← catalogue

Amelia — Volume 3

by Henry Fielding · English · Gutenberg #6097 · 415,130 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Amelia — Volume 3
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Amelia — Volume 3

Author: Henry Fielding


        
Release date: July 1, 2004 [eBook #6097]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6097

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMELIA — VOLUME 3 ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




THE WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING

EDITED BY

GEORGE SAINTSBURY

IN TWELVE VOLUMES

VOL. IX.

AMELIA
VOL. III.




[Illustration: Leaned both his elbows on the table fixed both his eyes
on her]




AMELIA

BY

HENRY FIELDING ESQ

VOL. III.

EDITED BY GEORGE
SAINTSBURY WITH
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HERBERT RAILTON
& E.J. WHEELER.

MDCCCXCIII




CONTENTS OF VOL. III.



BOOK IX.


CHAPTER I
In which the history looks backwards

CHAPTER II.
In which the history goes forward

CHAPTER III.
A conversation between Dr Harrison and others

CHAPTER IV.
A dialogue between Booth and Amelia

CHAPTER V.
A conversation between Amelia and Dr Harrison, with the result

CHAPTER VI.
Containing as surprising an accident as is perhaps recorded in history

CHAPTER VII.
In which the author appears to be master of that profound learning
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 clergyman, 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 masqtierade, 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 things worthy observation



BOOK XI


CHAPTER I.
Containing a very polite scene

CHAPTER II.
Matters political

CHAPTER III.
The history of Mr. Trent

CHAPTER IV.
Containing some distress

CHAPTER V.
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

CHAPTER V.
What passed at the bailiff's house

CHAPTER VI.
What passed between the doctor and the sick man

CHAPTER VII.
In which the history draws towards a conclusion

CHAPTER VIII.
Thus this history draws nearer to a conclusion

CHAPTER IX.
In which the history is concluded




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

LEANING BOTH HIS ELBOWS ON THE TABLE, FIXED HIS EYES ON HER

BOOTH BETWEEN A BLUE DOMINO AND A SHEPHERDESS

DR HARRISON




BOOK IX.

Chapter i.

_In which the history looks backwards._


Before we proceed farther with our history it may be proper to look
back 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 be found, I apprehend, to be truly
congruous with all the rules of the most perfect prudence as well as
with the most consummate 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 neighbourhood,
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 judgment 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 accusations
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.

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 neighbourhood 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 conjectures.

Here the doctor saw the little gold watch and all those fine trinkets
with which the noble lord had presented the children, 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 happened 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 than the
wretched condition of his wife and family began to affect his mind.
The children, who were to be utterly undone with their father, were
intirely innocent; and as for Amelia herself, though he thought he had
most convincing proofs of very blameable levity, yet his former
friendship and affection 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 shew 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
appeared 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 who have ever infested the earth hanged all together in a
string.

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 declared he would go and release her
husband, which he accordingly did in the manner we have above related.




Chapter ii

_In which the history goes forward._


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 my papa before?"
"Suppose it was," said the doctor; "would not you forgive me?" "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. "I 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 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 5 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 difficulty, put off some
business of great consequence in order to serve him this afternoon;
"but I 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 he 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 past 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 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 conversation 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, past in discourse on various common subjects,
not worth recording. In the conclusion, 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 shewn 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 enabled 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, answered, "My
dear, I will dine with you wherever you please to lay your commands on
me." "I am obliged to you, 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 children, with at
most a single friend or two now and then." "O 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." "I hope you will, my dear," cries she;" 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. However, 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!" cryed
Amelia, frightened, "what do you mean? what objection?" "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 obligations, 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, therefore, a little in to 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
chearfully promising to fulfil his promise.

In reality, poor Amelia had now a most unpleasant task to undertake;
for she thought it absolutely necessary to conceal from her husband
the opinion she had conceived of the colonel. For, 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 but these thoughts could justify the
least unkind, or, indeed, the least reserved behaviour 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 gallantry.

In short, to avoid giving any umbrage to her husband, Amelia was
forced to act in a manner which she was conscious 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 be exerted.




Chapter 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 James was such as
gave some uneasiness to Amelia, who well understood his meaning,
though the particulars were too refined and subtle to be observed by
any other present.

When the ladies were 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, "I hear you have been arrested;
and I think you know what satisfaction 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 required 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--"

"How, sir!" said the doctor, "would you compensate one breach of the
law by a much greater, and pay your debts by committing murder?"

"Why do you 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? 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 resentment was
impracticable: "As, for instance," said he, "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."

"Was you so, sir?" 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."

"Sir, you are privileged," says the colonel, with great dignity; "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.

"That Master," answered the doctor, "who hath expressly forbidden all
that cutting of throats to which you discover so much inclination."

"O! your servant, sir," said the colonel; "I see what you are driving
at; but you shall not persuade me to think that religion forces me to
be a coward."

"I detest and despise the name as much as you can," cries the doctor;
"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?"

"Yes, indeed, have I," cries the colonel. "What else is all Mr. Pope's
Homer full of but duels? Did not what's his name, one of the
Agamemnons, fight with that paultry 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?
Nay, and in Dryden's Virgil, is there anything almost besides
fighting?"

"You are a man of learning, colonel," cries the doctor; "but--"

"I thank you for that compliment," said the colonel.--"No, sir, I do
not pretend to learning; but I have some little reading, and I am not
ashamed to own it."

"But are you sure, colonel," cries the doctor, "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."

"Drink about, doctor," cries the colonel; "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."

"We are both of the same Church, I hope," cries the doctor.

"I am of the Church of England, sir," answered the colonel, "and will
fight for it to the last drop of my blood."

"It is very 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 between the disputants, and said that the colonel had very
rightly proposed to call a new subject; for that it was impossible 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 especially 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 damn 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 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
Harrison'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 his discourse nor the object of his vanity, when a
servant entered and summoned the company 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 delightful to
those who are engaged in it, may probably appear somewhat dull to the
reader, we will here put an end to the chapter.




Chapter iv.

_A dialogue between Booth and Amelia_.


The next morning early, Booth went by appointment and waited on
Colonel James; whence he returned to Amelia in that kind of
disposition which the great master of human passion 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 struggling for the
superiority, and begged to know the occasion; upon which Booth spoke
as follows:--

"My dear," said he, "I had no intention to conceal from you what hath
past this morning between me and the colonel, who hath oppressed me,
if I may use that expression, 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 yesterday 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? O 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 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. O 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 resolution which I
thought impossible for any one to have persuaded me into. O my dear
Amelia! let me entreat you to give me up to the good of your children,
as I have promised 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, however 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
submitted to the same!"

"What can you mean, Mr. Booth?" cries Amelia, trembling.

"Need I explain my meaning to you more?" answered Booth.--"Did I not
say I must give up my Amelia?"

"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 he will
have in restoring you to my arms. In the mean time, he 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? No, my Amelia, he is the only man
on earth who could have prevailed on me; but I know his house, his
purse, his protection, will be all at your command. And as for any
dislike you have conceived to 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.

"Nay, the invitation is not his, but hers; and I am convinced 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."

"I understand you, my dear, at last," said she (indeed she had rambled
into very strange conceits from some parts of his discourse); "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 inflexible, and resisted the force of all his
arguments with a steadiness of opposition, which it would have been
almost excusable in him to have construed into stubbornness.

The doctor arrived in the midst of the dispute; and, having 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 able. In the first place then, can anything
be more reasonable 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? Can love be its
own enemy? or can a husband who is fond of his wife, content himself
almost on any account with a long absence from her?"

"You speak like an angel, my dear Doctor Harrison," answered 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. Nay, 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 knew what opinion the doctor would
be of. Nay, 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.

"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 instance 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."

"You are in the right, doctor," cries Amelia.

"I am sorry for it," said the doctor, "for then I assure you you are
in the wrong."

"Indeed," cries Amelia, "if you knew all my reasons you 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 themselves the same liberty. And
yet, as unreasonable as the power of controuling men's thoughts is
represented, I will shew you how you shall controul mine whenever you
desire it."

"How, pray?" 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."

"Nay, 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 shewn
more resolution, I should have shewn less."

"So you think it necessary, then," said the doctor, "that there should
be one fool at least in every married couple. 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?
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? 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 followed is not
worth relating, till the doctor carried off Booth with him to take a
walk in the Park.




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 reflexion upon it, a thought at
last occurred to her which immediately 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 adviseable,
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, 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 relation, and remained in a silent
astonishment. Upon which Amelia said, "Is villany so rare a thing,
sir, that it should so much surprize you?" "No, child," cries he; "but
I am shocked at seeing it so artfully disguised under the appearance
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
redounding 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. O Nature, Nature, why art thou so dishonest as ever
to send men with these false recommendations into the world?"

"Indeed, my dear sir, I begin to grow entirely sick of it," cries
Amelia, "for sure all mankind almost are villains in their hearts."

"Fie, 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 benevolence, 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 headlong as it were into vice. The governors of the world, and I 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? 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? doth it exclude him from any preferment in the state, I
had almost said in the church? is it any blot in his escutcheon? any
bar to his honour? is he not to be found every day in the assemblies
of women of the highest quality? 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? I am
convinced 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 chastity; 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 [Footnote: The art of getting
wealth is so called by Aristotle in his Politics.] art, as an old
friend of mine calls it. I know not how to get a shilling, nor how to
keep it in my pocket if I had it."

"But you understand human nature to the bottom," answered 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 shew 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 fellow 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 care! If
you shew 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 chearful conversation with such a man; that I
will so far betray my character as to give any countenance to such
flagitious proceedings. Besides, 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?" 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?"

"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, "without giving him
any suspicion of the real cause, the consequences 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 powerful 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 shewn a good
catholic patience. And where is the honest serjeant and his wife? I am
pleased with the behaviour of you both to that worthy fellow, in
opposition to the custom of the world; which, instead 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 serjeant and Mrs.
Atkinson; and the two couple, with the doctor, spent the evening
together in great mirth and festivity; for the doctor was one of the
best companions in the world, and a vein of chearfulness, good humour,
and pleasantry, ran through his conversation, with which it was
impossible to resist being pleased.




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 chearful prospects which he entertained from it.
This Atkinson, behind the curtain, communicated to his wife. The
conclusion which she drew from it need scarce be hinted to the reader.
She made, indeed, no scruple of plainly and bluntly telling her
husband that the colonel had a most manifest intention to attack 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 bedside of Amelia, with a naked sword in his hand, and threatening
to stab her instantly 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; but 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 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, "O Heavens! I have killed my wife. I have stabbed
her! I have stabbed her!" "What can be the meaning of all this?" said
Booth. "O, sir!" cries the serjeant, "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 difficulty to conquer the effects of her own surprize on this
occasion; 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. Atkinson began to come to
herself; and soon after, to the inexpressible joy of the serjeant, it
was discovered she had no wound. Indeed, the delicate nose of Amelia
soon made that discovery, which the grosser smell of the serjeant, and
perhaps 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 cherry-
brandy, 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-cloaths.
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 producing any kind of
consequence, had not the words which the serjeant uttered in his
frenzy made some slight impression on Booth; so much, at least, as to
awaken his curiosity; so that in the morning when he arose he sent for
the serjeant, 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, encreased Booth's curiosity, and he said,
"Nay, I am resolved to hear it. Why, you simpleton, do you imagine me
weak enough to be 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. "I 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 unless 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 riot 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
Shakespear says, dreams denote a foregone conclusion. Now 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 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 her."

"Now 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. Nay, 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.

"Resent!--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 past 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; but you have done wrong
in censuring the 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 forgive you only on condition
you never speak a word more of this nature. This silly dream hath
intoxicated you."

"I have done, sir," cries the serjeant. "I know my distance, 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. Besides, 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 immediately 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 intreat 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 discomposed 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! I will know the
truth. Hath he ever said or done anything which you dislike?"

"How, my dear," said Amelia, "can you imagine I should dislike a man
who is so much your friend? Think 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? No, 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--O 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;" and yet it is all from
extreme tenderness. Nay, 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.

"Nay, 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 now perceived
what had happened, and how much her husband 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.




Chapter vii.

_In which the author appears to be master of that profound learning
called the knowledge of 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
something for you nearer home; and it would be the hardest thing in
the world if he should not obtain it. Are we resolved never to
encourage merit; but to throw away all our preferments on those who do
not deserve them? What a set of contemptible wretches do we see
strutting about the town in scarlet!"

Booth made a very low bow, and modestly spoke in disparagement of
himself. To which she answered, "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 interrupted him,
saying, "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 Mrs.
James at her first seeing her in town, had attributed 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
Mrs. James she should be eternally obliged to her if she could succeed
in her kind endeavours; for that the thoughts of parting again with
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 convinced, 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 himself, 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 yourself 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."

"Not know Lady Betty! how, is that possible?--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 contrive to be partners--Come."

"Nay, 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? I would
not live a day without them--nay, indeed, I do not believe I should be
able to exist. Is there so delightful a sight in the world as the four
honours in one's own hand, unless it be three natural aces at bragg?--
And you really hate cards?"

"Upon reflexion," cries Amelia, "I have sometimes had great pleasure
in them--in seeing my children build houses with them. My little boy
is so dexterous that he will sometimes build up the whole pack."

"Indeed, Booth," cries Mrs. James, "this good woman of yours is
strangely altered since I knew her first; but she will always be a
good creature."

"Upon my word, my dear," cries Amelia, "you are altered too very
greatly; but 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?"

"Indeed, my dear," said Amelia, "you injure me; for I envy no woman's
happiness in marriage." At these words such looks past between Booth
and his wife as, to a sensible by-stander, would have made all the
airs of Mrs. James appear in the highest degree contemptible, and
would have rendered herself the object of compassion. Nor could that
lady avoid looking a little silly on the occasion.

Amelia now, at the earnest desire of her husband, accoutred 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. Atkinson, 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 civily,
and presently engaged Booth and Mrs. James 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, who should make his appearance but the noble peer of whom so
much honourable mention hath already been made in this history? 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 suppose that
Mrs. Ellison had kept anything a secret from him.

Amelia was not, however, so forgetful. She made him a very distant
courtesy, would scarce vouchsafe an answer to 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.

Nothing, 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 be
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 past 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! not at home! then tell your mistress she is a giddy
vagabond, and I will come to see her no more till she sends for me."
This the poor girl, from misunderstanding one word, and half
forgetting the rest, had construed into great passion, several very
bad words, and a declaration that he would never see Amelia any more.




Chapter 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; but tell her I have the
vanity myself to think I cannot be 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."

"Dear 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 shewing 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 shew you my daughter, my old 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, "Pray, my good
friend, what daughter is this of yours? I never so much as heard that
you was married."

"And what then," cries the doctor; "did you ever hear that a pope was
married? and yet some of them have had sons and daughters, I believe;
but, however, this young gentleman will absolve me without obliging me
to penance."

"I have not yet that power," answered the young clergyman; "for I am
only in deacon's orders."

"Are you not?" cries the doctor; "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 creatures 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."

"I wish you joy of your daughter," cries the old gentleman; "for to a
man of your disposition, to find out an adequate object of your
benevolence, is, I acknowledge, to find a treasure."

"It is, indeed, a happiness," cries the doctor.

"The greatest difficulty," added the gentleman, "which persons of your
turn of mind meet with, is in finding proper objects of their
goodness; for nothing sure can be more irksome to a generous mind,
than to discover that it hath thrown away all its good offices on a
soil that bears no other fruit than ingratitude."

"I remember," cries the doctor, "Phocylides saith,

       Mn kakov ev epens opens dpelpelv ioov eot evi povtw
[Footnote: To do a kindness to a bad man is like sowing your seed in
the sea.]

But he speaks more like a philosopher than a Christian. I am more
pleased with a French writer, one of the best, indeed, that I ever
read, who blames men for lamenting the ill return which is so often
made to the best offices. [Footnote: D'Esprit.] 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? or, is Christianity a matter of
bare theory, and not a rule for our practice?"

"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, "that is rather a
heathenish than a Christian doctrine. Homer, I remember, introduces in
his Iliad one Axylus, of whom he says--

     --Hidvos o'nv avopwpoloi
       pavras yap tyeeokev
[Footnote: He was a friend to mankind, for he loved them all.]

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, "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:--

 [Greek verse]

"It seems, therefore, as if this character rather became a Christian
than a heathen, for Homer could not have transcribed 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. "I know, again,
what Mr. Poole, in 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, "how these
words are generally understood. The commentator 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 hate 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, "on such subjects."

"Nor I neither," cries the doctor; "I 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 annexed--_that ye may be the children_, and so forth. No
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 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 mind 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. "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? Why do
such, ordinarily I mean, concern themselves in inflicting punishments,
but because 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 tempting 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
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?"

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 university in a twelvemonth.

The son replied, that he allowed the doctrine to be extremely 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.




Chapter ix.

_A scene of modern wit and humour._


In the afternoon the old gentleman proposed a walk to Vauxhall, a
place of which, he said, he had heard much, but 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?" 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?

"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."

"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? with what ecstasy
must the contemplation of being admitted to such a presence fill the
mind! The pitiful courts of princes are open to few, and to those only
at particular seasons; but from this glorious and gracious presence 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 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, assuring 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 excellency 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 pursuance of that chearful chain of thoughts
with which you have inspired me this afternoon, I was just now lost in
a reverie, and fancied myself in 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 attractions of
several cheesecakes that passed to and fro, could contain no longer,
but asked his mother to give him one, saying, "I 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 with 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 behaviour?--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?"

"No, no," cries Jack, "the old gentleman is more reasonable. Here's
the fellow that eats up the tithe-pig. Don't you see how his mouth
waters at her? Where's your slabbering bib?" For, 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.

"Such boys as you," cries the young clergyman, "ought to be well
whipped at school, instead of being suffered to become 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 sacerdos_. 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, "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?"

"Tida Tidu Tidum," cries my lord.

"However, gentlemen," cries the doctor, "if you 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. Nay, I entreat
you for your own sakes, for here is one coming who will talk to you in
a very different stile 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 what was the matter?
At the same time the lord and his companion, seeing Captain Trent,
whom they well knew, said both together, "What, doth this company
belong to you?" When the doctor, with great presence of mind, as he
was apprehensive of some fatal consequence if Booth should know what
had past, 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?"

"No, 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 am sure, if I
had known the lady to be 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?"

"Nothing of any consequence," cries the doctor, "nor worth your
enquiring into. You hear it was a mistake of the person, and I really
believe his lordship that all proceeded from his not knowing to whom
the lady belonged."

"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 contented." 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."

"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 complete satisfaction.




Chapter X

_A curious conversation between the doctor, the young clergyman, and
the young clergyman's father_.


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, "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, in fact, ambassadors from heaven to the world? and do they not,
therefore, in denying us our due respect, deny it in 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."

"Very true, sir," cries the young one; "and I heartily hope He will;
but those punishments are at too great a distance to infuse terror
into wicked minds. The government ought to interfere with its
immediate censures. Fines and imprisonments and corporal punishments
operate more forcibly 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 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 impunity?"

"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 themselves."

"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? 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 themselves 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 opposition to, and in a
constant breach of, these laws, the inference is obvious. There is a
pleasant story in Matthew 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 relation 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; "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. 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 excessive 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 task-masters upon earth ever thinks
of his Master which is in heaven? 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 tool of a court-favourite, and employed
either as the pimp of his pleasure, or sometimes, perhaps, made a
dirty channel to 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 contemptible 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
delights 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 paultry
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
Vauxhall. 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 incomprehensible Being?"

"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 instructions 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, particularly of their oratory. But,

    _Nee tamen hoc tribuens dederim quoque caetera_.

I cannot agree that a clergyman is obliged to put up with 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
be ever liable to be affronted as a clergyman; 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,--Something 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? Why will you not learn to
study mankind with the attention which I have employed to that
purpose? Do you think, if I had affronted this obstinate old fellow as
you do, I should ever have engaged his friendship?"

"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 words; but, in the main, I
never heard any one talk more foolishly."

"What of that?" 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 L100 in the world, more than his annual income. He hath given
away above half his fortune to the Lord knows who. I believe I have
had above L200 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
superiors?"

"I 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? However, father, I can account for your opinion. It is the
common failing of old men to attribute 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 choaked with self-conceit that it was
utterly impossible they should ever bear any fruit.




BOOK 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 extreme 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 inadvertently 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 described 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 of a sober mind. Indeed, you have still a stronger
and more particular objection. I will try myself to reason him out of
it."

"Indeed it is impossible," answered she; "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 occasion; and he tells me my
refusal will disappoint all."

"I really do not know what to advise you," cries the doctor; "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 subject 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 unusual flow of spirits, cried out, "Fear nothing, my dear
Amelia, two women surely will be too hard for one man. I think,
doctor, it exceeds Virgil:

    _Una dolo divum si faemina victa duorum est_."

"Very well repeated, indeed!" cries the doctor. "Do you understand all
Virgil as well as you seem to do that line?"

"I hope I do, sir," said she, "and Horace too; or else my father threw
away his time to very little purpose in teaching me."

"I ask your pardon, madam," cries the doctor. "I own it was an
impertinent question."

"Not at all, sir," says she; "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 vulgus rectum videt, est ubi peccat_."

"If I was to profess such an opinion, madam," said the doctor, "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 education."

"I own," said Mrs. Atkinson, "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 afford a woman, at least, a
reasonable and an innocent entertainment."

"But I will suppose," cried the doctor, "it may have its
inconveniences. As, for instance, if a learned lady should meet with
an unlearned husband, might she not be apt to despise him?"

"I think not," cries Mrs. Atkinson--"and, if I may be allowed the
instance, I think I have shewn, 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 qualifications
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?"

"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?"

"But why," cries Mrs. Atkinson, "must we necessarily suppose that a
learned man would be unreasonable?"

"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? For instance, what can be a more strange, and
indeed unreasonable opinion, than to prefer the Metamorphoses of Ovid
to the AEneid of Virgil?"

"It would be indeed so strange," cries the lady, "that you shall not
persuade me it was ever the opinion of any man."

"Perhaps not," cries the doctor; "and I believe you and I should not
differ in our judgments of any person who maintained such an opinion--
What a taste must he have!"

"A most contemptible one indeed," cries Mrs. Atkinson.

"I am satisfied," cries the doctor. "And in the words of your own
Horace, _Verbum non amplius addam_."

"But how provoking is this," cries Mrs. Atkinson, "to draw one 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?"

"Perhaps you might sometimes," said the doctor, "be of these
sentiments; but you remember your own Virgil--_Varium et mutabile
semper faemina_."

"Nay, Amelia," said Mrs. Atkinson, "you are now concerned 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 though 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 his AEneid
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. Atkinson; "there
seems to be a false concord. I protest I never thought of it before."

"And yet this is the Virgil," answered the 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,

"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 of 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 hand, 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.




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 Haymarket.

When they arrived at the Opera-house the colonel and Mrs. James
presently left them; nor did Booth and his lady remain long together,
but 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 romantick stile.
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 thought 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, "Nay,
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 bewitching
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, "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 masquerade voice that she did not
know him. "I am Colonel James," said he, in a whisper. "Indeed, sir,"
answered she, "you are mistaken; I have no acquaintance with any
Colonel James." "Madam," answered he, in a whisper likewise, "I am
positive I am not mistaken, you are certainly Mrs. Booth." "Indeed,
sir," said she, "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 conversation 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. "Will,"
cries the colonel, "do you know what is become of our wives; for I
have seen neither of them since we have been in the room?" Booth
answered, "That he supposed they were both together, and they should
find them by and by." "What!" cries the lady in the blue domino, "are
you both come upon duty then with your wives? as for yours, Mr.
Alderman," said she to the colonel, "I make no question but she is got
into much better company than her husband's." "How can you be so
cruel, madam?" said the shepherdess; "you will make him beat his wife
by and by, for he is a military man I assure you." "In the trained
bands, I presume," cries the domino, "for he is plainly dated from the
city." "I own, indeed," cries the other, "the gentleman smells
strongly of Thames-street, and, if I may venture to guess, of the
honourable calling of a taylor."

"Why, what the devil hast thou picked up here?" cries James.

"Upon my soul, I don't know," answered Booth; "I wish you would take
one of them at least."

"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."

[Illustration: Booth between the blue domino and a Shepherdess.]

"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 noble colonel."

"Much good may it do you with your ladies!" said James; "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?" cries the domino.

"Who doth not know him?" 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?" said the domino.

"O 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?"

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 together, 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
croud in the assemblies of the polite as in those of their inferiors.

When this croud was gathered together, one of the bucks, 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? 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 expressly forbid in
the New 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 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
assistance in all his affairs, wants, and distresses. It is the
destruction 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. Despair 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 exaggerate. But what pencil can
delineate the horrors of that punishment which the Scripture denounces
against it?

"'And for what will you subject yourself to this punishment? or for
what reward will you inflict all this misery on another? I will add,
on your friend? 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? What motive then can thus hurry you on to
the destruction of yourself and your friend? doth the peculiar
rankness of the guilt add any zest to the sin? doth it enhance the
pleasure as much as we may be assured it will the punishment?

"'But if you can be so lost to all sense of fear, and of shame, and of
goodness, as not to be debarred by the evil which you 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 impossibility 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?

"'Desist, therefore, let me advise you, from this enormous 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 endeavours 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 Handel; it will make an excellent
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."

"Fie upon it! gentlemen, fie upon it!" said a frier, who came up; "do
you think there is any wit and humour in this ribaldry; or, if there
were, would it make any atonement for abusing religion and virtue?"

"Heyday!" cries one, "this is a frier in good earnest."

"Whatever I am," said the frier, "I hope at least you are what you
appear to be. Heaven forbid, for the sake of our posterity, that you
should be gentlemen."

"Jack," cries one, "let us toss the frier in a blanket."

"Me in a blanket?" said the frier: "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 mask, 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 privately 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. James, 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 acquainted 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 absolutely 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 dullness. 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 him; for I do assure you the gentleman very seldom
keeps any other company." "Are you so well acquainted with him,
madam?" said the domino. "I have had that honour longer than your
ladyship, I believe," answered the shepherdess. "Possibly you may,
madam," cries the domino; "but I wish you would not interrupt us at
present, for we have some business together." "I believe, madam,"
answered the shepherdess, "my business with the gentleman is
altogether as important as yours; and therefore your ladyship may
withdraw if you please." "My dear ladies," cries Booth, "I beg you
will not quarrel about me." "Not at all," answered the domino; "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? "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? 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?" "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?" "No, upon my honour," answered Booth. "Mention
not honour," said she, "thou wretch! for, hardened as thou art, I
could shew thee a face that, in spite of thy consummate impudence,
would confound thee with shame and horrour. Dost thou not yet know
me?" "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."

Here a long dialogue ensued between the gentleman and the lady, whom,
I suppose, I need not mention to have been Miss Matthews; but, as it
consisted chiefly of violent upbraidings 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, parting 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 promise 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?" "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 past at a little distance, and out of the hearing of
the supposed Amelia; when Booth, looking 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.




Chapter iii.

_Consequences of the masquerade, not uncommon nor surprizing_.


The lady, getting first out 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 chearful 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?"

"For yourself, if you please," answered Booth; "but I shall eat
nothing."

"How, my dear!" said Amelia; "I hope you have not lost your appetite
at the masquerade!" for supper was a meal at which he generally eat
very heartily.

"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 gentleman?"

"The gentleman--the nobleman--when I came up; sure I speak plain."

"Upon my word, my dear, I don't understand you," answered she; "I did
not know one person at the masquerade."

"How!" said he; "what! spend the whole evening with a masque without
knowing him?"

"Why, my dear," said she, "you know we were not together."

"I know we were not," said he, "but what is that to the purpose? Sure
you answer me strangely. I know we were not together; and therefore I
ask you whom you were with?"

"Nay, but, my dear," said she, "can I tell people in masques?"

"I say again, madam," said he, "would you converse two hours or more
with a masque whom you did not know?"

"Indeed, child," says she, "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. "Nay, you
will wish so yourself if you tell me truth.--What have I said? 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, "you wish I had not been there?"

"And is not that reason," answered he, "sufficient? Is he not the last
man upon earth with whom I would have you converse?"

"So you really wish then that I had not been at the masquerade?"

"I do," cried he, "from my soul."

"So may I ever be able," cried she, "to indulge you in every wish as
in this.--I was not there."

"Do not trifle, Amelia," cried he; "you would not jest with me if you
knew the situation of my mind."

"Indeed I do not jest with you," said she. "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. Atkinson, 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, 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 downstairs, 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 croud 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 upstairs 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 her a thousand
tender caresses, blamed his own judgment, acknowledged the goodness of
hers, and vowed never to oppose her will more in any one instance
during his life.

Mrs. Atkinson, who was still in the nursery with her masquerade 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 chearful conversation, after
which they retired all in the most perfect good humour.




Chapter iv.

_Consequences of the masquerade_.


When 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 contemptible.

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 very 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 considerations 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 objects 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
Newton's doctrine of colours is by one born blind. And yet in reality
it contains nothing more abstruse than this, that 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. "I 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, disorder,
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 is the stile, 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?"

"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."

"I 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 be surely the greatest folly, as well as the most daring
impiety, to risque 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. Not, 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? my wife
dislike his behaviour! hath the colonel ever offended her?"

"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; but 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?"

"Look ye, young gentleman," cries the doctor; "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, but I am sure she hath mistaken the
colonel, and hath misconstrued some over-strained point of gallantry,
something of the Quixote kind, into a design against her chastity; but
I have that opinion of the colonel, that I hope you will not be
offended when I declare I know not which of you two I should be the
sooner jealous of."

"I would by no means have you jealous of any one," cries 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
past 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 wholesome 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 whole
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 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?"

"Far otherwise," answered Booth. "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?"

"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 abandoned must be the manners of any
nation where such insults upon religion and morality can be committed
with impunity! No 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:--

    Os rh' epea phresin esin akosma te, polla te ede
    Maps, atar ou kata kosmon epizemenai basileusin,
    All'o, ti oi eisaito geloiton Argeiosin
    Emmenai

[Footnote: Thus paraphrased by Mr. Pope:

    "Awed by no shame, by no respect controll'd,
     In scandal busy, in reproaches bold,
     With witty malice, studious to defame,
     Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim."]

And immediately adds,

    ----aiskistos de aner ypo Ilion elthe

[Footnote: "He was the greatest scoundrel in the whole army."]

"Horace, again, describes such a rascal:

                              ----Solutos
      Qui captat risus hominum famamque dicacis,

[Footnote: "Who trivial bursts of laughter strives to raise,
      And courts of prating petulance the praise."--FRANCIS.]

 and says of him,

     Hic niger est, hunc tu, Romane, caveto."

[Footnote: "This man is black; do thou, O Roman! shun this man."]

"O charming Homer!" said Mrs. Atkinson, "how much above all other
writers!"

"I ask your pardon, madam," said the doctor; "I forgot you was a
scholar; but, indeed, I did not know you understood 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, "how do you like this passage in the
speech of Hector to Andromache:

     ----Eis oikon iousa ta sautes erga komize,
     Iston t elakaten te, kai amphipoloisi keleue
     Ergon epoichesthai?

[Footnote: "Go home and mind your own business. Follow your
spinning, and keep your maids to their work."]

"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 qualifications; 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 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 qualifications; but I do not remember 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 Roman
ladies in his time."

"You are a provoking man, doctor," said Mrs. Atkinson; "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 chuse to marry a man
with a thimble upon his finger? Would you in earnest think a needle
became 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 dispute
with the doctor; for, upon my word, he will be too hard for you."

"Nay, I beg _you_ will not interfere," cries Mrs. Atkinson; "I am sure
_you_ can be no judge in these matters."

At which the doctor and Booth burst 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 do not despise my understanding."

"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 afterwards 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 soul,
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."

Far different was the idea she entertained of the doctor, 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 book, and of whom, perhaps, they did not then conceive the most
favourable opinion.

Nay, I am aware that the esteem which some readers before 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.




Chapter V

_In which Colonel Bath appears in great glory_.


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, "it is writ with great dignity of
expression and emphasis of--of--of judgment?"

"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? I hope you don't imagine
any man durst write such a letter to me? d--n me, if I knew a man who
thought me capable of debauching my friend's wife, I would--d--n me."

"I believe, indeed, sir," cries Booth, "that no man living dares put
his name to such a letter; but you see it is anonymous."

"I don't know what you mean by ominous," cries the colonel; "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."

"He would, indeed, have deserved it," cries Booth. "But pray, sir, how
came you by it?"

"I took it," said the colonel, "from a sett 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 sett of fellows that you must have seen or
heard of about the town, that are, d--n me, a disgrace to the dignity
of manhood; puppies that mistake noise and impudence, rudeness and
profaneness, 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."

"So, then, you do not know the person to whom it was writ?" said
Booth.

"Lieutenant," cries the colonel, "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 acquainted with a rascal?"

"I do not suppose, colonel," cries Booth, "that you would willingly
cultivate an intimacy with such a person; but a man must have good
luck who hath any acquaintance if there are not some rascals among
them."

"I am not offended with you, child," says the colonel. "I know you did
not intend to offend me."

"No man, I believe, dares intend it," said Booth.

"I believe so too," said the colonel; "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."

"It is certainly the most cruel of all injuries," said Booth. "How
finely doth Shakespeare express it in his Othello!

    'But there, where I had treasured up my soul.'"

"That Shakespeare," cries the colonel, "was a fine fellow. He was a
very pretty poet indeed. Was it not Shakespeare that wrote the play
about Hotspur? 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--O! 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, "I 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 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, suggested
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 persuaded to comply.

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 gamester to determine. Certain it
is that Booth had no inclination 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, "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. rent'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, therefore, that Fortune was on their
side; for, however she may be reported to favour fools, she never, I
believe, shews them any countenance when they engage in play with
knaves.

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 trifling; 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, therefore, 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 encrease 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 unhappy 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 delightful 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.

At ten then she sat down to supper by herself, for Mrs. Atkinson was
then abroad. And here we cannot help relating 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 bell to send her maid for
half-a-pint of white wine, but 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 excellent
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 expence 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.




Chapter vi.

_Read, gamester, and observe_.


Booth could not so well disguise the 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?" "Nay, my love," cried 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 consternation; "pray,
tell me."

"I have lost my money at play," answered he.

"Pugh!" said she, recovering herself--"what signifies the trifle you
had in your pocket? 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? O, 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 kindness, told him
she had near eleven guineas in her purse, and asked how much she
should fetch him. "I would not advise you, Billy, to carry too much in
your pocket, for fear it should be 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, anymore 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 grandmother'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?"

"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 subsistence for ourselves and our family. As for
your dependence 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."

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?"

"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?--I
beg you will deal openly with me, and tell me all your griefs."

"Have you dealt fairly with me, Amelia?" said he.

"Yes, surely," said she; "Heaven is my witness how fairly."

"Nay, do not call Heaven," cried he, "to witness a falsehood. 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?"

"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 dear," 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
vain to conceal it longer--I know all--your confidant hath told me
all."

"Nay, 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."

"Is not Amelia, then," cried he, "equally jealous of my honour? Would
she, from a weak tenderness for my person, go privately about to
betray, to undermine 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 shewn 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; "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, however, 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 convinced 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.




Chapter vii.

_In which Booth receives a visit from 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 comfort him, Captain Trent came to make
him a visit.

This was, indeed, almost the last man in the world 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 aukward manner, to apologise; but Trent immediately
stopt his mouth, and said, "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. Indeed, 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 a moment, but presently said, "I am pretty certain my wife
is not engaged, and I will undertake for her. I am sure she 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 lovers of a bottle than Trent; he soon proposed
therefore to adjourn to the King's Arms tavern, where Booth, though
much against his inclination, accompanied 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 himself 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 very wisely too," said Trent "I say nothing of the colonel's good
will. Very 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 use of towards you. I make no doubt you know whom
I mean."

"Upon my honour I do not," answered Booth; "nor did I guess that I had
such a friend in the world as you mention."

"I am glad then," cries Trent, "that I have the pleasure of informing
you of it." He then named the noble peer who hath been 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."

"Nay, I know nothing that hath passed between you," answered Trent. "I
am sure, if there is any quarrel between you of two days' standing,
all is forgiven on his part."

"D--n his forgiveness!" said Booth. "Perhaps I ought to blush at what
I have forgiven."

"You surprize me!" cries Trent. "Pray what can be the matter?"

"Indeed, my dear Trent," cries Booth, very gravely, "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."

"Sure, you are not in earnest!" answered Trent; "but, if you are, you
will pardon me for thinking that impossible."

"Indeed," cries Booth, "I have so good an opinion of my wife as to
believe it impossible for him to succeed; but that he should intend me
the favour you will not, I believe, think an impossibility."

"Faith! not in the least," said Trent. "Mrs. Booth is a very fine
woman; and, if I had the honour to be her husband, I should not be
angry with any man for liking her."

"But you would be angry," said Booth, "with a man, who should make use
of stratagems and contrivances to seduce her virtue; especially if he
did this under the colour of entertaining the highest friendship for
yourself."

"Not at all," cries Trent. "It is human nature."

"Perhaps it is," cries Booth; "but it is human nature depraved, stript
of all its worth, and loveliness, and dignity, and degraded down to a
level with the vilest brutes."

"Look ye, Booth," cries Trent, "I would not be misunderstood. 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 groundless; 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 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 done. I
meant only your service; and I thought I had known you better."

Booth begged him to explain himself. "If you can," said he, "shew 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; "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 that is innocence. As
to the mere necessaries of life, however, 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 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
Shakspear 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 refused, 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.




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 compassionate 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 in 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
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 offending 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 matter with you,
madam?"

"I know not what is the matter," cries Amelia; "but I have received a
letter at last from that infamous colonel."

"You 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?"

"Read it with all my heart," cries Amelia; "and give me your advice
how to act, for I am almost distracted."

"Heydey!" says Mrs. Atkinson, "here is a piece of parchment 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 cried 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.

"Do not I tell you, my dear madam," cries she, "that it is a
commission for my husband? and can you wonder at my being overjoyed at
what I know will make him so happy? And now it is all out. The letter
is not from the colonel, but 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 Opera-house
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 Captain 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
himself, 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 stile of a
great man of the present age than of an Arcadian 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 promises 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? 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
yourself, madam), he would not fail to reward her for such an
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 preliminary 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."

"I 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? What must this lord think of me for listening
to his mention of love? 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. No 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? You may have blown up my
reputation by your behaviour."

"How is that possible?" answered Mrs. Atkinson. "Is it not in my power
to clear up all matters? 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 proclivi est._"

"However new or old it is, I find it is true," cries Amelia--"But,
pray, tell me all, though I tremble to hear it."

"Indeed, my dear friend," said Mrs. Atkinson, "you are terrified at
nothing--indeed, indeed, you are too great a prude."

"I do not know what you mean by prudery," answered Amelia. "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?"

"Indeed, I know not what he means by two minutes," cries Mrs.
Atkinson, "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."

"I don't know what favours you granted him, madam," answered Amelia
peevishly, "but I am sorry you granted him any in my name."

"Upon my word," cries Mrs. Atkinson, "you use me unkindly, 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 may be your sentiments," cries Amelia,
"and I hope they are the sentiments of your husband."

"I desire, madam," cries Mrs. Atkinson, "you would not reflect on my
husband. He is a worthy man and as brave a man as yours; yes, madam,
and he is now as much a captain."

She spoke those words with so loud a voice, that Atkinson, 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.

"The matter, my dear," cries Mrs. Atkinson, "is that I have got a
commission for you, and your good old friend here is angry with me for
getting it."

"I have not spirits enow," cries Amelia, "to answer you as you
deserve; and, if I had, you are below my anger."

"I do not know, Mrs. Booth," answered the other, "whence this great
superiority over me is derived; but, if your virtue gives it you, I
wo

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/6097