tone than I believe he had ever used before, bid the servant tell Blifil he knew him not. “Consider, dear sir,” cries Jones, in a trembling voice. “I have considered,” answered Allworthy, “and you yourself shall carry my message to the villain. No one can carry him the sentence of his own ruin so properly, as the man whose ruin he hath so villanously contrived.” “Pardon me, dear sir,” said Jones; “a moment’s reflection will, I am sure, convince you of the contrary. What might perhaps be but justice from another tongue, would from mine be insult; and to whom?—my own brother and your nephew. Nor did he use me so barbarously—indeed, that would have been more inexcusable than anything he hath done. Fortune may tempt men of no very bad dispositions to injustice; but insults proceed only from black and rancorous minds, and have no temptations to excuse them. Let me beseech you, sir, to do nothing by him in the present height of your anger. Consider, my dear uncle, I was not myself condemned unheard.” Allworthy stood silent a moment, and then, embracing Jones, he said, with tears gushing from his eyes, “O my child! to what goodness have I been so long blind!”

Mrs. Miller entering the room at that moment, after a gentle rap which was not perceived, and seeing Jones in the arms of his uncle, the poor woman in an agony of joy fell upon her knees, and burst forth into the most ecstatic thanksgivings to heaven for what had happened; then, running to Jones, she embraced him eagerly, crying, “My dearest friend, I wish you joy a thousand and a thousand times of this blest day.” And next Mr. Allworthy himself received the same congratulations. To which he answered, “Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Miller, I am beyond expression happy.” Some few more raptures having passed on all sides, Mrs. Miller desired them both to walk down to dinner in the parlour, where she said there were a very happy set of people assembled—being indeed no other than Mr. Nightingale and his bride, and his cousin Harriet with her bridegroom.

Allworthy excused himself from dining with the company, saying he had ordered some little thing for him and his nephew in his own apartment, for that they had much private business to discourse of; but would not resist promising the good woman that both he and Jones would make part of her society at supper.

Mrs. Miller then asked what was to be done with Blifil? “for indeed,” says she, “I cannot be easy while such a villain is in my house.”—Allworthy answered, “He was as uneasy as herself on the same account.” “Oh!” cries she, “if that be the case, leave the matter to me, I’ll soon show him the outside out of my doors, I warrant you. Here are two or three lusty fellows below-stairs.” “There will be no need of any violence,” cries Allworthy; “if you will carry him a message from me, he will, I am convinced, depart of his own accord.” “Will I?” said Mrs. Miller; “I never did anything in my life with a better will.” Here Jones interfered, and said, “He had considered the matter better, and would, if Mr. Allworthy pleased, be himself the messenger. I know,” says he, “already enough of your pleasure, sir, and I beg leave to acquaint him with it by my own words. Let me beseech you, sir,” added he, “to reflect on the dreadful consequences of driving him to violent and sudden despair. How unfit, alas! is this poor man to die in his present situation.” This suggestion had not the least effect on Mrs. Miller. She left the room, crying, “You are too good, Mr. Jones, infinitely too good to live in this world.” But it made a deeper impression on Allworthy. “My good child,” said he, “I am equally astonished at the goodness of your heart, and the quickness of your understanding. Heaven indeed forbid that this wretch should be deprived of any means or time for repentance! That would be a shocking consideration indeed. Go to him, therefore, and use your own discretion; yet do not flatter him with any hopes of my forgiveness; for I shall never forgive villany farther than my religion obliges me, and that extends not either to our bounty or our conversation.”

Jones went up to Blifil’s room, whom he found in a situation which moved his pity, though it would have raised a less amiable passion in many beholders. He had cast himself on his bed, where he lay abandoning himself to despair, and drowned in tears; not in such tears as flow from contrition, and wash away guilt from minds which have been seduced or surprized into it unawares, against the bent of their natural dispositions, as will sometimes happen from human frailty, even to the good; no, these tears were such as the frighted theif sheds in his cart, and are indeed the effects of that concern which the most savage natures are seldom deficient in feeling for themselves.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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