erself;--whoever spoke handsomely of her, he imagined insulted
him; and those who mentioned her not at all, he thought were sensible
of her levity, and his misfortune:--every thing he saw or heard,
seemed to him a sad memento of his dishonour; and though he could not
assure himself she had in fact been guilty of a breach of her virtue,
he was very certain she had been so of that reserve and modesty which
is the most distinguishable characteristic of it, and took from him
the power of vindicating her innocence, or his own honour even though
he had believed them safe, as becomes a husband, whose wife is more
cautious of her conduct in this point.

Too delicate of the censure of the world, it gave him the utmost
anxiety how to carry himself, so as not to afford any room to have it
said he was either a jealous, or a too credulous husband; yet in spite
of all his care, he incurred both these characters:--those who had
heard of his sending her into the country, without being acquainted
with the motives for his so doing, looked on him as the former; and
those who saw her manner of behaviour, and the seeming politeness of
his treatment of her, imagined him the latter:--so difficult is it for
any one, who only sees the outside of things, to judge what they are
in reality; yet the vanity of having it believed they are let into
secrets, makes a great many people invent circumstances, and then
relate for matters of fact, what are indeed no more than the
suggestions of imagination, or, what is yet worse, the coinage of
their own brain, without believing themselves what they take upon them
to report to others.

This undoubtedly happened on the score of Natura and his wife, and
occasioned not only many idle stories at tea-table conversation, but
also many oblique hints to be sometimes given to himself, which,
perhaps, there was not the least grounds for, but which greatly added
to his disquiets; as when we think we have reason to believe part, we
are ready to give credit to all we hear, especially in cases of this
nature; it being the peculiar property of jealousy, to force the mind
to grasp with eagerness, at every thing that tends to render it more
afflicted and perplexed.

BOOK the Third.

CHAP. I.

Shews in what manner anger and revenge operate on the mind, and how
ambition is capable of stifling both, in a remarkable instance, that
_private injuries_, how great soever, may seem of no weight, when
_p