooth they were both 
 equally surprized, she at the commitment for forgery, and he 
 at seeing such a letter from Mrs Atkinson; for he was a 
 stranger yet to the reconciliation that had happened. 
 
 Booth’s doubts were first satisfied by Amelia, from which 
 he received great pleasure j for he really had a very great 
 affection and fondness for Mr Atkinson, who, indeed, so well 
 deserved it. ‘ Well, my dear,’ said he to Amelia, smiling, 
 
 ‘ shall we accept this generous offer % ’ 
 
 ‘O fie! no, certainly,’ answered she. 
 
 M hy not ? cries Booth; ‘ it is but a trifle j and yet it 
 will be of great service to us.’ 
 
586 AMELIA. [BK XII. 
 
 ‘ But consider, my dear,’ said slie, ‘ Bow ill these poor 
 people can spare it.’ 
 
 ‘ They can spare it for a little while,’ said Booth, ‘ and 
 we shall soon pay it them again.’ 
 
 ‘ When, my dear!’ said Amelia. ‘ Do, my dear Will, con¬ 
 sider our wretched circumstances. I beg you let us go into 
 the country immediately, and live upon bread and water till 
 Fortune pleases to smile upon us.’ 
 
 ‘ I am convinced that day is not far off,’ said Booth. 
 
 ‘ However, give me leave to send an answer to Mrs At¬ 
 kinson, that we shall be glad of her company immediately 
 to breakfast.’ 
 
 ‘You know I never contradict you,’ said she, ‘but I assure 
 you it is contrary to my inclinations to take this money.’ 
 
 Well, suffer me,’ cries he, ‘ to act this once contrary to 
 your inclinations.’ He then writ a short note to Mrs Atkin¬ 
 son, and despatched it away immediately; which when he 
 had done, Amelia said, ‘ I shall be glad of Mrs Atkinson’s 
 company to breakfast; but yet I wish you would oblige me 
 in refusing this money. Take five guineas only. That is 
 indeed such a sum as, if we never should pay it, would sit 
 light on my mind. The last persons in the world from whom I 
 would receive favours of that sort are the poor and generous. 
 
 ‘ You can receive favours only from the generous,’ cries 
 Booth; ‘ and, to be plain with you, there are very few who 
 are generous that are not poor.’ 
 
 ‘ What think you,’ said she, ‘ of Dr Harrison ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I do assure you,’ said Booth, ‘ he is far from being rich. 
 The doctor hath an income of little more than six hundred 
 pounds a-year, and I am convinced he gives away four of it. 
 Indeed, he is one of the best economists in the world : but 
 yet I am positive he never was at any time possessed of five 
 hundred pounds, since he hath been a man. Consider, dear 
 Emily, the late obligations we have to this gentleman; it 
 would be unreasonable to expect more, at least at present; 
 my half-pay is mortgaged for a year to come. How then 
 shall we live ? ’ 
 
 ‘ By our labour,’ answered she ; ‘ I am able to labour, and 
 I am sure I am not ashamed of it.’ 
 
 ‘ And do you really think you can support such a life 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure I could be happy in it,’ answered Amelia. 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 587 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 < And why not I as well as a thousand others, who have not 
 the happiness of such a husband to make life delicious ? why 
 should I complain of my hard fate while so many who are 
 much poorer than I enjoy theirs? Am I of a superior rank 
 of being to the wife of the honest labourer ? am I not par¬ 
 taker of one common nature with her ? ’ 
 
 4 My angel/ cries Booth, 4 it delights me to hear you talk 
 thus, and for a reason you little guess; for I am assured that 
 one who can so heroically endure adversity, will bear pros¬ 
 perity with equal greatness of soul; for the mind that cannot 
 be dejected by the former, is not likely to be transported 
 with the latter/ 
 
 4 If it had pleased Heaven/ cried she, 4 to have tried me, I 
 think, at least I hope, I should have preserved my humility/ 
 
 4 Then, my dear/ said he, * I will relate you a dream I had 
 last night. You know you lately mentioned a dream of 
 yours/ 
 
 4 Do so/ said she; 4 I am attentive.’ 
 
 4 I dreamt/ said he, 4 this night, that we were in the most 
 miserable situation imaginable ; indeed, in the situation we 
 were yesterday morning, or rather worse ' that I was laid in 
 a prison for debt, and that you wanted a morsel of bread to 
 feed the mouths of your hungry children. At length (for 
 nothing you know is quicker than the transition in dreams) 
 Dr Harrison methought came to me, with cheerfulness and 
 joy in his countenance. The prison-doors immediately flew 
 open, and Dr Harrison introduced you, gaily though not 
 richly dressed. That you gently chid me for staying so long. 
 All on a sudden appeared a coach with four horses to it, in 
 which was a maid-servant with our two children. We both 
 immediately went into the coach, and, taking our leave of 
 the doctor, set out towards your country-house ; for yours I 
 dreamt it was. I only ask you now, if this was real, and 
 the transition almost as sudden, could you support it ? ’ 
 
 Amelia was going to answer, when Mrs Atkinson came 
 into the room, and after very little previous ceremony, pre¬ 
 sented Booth with a bank-note, which he received of her, 
 saying he would very soon repay it; a promise that a little 
 offended Amelia, as she thought he had no chance of keep¬ 
 ing it. 
 
 The doctor presently arrived, and the company sat down 
 
588 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [BK XII. 
 
 to breakfast, during which Mrs Atkinson entertained them 
 with the history of the doctors that had attended her hus¬ 
 band, by whose advice Atkinson was recovered from every¬ 
 thing but the weakness which his distemper had occasioned. 
 
 When the tea-table was removed Booth told the doctor 
 that he had acquainted his wife with a dream he had last 
 night. ‘ I dreamt, doctor,’ said he, ‘ that she was restored to 
 her estate.’ 
 
 ‘ Very well,’ said the doctor ; ‘ and if I am to be the 
 Oneiropolis, I believe the dream will come to pass. To say 
 the truth, I have rather a better opinion of dreams than 
 Horace had. Old Homer says they come from Jupiter; and 
 as to your dream, I have often had it in my waking thoughts, 
 that some time or other that roguery (for so I was always 
 convinced it was) would be brought to light; for the same 
 Homer says, as you, madam (meaning Mrs Atkinson), very 
 well know, 
 
 Et7T£|0 yap re teal ai/nV ’0\u/x7 noq ouk tTtXtootv, 
 
 *E/e re Kai o\pl reXt'r avv re p,tydX(p aTTZTiaav 
 2.VV ctyycnv KtcpaXijcn, yvvaiZi ti Kai rtKitaaiv.* 
 
 ‘ I have no Greek ears, sir,’ said Mrs Atkinson. 1 1 be¬ 
 lieve I could understand it in the Delpliin Homer.' 
 
 ‘ I wish,’ cries he, ‘ my dear child (to Amelia), you would 
 read a little in the Delpliin Aristotle, or else in some Christian 
 divine, to learn a doctrine which you will one day have a use 
 for. I mean to bear the hardest of all human conflicts, and 
 support with an even temper, and without any violent trans¬ 
 ports of mind, a sudden gust of prosperity.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed,’ cries Amelia, ‘ I should almost think my hus¬ 
 band and you, doctor, had some very good news to tell me, 
 by your using, both of you, the same introduction. As far 
 as I know myself, I think I can answer I can support any 
 degree of prosperity, and I think I yesterday showed I could : 
 for I do assure you it is not in the power of fortune to try 
 me with such another transition from grief to joy as I con¬ 
 ceived from seeing my husband in prison and at liberty.’ 
 
 * 1 If Jupiter dotli not immediately execute his vengeance, he 'will 
 however execute it at last; and their transgressions shall fall heavily on 
 their own heads, and on their wives and children.’ 
 
CH VIII.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 589 
 
 ‘ Well, you are a good girl,’ cries the doctor, ‘ and after I 
 have put oil my spectacles I will try you.’ 
 
 The doctor then took out a newspaper, and read as follows : 
 
 ‘ “ Yesterday one Murphy, an eminent attorney-at-law, was 
 committed to Newgate for the forgery of a will imder which 
 an estate hath been for many years detained from the right 
 owner.” 
 
 ‘ Yow in this paragraph there is something very remark¬ 
 able, and that is that it is true : hut opus est explanatum . 
 In the Delphin edition of this newspaper there is the follow¬ 
 ing note upon the words right owner :—“ The right owner 
 of this estate is a young lady of the highest merit, whose 
 maiden name was Harris, and who some time since was mar¬ 
 ried to an idle felloe one Lieutenant Booth. And the best 
 historians assure us that letters from the elder sister of this 
 lady, which manifestly prove the forgery and clear up the 
 whole affair, are in the hands of an old Parson called Doctor 
 Harrison.” ’ 
 
 ‘ And is this really true 1 ’ cries Amelia. 
 
 ‘ Yes, really and sincerely,’ cries the doctor. ‘ The whole 
 estate ; for your mother left it you all, and is as surely yours 
 as if you was already in possession.’ 
 
 ‘ Gracious Heaven ! ’ cries she, falling on her knees, ‘ I 
 thank you ! ’ And then starting up, she ran to her husband, 
 and, embracing him, cried, ‘My dear love, I wish you joy; 
 and I ought in gratitude to wish it you; for you are the 
 cause of mine. It is upon yours and my children’s account 
 that I principally rejoice.’ 
 
 Mrs Atkinson rose from her chair, and jumped about the 
 room for joy, repeating, 
 
 Turne, quod optanti divum promittere nemo 
 
 Auderet, volvenda dies, cn, attulit ultra * 
 
 Amelia now threw herself into a chair, complained she was 
 a little faint, and begged a glass of water. The doctor ad¬ 
 vised her to be blooded ] but she refused, saying she required a 
 vent of another kind. She then desired her children to be 
 brought to her, whom she immediately caught in her arms, 
 and, having profusely cried over them for several minutes, 
 
 * ‘ What none of all the Gods could grant thy vows, 
 
 That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.’ 
 
590 AMELIA. [BK XII. 
 
 declared she was easy. After which she soon regained her 
 usual temper and complexion. 
 
 That day they dined together, and in the afternoon they 
 all, except the doctor, visited Captain Atkinson; he repaired 
 to the bailiff’s house to visit the sick man, whom he found 
 very cheerful, the surgeon having assured him that he was 
 in no danger. 
 
 The doctor had a long spiritual discourse with Robinson, 
 who assured him that he sincerely repented of his past life, 
 that he was resolved to lead his future days in a different 
 manner, and to make what amends he could for his sins to 
 the society, by bringing one of the greatest rogues in it to 
 justice. There was a circumstance which much pleased the 
 doctor, and made him conclude that, however Robinson had 
 been corrupted by his old master, he had naturally a good 
 disposition. This was, that Robinson declared he was chiefly 
 induced to the discovery by what had happened at the 
 pawnbroker’s, and by the miseries which he there perceived 
 he had been instrumental in bringing on Booth and his 
 family. 
 
 The next day Booth and his wife, at the doctor’s instance, 
 dined with Colonel James and his lady, where they were re¬ 
 ceived with great civility, and all matters were accommodated 
 without Booth ever knowing a syllable of the challenge even 
 to this day. 
 
 The doctor insisted very strongly on having Miss Harris 
 taken into custody, and said, if she was his sister, he would 
 deliver her to justice. He added besides, that it was impos¬ 
 sible to screen her and carry on the prosecution, or, indeed, 
 recover the estate. Amelia at last begged the delay of one 
 day only, in which time she wrote a letter to her sister, in¬ 
 forming her of the discovery, and the danger in which she 
 stood, and begged her earnestly to make her escape, with 
 many assurances that she would never suffer her to know any 
 distress. This letter she, sent away express, and it had the 
 desired effect; for Miss Harris, having received sufficient 
 information from the attorney to the same purpose, immedi¬ 
 ately set out for Pool, and from thence to Prance, carrying 
 with her all her money, most of her clothes, and some few 
 jewels. She had, indeed, packed up plate and jewels to the 
 value of two thousand pounds and upwards. But Booth, to 
 
AMELIA. 
 
 591 
 
 CH. VIII.] 
 
 whom Amelia communicated the letter, prevented her by 
 ordering the man that went with the express (who had been 
 a serjeant of the foot-guards recommended to him by Atkin¬ 
 son) to suffer the lady to go whither she pleased, hut not to 
 take anything with her except her clothes, which he was 
 carefully to search. These orders were obeyed punctually, 
 and with these she was obliged to comply. 
 
 Two days after the bird was flown a warrant from the 
 lord chief justice arrived to take her up, the messenger of 
 which returned with the news of her flight, highly to the 
 satisfaction of Amelia, and consequently of Booth, and, in¬ 
 deed, not greatly to the grief of the doctor. 
 
 About a week afterwards Booth and Amelia, with their 
 children, and Captain Atkinson and his lady, all set forward 
 together for Amelia’s house, where they arrived amidst the 
 acclamations of all the neighbours and every public demon¬ 
 stration of joy. 
 
 They found the house ready prepared to receive them, by 
 Atkinson’s friend the old serjeant, and a good dinner pre¬ 
 pared for them by Amelia’s old nurse, who was addressed 
 with the utmost duty by her son and daughter, most affec¬ 
 tionately caressed by Booth and his wife, and by Amelia’s 
 absolute command seated next to herself at the table. At 
 which, perhaps, were assembled some of the best and happiest 
 people then in the world. 
 
592 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IX WHICH THE HISTOET 19 CONCLUDED. 
 
 Having brought our history to a conclusion, as to those 
 points in which we presume our reader was chiefly interested, 
 in the foregoing chapter, we shall in this, by way of epilogue, 
 endeavour to satisfy his curiosity as to what hath since hap¬ 
 pened to the principal personages of whom we have treated 
 in the foregoing pages. 
 
 Colonel James and his lady, after living in a polite manner 
 for m any years together, at last agreed to live in as polite a 
 manner asunder. The colonel hath kept Miss Matthews 
 ever since, and is at length grown to doat on her (though 
 now very disagreeable in her person, and immensely fat) to 
 such a degree, that he submits to be treated by her in the 
 most tyrannical manner. 
 
 He allows his lady eight hundred pounds a-year, with 
 which she divides her time between Tunbridge, Rath, and 
 London, and passes about nine hours in the twenty-four at 
 cards. Her income is lately increased by three thousand 
 pounds left her by her brother Colonel Bath, who was killed 
 in a duel about six years ago by a gentleman who told the 
 colonel he differed from him in opinion. 
 
 The noble peer and Mrs Ellison have been both dead 
 several years, and both of the consequences of their favourite 
 vices; Mrs Ellison having fallen a martyr to her liquor, and 
 the other to his amours, by which he was at last become so 
 rotten that he stunk above-ground. 
 
 The attorney, Murphy, was brought to his trial at the Old 
 Bailey, where, after much quibbling about the meaning of a 
 very plain act of parliament, he was at length convicted of 
 forgery, and was soon afterwards hanged at Tyburn. 
 
 The witness for some time seemed to reform his life, and 
 received a small pension from Booth; after which he returned 
 to vicious courses, took a purse on the highway, was detected 
 and taken, and followed the last steps of his old master. So 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 593 
 
 apt are men whose manners have been once thoroughly cor¬ 
 rupted, to return, from any dawn of an amendment, into the 
 dark paths of vice. 
 
 As to Miss Harris, she lived three years with a broken 
 neart at Boulogne, where she received annually fifty pounds 
 from her sister, who was hardly prevailed on by Dr Harrison 
 not to send her a hundred, and then died in a most miserable 
 manner. 
 
 Mr Atkinson upon the whole hath led a very happy life 
 with his wife, though he hath been sometimes obliged to pay 
 proper homage to her superior understanding and knowledge. 
 This, however, he cheerfully submits to, and she makes him 
 proper returns of fondness. They have two fine hoys, of 
 whom they are equally fond. He is lately advanced to the 
 rank of captain, and last summer both he and his wife paid 
 a visit of three months to Booth and his wife. 
 
 Dr Harrison is grown old in years and in honour, beloved 
 and respected by all his parishioners and by all his neighbours. 
 He divides his time between his parish, his old town, and 
 Booth’s—at which last place he had, two years ago, a gentle 
 fit of the gout, being the first attack of that distemper. 
 During this fit Amelia was his nurse, and her two eldest 
 daughters sat up alternately with him for a whole week. 
 The eldest of those girls, whose name is Amelia, is his 
 favourite; she is the picture of her mother, and it is thought 
 the doctor hath distinguished her in his will, for he hath de'- 
 clared that he will leave his whole fortune, except some fe\v 
 charities, among Amelia’s children. 
 
 As to Booth and Amelia, Fortune seems to have made 
 them large amends for the tricks she had played the n in 
 their youth. They have, ever since the above period of this 
 history, enjoyed an uninterrupted course of health and happi¬ 
 ness. In about six weeks after Booth’s first coming into the 
 country he went to London and paid all his debts of honour ; 
 after which, and a stay of two days only, he returned into 
 the country, and hath never since been thirty miles from 
 home. He hath two boys and four girls ; the eldest of the 
 boys, he who hath made his appearance in this history, is 
 just come from the university, and is one of the finest 
 gentlemen and best scholars of his age. The second is just 
 going from school, and is intended for the church, that being 
 
 38 
 
594 
 
 AMELIA. 
 
 [bk XII. 
 
 his own choice. His eldest daughter is a woman grown, but 
 we must not mention her age. A marriage was proposed to 
 her the other day with a young fellow of a good estate, hut 
 she never would see him more than once : ‘ For Doctor 
 Harrison,’ says she, ‘ told me he was illiterate, and I am sure 
 he is ill-natured.’ The second girl is three years younger 
 than her sister, and the others are yet children. 
 
 Amelia is still the finest woman in England of her a^e. 
 Booth himself often avers she is as handsome as ever. 
 B othing can equal the serenity of their lives. Amelia de¬ 
 clared to me the other day, that she did not remember to 
 have seen her husband out of humour these ten years ; and, 
 upon my insinuating to her that he had the best of wives, 
 she answered with a smile that she ought to he so, for that 
 he had made her the happiest of women. 
 
 TIIE END. 
 
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 Lamb’s (Charles) Essays of Elia. Is. 
 Last Essays of Elia, is- Eliana, 
 with Biographical Sketch, is- 
 
 Marryat’s Pirate and Three Cutters, 
 is. 6d. 
 
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