Before we proceed farther in our history we shall recount a short scene to our reader which passed between Amelia and Mrs. Ellison whilst Booth was on his visit to Colonel Bath. We have already observed that Amelia had conceived an extraordinary affection for Mrs. Bennet, which had still encreased every time she saw her; she thought she discovered something wonderfully good and gentle in her countenance and disposition, and was very desirous of knowing her whole history.

She had a very short interview with that lady this morning in Mrs. Ellison’s apartment. As soon, therefore, as Mrs. Bennet was gone, Amelia acquainted Mrs. Ellison with the good opinion she had conceived of her friend, and likewise with her curiosity to know her story: “For there must be something uncommonly good,” said she, “in one who can so truly mourn for a husband above three years after his death.”

“O!” cries Mrs. Ellison, “to be sure the world must allow her to have been one of the best of wives. And, indeed, upon the whole, she is a good sort of woman; and what I like her the best for is a strong resemblance that she bears to yourself in the form of her person, and still more in her voice. But for my own part, I know nothing remarkable in her fortune, unless what I have told you, that she was the daughter of a clergyman, had little or no fortune, and married a poor parson for love, who left her in the utmost distress. If you please, I will shew you a letter which she writ to me at that time, though I insist upon your promise never to mention it to her; indeed, you will be the first person I ever shewed it to.” She then opened her scrutore, and, taking out the letter, delivered it to Amelia, saying, “There, madam, is, I believe, as fine a picture of distress as can well be drawn.”

“DEAR MADAM,
“As I have no other friend on earth but yourself, I hope you will pardon my writing to you at this season; though I do not know that you can relieve my distresses, or, if you can, have I any pretence to expect that you should. My poor dear, O Heavens—my—-lies dead in the house; and, after I had procured sufficient to bury him, a set of ruffians have entered my house, seized all I have, have seized his dear, dear corpse, and threaten to deny it burial. For Heaven’s sake, send me, at least, some advice; little Tommy stands now by me crying for bread, which I have not to give him. I can say no more than that I am Your most distressed humble servant, M. BENNET.”

Amelia read the letter over twice, and then returning it with tears in her eyes, asked how the poor creature could possibly get through such distress.

“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison, “the moment I read this account I posted away immediately to the lady. As to the seizing the body, that I found was a mere bugbear; but all the rest was literally true. I sent immediately for the same gentleman that I recommended to Mr. Booth, left the care of burying the corpse to him, and brought my friend and her little boy immediately away to my own house, where she remained some months in the most miserable condition. I then prevailed with her to retire into the country, and procured her a lodging with a friend at St Edmundsbury, the air and gaiety of which place by degrees recovered her; and she returned in about a twelve-month to town, as well, I think, as she is at present.”

“I am almost afraid to ask,” cries Amelia, “and yet I long methinks to know what is become of the poor little boy.”

“He hath been dead,” said Mrs. Ellison, “a little more than half a year; and the mother lamented him at first almost as much as she did her husband, but I found it indeed rather an easier matter to comfort her, though I sat up with her near a fortnight upon the latter occasion.”

“You are a good creature,” said Amelia, “and I love you dearly.”

“Alas! madam,” cries she, “what could I have done if it had not been for the goodness of that best of men, my noble cousin! His lordship no sooner heard of the widow’s distress from me than he immediately settled one hundred and fifty pounds a year upon her during her life.”

“Well! how noble, how generous was that!” said Amelia. “I declare I begin to love your cousin, Mrs. Ellison.”

“And I declare if you do,” answered she, “there is no love lost, I verily believe; if you had heard what I heard him say yesterday behind your back—-”

“Why, what did he say, Mrs. Ellison?” cries Amelia.
“He said,” answered the other, “that you was the finest woman his eyes ever beheld.—Ah! it is in vain to wish, and yet I cannot help wishing too.—O, Mrs. Booth! if you had been a single woman, I firmly believe I could have made you the happiest in the world. And I sincerely think I never saw a woman who deserved it more.”

“I am obliged to you, madam,” cries Amelia, “for your good opinion; but I really look on myself already as the happiest woman in the world. Our circumstances, it is true, might have been a little more fortunate; but O, my dear Mrs. Ellison! what fortune can be put in the balance with such a husband as mine?”

“I am afraid, dear madam,” answered Mrs. Ellison, “you would not hold the scale fairly.—I acknowledge, indeed, Mr. Booth is a very pretty gentleman; Heaven forbid I should endeavour to lessen him in your opinion; yet, if I was to be brought to confession, I could not help saying I see where the superiority lies, and that the men have more reason to envy Mr. Booth than the women have to envy his lady.”

“Nay, I will not bear this,” replied Amelia. “You will forfeit all my love if you have the least disrespectful opinion of my husband. You do not know him, Mrs. Ellison; he is the best, the kindest, the worthiest of all his sex. I have observed, indeed, once or twice before, that you have taken some dislike to him. I cannot conceive for what reason. If he hath said or done anything to disoblige you, I am sure I can justly acquit him of design. His extreme vivacity makes him sometimes a little too heedless; but, I am convinced, a more innocent heart, or one more void of offence, was never in a human bosom.”

“Nay, if you grow serious,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “I have done. How is it possible you should suspect I had taken any dislike to a man to whom I have always shewn so perfect a regard; but to say I think him, or almost any other man in the world, worthy of yourself, is not within my power with truth. And since you force the confession from me, I declare, I think such beauty, such sense, and such goodness united, might aspire without vanity to the arms of any monarch in Europe.”

“Alas! my dear Mrs. Ellison,” answered Amelia, “do you think happiness and a crown so closely united? how many miserable women have lain in the arms of kings?—Indeed, Mrs. Ellison, if I had all the merit you compliment me with, I should think it all fully rewarded with such a man as, I thank Heaven, hath fallen to my lot; nor would I, upon my soul, exchange that lot with any queen in the universe.”

“Well, there are enow of our sex,” said Mrs. Ellison, “to keep you in countenance; but I shall never forget the beginning of a song of Mr. Congreve’s, that my husband was so fond of that he was always singing it:—

Love’s but a frailty of the mind,
When ‘tis not with ambition join’d.

Love without interest makes but an unsavoury dish, in my opinion.”

“And pray how long hath this been your opinion?” said Amelia, smiling.

“Ever since I was born,” answered Mrs. Ellison; “at least, ever since I can remember.”

“And have you never,” said Amelia, “deviated from this generous way of thinking?”

“Never once,” answered the other, “in the whole course of my life.”
“O, Mrs. Ellison! Mrs. Ellison!” cries Amelia; “why do we ever blame those who are disingenuous in confessing their faults, when we are so often ashamed to own ourselves in the right? Some women now, in my situation, would be angry that you had not made confidantes of them; but I never desire to know more of the secrets of others than they are pleased to intrust me with. You must believe, however, that I should not have given you these hints of my knowing all if I had disapproved your choice. On the contrary, I assure you I highly approve it. The gentility he wants, it will be easily in your power to procure for him; and as for his good qualities, I will myself be bound for them; and I make not the least doubt, as you have owned to me yourself that you have placed your affections on him, you will be one of the happiest women in the world.”

“Upon my honour,” cries Mrs. Ellison very gravely, “I do not understand one word of what you mean.”

“Upon my honour, you astonish me,” said Amelia; “but I have done.”

“Nay then,” said the other, “I insist upon knowing what you mean.”

“Why, what can I mean,” answered Amelia, “but your marriage with serjeant Atkinson?”

“With serjeant Atkinson!” cries Mrs. Ellison eagerly, “my marriage with a serjeant!”

“Well, with Mr. Atkinson, then, Captain Atkinson, if you please; for so I hope to see him.”

“And have you really no better opinion of me,” said Mrs. Ellison, “than to imagine me capable of such condescension? What have I done, dear Mrs. Booth, to deserve so low a place in your esteem? I find indeed, as Solomon says, Women ought to watch the door of their lips. How little did I imagine that a little harmless freedom in discourse could persuade any one that I could entertain a serious intention of disgracing my family! for of a very good family am I come, I assure you, madam, though I now let lodgings. Few of my lodgers, I believe, ever came of a better.”

“If I have offended you, madam,” said Amelia, “I am very sorry, and ask your pardon; but, besides what I heard from yourself, Mr. Booth told me—”

“O yes!” answered Mrs. Ellison, “Mr. Booth, I know, is a very good friend of mine. Indeed, I know you better than to think it could be your own suspicion. I am very much obliged to Mr. Booth truly.”

“Nay,” cries Amelia, “the serjeant himself is in fault; for Mr. Booth, I am positive, only repeated what he had from him.”

“Impudent coxcomb!” cries Mrs. Ellison. “I shall know how to keep such fellows at a proper distance for the future—I will tell you, dear madam, all that happened. When I rose in the morning I found the fellow waiting in the entry; and, as you had exprest some regard for him as your foster-brother—nay, he is a very genteel fellow, that I must own—I scolded my maid for not shewing him into my little back-room; and I then asked him to walk into the parlour. Could I have imagined he would have construed such little civility into an encouragement?”

“Nay, I will have justice done to my poor brother too,” said Amelia. “I myself have seen you give him much greater encouragement than that.”
“Well, perhaps I have,” said Mrs. Ellison. “I have been always too unguarded in my speech, and can’t answer for all I have said.” She then began to change her note, and, with an affected laugh, turned all into ridicule; and soon afterwards the two ladies separated, both in apparent good humour; and Amelia went about those domestic offices in which Mr. Booth found her engaged at the end of the preceding chapter.