those mouldering walls, and humid floor; my wretched body, thus disabled by fire, and my children weeping round me for bread; you have come home, my child, to all this, yet here, even here, you 5 see a man that would not, for a thousand worlds, exchange situations. O, my children, if you could but learn to commune with your own hearts, and know what noble company you can make them, you would little regard the elegance and splendours of the 10 worthless! Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and themselves the travellers. The similitude still may be improved, when we observe that the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going towards home; the wicked 15 but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going into exile."

My compassion for my poor daughter, overpowered by this new disaster, interrupted what I had farther to observe. I bade her mother support her, and 20 after a short time she recovered. She appeared from that time more calm, and I imagined had gained a new degree of resolution: but appearances deceived me; for her tranquillity was the languor of over-wrought resentment. A supply of provi25 sions, charitably sent us by my kind parishioners, seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness amongst the rest of the family; nor was I displeased at seeing them once more sprightly and at ease. It would have been unjust to damp their satisfaction merely to 30 condole with resolute melancholy, or to burthen them with a sadness they did not feel. Thus, once

more, the tale went round, and the song was demanded, and cheerfulness condescended to hover round our little habitation.

CHAPTER XXIV

FRESH CALAMITIES

THE next morning the sun arose with peculiar warmth for the season; so that we agreed to break- 5 fast together on the honeysuckle bank; where, while we sate, my youngest daughter, at my request, joined her voice to the concert on the trees about us. It was in this place my poor Olivia first met her seducer, and every object served to recall her sadness. 10 But that melancholy which is excited by objects of pleasure, or inspired by sounds of harmony, soothes the heart instead of corroding it. Her mother, too, upon this occasion, felt a pleasing distress, and wept, and loved her daughter as before. "Do, my pretty 15 Olivia," cried she, "let us have that little melancholy air your papa was so fond of; your sister Sophy has already obliged us. Do, child: it will please your old father." She complied in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as moved me.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds, too late, that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

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As she was concluding the last stanza, to which an interruption in her voice, from sorrow, gave peculiar softness, the appearance of Mr. Thornhill's equipage at a distance, alarmed us all, but particularly increased the uneasiness of my eldest daughter, who, 10 desirous of shunning her betrayer, returned to the house with her sister. In a few minutes he was alighted from his chariot, and making up to the place where I was still sitting, inquired after my health with his usual air of familiarity. "Sir," 15 replied I, "your present assurance only serves to aggravate the baseness of your character; and there was a time when I would have chastised your insolence, for presuming thus to appear before me. But now you are safe; for age has cooled my pas20 sions, and my calling restrains them."

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"I vow, my dear Sir," returned he, "I am amazed at all this; nor can I understand what it means! hope you don't think your daughter's late excursion with me had any thing criminal in it.”

"Go," cried I, "thou art a wretch, a poor, pitiful wretch, and every way a liar; but your meanness secures you from my anger! Yet, Sir, I am descended from a family that would not have borne this! And so, thou vile thing, to gratify a momen30 tary passion, thou hast made one poor creature wretched for life, and polluted a family that had nothing but honour for their portion!"

If she, or you," returned he, "are resolved to be miserable, I cannot help it. But you may still be happy; and whatever opinion you may have formed of me, you shall ever find me ready to contribute to it. For I protest I shall ever continue to have a 5 true regard for her."

I found all my passions alarmed at this new degrading proposal; for though the mind may often be calm under great injuries, little villany can at any time get within the soul, and sting it into rage. 10 "Avoid my sight, thou reptile," cried I, "nor continue to insult me with thy presence! Were my brave son at home, he would not suffer this; but I am old, and disabled, and every way undone."

"I find," cried he, "you are bent upon obliging 15 me to talk in a harsher manner than I intended. But, as I have shown you what may be hoped from my friendship, it may not be improper to represent what may be the consequences of my resentment. My attorney, to whom your late bond has been 20 transferred, threatens hard; nor do I know how to prevent the course of justice, except by paying the money myself; which, as I have been at some expenses lately, previous to my intended marriage, is not so easy to be done. And then my steward 25 talks of driving for the rent: it is certain he knows his duty; for I never trouble myself with affairs of that nature. Yet still I could wish to serve you, and even to have you and your daughter present at my marriage, which is shortly to be solemnized 30 with Miss Wilmot; it is even the request of my

charming Arabella herself, whom I hope you will not refuse."

"Mr. Thornhill," replied I, "hear me once for all as to your marriage with any but my daughter, that 5 I never will consent to; and though your friendship could raise me to a throne, or your resentment sink me to the grave, yet would I despise both. Thou hast once woefully, irreparably deceived me. I reposed my heart upon thine honour, and have 10 found its baseness. Never more, therefore, expect friendship from me. Go, and possess what fortune has given thee, beauty, riches, health, and pleasure. Go, and leave me to want, infamy, disease, and sorrow. Yet, humbled as I am, shall my heart still 15 vindicate its dignity, and though thou hast my forgiveness, thou shalt ever have my contempt."

"If so," returned he, "depend upon it you shall feel the effects of this insolence, and we shall shortly see which is the fittest object of scorn, you or me." 20 Upon which he departed abruptly.

My wife and son, who were present at this interview, seemed terrified with apprehension. My daughters also, finding that he was gone, came out to be informed of the result of our conference, which, 25 when known, alarmed them not less than the rest. But as to myself, I disregarded the utmost stretch of his malevolence. He had already struck the blow, and now I stood prepared to repel every new effort; like one of those instruments used in the art of war, 30 which, however thrown, still presents a point to receive the enemy.