Chapter ix.

Containing strange matters.

At his return to his lodgings, Jones found the situation of affairs

greatly altered from what they had been in at his departure. The

mother, the two daughters, and young Mr Nightingale, were now sat down

to supper together, when the uncle was, at his own desire, introduced

without any ceremony into the company, to all of whom he was well

known; for he had several times visited his nephew at that house.

The old gentleman immediately walked up to Miss Nancy, saluted and

wished her joy, as he did afterwards the mother and the other sister;

and lastly, he paid the proper compliments to his nephew, with the

same good humour and courtesy, as if his nephew had married his equal

or superior in fortune, with all the previous requisites first

performed.

Miss Nancy and her supposed husband both turned pale, and looked

rather foolish than otherwise upon the occasion; but Mrs Miller took

the first opportunity of withdrawing; and, having sent for Jones into

the dining-room, she threw herself at his feet, and in a most

passionate flood of tears, called him her good angel, the preserver of

her poor little family, with many other respectful and endearing

appellations, and made him every acknowledgment which the highest

benefit can extract from the most grateful heart.

After the first gust of her passion was a little over, which she

declared, if she had not vented, would have burst her, she proceeded

to inform Mr Jones that all matters were settled between Mr

Nightingale and her daughter, and that they were to be married the

next morning; at which Mr Jones having expressed much pleasure, the

poor woman fell again into a fit of joy and thanksgiving, which he at

length with difficulty silenced, and prevailed on her to return with

him back to the company, whom they found in the same good humour in

which they had left them.

This little society now past two or three very agreeable hours

together, in which the uncle, who was a very great lover of his

bottle, had so well plyed his nephew, that this latter, though not

drunk, began to be somewhat flustered; and now Mr Nightingale, taking

the old gentleman with him upstairs into the apartment he had lately

occupied, unbosomed himself as follows:--

“As you have been always the best and kindest of uncles to me, and as

you have shown such unparalleled goodness in forgiving this match,

which to be sure may be thought a little improvident, I should never

forgive myself if I attempted to deceive you in anything.” He then

confessed the truth, and opened the whole affair.

“How, Jack?” said the old gentleman, “and are you really then not

married to this young woman?” “No, upon my honour,” answered

Nightingale, “I have told you the simple truth.” “My dear boy,” cries

the uncle, kissing him, “I am heartily glad to hear it. I never was

better pleased in my life. If you had been married I should have

assisted you as much as was in my power to have made the best of a bad

matter; but there is a great difference between considering a thing

which is already done and irrecoverable, and that which is yet to do.

Let your reason have fair play, Jack, and you will see this match in

so foolish and preposterous a light, that there will be no need of any

dissuasive arguments.” “How, sir?” replies young Nightingale, “is

there this difference between having already done an act, and being in

honour engaged to do it?” “Pugh!” said the uncle, “honour is a

creature of the world's making, and the world hath the power of a

creator over it, and may govern and direct it as they please. Now you

well know how trivial these breaches of contract are thought; even the

grossest make but the wonder and conversation of a day. Is there a man

who afterwards will be more backward in giving you his sister, or

daughter? or is there any sister or daughter who would be more

backward to receive you? Honour is not concerned in these

engagements.” “Pardon me, dear sir,” cries Nightingale, “I can never

think so; and not only honour, but conscience and humanity, are

concerned. I am well satisfied, that, was I now to disappoint the

young creature, her death would be the consequence, and I should look

upon myself as her murderer; nay, as her murderer by the cruellest of

all methods, by breaking her heart.” “Break her heart, indeed! no, no,

Jack,” cries the uncle, “the hearts of women are not so soon broke;

they are tough, boy, they are tough.” “But, sir,” answered

Nightingale, “my own affections are engaged, and I never could be

happy with any other woman. How often have I heard you say, that

children should be always suffered to chuse for themselves, and that

you would let my cousin Harriet do so?” “Why, ay,” replied the old

gentleman, “so I would have them; but then I would have them chuse

wisely.--Indeed, Jack, you must and shall leave the girl.”----“Indeed,

uncle,” cries the other, “I must and will have her.” “You will, young

gentleman;” said the uncle; “I did not expect such a word from you. I

should not wonder if you had used such language to your father, who

hath always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the distance which

a tyrant preserves over his subjects; but I, who have lived with you

upon an equal footing, might surely expect better usage: but I know

how to account for it all: it is all owing to your preposterous

education, in which I have had too little share. There is my daughter,

now, whom I have brought up as my friend, never doth anything without

my advice, nor ever refuses to take it when I give it her.” “You have

never yet given her advice in an affair of this kind,” said

Nightingale; “for I am greatly mistaken in my cousin, if she would be

very ready to obey even your most positive commands in abandoning her

inclinations.” “Don't abuse my girl,” answered the old gentleman with

some emotion; “don't abuse my Harriet. I have brought her up to have

no inclinations contrary to my own. By suffering her to do whatever

she pleases, I have enured her to a habit of being pleased to do

whatever I like.” “Pardon, me, sir,” said Nightingale, “I have not the

least design to reflect on my cousin, for whom I have the greatest

esteem; and indeed I am convinced you will never put her to so severe

a tryal, or lay such hard commands on her as you would do on me.--But,

dear sir, let us return to the company; for they will begin to be

uneasy at our long absence. I must beg one favour of my dear uncle,

which is that he would not say anything to shock the poor girl or her

mother.” “Oh! you need not fear me,” answered he, “I understand myself

too well to affront women; so I will readily grant you that favour;

and in return I must expect another of you.” “There are but few of

your commands, sir,” said Nightingale, “which I shall not very

chearfully obey.” “Nay, sir, I ask nothing,” said the uncle, “but the

honour of your company home to my lodging, that I may reason the case

a little more fully with you; for I would, if possible, have the

satisfaction of preserving my family, notwithstanding the headstrong

folly of my brother, who, in his own opinion, is the wisest man in the

world.”

Nightingale, who well knew his uncle to be as headstrong as his

father, submitted to attend him home, and then they both returned back

into the room, where the old gentleman promised to carry himself with

the same decorum which he had before maintained.