SIR George Elliſon's father was the younger ſon of an ancient and opulent family, and as ſuch received only a ſmall proportion of his father's wealth, but by his profeſſion was enabled to live genteely. He dedicated all his leiſure hours to the care of his children's education: Their learning he left to proper maſters; the object of his attention was their hearts. He inſtructed them fully in the Chriſtian religion, and ſhewed them that it was the beſt foundation, as well as ſureſt ſupport of moral virtue.

Before his ſon George had completed his one and twentieth year, his family, by the death of his wife and two children, was reduced to two ſons and one daughter. James his ſecond ſon, was then but twelve, and his daughter fourteen years old. This difference in their ages determined Mr. Elliſon to truſt in his ſon George's hands two thirds of the ſum of 4000l. of which he was poſſeſſed. By ſo good a capital he hoped to ſecure the ſucceſs of his eldeſt ſon, whoſe diſpoſition gave him reaſon to believe he ſhould thereby do the beſt ſervice to his other children. He knew the young man to be perfectly ſober, humane, and generous, and at the ſame time an exceeding good oeconomiſt extremely diligent, and well inclined to that care of, and attention to his affairs, ſo neceſſary for thoſe who undertake merchandiſe. And indeed, George, as he entered into merchandiſe, he wiſhed to purſue it in the moſt profitable manner, indifferent as to any inconveniencies which might attend it. He therefore endeavoured to ſettle correſpondences with ſome of the leſs adventurous merchants, by whoſe means he might negotiate a quick trade from Jamaica, where he intended to fix; and the character he had eſtabliſhed in the city, by his excellent behaviour during his apprenticeſhip with Mr. Lamont, an eminent merchant, rendered him ſucceſsful in both theſe articles; and with warm hopes, though tender concern, he took leave of his father and this kingdom, well provided with correſpondents here, and recommendations to the principal people in Jamaica.

Five years after his firſt ſettling at Jamaica, he acquainted his father with his reſolution of returning the whole capital he ſet out with, obſerving the hazard his brother and ſiſter ran by his being intruſted with the whole; but, that his father might not apprehend he was diſtreſſing himſelf, he further informed him that he had now raiſed a capital of 6000l. to which he ſhould always think he had as good a title as himſelf.

If Mr. Elliſon's good conduct gained him the eſteem of his own ſex, we may eaſily ſuppoſe the other was not inſenſible of his merit; eſpecially as it was accompanied by a very fine perſon, a face handſome from great ſymmetry of features, but ſtill more from vivacity, ſenſibility, and ſweetneſs of countenance; a manner and addreſs polite and engaging, and a turn for converſation peculiarly agreeable. As the manners of Jamaica are not peculiarly reſerved, many intimations were given to him of the favourable diſpoſition of the Ladies; but his attention was ſo totally engaged by his buſineſs, that the ſtrongeſt hints were loſt upon him; Yet the politeneſs of his behaviour, and the chearfulneſs of his temper, ſo well concealed the coldneſs of his heart, that to warm it ſeemed no impracticable attempt; and prudence, as well as inclination, might diſpoſe many to endeavour to gain the affections of ſo worthy and ſo ſucceſsful a young man. No woman had the mortification of thinking ſhe had a rival, till a widow Lady entered the liſts.

This Lady was ſeven years older than Mr. Elliſon, having completed her three and thirtieth year. Though the bloom of youth was paſt, ſhe was ſtill handſome, and behaved very prudently in the different ſtates of life in which ſhe had appeared; was poſſeſſed of ten thouſand pounds in money, and a plantation of no leſs value. Mr. Elliſon's friends perſuaded him not to let ſlip ſo good an opportunity of improving his fortune; ſince, without thoſe advantages, her character and perſon rendered it an eligible match. He liſtened, without reluctance, to the advice of his friends, but, being ſenſible he ſhould feel double ſatisfaction if he had his father's ſanction, he would not make any direct addreſs to the Lady, till he had received that neceſſary conſent. His father took the firſt opportunity of removing this impediment, ſending not only his conſent but his approbation, accompanied with the warmeſt wiſhes for his happineſs.

Mr. Elliſon, whoſe inclination for the Lady had increaſed with acquaintance, received his father's letter with joy; and, now making an expreſs declaration of his attachment, the widow, without affected reluctance, accepted his propoſal, and the marriage was ſoon completed.

By the alteration of his fortune, Mr. Elliſon found his ſphere of action extended; but (as is frequently the caſe) this gave him great uneaſineſs. The thing which had chiefly hurt him during his abode in Jamaica, was the cruelty uſed on one part of mankind, as if the difference of complexion excluded them from the human race. He had not been married above a week before he gave great offence to his wife and ſteward, by putting a ſtop to a moſt ſevere puniſhment, juſt beginning to be inflicted on a great number of them, who, intoxicated with the pleaſures of a holy-day, had not returned home at the time commanded. 'I am, ſaid he, determined, henceforward, to eaſe your ſteward of this part of his buſineſs; the produce of the land he may ſtill attend, but thoſe who cultivate it ſhall be my care; he is not fit to be truſted with any thing but what is inanimate. And that you may not think I pay too high a price for this indulgence of my compaſſion, or rather this compliance with my conſcience, I will endeavour to find a means of rendering our ſlaves obedient, without violating the laws of juſtice and humanity.'

Mrs. Elliſon was mortified to find her huſband incorrigible in ſo material an article, fearing leaſt her fortune ſhould ſuffer thro' his ſimplicity; but humanity, when ſufficiently warm and ſteady, ſeldom waits long for the power and opportunity of exertion. He ſoon formed a plan, and ſet about the execution of it with the utmoſt diligence. Afterwards haranguing his ſlaves, 'While you perform your duty, ſaid he, I ſhall look upon you as free ſervants, or rather like my children, for whoſe well-being I am ever anxious and watchful. I have provided you with convenient habitations; given you a plentiful portion of all neceſſaries; aſſigned to each a ſmall ſhare of peculiar property; taken care of you in ſickneſs; and conſidered your eaſe in health; I have increaſed your liberty; promoted your amuſements; and much lightened your puniſhments. But ſtill theſe are too heavy; I cannot feel myſelf ſo ſuperior to any of my fellow-creatures, as to have a right of correcting them ſeverely. I am determined therefore, for the future, to aboliſh all corporal puniſhments. I ſhall require nothing of you that can be properly thought a hardſhip; but, if gratitude and prudence cannot bind you to good behaviour, the firſt offence ſhall be puniſhed by excluding you from partaking of the next weekly holy-days; for the ſecond fault you ſhall not only be deprived of your diverſion, but of a day's food; and, if theſe gentle corrections do not reform you, on the third offence you ſhall be ſold to the firſt purchaſer, however low the price offered; and this ſentence is irreverſible; no prayers, no intreaties, ſhall move me. The man who, after ſo happy a change to his condition, can repeatedly offend, is not worthy to be the object of my care; and ſhall become the property of ſome maſter, whoſe chaſtiſements may keep within the bounds of duty the actions of that man, whoſe heart cannot be influenced by gratitude, or his own true intereſt.'

Mr. Elliſon's humanity had already gained the affections of his ſlaves, but on this declaration they almoſt adored him, and in the ſtrongeſt terms promiſed him, and themſelves likewiſe, never to offend ſo good a maſter, in ſuch a manner as to bring them under the heavy ſentence he had pronounced againſt thoſe who perſevered in diſobedience. This was at that time the real ſentiments of their hearts, but human frailty had left ſcarcely the reſolution of one unbroken; yet few of them were ſo ſenſeleſs as to incur the third puniſhment. The firſt who was ſo unfortunate, when he found that the ſentence was going to be put in execution, was almoſt diſtracted, and was with difficulty reſtrained from doing violence on himſelf. His importunate intreaties for pardon extremely diſtreſsed Mr. Elliſon. To deny the poor wretch a farther trial grieved him to the ſoul; and yet he ſaw that a ſtrict adherence to his firſt declaration was abſolutely neceſſary; he therefore reſolved to endure the conflict, though not unmoved, yet with unaltered purpoſe; and to ſhew them that, in deſpight of his compaſſion, which was too great to be concealed, he was ſtill inflexible.

Mrs. Elliſon, who met him as he returned from this unhappy wretch, was amazed at his uneaſineſs. 'Surely, ſaid ſhe, you have no ſpirit, if you can pity ſuch an ungrateful creature. I hope you are ſenſible it is a great weakneſs to be ſo tamely forgiving.' 'How 〈◊〉 I think ſo, replied Mr. Elliſon, when I ſee ſuch various proofs that the Being, in whom there is no weakneſs, who is all perfection, is far more forgiving than any of his creatures? He is love and mercy itſelf; can then any portion of the divine nature, that part of his image which he ſtamped on man, be eſteemed a failing! How much more diſobedient are the beſt of us to him, than our ſlaves are to us? Yet he does not cruſh us with his power; he neither ſends the lightnings to blaſt the offender, nor peſtilence to conſume a ſinful country; he bears with us year after year, gives us frequent calls and admonitions to repentance, and leaves us a long ſeaſon for amendment.'

As Mrs. Elliſon was not deficient in underſtanding, ſhe ſaw there was ſome truth in what her huſband had ſaid; but it was a truth her reaſon could more eaſily perceive, than her heart feel, for it was ſteeled by habit.

Mr. Elliſon, ſoon after his marriage, had deſired his father to ſend him over a proper perſon to teach reading, writing, and accompts; leaving him at liberty as to the ſtipend, only deſiring that the man might be ſober and virtuous. As ſoon as this perſon arrived, he gave him a neat houſe and eſtabliſhed him ſchoolmaſter, ſending all the children of his Negroe ſlaves to be under his tuition. He cauſed them to be inſtructed in the principles of the Chriſtian religion, hoping thereby to civiliſe their manners, and rectify their diſpoſitions. This office he performed himſelf to thoſe more advanced in years, believing inſtruction would come with more authority and perſuaſion from him, as they reſpected him as their maſter, and loved him for the happineſs they enjoyed in his ſervice; and certainly ſuch doctrine can ſcarcely fail of proving perſuaſive, when the preacher's actions are ſo eminently conformable to his precepts.

By plentiful food and a comfortable life, Mr. Elliſon's Negroes became ſtronger than any in the iſland; the natural ſtrength of thoſe who belonged to other maſters being conſumed by hardſhips and hunger. His were therefore able, with eaſe, to do ſo much more work, that he might have diminiſhed their number, if compaſſion had not prevented him. He had the ſatisfaction of ſeeing his conduct ſucceed to his utmoſt wiſh. Negroes are naturally faithful and affectionate, though, on great provocation, their reſentment is unbounded, and they will indulge their revenge, though to their own certain deſtruction.

Above a year paſſed away without his being obliged to ſell another ſlave; which gave him hopes he ſhould never again be expoſed to ſo painful an exertion of his power. And the poor wretch, whoſe example had ſo good an effect on his companions, had all that time ſuffered the uſual ſeverities under a hard maſter. His ſelf-reproaches made him doubly wretched, and, as he lived in a plantation adjacent to Mr. Elliſon's, he was a conſtant object of compaſſion to his former companions, who frequently lamented his fate, and repreſented his diſtreſs with ſuch pathetic ſimplicity, as touched Mr. Elliſon's compaſſionate heart to ſo great a degree, that he reſolved to re-purchaſe him at any price. This he effected on more reaſonable terms than he hoped, for the poor fellow's dejection of ſpirits was ſuch, that it undermined his health, and rendered him ſo weak, that his maſter was very glad to get the price he had given for him. When he was acquainted with his being again become Mr. Elliſon's property, his joy was near proving fatal, having entirely overpowered his ſpirits. A holy-day was given to all the ſlaves to welcome his return, and never was the reſtoration of a Monarch celebrated with ſo much heart-felt, diſintereſted joy.

But, although the gratitude and aſſiduity of this poor fellow's future behaviour greatly rewarded his maſter, yet it produced a diſagreeable event; another ſlave was encouraged by it to flatter himſelf that Mr. Elliſon would never again exerciſe the ſame ſeverity, ſince it had proved ſo painful to him; but above all, not on one, who was particularly intelligent and uſeful, as this ſlave knew himſelf to be. On this ſuppoſition, he extended his offence to a third time, but was dreadfully ſurpriſed to find himſelf, notwithſtanding his moſt earneſt intreaties, doomed to be ſold. Before the day appointed for the ſale of the offender arrived, he was ſeized with a violent fever, and his malady ſo increaſed as to render his recovery doubtful, and he was deſirous not to recover. Preferring death to ſlavery under another maſter, he refuſed to take the remedies preſcribed, and earneſtly begged he might be ſuffered to die. Mr. Elliſon thought his condition would ſufficiently excuſe the reverſing of his ſentence; ſo that the poor man now became as anxious to preſerve, as he had been before deſirous of loſing his life; and, his mind being at eaſe, he recovered from his fever and his perverſeneſs together.

Mrs. Elliſon, before the expiration of the firſt year of their marriage, brought him a very fine boy. Her fortune enabled him to extend his trade; and his ſucceſs therein always anſwered his wiſhes. But he was not free from vexations; Mrs. Elliſon, though a good ſort of a woman, was one of thoſe who make bad companions in intimate ſociety. She was ſo very fond of her huſband, that ſhe was miſerable if he was out of her ſight. If, when abroad on buſineſs, he did not return juſt at the hour ſhe expected, he found her in agonies, leſt ſome misfortune had befallen him; and, with floods of tears, ſhe reproached him with inſenſibility of the pain ſhe ſuffered, from his want of punctuality. If he expreſſed an inclination to ſpend an evening with a friend, ſhe was inconſolable, and lamented his indifference If he paid the common attentions which politeneſs required for any other woman, ſhe was fired with jealouſy. When any generous action of his reached her ears, which could not but happen frequently, ſhe would moſt pathetically lament that, 'notwithſtanding the fine fortune ſhe brought, her dear boy would be a beggar,' and upon all emergencies ſhe would ſay, that her firſt huſband would not have uſed her ſo. Had Mrs. Elliſon openly ſhewed an intention of enſlaving her huſband, ſhe would have found him better acquainted with the relative duties of matrimony, than to have ſubmitted to a diſgraceful and unnatural yoke. But, when they were firſt married, ſhe reſtrained only with ſilken threads; the fetters were forged by degrees. By the little endearments of exceſſive fondneſs, ſhe would bring him to compliance, when he raiſed objections from convenience, or politeneſs; and unwilling to appear inſenſible of ſo much tenderneſs, he would ſometimes delay buſineſs, and break appointments. Every compliance of this ſort rendered her applications more frequent, and if he ſhewed much reluctance, plaintive, affectionate reproaches of want of love, ſtrengthened the requeſt. Every conqueſt more fully convinced her of his weakneſs; ſhe perceived that his greateſt fear was to give pain; that he could not bear without ſevere pangs, to be the cauſe of uneaſineſs to any perſon; but, above all, to one who was rendered ſuſceptible of it, chiefly by her love for him.

Mr. Elliſon, however, at length ſaw reaſon to ſuſpect there was more of policy than love in her behaviour; but, before he conceived this ſuſpicion, ſhe had brought him to a habit of compliance, which he could not ſhake oft without a ſtronger effort than the gentleneſs of his nature would ſuffer him to exert.

But, if he ſtood juſtified to himſelf, his friends paſſed a leſs favourable ſentence. They found themſelves deprived of the moſt agreeable ſociety the place afforded, and were not a little angry with the occaſion of it. Some, ſeriouſly and ſenſibly, adviſed him to free himſelf from his bondage: Others laughed at him for his puſillanimity. A ſecret conſciouſneſs that the advice was good, and the ridicule juſt, made him receive both with great good humour, but they were equally ineffectual; he eluded them in the beſt manner he could, telling the firſt, that 'to throw off the reſtraint would give him more trouble than he found in ſubmitting to it;' and to the jeſters he only ſaid 'they muſt not wonder if his long application to merchandize had taught him to ſee every thing in the light of traffic; and his wife had bought him at ſo great a price, that he tho't ſhe had a right to make the beſt of the purchaſe.' Her power over him could not be a ſecret, but he had pride enough to wiſh to conceal the uneaſineſs it gave him.

Mr. Elliſon had other vexations, which increaſed with the age of his little boy: He was equally the darling of both his parents, but they differed much in their opinions as to the proofs of that affection. The child was naturally of a paſſionate and ſtubborn temper, which his father ſaw with concern, and thought it his duty to keep him within reaſonable controul; and, if poſſible, to conquer faults, which, when ſtrengthened by time and habit, muſt prove incorrigible. Mrs. Elliſon, on the contrary, called his paſſion ſpirit, and his ſtubbornneſs conſtancy and ſteadineſs, and could not bear he ſhould receive the leaſt contradiction. She was continually puffing him up with the notion of his conſequence, repreſenting all the people about him as his ſlaves, and making them ſeek to pleaſe him by the moſt abject means. She taught him to look on them in the ſame light as ſhe herſelf did, as creatures deſtitute of all natural rights, of ſenſe and feeling. She was pleaſed to ſee him vent his childiſh paſſions upon them, and was always ready to gratify his reſentments beyond his wiſh; and ſo ſucceſsful were her endeavours, that, by the time he arrived at the age of five years, he was a little fury, burſting with pride, paſſion, inſolence, and obſtinacy. Mr. Elliſon ſaw all this with a very ſenſible concern; he endeavoured to teach his wife the duty of a parent, and to convince her that her indulgence rendered her the child's moſt pernicious enemy; but, having never reaſoned in her life, the faculty was too feeble to enter into the force of his arguments; ſhe was too perverſe to attend, and too weak to be convinced.

He then aſſumed an air to which ſhe had hitherto been a ſtranger, and told her, 'though he had ſacrificed his own inclinations to her, ſhe muſt not expect to find the ſame eaſy temper in him when the welfare of his ſon was at ſtake;' and in the moſt reſolute manner declared, he would not ſuffer him to be made a brute. Tears were now called to her aid; ſhe wept for his cruelty, and lamented the hatred he bore both to her and her child. But all theſe arts proved now unavailing; Mr. Elliſon's heart was too deeply engaged in the importance of the cauſe of their contention, to be moved by any thing ſhe could ſay; and he kept ſo firmly to his point, that ſhe began to think it adviſable to calm him by a ſeeming compliance, and that ſhe, or her dear darling might not incur Mr. Elliſon's anger, ſhe taught the boy to conceal his thoughts and inclinations, and to aſſume ſuch a manner in his father's preſence, as for a little time gave that affectionate parent great pleaſure; but it was not long before he found, that to his other faults his ſon had now added a degree of deceit and hypocriſy, beyond what he imagined poſſible at ſo early an age; and that, while he loved his mother for laying the foundation of his future miſery, he beheld him only as an object of terror and hatred. To be ſuperiorly beloved was ſo great a gratification to Mrs. Elliſon's narrow and ungenerous mind, that ſhe rejoiced in every ſymptom of his diſlike to his father, though beloved by her as much as was conſiſtent with ſuch ſelfiſh principles as her's.

How truly unhappy is it for mankind that this difference in parents, in regard to the education of their children, ſo generally prevails—the mother fond of her child to exceſs, yet, blinded by her fondneſs, indulges it without reaſon—and the father, tenderly dreading ing the ruin of his child, counteracting the mother in its preſence, while yet unable to judge of right or wrong.—Mr. Elliſon's conduct, in this reſpect, was quite different; he was poſſeſſed of ſuch a forethought, and prudent conſtancy in the wrong he reſolved to rectify, as what is ſeldom (but which it could be wiſhed were oftner) to be met with. When he reproved Mrs. Elliſon it was always in the abſence of his child, and then indeed, in ſuch a ſweet and perſuaſive manner, that had the child been preſent and capable of reaſon, it muſt have been won over to its duty, and the fondeſt affection for its father.

Mr. Elliſon was convinced of what concern and great importance to its future happineſs and welfare depended on the education of his child. He was ſo convinced of the pernicious principles that his ſon was imbibing, and of the unhappy conſequence of them, that rather than have ſubmitted to it he would have given up his own immediate and domeſtic quiet. He knew that the evil habits imbibed at his ſon's age, took too deep a root, and if not checked in time, were ſeldom to be conquered, either by religion, reaſon or perſuaſion. He had too fatal an inſtance of it in Mrs. Elliſon; educated in the iſlands, ſhe was familiariſed to cruelty and hardened to any idea of ſenſibility—ſhe could laugh at the ſufferings of the poor blacks, and would frequently reproach Mr. Elliſon for his humanity towards them. Such alſo, were the principles ſhe would have inſtilled into her child. But Mr. Elliſon's forecaſt of the natural conſequences of this, and how unhappy it muſt in future render, not only his child, but all thoſe with whom he might be connected, and more particularly thoſe under his immediate protection and care, put him on his guard to prevent it.

When Mr. Elliſon found, that all the care he could take towards rectifying his ſon's temper was only made the occaſion of introducing more evil into his diſpoſition, he determined, as the laſt reſource, to ſend him into England with a friend who was going thither; and there to have him placed at a ſchool, under the eye of his grandfather, who he knew would watch over him with the moſt affectionate attention. To execute this reſolution was a moſt painful talk. Mrs. Elliſon, at firſt, abſolutely refuſed conſenting to it; and to force on her the grief of parting with her ſon, who was then but ſix years old, gave him more poignant affliction than her heart was capable of feeling for any misfortune whatſoever.

To remove her objections, he therefore propoſed their following the child into England, as ſoon as they could ſettle their affairs in ſuch a manner, as might enable them to bid a long adieu to Jamaica, without great detriment; but this adminiſtered little conſolation to Mrs. Elliſon, as ſhe had conceived a diſlike to England, which even her ſon's being there could not conquer; but forbearing to declare this, imagining it would make her fondneſs for the child appear leſs than ſhe choſe it ſhould be thought, Mr. Elliſon, after ſending away his boy, was very aſſiduous in haſtening the means of their leaving the iſland; ſuppoſing he therein gratified his wife as much as himſelf.

The moſt difficult part of his buſineſs was to get a ſteward, who would treat his ſlaves with the ſame gentleneſs to which he had accuſtomed them; and he had nearly ſettled his commercial affairs, before he ſaw any probability of finding a perſon fit for that important office.

The firſt rumour of his intended departure cauſed the utmoſt conſternation among theſe poor creatures; they gathered round him, and falling on their knees, in their imperfect Engliſh, cried out, 'Oh! maſſa, no go, no go; if go, ſteward whip, beat, kill poor ſlave; no go, no go; you go we die.'

He aſſured them, that he looked upon them all as his children, and promiſed no one ſhould ſupply his place, that did not conſider himſelf as their father. Inſtead of being ſatisfied with this promiſe, they exclaimed, 'all fathers not good; no father like you;' and ſuch torrents of tears would accompany their words, as frequently ſtaggered his reſolution. Notwithſtanding the moſt affectionate aſſurances he could give them, melancholy conſtantly ſat on their, before happy, countenances; at their holy-day meetings, inſtead of indulging the jollity of which they uſed to be ſo fond, their hours were ſpent in lamenting their approaching misfortune, and laughter was now exchanged for tears.

Buſineſs having called Mr. Elliſon to Port-Royal, he there heard lamented, the misfortunes of Mr. Hammond, an Engliſh gentleman, who had been eſtabliſhed there above two years as a merchant in good credit. Mr. Hammond had juſt received a 1000 l. in return for ſome commodities he had exported; and this ſum he inſiſted on an unſucceſsful friend's taking for a time, in hopes it might enable him to ſave his credit, and carry on his trade till affairs took a more favourable turn.

By this well-timed loan, the poor man and his family were ſaved from deſtruction; but loſſes by ſhipwreck, and other accidents, having ſucceſſively fallen on Mr. Hammond, he ſaw himſelf reduced into the ſituation from which he had relieved his friend; with only this difference, that his was a ſingle diſtreſs; whereas a wife, and nine children, would have been ſharers in the misfortunes of the other. All Mr. Hammond's effects were ſeized, but proved inſufficient to diſcharge his debts. The creditors knew he had lent ſome money, but were ignorant as to the exact ſum: This they preſſed him to call in; promiſing, on the receipt of it, to diſcharge him from priſon, even if it did not quite amount to what was due to them.

Mr. Hammond could not ſupport the thought of purchaſing his liberty by reducing ſo large a family to beggary; but, as he was ſenſible his creditors had a juſt right to all his property, he offered to enter into the moſt binding engagements to give up the ſum to them, as ſoon as his friend could refund it without ruin; and to make him pay them the eſtabliſhed intereſt till that time; but, enraged at this delay, they refuſed to accept his offer, and declared he ſhould remain their priſoner.

This ſtory very much affected Mr. Elliſon's compaſſionate heart; and in hopes of finding ſome method of relieving the diſtreſs of ſo worthy a man, he went the next day to the priſon to viſit him; and having undertaken to do his utmoſt, to bring the creditors to agree to what he had offered, he negociated the affair with great aſſiduity, but little ſucceſs.

During the courſe of this tranſaction, having had many proofs of Mr. Hammond's integrity and humanity, he acquainted him with his reſolution of advancing the thouſand pounds lent to his friend, and becoming himſelf that Gentleman's creditor; aſſuring Mr. Hammond that he ſhould never aſk for the payment, but ſuffer his friend to ſuit his own convenience in that reſpect.

He then told Mr. Hammond, that he was ſenſible, though by this ſtep he might deliver him from priſon, yet he ſhould not ſecure him from diſtreſs; he therefore begged leave to aſſiſt him in any courſe of life wherein he thought proper to engage; adding, that he could not but wiſh he might accept the offer he now made him of taking upon himſelf the direction of his plantation and ſlaves, as he delayed his removal into England only till he could find a fit perſon for his ſteward.

Mr. Hammond's heart overflowed with gratitude, as well for the transfer of the debt of the thouſand pounds, as for the kind offer he made him. The care of the land, he ſaid, would give him pleaſure, and he believed he might acquit himſelf tolerably well in it, but he knew himſelf totally unfit for the government of ſlaves, the ſeverities requiſite to keep them in order being ſuch, as he was not only incapable of decreeing, but even of beholding.

Mr. Elliſon, delighted with the ſentiments he had expreſſed, as they confirmed him in that opinion of his diſpoſition, which had firſt inſpired him with the deſire of leaving him his deputy when he ſhould depart the iſland, told him, that the difficulties he had been under in finding a ſteward, were occaſioned by the fears of having his ſlaves ill treated, who had always been uſed by him more like children than ſervants, and had convinced him by their behaviour, that ſeverity was not only unneceſſary, but hurtful. He deſired Mr. Hammond therefore, if he had no other objection to the ſtewardſhip, to go home with him, and after ſufficient obſervation to give him his anſwer.

Mr. Hammond readily acquieſced. When he ſaw Mr. Elliſon's conduct to his ſlaves, and how great the difference thereby made between them, and all others whom he had ſeen in that condition how much leſs abject their way of thinking; how chearful and aſſiduous they were in performing their duty; the quickneſs of their apprehenſion; and in many, the nobleneſs of mind, and rectitude of principle, which kind encouragement and fatherly inſtruction had given them, in compariſon of thoſe who are ſtupified by ill uſage and oppreſſion; he no longer beheld the office he was invited to accept in a formidable light; but on the contrary, his heart ſwelling with joy and tranſport at the happineſs of the poor ſlaves around him, he broke into the following ſoliloquy, which afforded Mr. Elliſon the higheſt ſatisfaction and delight.

"O Humanity!—Heaven-born principle! —true and never ceaſing ſource of bliſs—happy thoſe, whoſe hearts are warmed with thy ſweet and benign influence! Bleſſed with the divine principle of thee, we forget ourſelves, and ſeek our deareſt joys in beſtowing happineſs upon others. By thy divine influence we tread the paths of peace,—and are led in the dear and bleſſed footſteps of Him, of whom thou art an all-glorious attribute. By thee we are led to the true and delightful ways or piety and religion—to the ways of pleaſantneſs—and to the paths of peace."

Thrice happy that man, whoſe ſoul, impreſſed with the true principles of real and pious ſenſibility, looks up to Heaven for an example for his conduct and behaviour in life. If bleſſed with affluence, his chief bliſs is to make others happy, and every time he relieves an object from diſtreſs, he feels a joy unutterable;—words want the power, and language the expreſſion, to declare the delightful ſatisfaction he feels: Or indeed, ſuppoſing poverty his lot, and, that he has but little, yet, of that will he adminiſter relief, and find more comfort and real ſatisfaction, than the miſer in his hoard or the ſpend thrift in his pleaſures.

With all his affluence, is it likely that Mr. Elliſon, without that ſweet and heavenly ſenſibility that fired his ſoul, would have enjoyed any degree of the happineſs he did? Is it not through all his actions the chief inſtrument of his bliſs, leading him, as it were, ſtep by ſtep, to the ſummit of human perfection?

Mr. Elliſon now ſaw the liberty of departing from Jamaica approach. His mercantile affairs were the more eaſily ſettled by his brother's arrival in the iſland; for, as ſoon as he had determined on his return to England, he wrote to his father to ſend over his brother James, who had been likewiſe bred to merchandize, as it would be in his power to ſettle him very advantageouſly, and to eſtabliſh him immediately in an extenſive trade, by making over his correſpondents to him. He found the young man ſenſible, honeſt, and diligent; and well deſerving the encouragement he deſigned to give him.

Mrs. Elliſon was indeed leſs pleaſed with her brother in-law, fearing her huſband might favour him too generouſly.

The young man was ſhocked to ſee the arbitrary power ſhe exerciſed over her huſband, not immediately diſcerning, that there was one thing his brother feared even more than his wife, the reproaches of his own conſcience, and though he ſacrificed moſt worldly things to her caprices, yet there was a Being whom he more carefully endeavoured to pleaſe than her.

Affairs were in this ſituation when Mrs. Elliſon was ſeized with a fever, at that time almoſt epidemical. The attack was ſo violent, as from the firſt gave little hopes of a recovery, and, notwithſtanding the beſt medical aſſiſtance, ſhe died in a few days.

Mr. Elliſon was ſincerely afflicted at her death; her faults he had long pitied and now forgot; while her virtues, or ſuch as he imagined ſhe poſſeſſed, were engraven on his memory.

But his friends, while they endeavoured to conſole him, comforted themſelves in believing, that though habit and gentleneſs of temper may teach a priſoner to hug his chains, yet when taken off, he will ſoon grow ſenſible he is relieved from a burden, and find the removal of conſtant conſtraint makes him amends for the loſs of many pleaſures which accompanied it.

But they had not an opportunity of ſeeing this ſuppoſition verified, as Mr. Elliſon did not ſtay long enough in the iſland after his wife's death, to wear off the grief he felt on the occaſion.

In a ſhort time, however, he became ſufficiently himſelf to proſecute his plan for ſetling every thing there to the beſt advantage. He found Mr. Hammond even exceed his hopes; he ſoon gained the affection of the ſlaves; an open, humane, and chearful countenance giving them a prejudice in his favour, which his conduct improved into a rational confidence.

He alſo beheld with delight, the improvement the children had received in the ſchool he had eſtabliſhed. The maſter's ſalary was raiſed, and a young lad left with him of a remarkable good diſpoſition and underſtanding, as an aſſiſtant, but with a ſecret view of qualifying him to ſucceed, in caſe the maſter ſhould die, or grow weary of the charge.

The ſchoolmaſter's ſiſter, upon invitation, being come over from England, was made miſtreſs of a ſchool of Negroe girls, a charge wherein ſhe acquitted herſelf extremely well. The effect of their inſtructions was evident in the conduct of the Negroes; for the ferocity of their tempers, their obſtinacy, and that reſentful turn of mind, ſeemingly natural to them, were ſo ſoftened by religion, that it very ſeldom happened that any ſymptoms of them appeared.

By this time Mr. Elliſon's brother James had entered into a very tender attachment. The youth no ſooner became acquainted with Miſs Reynolds, a young lady in the neighbourhood, than he felt the influence of her charms; ſhe was not inſenſible of the merits of her lover, and they were ſo well agreed before Mr. Elliſon's departure, that James thought it proper to inform his brother of his inclination.

A long acquaintance with Miſs Reynolds had afforded him a good opportunity to diſcern her merit; his brother could not have choſen a woman he ſo much eſteemed; her fortune, though not conſiderable, was ſufficient to be of ſome aſſiſtance in trade, and her prudence and oeconomy were well ſuited to his ſituation. He therefore very ſincerely gave his approbation, had the marriage celebrated with great elegance in his own houſe, and made a preſent to the bride of all the jewels that belonged to his deceaſed wife. To his brother he gave a houſe he had at Kingſtown, with all his plate and linen, and the free uſe of all his furniture; and to 〈◊〉 Hammond he allowed 200 l. per annum, with the liberty of living in his houſe, and many other privileges.

Having thus intirely ſettled, his affairs, he ſet ſail for England, leaving his friends and dependants moſt ſenſibly afflicted, and ſharing in their grief, though the deſire of returning to his native country, of ſeeing his father and his child, and of repairing a conſtitution much hurt by the heat of the climate, made the change on the whole very deſirable to him.

His voyage was ſwift and proſperous; and no dangers called off his thoughts from the pleaſure he felt in anticipating, in imagination, the joys he expected from his return to his native land; but diſappointments too often follow the hopes which have riſen to the higheſt point, and when we think we are juſt ready to graſp our pleaſures, they elude our touch, and leave us nothing but regret.

Mr. Elliſon had in his imagination formed many delightful ſcenes, between himſelf and his father; the evening of whoſe days he hoped would be greatly brightened by ſharing his proſperity, and by his aſſiduous endeavours to amuſe, if he could not relieve, the infirmities of age. But all theſe flattering hopes are put to flight on his arrival in port; a letter being delivered him there, acquainting him that his father was very dangerouſly ill, not from ſudden ſickneſs, but a gradual decline.

Old Mr. Elliſon had taken care he ſhould receive this intimation, to prepare him for their firſt meeting, and render it leſs ſhocking; and, to make it ſtill leſs affecting, he had ſent for his grandſon home, in hopes that the joy of the parent would mitigate filial ſorrow. Nor was he totally diſappointed; Mr. Elliſon could not be inſenſible of the pleaſure of ſeeing his only child in health, and in appearance improved, of which the dying man gave him all the comfortable proofs he could recollect. But this, though it in ſome meaſure alleviated his grief, ſcarcely ſufficed to render it ſupportable.

The indulgence he had given his imagination, made the approaching death of his father more grievious. He was greatly affected by the calm reſignation of his mind; the patience with which he ſupported his painful diſtemper; and the chearful and lively hopes of a bleſſed eternity, which in his eyes diſarmed death of all its terrors, and made him look on his laſt hour with the ſame placidity, as on any one that preceded it; and ſo well ſupported him at the fatal inſtant, as to render him ſcarcely ſenſible of the pains which uſually attend the ſeparation of the ſoul from the body.

Mr. Elliſon determined, as ſoon as he had ſettled his affairs, to fix in the country. Sir William Elliſon his couſin-german, invited him to his ſeat in Dorſetſhire, promiſing to ſhew him ſeveral good houſes, any of which were to be hired or purchaſed; and Mr. Elliſon was particularly inclined to fix his abode in that country, as it had been the place of his family's former reſidence. He had ſent over, before he left Jamaica, 45000l. and, beſide the intereſt of that ſum, he received 1200l. a year from his plantation, clear of all deductions.

On his arrival at his couſin's ſeat in Dorſetſhire, he was received very affectionately. Sir William had not ſeen him from the time he firſt left England, but retained a great regard for him, founded on an early acquaintance with his virtues. Though nearly related in blood, there was little reſemblance in the diſpoſitions of theſe two gentlemen. Sir William was a man of ſenſe and integrity, but a humouriſt. He was now, at fifty years old, a batchelor; for having been in his youth jilted by a woman he ardently loved, who, after all preliminaries to their marriage was ſettled, left him for a man of larger fortune, and more gaudy appearance, he had made a vow never more to addreſs any of the ſex; and kept that vow better than is uſually done by thoſe who make it in a fit of reſentful rage and diſappointment. His father died ſoon after, and left him in the poſſeſſion of 3000l. per annum, free from any incumbrances whatſoever; the eſtate in good order, and the manſion houſe well furniſhed, and above a year's income in caſh.

Mr. Elliſon, though well pleaſed with Sir William's reception and conversation, finding he laid him under ſome reſtraint, determined not to make his viſit very long; and, therefore ſoon called upon the Baronet to fulfil his promiſe, of ſhewing him the houſes which were to be purchaſed in that country.

After ſeeing them all, he fixed on one almoſt adjoining to Sir William's, and purchaſed it with the eſtate belonging thereto, conſiſting of two farms of about 150l. a year each.

The houſe was a large and good old manſion, in tolerable repair; but, having ſtood empty near ten years, during the minority of the owner, was inwardly in very bad order, and the gardens entirely gone to ruin. This circumſtance much leſſened the price, but was no diſagreeable thing to Mr. Elliſon, who rather choſe to lay out the place to his own taſte, than to pay for what the ſeller might call improvements.

He immediately purchaſed it, and, being provided with a houſe-keeper who had ample recommendations to him, he informed her, that a decent and regular oeconomy in his houſe was what he expected, as far from extravagance and waſtefulneſs as from parſimony. He would have his ſervants enjoy ſoberly all the comforts of life, as he thought that to make them happy, was his firſt duty; but this he knew was beſt done by order, regularity, and decent frugality. He would have ſuch a number of ſervants as could perform the buſineſs of his houſe with eaſe, and therefore deſired her to conſider how many ſervants would be requiſite.

As for the ſtate of the adjacent poor, being yet but little acquainted with it, he could give no particular directions, but wiſhed ſhe would inform him of what ſhe heard on that point, and likewiſe •• ntion to him the ſort of relief ſhe judged more proper.

It may not be amiſs to ſhew how Mr. Elliſon was circumſtanced, as to a more extenſive neighbourhood.

On the contrary ſide to Sir William's houſe lived Mr. Grantham, lawful heir to the Duke of—, if that Nobleman died without children; which was now highly probable, as he was above 60 years old, and his Ducheſs but little younger. Mr. Grantham was indeed a very diſtant relation, yet was heir both to the eſtate and title; but, this branch of that great family having fallen to decay, he inherited from his father only 50l. a year. This he farmed himſelf, and lived in the only houſe 〈◊〉 had, which was little better than a common cottage. His education had been on a level with his fortune, and his manners were thoſe of a plain honeſt farmer; yet regard for his birth, and compaſſion for his narrow circumſtances, procured him a due portion of 〈…〉 all the neighbouring gentlemen. His notions of family pride had an influence over him in the choice of a wife. He thought he ſhould diſgrace his blood by marrying a farmer's daughter, though with ſuch a one he might have got a few hundred pounds, which would have ſet him much at his eaſe; and, a Lieutenant dying in an adjacent town where he was quartered, and leaving a daughter intirely unprovided for, and greatly diſtreſſed, he thought her a wife much more ſuitable to the dignity of his family. Captivated by her gentility rather than by her perſon, for ſhe was no beauty, he took a pride in addreſſing the Captain's daughter (for the courteſy of a country town kindly beſtows the title of Captain on every officer) and ſhe was glad to accept of any proviſion.

However, Mr. Grantham was more fortunate than he had reaſon to expect; his wife proved very notable and induſtrious, only too prolific, having perpetuated the family of the Granthams, of which the Duke and he were the laſt, by bringing him five ſons and three daughters; a number attended with great difficulties in their narrow circumſtances; but the thought that they might one day be ſo many Lords and Ladies, was a ſufficient conſolation, and made them behold ſo numerous a progeny with exultation.

At the diſtance of about two miles from Mr. Elliſon's lived Mr. Allin; a gentleman who inherited a good eſtate from his father, but, being extravagant in his youth, had reduced it within very narrow bounds, and involved himſelf in difficulties that had a good deal ſoured his temper, converting his extravagance into parſimony. His ſociety would not have been very eligible, had it not been for an only daughter who kept his houſe, whoſe beauty, accompliſhments, and excellent qualities, rendered her the moſt diſtinguiſhed young woman in the whole country.

A little father off dwelt Mr. Blackburn, an old gentleman of great merit; who by a due mixture of ſtudy and converſation, had greatly embelliſhed an admirable underſtanding.

On the other ſide of Mr. Elliſon's houſe, and about five miles from it, lived young Mr. Blackburn, ſon to the gentleman juſt mentioned; his father having given him an eſtate with a good houſe upon it, on his marriage with a young woman of family, but no fortune, whoſe beauty had captivated the young man; his father being glad to encourage any rational inclination, in hopes the ſociety of a woman he loved might reform him from his vices. But ſucceſs had not anſwered his wiſhes; young Mr. Blackburn ſoon grew tired of his wife, and returned to his bottle, to hunting, gaming, and women; and behaved with ſuch inſolence to his father, when he reproached him for his diſſolute courſe of life, that he baniſhed him his preſence, and declared a reſolution to diſinherit him. This breach had ſubſiſted three years, when Mr. Elliſon came into the country; and the father ſtill as much offended, and the ſon as far from reformation, as ever.

Theſe were Mr. Elliſon's neareſt neighbours, and firſt viſitors, paying him their compliments before he had got a room fit to receive them. But, as he aimed at nothing farther than neatneſs and convenience, it was not long before his houſe was as well furniſhed as he deſired.

Mr. Elliſon had two very particular attractions in his neighbourhood; Mr. Blackburn delighted his underſtanding; Miſs Allin captivated his heart. But it is probable, that even all Miſs Allin's attractions might have proved ineffectual, had they not found him in a ſtate of leiſure.

Buſineſs firſt, and then duty, had hitherto defended his heart; theſe ſhields were now removed, and it lay open to Cupid's arrows; in ſuch a defenceleſs ſtate it might have fallen a prey to half her perfections, and could not make the leaſt reſiſtance. Nor indeed did he wiſh it; he yielded himſelf a willing captive; for, as he had no deſire to remain ſingle, he with pleaſure encouraged an inclination for a woman he thought ſo well qualified to make him happy, and whoſe narrow circumſtances gave him reaſon to hope for a favourable reception.

An inclination we chuſe rather to encourage than repreſs is very quick in its growth. Mr. Elliſon had been ſettled but two months in Dorſetſhire, when he came to a reſolution of aſking Mr. Allin's permiſſion to addreſs his daughter, giving him to underſtand that his fortune ſet him above all pecuniary demands.

The great advantages his daughter would find in ſuch an union, would have made Mr. Allin ſufficiently eager to compleat it, had he not been ſpurred on by the laſt article, which however was a ſtronger incentive; for the miſer in Moliere was not more ſenſible of the charms of that part of a lover's addreſs ſans dot, than Mr. Allin; Mr. Elliſon therefore had not only his conſent, but his good wiſhes, and ſecretly all the influence of his authority.

Unfortunately the father's was not the only will of conſequence in this caſe. The joy Mr. Elliſon felt on receiving the permiſſion he aſked was ſoon damped; for, on explaining himſelf to Miſs Allin, ſhe burſt into tears (having foreſeen from the manner in which ſhe was left alone with him, what was to be the ſubject of his converſation) and the more generouſly and nobly he expreſſed his affection, the faſter her tears flowed. Alarmed by the tendereſt fears, he begged to know the cauſe of her diſtreſs; but, before ſhe could aſſume ſufficient power over herſelf to comply, they heard Mr. Allin coming towards them; Dreading his preſence, ſhe requeſted her lover to conceal her uneaſineſs; and, promiſing to lay her whole heart open to him the next time they met, ſhe made her eſcape by one door, as her father entered at another.

Mr. Elliſon was not much better able than his miſtreſs to ſupport an interview with the father; ſo that eluding his queſtions, in ſuch a manner as gave him no ſuſpicions of what had paſſed, he pretended buſineſs that obliged him to return home directly.

He ſhut himſelf up in his room, in a ſtate of mind which the heart may gueſs, but words cannot deſcribe. He paſſed the night in an agitation and anxiety he had before no conception of; the hope which ſelf-flattery would ſometimes ſuggeſt, only ſerved to prevent his exerting his reaſon to ſupport what his fears anticipated. He roſe before the ſun, with a reſolution to know his fate ere the day was over, but wiſhed to learn it without Mr. Allin's knowledge.

Unable to contrive any means of effecting this deſire, the reſtleſſneſs of his mind led him abroad; and the impulſe of his heart directed him towards Mr. Allin's houſe. He wandered in the adjacent fields a long time, uncertain what methods to purſue, and fearing to create uneaſineſs to the woman for whom he ſuffered ſo much.

At length Miſs Allin, who had not reſted much better than her lover, going to the window in hopes new objects might divert her thoughts, ſaw him in a field adjoining to the garden. The delicacy of her mind bore ſo great a reſemblance to his, that ſhe imagined the cauſe which brought him thither, and, deſirous to conclude the interview before her father roſe from his bed, ſhe haſtened to him with as much ſpeed as a perſon can uſe, who feels a very ſenſible affliction for the pain ſhe is going to give one, whom ſhe ſincerely eſteems.

When he ſaw her approach, he had ſcarcely courage to meet her, dreading the explanation he had ſo impatiently longed for. Maiden baſhfulneſs, with ſome mixture of concern on one ſide, and extreme agitation of ſpirits on the other, rendered them equally unable to ſpeak; but with common, though tacit conſent, they ſat down together on a green bank at the foot of a tree; a l ••• ſilence enſued; and it is difficult to ſay when it would have ended, if Miſs Allin had not ſooner recovered her ſpirits than her lover. She tempered the diſagreeable intelligence ſhe was going to impart with very ſincere expreſſions of concern, at the neceſſity ſhe ſaw herſelf under of giving him pain; profeſſed a due ſenſe of his merit, and lamented that, when they firſt met, her heart was not ſo free as his, ſince then, in all probability, they might have conſtituted each other's happineſs, inſtead of mutually deſtroying each other's peace.

She then told him that ſhe had, with her father's conſent, been engaged above a year to Dr. Tunſtall, a young phyſician in the neighbourhood; and their marriage had been ſo long deferred, only by the difficulties her father found, or that his parſimonious temper made him imagine, in raiſing 2000l. the ſum he had promiſed to give with her: That ſhe received the Doctor as her intended huſband at her father's command, when her heart was ſo little prejudiced in his favour, that ſhe could, without any ſevere pang, have been equally obedient, had be ordered her never to ſee him any more; but, ſince ſhe had conſidered it as her duty and happineſs to increaſe the little prepoſſeſſion ſhe had conceived, the caſe was much altered, and ſhe was now as ſtrongly engaged to him in affection, as in honour; An engagement ſhe was determined not to violate, though ſhe deſpaired of ſeeing it fulfilled; for ſhe had received an expreſs command from her father never to entertain the leaſt acquaintance or correſpondence with Dr. Tunſtall, but to look on Mr. Elliſon as her huſband, and ſhe feared he would never revoke the decree; ſince, beſide the many reaſons, which ſhe was ſenſible there was for preferring him to the Doctor, his generoſity had added one, that with her father was inſurmountable, by declining the acceptance of a fortune.

She proceeded to ſay, that ſhe had nothing to expect but her father's anger, which was impetuous and dreadful; all, therefore, ſhe had to aſk of Mr. Elliſon, who, ſhe hoped would rather think her unfortunate than ungrateful, was, that he would, as far as lay in his power, mitigate her father's rage, and prevail with him to let her live peaceably in her preſent condition; for ſhe relinquiſhed all hopes of changing it; and did it with the leſs concern, as ſhe imagined his partiality for her might render it more vexatious to him to ſee her married to another, than merely to be diſappointed of her himſelf.

It is unneceſſary to deſcribe the effect Miſs Allin's words had upon Mr. Elliſon. She felt ſo lively a compaſſion for him, that ſhe forgot her own grief, and ſaid every thing ſhe thought might contribute to his conſolation, except what alone could prove effectual; but, as ſhe was fully determined to adhere ſtrictly to her engagement, ſhe carefully avoided giving him the leaſt room to hope a change in her ſentiments.

As ſoon as his mind was a little compoſed, he took his leave; aſſuring her that he would try every means to ſecure her peace, though he was not yet ſufficiently maſter of his thoughts, to ſee the manner in which it would be moſt adviſeable for him to proceed.

Each returned to their reſpective houſes, but with different ſenſations; ſhe found her heart much lightened, ſince ſhe had acquainted her generous lover with the ſtate of it; but he carried back deſpair inſtead of uncertainty.

However, after ſome time ſpent in reflection, he grew reſigned and patient, and, notwithſtanding his diſappointment, he was ardently deſirous to reſtore Miſs Allin to the happineſs, of which he had for a time deprived her; and reſolved to perform his promiſe more effectually than ſhe could expect.

Accordingly, three days after he had received his ſentence from her, he ſent an invitation to Mr. Allin to dine with him; and took that opportunity of acquainting him, that, ſince he was laſt at his houſe, he had learnt that Miſs Allin had long been engaged, with his conſent, to Dr. Tunſtall, and therefore had reſolved to deſiſt from his pretenſions; as he ſhould think himſelf very criminal, if, taking the advantage of a ſuperiority of fortune, he ſhould attempt to deprive another of a bleſſing which muſt be ſo dear to him; and indeed, he ſhould have ſo bad an opinion of a woman who could be mercenary and inconſtant enough to break her word, though in his favour, as would render it impoſſible for him to be happy with her.

Mr. Allin was much diſconcerted at this declaration, and anſwered: He might do as he pleaſed; but that as for Dr. Tunſtall, if he intended to marry his daughter, he muſt wait till buſineſs increaſed, or death put her in poſſeſſion of his little eſtate, for he found it impoſſible to raiſe a fortune for her, without diſtreſſing himſelf.

From the account Mr. Elliſon had heard of his circumſtances, he eaſily believed there was ſome truth in what he ſaid; and told him he would remove that objection, only deſiring him to confirm his former conſent with a good grace, and not diminiſh the ſatisfaction of his daughter by an apparent reluctance, or even the coldneſs of his compliance.

Mr. Elliſon was not ſlow in executing his purpoſe. He wrote Miſs Allin a letter the next morning, wherein he incloſed a draught on his banker for 2000l. His generoſity went ſtill farther; he feared her father would not acquit himſelf properly in regard to her cloaths; and conſidered that, as the income of the man ſhe married was very ſmall, to be well equipped might prove hereafter much to her convenience; he therefore ſent his houſekeeper to the next great town, to buy ſilks, lace, cambrick, muſlins, hollands, in ſuch abundance, as would not only enable her to make a very genteel appearance on her marriage, but ſuffice for ſome years; and he choſe to do it in this manner, rather than to make her a preſent of the money, as the ſureſt means of ſecuring her convenience, to which, moderation and generoſity might have made her leſs attentive.

The pleaſure he felt in this diſintereſted conduct, almoſt extinguiſhed for the time the ſenſe of ſorrow; but the heart will have its due; when the gratification began to deaden, vexation returned, and he could gladly have excuſed a viſit Dr. Tunſtall made him, in order to return thanks for his generoſity; which Mr. Elliſon learnt from him, was with great pain accepted by Miſs Allin; nor could any thing, but her father's expreſs and abſolute command, have conquered her reluctance in this particular. The ſight of a man, ſo much happier than himſelf, brought ſo painful a compariſon to Mr. Elliſon's mind, that the effect was viſible to the Doctor, who could not blame the ſenſation, though Mr. Elliſon could ſcarcely forgive it in himſelf; and was hurt to find, by this firſt inſtance, that he was capable of envy, a paſſion he had never felt before.

His politeneſs, however, did not forſake him on ſo ſevere a trial; he commanded both his countenance and words ſo well, as to give his happy rival a kind, though melancholy reception; and, determined to conquer the ſenſation he ſo much diſapproved, he expreſſed an inclination to be ſometimes favoured with his viſits, though he muſt requeſt him to excuſe his returning them.

While Mr. Elliſon flattered himſelf with the hopes of marrying Miſs Allin, he delayed ſettling his family in the order he intended, thinking it more adviſeable to regulate the whole at once; but, when that proſpect • ani •• ed, there no longer ſubſiſted any reaſon for poſtponing it.

The knowledge he had of his ſon's impetuous temper, and bad qualities, determined him to educate him at home. Whether he would there acquire an equal ſhare of learning as at ſchool, he much queſtioned, but the rectifying his heart appeared to him the moſt eſſential article towards his happineſs; and, of all knowledge that he moſt wiſhed him to acquire, was the knowledge of himſelf, and the means of governing his paſſions; in theſe points he thought he might be better inſtructed under his own eye than at ſchool; and, if thereby he could render him an honeſt and amiable man, he ſhould have good reaſon to be contented, though he did not prove a learned one.

He had already begun to make proper inquiries after a well qualified tutor; and was likely to ſucceed, as he had ſet no bounds to the ſalary. A gentleman of excellent character, great learning, and amiable manners, having met with ſome diſappointments in the profeſſion of phyſic, to which he was bred, was very glad of ſo eligible a retirement, on a promiſed ſalary of 400l. a year; and as Mr. Elliſon was ſo great a maſter in the ſcience of benevolence, that he performed few actions that did not bear more than one good fruit, he had in view the ſerving Mr. Grantham by the home education of his ſon, and therefore made it a condition, that the tutor ſhould teach as many boys as he pleaſed, with the ſame care as his own. The little Granthams ſpent few beſide their ſleeping hours at home; for, as their father's houſe almoſt joined to Mr. Elliſon's, they returned thither without inconvenience every night, coming early the next morning; and having at Mr. Elliſon's both their corporal and mental food; the firſt of which was ſome eaſe to the narrow circumſtances of thoſe good people, and the latter gave their father the moſt ſincere joy, as he now ſaw them in a way of being educated equal to their birth, and future fortune, of which he had before utterly deſpaired. Indeed he found his expence much lightened; for Mr. Elliſon carefully provided them apparel, in every reſpect equal to that worn by his own ſon; and was very watchful that the latter aſſumed no ſuperiority over them, to whom he ſhewed him he was in reality greatly inferior; but this was explained to him in the abſence of the Grantham's; for Mr. Elliſon wiſhed for their ſakes the thought might not occur to them; and exhorted their father and mother not to deſtroy one benefit ariſing from their preſent low eſtate, which might greatly add to the happineſs of their lives, by inſtilling into their minds a pride that muſt be the ſource both of private chagrin, and public contempt.

Mr. Elliſon was not ſo wholly engaged either by private vexation, or domeſtic buſineſs, as not to extend his attention to all his neighbours. The little eſtate he had bought lay in three pariſhes, which gave him a knowledge of the ſtate of each.

He found the poor tax ran very high, and yet the poor were but ill taken care of; the farmer was much burdened, the poor but little relieved.

All theſe inconveniencies he endeavoured to apply remedies to, which he did effectually; and, beſides relieving the wants of the poor, he promoted a ſpirit of induſtry among them.

On other occurrences his benevolent diſpoſition ſcarce knew any bounds; he compoſed all differences in his neighbourhood, was the father of the orphan, a true friend to the diſtreſſed and helpleſs, a viſitor of the ſick and thoſe who were in priſon, and many a debtor, that had not been ſo out of wantonneſs, he delivered from the unrelenting purſuits of his creditors.

Theſe ſcenes were indeed the great feaſts of his ſoul; but all his hours yielded him refined pleaſures, becauſe they were all ſpent in the exerciſe of benevolence; a deſire to do good to others, was ſo intirely his governing principle, that, however engaged in buſineſs or pleaſure, he never loſt ſight of it, endeavouring to promote it by every action of his life.

Though temperance and virtue are the beſt preſervatives of health, yet they cannot ſecure to any one an uninterrupted ſtate. Mr. Elliſon, while employed in aſſiduous endeavours to alleviate the ſufferings of others, became himſelf the object of compaſſion.

He was ſeized with a violent fever, which ſo far baffled the ſkill and care of Dr. Tunſtall, for whom he had ſent on being firſt taken ill, that in three days he was entirely delirious, and his life judged to be in great danger. The grief of his friends and dependants is eaſier to be imagined than deſcribed; but none felt more ſincerely on the occaſion than Mrs. Tunſtall, whoſe gratitude attached her very ſtrongly to him, though ſhe had never been in his company ſince the morning that determined him to give up all pretenſions to her.

She always waited the Doctor's return with impatient anxiety, and was greatly affected by the account her huſband gave her, in the beginning of the ſecond week of Mr. Elliſon's illneſs, of the accident which had happened to his houſe-keeper; who, by a fall down ſtairs, had put out her ankle, and muſt be totally confined to her chamber; whereby Mr. Elliſon was deprived of a very careful, tender, and ſenſible nurſe, which his ſituation rendered extremely neceſſary, and yet the Doctor ſaw no means of procuring him one; any of the ſervants, or people in the pariſh would have attended him with care and affection, but their ignorance diſqualified them for the truſt.

Mrs. Tunſtall was ſhocked to think of the danger he muſt run in ſuch hands, and, preſuming that in his inſane ſtate of mind he would not know her, propoſed attending him herſelf, though it might prove very dangerous in her preſent ſtate, ſhe being then in the eighth month of her pregnancy. The Doctor's tenderneſs for his amiable wife, made him very unwilling to conſent, but ſhe urged him with ſuch perſuaſive importunity, that he at length, though reluctantly, agreed to carry her to Mr. Elliſon's that very day.

It is eaſy to imagine that Mrs. Tunſtall muſt perform with the greateſt aſſiduity, an office ſhe undertook out of gratitude. The only reſt ſhe allowed herſelf was on a couch, in Mr. Elliſon's chamber; ſhe mixed all his medicines, and gave him every thing he took, but was careful not to approach his bed-ſide on his firſt waking, leſt ſleep might calm his delirium, and expoſe her to his knowledge.

She was ſeldom out of his chamber, except during one or two ſhort viſits ſhe daily made his houſe-keeper, for a whole week that he continued in the ſame melancholy ſtate; he then began to recover his ſenſes, but was ſo weak and ſpent, he took little notice of any thing that paſſed; ſhe therefore prolonged her attendance for ſome days, keeping out of his ſight, but directing the nurſe, and watching that all proper care was taken; and ſhe had the ſatisfaction, before Mr. Elliſon was well enough to diſcover there was any other perſon than his nurſe in the room, to ſee the houſe-keeper able to be brought in, and take the ſame care ſhe herſelf had done for ſome days; whereupon with great joy ſhe reſigned her office, and returned home.

Every day confirmed her in this eaſy ſtate of mind; for his recovery, though ſlow was uninterrupted; and the many hearts which his extreme danger had oppreſſed with grief and anxiety were relieved from their heavy burden; more ſenſible than ever of the value of the man on whom their happineſs depended, as all their ſenſibility had been awakened by his illneſs.

Caution had been given to Sir. William and the houſe-keeper, not to diſcloſe Mrs. Tunſtall's attendance; but the appearance of ſo ſtrong an attachment, the hazard ſhe had run, and the uncommonneſs of the action, had made ſuch an impreſſion on Sir William, that the utmoſt his prudence could effect, was to be ſilent on the ſubject, till his couſin was pretty well recovered; and then news being brought them, as they were ſitting together, that Mrs. Tunſtall was brought to bed, he could not forbear obſerving, that ſhe had but juſt had time to recover her fatigue.

Mr. Elliſon uſually avoided entering into any converſation on a ſubject wherein he felt himſelf too tenderly intereſted, but his ſenſibility on the preſent occaſion put him off his guard; and he enquired to what fatigue Sir William alluded.

The Baronet could no longer reſiſt the deſire he felt of acquainting his couſin with Mrs. Tunſtall's extraordinary care of him, to which, Mr. Elliſon liſtened with equal ſurpriſe and pleaſure. Her conduct on this occaſion had the effect ſhe feared from it, if it came to his knowledge, for it awakened every tender ſenſation; but theſe were not accompanied with the pain ſhe thought might attend them. He had brought himſelf to ſuch a patient acquieſcence in the decrees of Providence, that, while he cheriſhed the remembrance of her with tenderneſs, his regret for his diſappointment was calm and temperate. He attributed her care to the gratitude of a noble mind, and felt ineffable pleaſure in ſo ſtrong a proof, that his eſteem was juſt.

Mr. Elliſon, as the moſt likely means of perfecting his recovery, made ſome excurſions into different parts of the country, and it was for a conſiderable time before he again ſettled at home.

At his return, he was ſhocked at the evils election-drunkenneſs had cauſed in his neighbourhood; and Dr. Tunſtall particularly, being violent in politics, and having exerted himſelf much during the conteſt, acquired ſuch a habit of drinking, and entered into intimacies with ſo many people who made it their chief pleaſure, that the love of it did not ceaſe with the firſt inducement.

Mrs. Tunſtall's ſituation was hereupon very melancholy. She daily beheld the man ſhe loved in the moſt diſguſtful condition; and, when not abſolutely intoxicated, the effects of the former night's debauch, ſo ſtupified and diſordered him, that he was not capable of converſation, nor ſuſceptible of affection. Add to this, that the ſenſible decline of their circumſtances, from ſuch a perpetual round of rioting, made her dread the conſequences that muſt attend it.

Mr. Elliſon's humanity was of ſo quick and lively a kind, that it did not wait to be informed of a perſon's particular ſufferings; from comparing their income with their neceſſary expences, he knew when they were under any difficulties in point of circumſtances, and this induced him to prevail upon Mrs. Tunſtall's father to receive from him a proper ſupply for her uſe, as coming from himſelf.

However, Dr. Tunſtall was not to be reclaimed, and he at laſt fell a victim to his paſſion, being ſeized with a high fever, which, in a few days, put a period to his life.

Had Mr. Elliſon obeyed the impulſe of his heart, he would have flown to the diſconſolate widow, and endeavoured, by all the tender ſenſibilities that can ſpring from friendſhip, to have ſoothed her grief; but he feared ſuch a conduct might appear ſcarcely decent; in one, whoſe ſentiments were ſo well known; and, while he acted only as a friend, her reputation might be wounded, by being ſuppoſed ſo ſoon to receive the aſſiduities of a lover, and her delicacy offended by any marks of regard, which might bear the appearance of ſo early a renewal of his former addreſſes.

Theſe conſiderations made him forbear viſiting her for the preſent; and, when he thought he might viſit her with decency, the preference he often gave his duties to the pleaſures ariſing from her ſociety, made her fancy his having no views beyond the enjoyment of her friendſhip, till the expiration of the firſt year of her widowhood, during which he had condemned himſelf to abſolute ſilence, concerning the ſituation of his heart; but, having given ſo much time to worldly form, he was determined no longer to delay what was due to himſelf, after having fulfilled all, that decorum could poſſibly expect; he, therefore declared frankly to her, how little alteration time had made in his affection; and intreated ſhe would give him leave to hope, that ſhe would liſten to his addreſſes with more complacency than when he firſt made them.

Mrs. Tunſtall was ſomewhat ſurpriſed at Mr. Elliſon's conſtancy, and not a little puzzled in what manner to anſwer him; but, as he inſiſted on a reply, ſhe ſtammered out ſome expreſſions of the honour he did her, the greatneſs of the advantages he thus offered her, and her high ſenſe of the obligations ſhe lay under, which muſt incline her to wiſh to comply with any requeſt of his.

This ſort of cold reception was ill ſuited to the ardor of Mr. Elliſon's paſſion; he therefore begged that politeneſs, gratitude, and, above all, intereſt, might be out of the queſtion; for, though amiable virtues, yet his heart was too delicate, or too capricious, to be contented with receiving them in return for his warmeſt affections.

Mrs. Tunſtall's ſituation was rendered the more perplexing, by being really ignorant of the ſtate of her own heart. She had only conſidered him as a moſt amiable and worthy friend, and knew not whether ſhe could with pleaſure conſent to be united to him by a tenderer tie; however, ſhe could ſafely promiſe all his delicacy required, not to marry him except he became the free diſintereſted choice of her heart. Mr. Elliſon had no ſooner received this aſſurance, than he repented his requeſt; but his, apprehenſions were groundleſs.

Mrs. Tunſtall was not quite ſo indifferent as ſhe imagined; love ſeldom riſes to a blaze, till it is fanned with hope; and in a few other viſits ſhe declared to him that ſhe could no longer reſiſt any inclination of his; on the contrary, found her affection for him grow ſo intire, that ſhe wiſhed to have it made her duty to love him with a warm and undivided heart.

Every circumſtance now ſeemed to concur to make Mr. Elliſon completely happy, when, three days before that fixed on for his nuptials, he received a letter from Mrs. Blackburn, informing him, that her huſband was in the hands of the ſheriff's officers, and, if he did not take compaſſion upon him, he muſt be immediately removed to priſon, as they were not able to diſcharge the debt, and the creditor refuſed to take Mr. Blackburn's bond, knowing his whole fortune was mortgaged.

Fewer intreaties would have ſufficed to bring Mr. Elliſon to their relief. He ſet out in all haſte on horſeback, but had not gone three miles, when his horſe threw him. He was at firſt intirely ſtunned by the fall; but pain in a ſhort time brought him to himſelf, and convinced him that his thigh was broke. His ſervant ſent off a meſſenger to a ſurgeon to meet him at his own houſe, and with great difficulty got him home.

Mrs. Tunſtall was ſhocked to the greateſt degree at this melancholy news, and immediately determined that the want of the marriage ceremony ſhould not prevent her attendance on him, during his confinement. She had once acted this part from gratitude; and truſted ſhe might now, without cenſure, be allowed to perform it through affection. Her tender attentions greatly alleviated Mr. Elliſon's pains, but could not effect his cure; the third day after the fracture, a mortification began, which gave the ſurgeons the moſt alarming apprehenſions.

Melancholy as his ſituation was, no dejection appeared in his countenance, and, as ſoon as he apprehended his life was in danger, he conſidered of the beſt methods of preventing others from ſuffering by his death. He charged on his fortune the ſupport of all the charities and benevolences he had eſtabliſhed. He diſcharged Mr. Blackburn's debt, and bequeathed ten thouſand pounds to Mrs. Tunſtall; and, as his ſon's fortune could not fail of being great, ſince Sir William's eſtate would come to him, he charged it with annuities for all his dependants; he had not a ſervant to whom he did not leave ſome token of his bounty, and, not confining his thoughts to England, obliged his ſon to leave his Jamaica eſtate in the hands of his ſteward, as long as he ſhould live, providing for all the Negroes that ſhould remain on the plantation at the time of his ſteward's death.

His hardeſt trial was yet to come, the taking leave of his ſon and intended ſpouſe. For the form •• •• felt a thouſand fears, leſt his unguided youth might be led into ſome of the many errors to which that ſeaſon of life is prone; and he did not more grieve than fear to leave him. He recapitulated the ſubſtance of all the inſtructions he had for ſo many years been inculcating, and beſeeched him with tears, and the tendereſt careſſes, to imprint them deeply on his heart.

But his ſevereſt taſk was taking leave of Mrs. Tunſtall, who approached his bed more dead than alive. He bade her not grieve for him, ſince he truſted he was going to the only place where he could find a happineſs ſuperior to what he ſhould have enjoyed in her ſociety. Mrs. Tunſtall had no power to anſwer but with tears, which flowed plentifully over the hand ſhe preſſed between hers, while kneeling by his bed ſide.

At night, when the ſurgeons examined his leg, they found the mortification, to their ſurpriſe, had not advanced. The next day the ſymptoms appeared ſtill a little more favourable, and in a few days, beyond all expectation, he was declared out of danger; and he now found that the life he could ſo contentedly have parted with, was ſtill extremely dear to him. But, had it indeed loſt its charms, it muſt have obtained new ones from the joy that was diffuſed over the whole neighbourhood.

Mrs. Tunſtall was ever rejoicing over his reſtored life, or on her knees giving thanks for ſo great a bleſſing, till Mr. Elliſon was ſufficiently recovered to confirm at church the union of their hearts, which love had before completed; an union which every ſucceeding day rendered more delightful, as a fuller knowledge of each other's virtues, by increaſing their eſteem and rational affection, more than compenſated for ſome abatement of paſſion, which muſt unavoidably be the conſequence of poſſeſſion, and that certainty of each other's affections, which baniſhes all the fears and anxieties that fan the fire of love, and increaſe the paſſion by viciſſitude, mingling pains with its pleaſures.

Mr. Elliſon had now no wiſh ungratified. Mrs. Elliſon returned his affection in the tendereſt manner, and completed his happineſs, by entering into all his views, and aſſiſting him in every work of humanity, wherein her heart was as deeply engaged as his.

In a ſhort time after Mr. Elliſon's marriage Sir William died, and left him heir to his eſtate and title.

His children, as they grew up, were all honourably married, and well ſettled in the world; and, among the reſt, the eldeſt of his daughters was married to the eldeſt of the Grantham's ſons, the old gentleman having for ſome time paſt, enjoyed the title of Duke, with the eſtate, on the deceaſe of his relation.

Thus lived Mr. Elliſon, enjoying in ſweet and contented retirement, the higheſt bliſs and ſelf-ſatisfaction that human nature is capable of, and which can only be obtained by a truly well ſpent and virtuous life: Deriving from a pious and humane ſenſibility, that happy and conſtant ſerenity of conſcience, that is only the attendant on good actions. Guided by it, he was early led to indefatigable induſtry, and a ſteady and prudent attention to buſineſs. This he knew was not only the ſureſt and moſt rational way to proſper in life—but alſo the moſt pleaſing and ſelf-ſatisfactory—that it was not only the way, whereby he could expect to place himſelf above dependency—but that it was likewiſe the only means which could enable him to gratify the utmoſt wiſh of his heart—the being able to relieve his fellow creatures.

His induſtry, as it was guided by a a generous prudence, and a conſtant and ſteady adherence to the dictates of conſcience and humanity, could not fail of the greateſt ſucceſs;—but although it raiſed him to the greateſt affluence, it did not raiſe him above himſelf—he ſtill retained the ſentiments he at firſt ſet out with, bleſſing and crowning with the moſt delightful happineſs, all around him— He ſought not the favours of the great, or the reſpect of the affluent—but the approbation of his own conſcience.—He delighted not in the buſtle of courts or of the world—but, while he thought it his duty, he gave himſelf to buſineſs, and purſued it with unwearied attention; and, being favoured by Heaven to the utmoſt of his wiſhes, he choſe a retirement moſt ſuitable to his inclination; where, ſequeſtered from the noiſe and buſtle of life, he could gratify, unmoleſted, the pureſt deſires of his ſoul, and enjoy himſelf in peace and ſatisfaction—where, envied by none— but adored by all—he might be a father to the fatherleſs—and a protector to the widow —a comforter to the afflicted—and a friend to the whole human race.

We could not take leave of this worthy family at a better time, than when it enjoys the utmoſt felicity the world can afford, leſt, by ſome of thoſe unavoidable misfortunes, which in the courſe of time muſt befal every mortal being, the ſcene may be overcaſt, and thoſe who are now the happieſt of mortals, become objects of compaſſion.