never reflect, that it is not in the power even of Heaven itself to make the offer of unceasing felicity as great a gift to the happy as to the miserable. To the first, eternity is but a single blessing, since at most it but increases what they already possess. To the latter, it is a double advantage; for it diminishes their pain here, and rewards them with heavenly bliss hereafter. But Providence is in another respect kinder to the poor than the rich; for as it thus makes the life after death more desirable, so it smooths the passage there. The wretched have had a long familiarity with every face of terror. The man of sorrows lays himself quietly down, without possessions to regret, and but few ties to stop his departure: he feels only nature's pang in the final separation, and this is no way greater than he has often fainted under before: for after a certain degree of pain, every new breach that death opens in the constitution, nature kindly covers with insensibility. can give elastic sweetness to the dark vapour of a dungeon, or ease to the throbbings of a broken heart. Let the philosopher from his couch of softness tell us that we can resist all these: Alas! the effort by which we resist them is still the greatest pain. Death is slight, and any man may sustain it; but torments are dreadful, and these no man can endure. To us then, my friends, the promises of happiness in heaven should be peculiarly dear; for if our reward be in this life alone, we are then indeed of all men the most miserable. When I look round these gloomy walls, made to terrify as well as to confine us; this light, that only serves to show the horrors of the place; those shackles, that tyranny has imposed, or crime made necessary; when I survey these emaciated looks, and hear those groans, O! my friends, what a glorious exchange would Heaven be for these. To fly through regions unconfined as air, to bask in the sunshine of eternal bliss, to carol over Thus Providence has given the wretched endless hymns of praise, to have no master to two advantages over the happy in this life-threaten or insult us, but the form of Goodgreater felicity in dying, and in heaven all that superiority of pleasure which arises from contrasted enjoyment. And this superiority, my friends, is no small advantage, and seems to be one of the pleasures of the poor man in the parable; for though he was already in heaven, and felt all the raptures it could give, yet it was mentioned as an addition to his happiness, that he had once been wretched, and now was comforted; that he had known what it was to be miserable, and now felt what it was to be happy. : ness himself for ever in our eyes! when I think of these things, death becomes the messenger of very glad tidings; when I think of these things, his sharpest arrow becomes the staff of my support; when I think of these things, what is there in life worth having? when I think of these things, what is there that should not be spurned away? Kings in their palaces should groan for such advantages; but we, humbled as we are, should yearn for them. And shall these things be ours? Ours they Thus, my friends, you see religion does what will certainly be if we but try for them; and philosophy could never do it shows the equal what is a comfort, we are shut out from many dealings of Heaven to the happy and the un- temptations that would retard our pursuit. happy, and levels all human enjoyments to Only let us try for them, and they will certainnearly the same standard. It gives to both ly be ours; and what is still a comfort, shortly rich and poor the same happiness hereafter, too: for if we look back on a past life, it apand equal hopes to aspire after it; but if the pears but a very short span, and whatever we rich have the advantage of enjoying pleasure may think of the rest of life, it will yet be here, the poor have the endless satisfaction of found of less duration; as we grow older, the knowing what it was once to be miserable, days seem to grow shorter, and our intimacy when crowned with endless felicity hereafter; with time ever lessons the perception of his and even though this should be called a small stay. Then let us take comfort now, for we advantage, yet being an eternal one, it must shall soon be at our journey's end; we shall make up by duration what the temporal hap-soon lay down the heavy burden laid by Heaven piness of the great may have exceeded by in tenseness. These are, therefore, the consolations which the wretched have peculiar to themselves, and in which they are above the rest of mankind; in other respects, they are below them. They who would know the miseries of the poor, must see life and endure it. To declaim on the temporal advantages they enjoy, is only repeating what none either believe or practise. The men who have the necessaries of living are not poor, and they who want them must be miserable. Yes, my friends, we must be miserable. No vain efforts of a refined imagination can soothe the wants of nature, upon us; and though death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon still flies before him; yet the time will certainly and shortly come, when we shall cease from our toil; when the luxurious great ones of the world shall no more tread us to the earth; when we shall think with pleasure of our sufferings below; when we shall be surrounded with all our friends, or such as de. served our friendship; when our bliss shall be unutterable, and still, to crown all, unending. CHAPTER XXX. HAPPIER PROSPECTS BEGIN TO APPEAR. LET US BE INFLEXIBLE, AND FORTUNE WILL AT LAST CHANGE IN OUR FAVOUR. WHEN I had thus finished, and my audience was retired, the gaoler, who was one of the most humane of his proféssion, hoped I would not be displeased, as what he did was but his duty, observing, that he must be obliged to remove my son into a stronger cell, but that he should be permitted to revisit me every morning. I thanked him for his clemency, and grasping my boy's hand, bade him farewell, and be mindful of the great duty that was before him. I again therefore laid me down, and one of my little ones sat by my bed-side reading, when | Mr Jenkinson entering, informed me that there was news of my daughter; for that she was seen by a person about two hours before in a strange gentleman's company; and that they had stopt at a neighbouring village for refreshment, and seemed as if returning to town. He had scarcely delivered this news when the gaoler came with looks of haste and pleasure to inform me, that my daughter was found. Moses came running in a moment after, crying out that his sister Sophy was below, and coming up with our old friend Mr Burchell. Just as he delivered this news, my dearest girl entered, and with looks almost wild with pleasure, ran to kiss me in a transport of affection. Her mother's tears and silence also showed her pleasure." Here, Papa," cried the charming girl, "here is the brave man to whom I owe my delivery; to this gentleman's intrepidity I am indebted for my happiness and safety- A kiss from Mr Burchell, whose pleasure seemed even greater than her's, interrupted what she was going to add. "Ah, Mr Burchell," cried I, "this is but a wretched habitation you now find us in; and we are now very different from what you last saw us. You were ever our friend; we have long discovered our errors with regard to you, and repented of our ingratitude. After the vile usage you then received at our hands, I am almost ashamed to behold your face: yet I hope you'll forgive me, as I was deceived by a base ungenerous wretch, who under the mask of friendship has undone me." "It is impossible,” cried Mr Burchell, "that I should forgive you, as you never deserved my resentment. I partly saw your delusion then, and as it was out of my power to restrain, I could only pity it." "It was ever my conjecture," cried I, "that your mind was noble, but now I find it so. But tell me, my dear child, how thou hast been relieved, or who the ruffians were who carried thee away." 66 Indeed, Sir," replied she, "as to the villain who carried me off, I am yet ignorant. For, as my Mamma and I were walking out, he came behind us, and almost before I could call for help, forced me into the post-chaise, and in an instant the horses drove away. I met several on the road to whom I cried out for assistance, but they disregarded my entreaties. In the meantime the ruffian himself used every art to hinder me from crying out; he flattered and threatened by turns, and swore that if I continued but silent he intended no harm. In the meantime I had broken the canvass that he had drawn up, and whom should I perceive at some distance but your old friend Mr Burchell, walking along with his usual quickness, with the great stick, for which we used so much to ridicule him. As soon as we came within hearing, I called out to him by name, and entreated his help. I repeated my exclamations several times, upon which with a very loud voice he bid the postillion stop; but the boy took no notice, but drove on with still greater speed. I now thought he could never overtake us, when, in less than a minute, I saw Mr Burchell come running up by the side of the horses, and with one blow knock the postillion to the ground. The horses when he was fallen soon stopt of themselves, and the ruffian stepping out, with oaths and menaces drew his sword, and ordered him at his peril to retire; but Mr Burchell running up, shivered his sword to pieces, and then pursued him for near a quarter of a mile; but he made his escape. I was at this time come out myself, willing to assist my deliverer; but he soon returned to me in triumph. The postillion, who was recovered, was going to make his escape too; but Mr Burchell ordered him at his peril to mount again and drive back to town. Finding it impossible to resist, he reluctantly complied, though the wound he had received seemed to me at least to be dangerous. He continued to complain of the pain as we drove along, so that he at last excited Mr Burchell's compassion, who at my request exchanged him for another, at an inn where we called on our return." And "Welcome, then," cried I, "my child! and thou her gallant deliverer, a thousand welcomes! Though our cheer is but wretched, yet our hearts are ready to receive you. now, Mr Burchell, as you have delivered my girl, if you think her a recompense, she is yours; if you can stoop to an alliance with a family so poor as mine, take her, obtain her consent, as I know you have her heart, and you have mine. And let me tell you, Sir, that I give you no small treasure she has been celebrated for beauty, it is true, but that is not my meaning, I give you up a treasure in her mind." "But I suppose, Sir," cried Mr Burchell, "that you are apprized of my circumstances, and of my incapacity to support her as she de serves ?" "If your present objection," replied I, "be meant as an evasion of my offer, I desist: but I know no man so worthy to deserve her as you; and if I could give her thousands, and thousands sought her from me, yet my honest brave Burchell should be my dearest choice.' To all this his silence alone seemed to give a mortifying refusal, and without the least reply to my offer, he demanded if he could not be furnished with refreshments from the next inn; to which being answered in the affirmative, he ordered them to send in the best dinner that could be provided upon such short notice. He bespoke also a dozen of their best wine, and some cordials for me; adding, with a smile, that he would stretch a little for once, and, though in a prison, asserted he was never better disposed to be merry. The waiter soon made his appearance, with preparations for dinner; a table was lent us by the gaoler, who seemed remarkably assiduous; the wine was disposed in order, and two very well-dressed dishes were brought in. My daughter had not yet heard of her poor brother's melancholy situation, and we all seemed unwilling to damp her cheerfulness by the relation. But it was in vain that I attempted to appear cheerful, the circumstances of my unfortunate son broke through all efforts to dissemble; so that I was at last obliged to damp our mirth by relating his misfortunes, and wishing that he might be permitted to share with us in this little interval of satisfaction. After my guests were recovered from the consternation my account had produced, I requested also that Mr Jenkinson, a fellowprisoner, might be admitted, and the gaoler granted my request with an air of unusual submission. The clanking of my son's irons was no sooner heard along the passage, than his sister ran impatiently to meet him; while Mr Burchell, in the meantime, asked me, if my son's name was George; to which replying in the affirmative, he still continued silent. As soon as my boy entered the room, I could perceive he regarded Mr Burchell with a look of astonishment and reverence.-"Come on," cried I, "my son; though we are fallen very low, yet Providence has been pleased to grant us some small relaxation from pain. Thy sister is restored to us, and there is her deliverer to that brave man it is that I am indebted for yet having a daughter; give him, my boy, the hand of friendship, he deserves our warmest gratitude." My son seemed all this while regardless of what I said, and still continued fixed at respectful distance." My dear brother," cried his sister, "why don't you thank my good deliverer? the brave should ever love each other." He still continued his silence and astonishment, till our guest at last perceived himself to be known, and, assuming all his native dignity, desired my son to come forward. Never before had I seen any thing so truly majestic as the air he assumed upon this occasion. The greatest object in the universe, says a certain philosopher, is a good man struggling with adversity; yet there is still a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it. After he had regarded my son for some time with a superior air, "I again find," said he, "unthinking boy, that the same crime"But here he was interrupted by one of the gaoler's servants, who came to inform us that a person of distinction, who had driven into town with a chariot and several attendants, sent his respects to the gentleman that was with us, and begged to know when he should think proper to be waited upon.-" Bid the fellow wait," cried our guest, "till I shall have leisure to receive him ;" and then turning to my son, "I again find, Sir," proceeded he, "that you are guilty of the same offence, for which you once had my reproof, and for which the law is now preparing its justest punishments. You imagine, perhaps, that a contempt for your own life gives you a right to take that of another: but where, Sir, is the difference between a duellist who hazards a life of no value, and the murderer who acts with greater security? Is it any diminution of the gamester's fraud, when he alleges that he has staked a counter?" Alas, Sir," cried I, "whoever you are, pity the poor misguided creature; for what he has done was in obedience to a deluded mother, who, in the bitterness of her resentment, required him, upon her blessings to avenge her quarrel. Here, Sir, is the letter, which will serve to convince you of her imprudence, and diminish his guilt." He took the letter and hastily read it over. "This," says he, "though not a perfect excuse, is such a palliation of his fault as induces me to forgive him. And now, Sir," continued he, kindly taking my son by the hand, "I see you are surprised at finding me here; but I have often visited prisons upon occasions less interesting. I am now come to see justice done a worthy man, for whom I have the most sincere esteem. I have long been a disguised spectator of thy father's benevolence. I have at his little dwelling enjoyed respect uncontaminated by flattery; and have received that happiness that courts could not give, from the amusing simplicity round his fire-side. My nephew has been apprized of my intentions of coming here, and I find is arrived. It would be wronging him and you to condemn him without examination; if there be injury, there shall be redress; and this I may say without boasting, that none have ever taxed the injustice of Sir William Thornhill." We now found the personage whom we had so long entertained as a harmless amusing companion, was no other than the celebrated Sir William Thornhill, to whose virtues and singularities scarcely any were strangers. The poor Mr Burchell was in reality a man of large fortune and great interest, to whom senates listened with applause, and whom party heard with conviction; who was the friend of his country, but loyal to his king. My poor wife recollecting her former familiarity, seemed to shrink with apprehension; but Sophia, who a few moments before thought him her own, now perceiving the immense distance to which he was removed by fortune, was unable to conceal her tears. come in and climbed up Sir William's neck in order to kiss him. His mother was immediately going to chastise his familiarity, but the worthy man prevented her; and taking the child, all ragged as he was, upon his knee, "What, Bill, you chubby rogue," cried he, "do you remember your old friend Burchell? and Dick too, my honest veteran, are you here? you shall find I have not forgot you." So saying, he gave each a large piece of gin "Ah, Sr," cried my wife with a piteous aspect, "how is it possible that I can ever have your forgiveness? The slights you re-gerbread, which the poor fellows eat very ceived from me the last time I had the honour heartily, as they had got that morning but a of seeing you at our house, and the jokes very scanty breakfast. which I audaciously threw out-these, Sir, I fear can never be forgiven." 66 My dear good lady," returned he with a smile, "if you had your joke, I had my answer: I'll leave it to all the company if mine were not as good as yours. To say the truth, I know nobody whom I am disposed to be angry with at present, but the fellow who so frighted my girl here. I had not even time to examine the rascal's person so as to describe him in an advertisement. Can you tell me, Sophia, my dear, whether you should know him again?" We now sat down to dinner, which was almost cold; but previously, my arm still continuing painful, Sir William wrote a prescription, for he had made the study of physic his amusement, and was more than moderately skilled in the profession: this being sent to an apothecary who lived in the place, my arm was dressed, and I found almost instantaneous relief. We were waited upon at dinner by the gaoler himself, who was willing to do our guest all the honour in his power. But before we had well dined, another message was brought from his nephew, desiring permission to appear in order to vindicate his innocence and honour; with which request the Baronet complied, and desired Mr Thornhill to be in troduced. CHAPTER XXXI. EXPECTED INTEREST. "Indeed, Sir," replied she, "I can't be positive; yet now I recollect he had a large mark over one of his eyebrows."—" I ask pardon, Madam," interrupted Jenkinson, who was by, "but be so good as to inform me if the fellow wore his own red hair?"" Yes, I think so," cried Sophia.-" And did your honour," continued he, turning to Sir William, "observe the length of his legs?"-" I can't be sure of their length," cried the Baronet, "but FORMER BENEVOLENCE NOW REPAID WITH UNI am convinced of their swiftness; for he outran me, which is what I thought few men in the kingdom could have done."-" Please MR THORNHILL made his appearance with your honour," cried Jenkinson, " I know the a smile, which he seldom wanted, and was man it is certainly the same; the best run-going to embrace his uncle, which the other ner in England; he has beaten Pinwire of repulsed with an air of disdain. "No fawnNewcastle; Timothy Baxter is his name. Iing, Sir, at present," cried the Baronet, with know him perfectly, and the very place of his a look of severity; "the only way to my retreat this moment. If your Honour will heart is by the road of honour; but here I bid Mr Gaoler let two of his men go with me, only see complicated instances of falsehood, I'll engage to produce him to you in an hour cowardice, and oppression. How is it, Sir, at farthest." Upon this the gaoler was called, that this poor man, for whom I know you who instantly appearing, Sir William demand-professed a friendship, is used thus hardly? ed if he knew him. "Yes, please your honour," replied the gaoler, "I know Sir William Thornhill well, and every body that knows any thing of him will desire to know more of him.""Well, then," said the Baronet, "my request is that you will permit this man and two of your servants to go upon a message by my authority; and as I am in the commission of the peace, I undertake to secure you.""Your promise is sufficient," replied the other, "and you may at a moment's warning send them over England whenever your honour thinks fit." In pursuance of the gaoler's compliance, Jenkinson was despatched in search of Timothy Baxter, while we were amused with the assiduity of our youngest boy Bill, who had just His daughter vilely seduced as a recompense for his hospitality, and he himself thrown into prison, perhaps but for resenting the insult? His son, too, whom you feared to face as a man "Is it possible, Sir," interrupted his nephew, "that my uncle could object that as a crime, which his repeated instructions alone have persuaded me to avoid?" "Your rebuke," cried Sir William, "is just; you have acted in this instance prudently and well, though not quite as your father would have done: my brother, indeed, was the soul of honour; but thou-Yes, you have acted, in this instance, perfectly right, and it has my warmest approbation." "And I hope," said my nephew, "that the rest of my conduct will not be found to de- f and he would have withdrawn ; but Jenkinson, serve censure. I appeared, Sir, with this who perceived his design, stopt him." What gentleman's daughter at some places of public Squire," cried he, "are you ashamed of your amusement: thus, what was levity, scandal two old acquaintances, Jenkinson and Baxter? called by a harsher name, and it was reported but this is the way that all great men forget that I had debauched her. I waited on her their friends, though I am resolved we will father in person, willing to clear the thing to not forget you. Our prisoner, please your his satisfaction, and he received me only with honour," continued he, turning to Sir William, insult and abuse. As for the rest, with re- "has already confessed all. This is the gard to his being here, my attorney and stew-gentleman reported to be so dangerously ard can best inform you, as I commit the wounded. He declares that it was Mr management of business entirely to them. If Thornhill who first put him upon this affair ; he has contracted debts, and is unwilling, or that he gave him the clothes he now wears, to even unable to pay them, it is their business appear like a gentleman; and furnished him to proceed in this manner; and I see no hard- with the post-chaise. The plan was laid beship or injustice in pursuing the most legal tween them, that he should carry off the means of redress." young lady to a place of safety, and that there he should threaten and terrify her; but Mr Thornhill was to come in, in the meantime, as if by accident, to her rescue; and that they should fight a while, and then he was to run off-by which Mr Thornhill would have the better opportunity of gaining her affections himself, under the character of her defender." "If this," cried Sir William, "be as you have stated it, there is nothing unpardonable in your offence; and though your conduct might have been more generous in not suffering this gentleman to be oppressed by subordinate tyranny, yet it has been at least equi table." : "He cannot contradict a single particular," replied the 'Squire ; "I defy him to do so; and several of my servants are ready to attest what I say. Thus, Sir," continued he, finding that I was silent, for in fact I could not contradict him; "thus, Sir, my own innocence is vindicated but though at your entreaty, I am ready to forgive this gentleman every other offence, yet his attempts to lessen me in your esteem, excite a resentment that I cannot govern; and this too, at a time when his son was actually preparing to take away my life; -this, I say, was such guilt, that I am determined to let the law take its course. I have here the challenge that was sent me, and two witnesses to prove it: one of my servants has been wounded dangerously; and even though my uncle himself should dissuade me, which I know he will not, yet I will see public justice done, and he shall suffer for it." "Thou monster," cried my wife, hast thou not had vengeance enough already, but must my poor boy feel thy cruelty? I hope that good Sir William will protect us; for my son is as innocent as a child: I am sure he is, and never did harm to man." "Madam," replied the good man, "your wishes for his safety are not greater than mine; but I am sorry to find his guilt too plain; and if my nephew persists”—But the appearance of Jenkinson and the gaoler's two servants now called off our attention, who entered, hauling in a tall man, very genteelly drest, and answering the description already given of the ruffian who had carried off my daughter:-" Here,” cried Jenkinson, pulling him in, "here we have him; and if ever there was a candidate for Tyburn this is one." The moment Mr Thornhill perceived the prisoner, and Jenkinson who had him in custody, he seemed to shrink back with terror. His face became pale with conscious guilt, Sir William remembered the coat to have been worn by his nephew, and all the rest the prisoner himself confirmed by a more circumstantial account; concluding, that Mr Thorn hill had often declared to him that he was in love with both sisters at the same time. "Heavens!" cried Sir William, "what a viper have I been fostering in my bosom ! And so fond of public justice, too, as he seemed to be! But he shall have it! secure him, Mr Gaoler :-yet, hold; I fear there is not legal evidence to detain him." Upon this Mr Thornhill, with the utmost humility, entreated that two such abandoned wretches might not be admitted as evidences against him, but that his servants should be examined. "Your servants !" replied Sir William; "wretch! call them yours no longer : but come, let us hear what those fellows have to say; let his butler be called." When the butler was introduced, he soon perceived by his former master's looks, that all his power was now over. "Tell me," cried Sir William, sternly, "have you ever seen your master, and that fellow drest up in his clothes, in company together?"—" Yes, please your honour," cried the butler; "; thousand times: he was the man that always brought him his ladies.”—“ How,” interrupted young Mr Thornhill, "this to my face!" 66 a Yes," replied the butler, "or to any man's face. To tell you a truth, Mr Thornhill, I never either loved or liked you, and I don't care if I tell you now a piece of my mind.". "Now then," cried Jenkinson, "tell his honour whether you know any thing of me." I can't say," replied the butler, "that I know much good of you. The night that gentleman's daughter was deluded to our house, you were one of them."- _66 So then," cried Sir William, "I find you have brought |