[]THE HISTORY OF A FOUNDLING.

CHAP I.

AN Author ought to conſider himſelf, not as a Gentleman who gives a private or eleemoſynary Treat, but rather as one who keeps a publick Ordinary, at which all Perſons are welcome for their Money. In the former Caſe, it is well known, that the Entertain⯑er provides what Fare he pleaſes; and tho' this ſhould be very indifferent, and utterly diſagreeable to the Taſte of his Company, they muſt not find any Fault; nay, on the contrary, Good-Breeding for⯑ces them outwardly to approve and to commend whatever is ſet before them. Now the contrary of this happens to the Maſter of an Ordinary. [2] Men who pay for what they eat, will inſiſt on gratifying their Palates, however nice and even whimſical theſe may prove; and if every Thing is not agreeable to their Taſte, will challenge a Right to cenſure, to abuſe, and to d—m their Dinner without controul.

To prevent therefore giving Offence to their Cuſtomers by any ſuch Diſappointment, it hath been uſual, with the honeſt and well-meaning Hoſt, to provide a Bill of Fare, which all Perſons may peruſe at their firſt Entrance into the Houſe; and, having thence acquainted themſelves with the Entertainment which they may expect, may ei⯑ther ſtay and regale with what is provided for them, or may depart to ſome other Ordinary bet⯑ter accommodated to their Taſte.

As we do not diſdain to borrow Wit or Wiſdom from any Man who is capable of lending us either, we have condeſcended to take a Hint from theſe honeſt Victuallers, and ſhall prefix not only a ge⯑neral Bill of Fare to our whole Entertainment, but ſhall likewiſe give the Reader particular Bills to every Courſe which is to be ſerved up in this and the enſuing Volumes.

The Proviſion then which we have here made is no other than HUMAN NATURE. Nor do I fear that my ſenſible Reader, though moſt luxurious in his Taſte, will ſtart, cavil, or be offended, becauſe I have named but one Article. The Tortoiſe, as the Alderman of Briſtol, well learned in eating, knows by much Experience, beſides the delicious Calibaſh and Calipee, contains many different Kinds of Food; nor can the learned Reader be ignorant, that in Human Nature, tho' here collected under one general Name, is ſuch prodigious Variety, that a Cook will have ſooner gone through all the ſe⯑veral Species of animal and vegetable Food in the [3] World, than an Author will be able to exhauſt ſo extenſive a Subject.

An Objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more delicate, that this Diſh is too common and Vulgar; for what elſe is the Subject of all Ro⯑mances, Novels, Plays and Poems, with which the Stalls abound. Many exquiſite Viands might be rejected by the Epicure, if it was a ſufficient Cauſe for his contemning of them as common and vulgar, that ſomething was to be found in the moſt paultry Alleys under the ſame Name. In reality, true Nature is as difficult to be met with in Au⯑thors, as the Bayonne Ham or Bologna Sauſage is to be found in the Shops.

But the whole, to continue the ſame Metaphor, conſiſts in the Cookery of the Author; for, as Mr. Pope tells us,

The ſame Animal which hath the Honour to have ſome Part of his Fleſh eaten at the Table of a Duke, may perhaps be degraded in another Part, and ſome of his Limbs gibbeted, as it were, in the vileſt Stall in Town. Where then lies the Dif⯑ference between the Food of the Nobleman and the Porter, if both were at Dinner on the ſame Ox or Calf, but in the ſeaſoning, the dreſſing, the gar⯑niſhing, and the ſetting forth. Hence the one provokes and incites the moſt languid Appetite, and the other turns and palls that which is the ſharpeſt and keeneſt.

In like manner, the Excellence of the men⯑tal Entertainment conſiſts leſs in the Subject, than in the Author's Skill in dreſſing it up. How pleaſ⯑ed therefore will the Reader be to find, that we [4] have, in the following Work, adhered cloſely to one of the higheſt Principles of the beſt Cook which the preſent Age, or perhaps that of Heliogabalus, hath produced. This great Man, as is well known to all polite Lovers of eating, begins at firſt by ſetting plain Things before his hungry Gueſts, ri⯑ſing afterwards by Degrees, as their Stomachs may be ſuppoſed to decreaſe, to the very Quinteſ⯑ſence of Sauce and Spices. In like manner, we ſhall repreſent Human Nature at firſt to the keen Appetite of our Reader, in that more plain and ſimple Manner in which it is found in the Country, and ſhall hereafter haſh and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian Seaſoning of Affectation and Vice which Courts and Cities afford. By theſe Means, we doubt not but our Reader may be ren⯑dered deſirous to read on for ever, as the great Perſon, juſt abovementioned, is ſuppoſed to have made ſome Perſons eat.

Having premiſed thus much, we will now de⯑tain thoſe, who like our Bill of Fare, no longer from our Diet, and ſhall proceed directly to ſerve up the firſt Courſe of our Hiſtory, for their En⯑tertainment.

CHAP. II.

IN that Part of the Weſtern Diviſion of this Kingdom, which is commonly called Somerſet⯑ſhire, ther [...] lately lived (and perhaps lives ſtill) a Gentleman whoſe Name was Allworthy, and who might well be called the Favourite of both Nature and Fortune; for both of theſe ſeem to have con⯑tended [5] which ſhould bleſs and enrich him moſt. In this Contention, Nature may ſeem to ſome to have come off victorious, as ſhe beſtowed on him many Gifts; while Fortune had only one Gift in her Power; but in pouring forth this, ſhe was ſo very profuſe, that others perhaps may think this ſingle Endowment to have been more than equivalent to all the various Bleſſings which he enjoyed from Nature. From the former of theſe, he derived an agreeable Perſon, a ſound Conſtitution, a ſolid Un⯑derſtanding, and a benevolent Heart; by the lat⯑ter, he was decreed to the Inheritance of one of the largeſt Eſtates in the County.

This Gentleman had, in his Youth, married a very worthy and beautiful Woman, of whom he had been extremely fond: By her he had three Children, all of whom died in their Infancy. He had likewiſe had the Misfortune of burying this beloved Wife herſelf, about five Years before the Time in which this Hiſtory chuſes to ſet out. This Loſs, however great, he bore like a Man of Senſe and Conſtancy; tho' it muſt be confeſt, he would often talk a little whimſically on this Head: For he ſometimes ſaid, he looked on himſelf ſtill as married, and conſidered his Wife as only gone a little before him, a Journey which he ſhould moſt certainly, ſooner or later, take after her; and that he had not the leaſt Doubt of meeting her again, in a Place where he ſhould never part with her more. Sen⯑timents for which his Senſe was arraigned by one Part of his Neighbours, his Religion by a ſecond, and his Sincerity by a third.

He now lived, for the moſt Part, retired in the Country, with one Siſter, for whom he had a very tender Affection. This Lady was now ſomewhat paſt the Age of 30, an Aera, at which, in the Opi⯑nion of the malicious, the Title of Old Maid [6] may, with no Impropriety, be aſſumed. She was of that Species of Women, whom you rather com⯑mend for good Qualities than Beauty, and who are generally called by their own Sex, very good Sort of Women—as good a Sort of Woman, Madam, as you would wiſh to know. Indeed ſhe was ſo far from regretting Want of Beauty, that ſhe never mention'd that Perfection (if it can be called one) without Contempt; and would often thank God ſhe was not as handſome as Miſs ſuch a one, whom perhaps Beauty had led into Errors, which ſhe might have otherwiſe avoided. Miſs Bridget All⯑worthy (for that was the Name of this Lady) ve⯑ry rightly conceived the Charms of Perſon in a Woman to be no better than Snares for herſelf, as well as for others, and yet ſo diſcreet was ſhe in her Conduct, that her Prudence was as much on the Guard, as if ſhe had had all the Snares to ap⯑prehend which were ever laid for her whole Sex. Indeed, I have obſerved (tho' it may ſeem un⯑accountable to the Reader) that this Guard of Pru⯑dence, like the Trained Bands, is always readieſt to go on Duty where there is the leaſt Danger. It often baſely and cowardly deſerts thoſe Paragons for whom the Men are all wiſhing, ſighing, dy⯑ing, and ſpreading every Net in their Power; and conſtantly attends at the Heels of that higher Or⯑der of Women, for whom the other Sex have a more diſtant and awful Reſpect, and whom, (from Deſpair, I suppoſe, of Succeſs) they never venture to attack.

Reader, I think proper, before we proceed any farther together, to acquaint thee, that I intend to digreſs, through this whole Hiſtory, as often as I ſee Occaſion: Of which I am myſelf a better Judge than any pitiful Critic whatever; and here I muſt deſire all thoſe Critics to mind their own [7] Buſineſs, and not to intermeddle with Affairs, or Works, which no ways concern them: For, till they produce the Authority by which they are con⯑ſtituted Judges, I ſhall plead to their Juriſdiction.

CHAP. III.

I Have told my Reader, in the preceding Chap⯑ter, that Mr. Allworthy inherited a large For⯑tune; that he had a good Heart, and no Family. Hence, doubtleſs, it will be concluded by many, that he lived like an honeſt Man, owed no one a Shilling, took nothing but what was his own, kept a good Houſe, entertained his Neighbours with a hearty Welcome at his Table, and was charitable to the Poor, i. e. to thoſe who had rather beg than work, by giving them the Offals from it; that he died immenſely rich, and built an Hoſ⯑pital.

And true it is, that he did many of theſe Things; but, had he done nothing more, I ſhould have left him to have recorded his own Merit on ſome fair Free-Stone over the Door of that Hoſpital. Mat⯑ters of a much more extraordinary Kind are to be the Subject of this Hiſtory, or I ſhould groſsly miſpend my Time in writing ſo voluminous a Work; and you, my ſagacious Friend, might, with equal Profit and Pleaſure, travel through ſome Pages, which certain droll Authors have been fa⯑cetiouſly pleaſed to call The Hiſtory of England.

Mr. Allworthy had been abſent a full Quarter of a Year in London, on ſome very particular Buſi⯑neſs, [8] tho' I know not what it was; but judge of its Importance, by its having detained him ſo long from home, whence he had not been abſent a Month at a Time during the Space of many Years. He came to his Houſe very late in the Evening, and after a ſhort Supper with his Siſter, retired much fatigued to his Chamber. Here, having ſpent ſome Minutes on his Knees, a Cuſtom which he never broke through on any Account, he was preparing to ſtep into Bed, when, upon opening the Cloaths, to his great Surprize, he beheld an Infant, wrapt up in ſome coarſe Linnen, in a ſweet and profound Sleep, between his Sheets. He ſtood ſome Time loſt in Aſtoniſhment at this Sight; but, as Good⯑nature was alway the Aſcendant in his Mind, he ſoon began to be touched with Sentiments of Com⯑paſſion for the little Wretch before him. He then rang his Bell, and ordered an elderly Woman Ser⯑vant to riſe immediately and come to him, and in the mean Time was ſo eager in contemplating the Beauty of Innocence, appearing in thoſe lively Co⯑lours with which Infancy and Sleep always diſplay it, that his Thoughts were too much engaged to reflect that he was in his Shirt, when the Matron came in. She had indeed given her Maſter ſufficient Time to dreſs himſelf; for out of Reſpect to him, and Re⯑gard to Decency, ſhe had ſpent many Minutes in adjuſting her Hair at the Looking-glaſs, notwith⯑ſtanding all the Hurry in which ſhe had been ſum⯑moned by the Servant, and tho' her Maſter, for ought ſhe knew, lay expiring in an Apoplexy, or in ſome other Fit.

It will not be wondered at, that a Creature, who had ſo ſtrict a Regard to Decency in her own Per⯑ſon, ſhould be ſhocked at the leaſt Deviation from it in another. She therefore no ſooner opened [9] the Door, and ſaw her Maſter ſtanding by the Bed-ſide in his Shirt, with a Candle in his Hand, than ſhe ſtarted back in a moſt terrible Fright, and might perhaps have ſwooned away, had he not now recollected his being undreſt, and put an End to her Terrors, by deſiring her to ſtay without the Door till he had thrown ſome Cloaths over his Back, and was become incapable of ſhocking the pure Eyes of Mrs. Deborah Wilkins, who, tho' in' the 52d Year of her Age, vowed ſhe had never be⯑held a Man without his Coat. Sneerers and pro⯑phane Wits may perhaps laugh at her firſt Fright, yet my graver Reader, when he conſiders the Time of Night, the Summons from her Bed, and the Situation in which ſhe found her Maſter, will high⯑ly juſtify and applaud her Conduct; unleſs the Prudence, which muſt be ſuppoſed to attend Mai⯑dens at that Period of Life at which Mrs. Deborah had arrived, ſhould a little leſſen his Admiration.

When Mrs. Deborah returned into the Room, and was acquainted by her Maſter with the finding the little Infant, her Conſternation was rather greater than his had been; nor could ſhe refrain from cry⯑ing out with great Horror of Accent as well as Look, 'My good Sir! what's to be done?" Mr. Allworthy anſwered, ſhe muſt take care of the Child that Evening, and in the Morning he would give Orders to provide it a Nurſe, 'Yes, Sir,' ſays ſhe,' and I hope your Worſhip will ſend out your Warrant to take up the Huſſy its Mother (for ſhe muſt be one of the Neighbourhood) and I ſhould be glad to ſee her committed to Bridewel, and whipt at the Cart's Tail. Indeed ſuch wicked Sluts cannot be two ſeverely puniſhed. I'll war⯑rant 'tis not her firſt, by her Impudence in laying it to your Worſhip.' In laying it to me, Debo⯑rah,' anſwered Allworthy,' 'I can't think ſhe [10] hath any ſuch Deſign. I ſuppoſe ſhe hath only taken this Method to provide for her Child; and truly I am glad ſhe hath not done worſe,' I don't know what is worſe,' cries Deborah, than for ſuch wicked Strumpets to lay their Sins at honeſt Mens Doors; and though your Worſhip knows your own Innocence, yet the World is cenſorious; and it hath been many an honeſt Man's Hap to paſs for the Father of Children he never begot; and if your Worſhip ſhould provide for the Child, it may make the People the apter to believe: Beſides, why ſhould your Worſhip provide for what the Pariſh is obliged to maintain? For my own Part, if it was an honeſt Man's Child indeed; but for my own Part, it goes a⯑gainſt me to touch thoſe misbegotton Wretches, whom I don't look upon as my Fellow Creatures. Faugh, how it ſtinks! It doth not ſmell like a Chriſtian. If I might be ſo bold to give my Ad⯑vice, I would have it put in a Basket, and ſent out and laid at the Church-Warden's Door. It is a good Night, only a little rainy and windy; and if it was well wrapt up, and put in a warm Basket, it is two to one but it lives 'till it is found in the Morning. But if it ſhould not, we have diſcharged our Duty in taking proper care of it; and it is, perhaps, better for ſuch Creatures to die in a ſtate of Innocence, than to grow up and imi⯑tate their Mothers; for nothing better can be ex⯑pected of them.'

There were ſome Strokes in this Speech which, perhaps, would have offended Mr. Allworthy, had he ſtrictly attended to it; but he had now got one [...] of his Fingers into the Infant's Hand, which by its gentle Preſſure, ſeeming to implore his Aſſiſtance, had certainly out-pleaded the Eloquence of Mrs. Deborah, had it been ten times greater than it was. [11] He now gave Mrs. Deborah poſitive Orders to take the Child to her own Bed, and to call up a Maid⯑ſervant to provide it Pap and other things againſt it waked. He likewiſe ordered that proper Clothes ſhould be procured for it early in the Morning, and that it ſhould be brought to himſelf as ſoon as he was ſtirring.

Such was the Diſcernment of Mrs. Wilkins, and ſuch the Reſpect ſhe bore her Maſter, under whom ſhe enjoyed a moſt excellent Place, that her Scruples gave way to his peremptory Commands; and ſhe took the Child under her Arms, without any appa⯑rent Diſguſt at the Illegality of its Birth; and decla⯑ring it was a ſweet little Infant, walked off with it to her own Chamber.

Allworthy here betook himſelf to thoſe pleaſing Slumbers, which a Heart that hungers after Goodneſs is apt to enjoy, when thoroughly ſatisfied. As theſe are poſſibly ſweeter than what are occaſioned by any other hearty Meal, I ſhould take more Pains to diſ⯑play them to the Reader, if I knew any Air to re⯑commend him to for the procuring ſuch an Appetite.

CHAP. IV.

THE Gothick Stile of Building could produce nothing nobler than Mr. Allworthy's Houſe. There was an Air of Grandeur in it, that ſtruck you with Awe, and rival'd the Beauties of the beſt Gre⯑cian Architecture; and it was as commodious within, as venerable without.

It ſtood on the South-eaſt Side of a Hill, but near⯑er the Bottom than the Top of it, ſo as to be ſheltered from the North-eaſt by a Grove of old Oaks, which roſe above it in a gradual Aſcent of near half a Mile, [12] and yet high enough to enjoy a moſt charming Pro⯑ſpect of the Valley beneath.

In the midſt of the Grove was a fine Lawn ſloping down towards the Houſe, near the Summit of which roſe a plentiful Spring, guſhing out of a Rock cover⯑ed with Firs, and forming a conſtant Caſcade of a⯑bout thirty Foot, not carried down a regular Flight of Steps, but tumbling in a natural Fall over the broken and moſſy Stones, till it came to the bottom of the Rock; then running off in a pebly Channel, that with many leſſer Falls winded along, till it fell into a Lake at the Foot of the Hill, about a quarter of a Mile below the Houſe on the South Side, and which was ſeen from every Room in the Front. Out of this Lake, which filled the Center of a beau⯑tiful Plain, embelliſhed with Groupes of Beeches and Elms, and fed with Sheep, iſſued a River, that for ſeveral Miles was ſeen to meander through an amaz⯑ing Variety of Meadows and Woods, till it emptied itſelf into the Sea, with a large Arm of which, and an Iſland beyond it, the proſpect was cloſed.

On the right of this Valley opened another of leſs Extent, adorned with ſeveral Villages, and termina⯑ted by one of the Towers of an old ruined Abbey, grown over with Ivy, and Part of the Front which remained ſtill entire.

The left Hand Scene preſented the View of a fine Park, compoſed of very unequal Ground, and agree⯑ably varied with all the Diverſity that Hills, Lawns, Wood and Water, laid out with admirable Taſte, but owing leſs to Art than to Nature, could give. Beyond this the Country gradually roſe into a Ridge of wild Mountains, the Tops of which were above the Clouds.

It was now the Middle of May, and the Morning was remarkably ſerene, when Mr. Allworthy walked forth on the Terrace, where the Dawn opened e⯑very Minute that lovely Proſpect we have before de⯑ſcribed [13] to his Eye. And now having ſent forth Streams of Light, which aſcended the blue Firmament before him as Harbingers preceding his Pomp, in the full Blaze of his Majeſty, roſe the Sun; than which one Object alone in this lower Creation could be more glorious, and that Mr. Allworthy himſelf pre⯑ſented; a human Being replete with Benevolence, meditating in what manner he might render himſelf moſt acceptable to his Creator, by doing moſt good to his Creatures.

Reader, take care, I have unadviſedly led thee to the Top of as high a Hill as Mr. Allworthy's, and how to get thee down without breaking thy Neck, I do not well know. However, let us e'en venture to ſlide down together, for Miſs Bridget rings her Bell, and Mr. Allworthy is ſummoned to Breakfaſt, where I muſt attend, and, if you pleaſe, ſhall be glad of your Company.

The uſual Compliments having paſt between Mr. Allworthy and Miſs Bridget, and the Tea being poured out, he ſummoned Mrs. Wilkins, and told his Siſter he had a Preſent for her; for which ſhe thanked him, imagining, I ſuppoſe, it had been a Gown or ſome Ornament for her Perſon. Indeed, he very often made her ſuch Preſents, and ſhe in Complaiſance to him ſpent much time in adorning herſelf. I ſay, in Complaiſance to him, becauſe ſhe always expreſt the greateſt Contempt for Dreſs, and for thoſe Ladies who made it their Study.

But if ſuch was her Expectation, how was ſhe diſ⯑appointed, when Mrs. Wilkins, according to the Or⯑der ſhe had receiv'd from her Maſter, produced the little Infant. Great Surpriſes, as hath been obſerved, are apt to be ſilent, and ſo was Miſs Bridget, 'till her Brother began and told her the whole Story, which as the Reader knows already, we ſhall not repeat.

Miſs Bridget had always expreſt ſo great a regard for what the Ladies are pleaſed to call Virtue, and [14] had herſelf maintained ſuch a Severity of Character, that it was expected, eſpecially by Wilkins, that ſhe would have vented much Bitterneſs on this Occaſion, and would have voted for ſending the Child, as a kind of noxious Animal, immediately out of the Houſe; but on the contrary, ſhe rather took the good-natur'd ſide of the queſtion, intimated ſome Compaſſion for the helpleſs little Creature, and com⯑mended her Brother's Charity in what he had done.

Perhaps the Reader may account for this Behaviour from her Condeſcenſion to Mr. Allworthy, when we have informed him, that the good Man had ended his Narrative with owning a Reſolution to take care of the Child, and to breed him up as his own; for to ac⯑knowledge the Truth, ſhe was always ready to ob⯑lige her Brother, and very ſeldom, if ever, contra⯑dicted his Sentiments; ſhe would indeed ſometimes make a few Obſervations, as, that Men were head⯑ſtrong and muſt have their own way, and would wiſh ſhe had been bleſt with an independent Fortune; but theſe were always vented in a low Voice, and at the moſt amounted only to what is called Muttering.

However, what ſhe withheld from the Infant, ſhe beſtowed with the utmoſt Profuſeneſs on the poor un⯑known Mother, whom ſhe called an impudent Slut, a wanton Huſſy, an audacious Harlot, a wicked Jade, a vile Strumpet, with every other Appellation with which the Tongue of Virtue never fails to laſh thoſe who bring a Diſgrace on the Sex.

A Conſultation was now entered into, how to proceed in order to diſcover the Mother. A Scrutiny was firſt made into the Characters of the female Ser⯑vants of the Houſe, who were all acquitted by Mrs. Wilkins, and with apparent Merit; for ſhe had col⯑lected them herſelf, and perhaps it would be difficult to find ſuch another Set of Scare-crows.

The next Step was to examine among the Inha⯑bitants [15] of the Pariſh; and this was referred to Mrs. Wilkins, who was to enquire with all imaginable Diligence, and to make her Report in the After⯑noon.

Matters being thus ſettled, Mr. Allworthy with⯑drew to his Study, as was his Cuſtom, and left the Child to his Siſter, who, at his Deſire, had under⯑taken the Care of it.

CHAP. V.

WHEN her Maſter departed, Mrs. Deborah ſtood ſilent, expecting her Cue from Miſs Bridget; for as to what had paſt before her Maſter, the prudent Houſe-keeper by no means relied upon it, as ſhe had often known the Sentiments of the Lady in her Brother's Abſence to differ greatly from thoſe which ſhe had expreſſed in his Preſence. Miſs Bridget did not, however ſuffer her to conti⯑nue long in this doubtful Situation; for having looked ſome time earneſtly at the Child, as it lay aſleep in the Lap of Mrs. Deborah, the good Lady could not forbear giving it a hearty Kiſs, at the ſame time declaring herſelf wonderfully pleaſed with its Beauty and Innocence. Mrs. Deborah no ſooner obſerved this, than ſhe fell to ſqueezing and kiſſing with as great Raptures as ſometimes inſpire the ſage Dame of forty and five towards a youthful and vigorous Bridegroom, crying out in a ſhrill Voice, 'O the dear little Creature, the dear, ſweet, pret⯑ty Creature! well, I vow, it is as fine a Boy as ever was ſeen!'

Theſe Exclamations continued 'till they were interrupted by the Lady, who now proceeded to [16] execute the Commiſſion given her by her Brother, and gave Orders for providing all Neceſſaries for the Child, appointing a very good Room in the Houſe for his Nurſery. Her Orders were indeed ſo liberal, that had it been a Child of her own, ſhe could not have exceeded them; but leſt the virtu⯑ous Reader may condemn her for ſhewing too great Regard to a baſe-born Infant, to which all Charity is condemned by Law as irreligious, we think pro⯑per to obſerve, that ſhe concluded the whole with ſay⯑ing, 'Since it was her Brother's Whim to adopt the little Brat, ſhe ſuppoſed little Maſter muſt be treated with great Tenderneſs; for her part, ſhe could not help thinking it was an Encouragement to Vice; but that ſhe knew too much of the Obſti⯑nacy of Mankind to oppoſe any of their ridiculous Humours.'

With Reflections of this nature, ſhe uſually, as hath been hinted, accompany'd every Act of Com⯑pliance with her Brother's Inclinations; and ſurely nothing could more contribute to heighten the Me⯑rit of this Compliance, than a Declaration that ſhe knew at the ſame time the Folly and Unreaſonable⯑neſs of thoſe Inclinations to which ſhe ſubmitted. Tacit Obedience implies no Force upon the Will, and conſequently may be eaſily, and without any Pains preſerved; but when a Wife, a Child, a Relation, or a Friend, performs what we deſire, with Grumbling, and Reluctance, with Expreſſi⯑ons of Diſlike and Diſſatisfaction, the manifeſt Difficulty which they undergo, muſt greatly en⯑hance the Obligation.

As this is one of thoſe deep Obſervations which very few Readers can be ſuppoſed capable of mak⯑ing themſelves, I have thought proper to lend them my Aſſiſtance; but this is a Favour rarely to be ex⯑pected in the Courſe of my Work. Indeed I ſhall [17] ſeldom or never ſo indulge him, unleſs in ſuch In⯑ſtances as this, where nothing but the Inſpiration with which we Writers are gifted, can poſſibly en⯑able any one to make the Diſcovery.

CHAP. VI.

MRS. Deborah, having diſpoſed of the Child according to the Will of her Maſter, now prepared to viſit thoſe Habitations which were ſup⯑poſed to conceal its Mother.

Not otherwiſe than when a Kite, tremendous Bird, is beheld by the feathered Generation ſoar⯑ing aloft, and hovering over their Heads, the amorous Dove, and every innocent little Bird ſpread wide the Alarm, and fly trembling to their Hiding-places. He proudly beats the Air, conſci⯑ous of his Dignity, and meditates intended Miſ⯑chief.

So when the Approach of Mrs. Deborah was proclaimed through the Street, all the Inhabitants ran trembling into their Houſes, each Matron dread⯑ing leſt the Viſit ſhould fall to her Lot. She with ſtately Steps proudly advances over the Field, aloft ſhe bears her tow'ring Head, filled with Conceit of her own Pre-eminence, and Schemes to effect her intended Diſcovery.

The ſagacious Reader will not, from this Si⯑mile, imagine theſe poor People had any Appre⯑henſion of the Deſign with which Mrs. Wilkins was now coming towards them; but as the great Beau⯑ty of the Simile may poſſibly ſleep theſe hundred [18] Years, till ſome future Commentator ſhall take this Work in hand, I think proper to lend the Reader a little Aſſiſtance in this Place.

It is my Intention therefore to ſignify, that as it is the Nature of a Kite to devour little Birds, ſo is it the Nature of ſuch Perſons as Mrs. Wilkins, to inſult and tyrannize over little People. This being indeed the Means which they uſe to recompenſe to themſelves their extreme Servility and Condeſcen⯑ſion to their Superiors; for nothing can be more reaſonable, than that Slaves and Flatterers ſhould exact the ſame Taxes on all below them, which they themſelves pay to all above them.

Whenever Mrs. Deborah had had Occaſion to exert any extraordinary Condeſcenſion to Mrs. Bridget, and by that means had a little ſowered her natural Diſpoſition, it was uſual with her to walk forth among theſe People, in order to refine her Temper, by venting, and, as it were, purging off all ill Humours; on which Account, ſhe was by no means a welcome Viſitant; to ſay the Truth, ſhe was univerſally hated and dreaded by them all.

On her Arrival in this Place, ſhe went immedi⯑ately to the Habitation of an elderly Matron; to whom, as this Matron had the good Fortune to reſemble herſelf in the Comelineſs of her Perſon, as well as in her Age, ſhe had generally been more favourable than to any of the reſt. To this Woman ſhe imparted what had happened, and the Deſign upon which ſhe was come thither that Morning. Theſe two began preſently to ſcruti⯑nize the Characters of the ſeveral young Girls, who lived in any of thoſe Houſes, and at laſt fixed their ſtrongeſt Suſpicion on one Jenny Jones, who they both agreed was the likelieſt Perſon to have com⯑mitted this Fact.

[19] This Jenny Jones was no very comely Girl, ei⯑ther in her Face or Perſon; but Nature had ſome⯑what compenſated the Want of Beauty with what is generally more eſteemed by thoſe Ladies, whoſe Judgment is arrived at Years of perfect Maturity; for ſhe had given her a very uncommon Share of Underſtanding. This Gift Jenny had a good deal improved by Erudition. She had lived ſeveral Years a Servant with a Schoolmaſter, who diſcover⯑ing a great Quickneſs of Parts in the Girl, and an extraordinary Deſire of Learning, (for every leiſure Hour ſhe was always found reading in the Books of the Scholars) had the Good-nature, or Folly, which the Reader pleaſes to call it, to inſtruct her ſo far, that ſhe obtained a very competent Skill in the Latin Language, and was perhaps as good a Scholar as moſt of the young Men of Quality of the Age. This Advantage, however, like moſt others of an extraordinary Kind, was attended with ſome ſmall Inconveniencies: For as it is not to be wondered at, that a young Woman ſo well accom⯑pliſhed ſhould have lIttle Reliſh for the Society of thoſe whom Fortune had made her Equals, but whom Education had rendered ſo much her Infe⯑riors; ſo is it Matter of no greater Aſtoniſhment, that this Superiority in Jenny, together with that Behaviour which is its certain Conſequence, ſhould produce among the others ſome little Envy and ill-will towards her; and theſe had perhaps ſecretly burnt in the Boſoms of her Neighbours, ever ſince her Return from her Service.

Their Envy did not however diſplay itſelf openly, till poor Jenny, to the Surprize of every Body, and to the Vexation of all the young Women in theſe Parts, had publickly ſhone forth on a Sunday in a new Silk Gown, with a laced Cap, and other proper Appendages to theſe.

[20] The Flame, which had before lain in Embrio, now burſt forth. Jenny had, by her Learning, en⯑creaſed her own Pride, which none of her Neigh⯑bours were kind enough to feed with the Honour ſhe ſeemed to demand; and now, inſtead of Re⯑ſpect and Adoration, ſhe gained nothing but Ha⯑tred and Abuſe, by her Finery. The whole Pa⯑riſh declared ſhe could not come honeſtly by ſuch Things; and Parents, inſtead of wiſhing their Daughters the ſame, felicitated themſelves that their Children had them not.

Hence perhaps it was, that the good Woman firſt mentioned the Name of this poor Girl to Mrs. Wilkins; but there was another Circumſtance that confirmed the latter in her Suſpicion: For Jenny had lately been often at Mr. Allworthy's Houſe. She had officiated as Nurſe to Miſs Bridget, in a Violent Fit of Illneſs, and had ſat up many Nights with that Lady; beſides which, ſhe had been ſeen there the very Day before Mr. Allworthy's Return, by Mrs. Wilkins herſelf, tho' that ſagacious Perſon had not at firſt conceived any Suſpicion of her on that Account: For, as ſhe herſelf ſaid, 'She had always eſteemed Jenny as a very ſober Girl, (tho' indeed ſhe knew very little of her) and had rather ſuſpected ſome of thoſe wanton Trollops, who gave themſelves Airs, becauſe, forſooth, they thought themſelves handſome.'

Jenny was now ſummoned to appear in Perſon be⯑fore Mrs. Deborah, which ſhe immediately did. When Mrs. Deborah, putting on the Gravity of a Judge, with ſomewhat more than his Auſterity, began an Oration with the Words 'You audacious Strum⯑pet,' in which ſhe proceeded rather to paſs Sen⯑tence on the Priſouer, than to accuſe her.

Tho' Mrs. Deborah was fully ſatisfied of the Guilt of Jenny, for the Reaſon above ſhewn, it is [21] poſſible Mr. Allworthy might have required ſome ſtronger Evidence to have convicted her; but ſhe ſaved her Accuſers any ſuch Trouble, by freely confeſſing the whole Fact with which ſhe was charged.

This Confeſſion, tho' delivered rather in Terms of Contrition, as it appeared, did not at all molli⯑fy Mrs. Deborah, who now pronounced a ſecond Judgment againſt her, in more opprobrious Lan⯑guage than before; nor had it any better Succeſs with the By-ſtanders, who were now grown very numerous. Many of them cried out, 'They thought what Madam's Silk Gown would end in;' others ſpeak ſarcaſtically of her Learning. Not a ſingle Female was preſent, but found ſome Means of expreſſing her Abhorrence of poor Jenny; who bore all very patiently, except the Malice of one Woman, who reflected upon her Perſon, and toſſing upon her Noſe, ſaid, 'The Man muſt have a good Stomach, who would give Silk Gowns for ſuch Sort of Trumpery.' Jenny re⯑plied to this, with a Bitterneſs which might have ſurprized a judicious Perſon, who had obſerved the Tranquillity with which ſhe bore all the Affronts to her Chaſtity; but her Patience was tired out: For this is a Virtue which is very apt to be fa⯑tigued by Exerciſe.

Mrs. Deborah, having ſucceeded beyond her hopes in her Enquiry, returned with much Triumph, and at the appointed Hour made a faithful Report to Mr. Allworthy, who was much ſurprized at the Relation; for he had heard of the extraordinary Parts and Improvements of this Girl, whom he intended to have given in Marriage, together with a ſmall Living, to a neighbouring Curate. His Concern therefore upon this Occaſion, was at leaſt [22] equal to the Satisfaction which appeared in Mrs. Deborah, and to many Readers may ſeem much more reaſonable.

Mrs. Bridget bleſſed herſelf, and ſaid, 'For her Part, ſhe ſhould never hereafter entertain a good Opinion of any Woman:' For Jenny had like⯑wiſe had the Happineſs of being much in her good Graces.

The prudent Houſekeeper was again diſpatched to bring the unhappy Culprit before Mr. Allworthy, in order, not, as it was hoped by ſome and expected by all, to be ſent to the Houſe of Correction; but to receive wholeſome Admonition and Reproof, which thoſe who reliſh that kind of Inſtructive Writing, may peruſe in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII.

WHEN Jenny appeared, Mr. Allworthy took her into his Study, and ſpoke to her as follows.

'You know, Child, it is in my Power, as a Magiſtrate, to puniſh you very rigorouſly for what you have done; and you will perhaps be the more apt to fear I ſhould execute that Pow⯑er, becauſe you have, in a manner, laid your' Sins at my Door.

'But perhaps this is one Reaſon which hath determined me to act in a milder Manner with you: For, as no private Reſentment ſhould ever influence a Magiſtrate, I will be ſo far from con⯑ſidering your having depoſited the Infant in my Houſe, as an Aggavation of your Offence, that [23] I will ſuppoſe, in your Favour, this to have proceeded from a natural Affection to your Child; ſince you might have ſome Hopes to ſee it thus better provided for, than was in the Pow⯑er of yourſelf, or its wicked Father, to provide for it. I ſhould indeed have been highly offend⯑ed with you, had you expoſed the little Wretch in the manner of ſome inhuman Mothers, who ſeem no leſs to have abandoned their Humanity, than to have parted with their Chaſtity. It is the other Part of your Offence therefore upon which I intend to admoniſh you, I mean the Vi⯑olation of your Chaſtity. A Crime, however lightly treated it may be by debauched Perſons, very heinous in itſelf, and very dreadful in its' Conſequences.

'The heinous Nature of this Offence muſt be apparent to every Chriſtian, inaſmuch as it is committed in the Defiance of the Laws of our Religion, and of the expreſs Commands of him' who founded that Religion.

'And here its Conſequences may well be argued to be dreadful; for what can be more ſo, than to incur the divine Diſpleaſure, by the Breach of the Divine Commands; and that in an Inſtance, againſt which the higheſt Vengeance is ſpecifi⯑cally' denounced.

'But theſe Things, tho' too little, I am a⯑fraid, regarded, are ſo plain, that Mankind, how⯑ever they may want to be reminded, can never need Information on this Head. A Hint there⯑fore to awaken your Senſe of this Matter ſhall ſuffice; for I would inſpire you with Repentance,' and not drive you to Deſperation.

'There are other Conſequences, not indeed ſo dreadful or replete with Horror as this; and yet ſuch, as if attentively conſidered, muſt, one [23] would think, deter all, of your Sex at leaſt, from' the Commiſſion of this Crime.

'For by it you are rendered infamous, and dri⯑ven, like Lepers of old, out of Society; at leaſt from the Society of all but wicked and repro⯑bate Perſons; for no other will aſſociate with you.

'If you have Fortunes, you are hereby rendered incapable of enjoying them; if you have none, you are diſabled from acquiring any, nay almoſt of procuring your Suſtenance; for no Perſons of Character will receive you into their Houſes. Thus you are often driven by Neceſſity itſelf into a State of Shame and Miſery, which una⯑voidably ends in the Deſtruction of both Body' and Soul.

'Can any Pleaſure compenſate theſe Evils? Can any Temptation have Sophiſtry and Deluſion ſtrong enough to perſuade you to ſo ſimple a Bargain? Or can any carnal Appetite ſo overpow⯑er your Reaſon, or ſo totally lay it aſleep, as to prevent your flying with Affright and Terror from a Crime which carries ſuch Puniſhment al⯑ways' with it.

'How baſe and mean muſt that Woman be, how void of that Dignity of Mind, and decent Pride, without which we are not worthy the Name of human Creatures, who can bear to level herſelf with the loweſt Animal, and to ſacrifice all that is great and noble in her, all her Heavenly Part, to an Appetite which ſhe hath in common with the vileſt Branch of the Creation! For no Wo⯑man ſure, will plead the Paſſion of Love for an Excuſe. This would be to own herſelf the meer Tool and Bubble of the Man. Love, however barbarouſly we may corrupt and pervert its mean⯑ing, as it is a laudable, is a rational Paſſion, and [25] can never be violent, but when reciprocal; for though the Scripture bids us love our Enemies, it means not with that ſervent Love, which we naturally bear towards our Friends; much leſs that we ſhould ſacrifice to them our Lives, and what ought to be dearer to us, our Innocence. Now in what Light, but in that of an Enemy, can a reaſonable Woman regard the Man, who ſolicits her to entail on herſelf all the Miſery I have above deſcribed, and who would purchaſe to himſelf a ſhort, trivial, contemptible Plea⯑ſure, ſo greatly at her Expence! For by the Laws of Cuſtom the whole Shame, with all its dreadful Conſequences, falls entirely upon her. Can Love, which always ſeeks the good of its Object, attempt to betray a Woman into a Bar⯑gain, where ſhe is ſo greatly to be the Loſer? If ſuch Corrupter, therefore, ſhould have the Im⯑pudence to pretend to real Affection for her, ought not the Woman to regard him, not only as an Enemy, but as the worſt of all Enemies; a falſe, deſigning, treacherous, pretended Friend, who intends not only to debauch her Body, but' her Underſtanding at the ſame Time?

Here Jenny expreſſing great Concern, Allwor⯑thy pauſed a Moment, and then proceeded: I have talked thus to you, Child, not to inſult you for what is paſt, and irrevocable, but to cau⯑tion and ſtrengthen you for the future. Nor ſhould I have taken this Trouble, but from ſome Opinion of your good Senſe, notwithſtanding the dreadful Slip you have made; and from ſome Hopes of your hearty Repentance, which are founded on the Openneſs and Sincerity of your Confeſſion.

If theſe do not deceive me, I will take care to convey you from this Scene of your Shame, where you ſhall, by being unknown, 'a⯑void [26] the Puniſhment which, as I have ſaid, is allotted to your Crime in this World, and I hope by Repentance, you will avoid the much heavier Sentence denounced againſt it in the o⯑ther. Be a good Girl the reſt of your Days, and Want ſhall be no Motive to your going aſtray: And believe me, there is more Plea⯑ſure, even in this World, in an innocent and' virtuous Life, than in one debauched and vicious.

'As to your Child, let no Thoughts concerning it, moleſt you; I will provide for it in a better manner than you can ever hope. And now no⯑thing remains, but that you inform me who was the wicked Man that ſeduced you; for my An⯑ger againſt him will be much greater than you have experienced upon this Occaſion.'

Jenny now lifted her Eyes from the Ground, and with a modeſt Look, and decent Voice, thus began.

'To know you, Sir, and not love your Good⯑neſs, would be an Argument of total want of Senſe or Goodneſs in any one. In me it would amount to the higheſt Ingratitude, not to feel, in the moſt ſenſible manner, the great Degree of Goodneſs you have been pleaſed to exert on this Occaſion. As to my Concern for what is paſt, I know you will ſpare my Bluſhes the Repetition. My future Conduct will much better declare my Sentiments, than any Profeſſions I can now make. I beg leave to aſſure you, Sir, that I take your Advice much kinder, than your gene⯑rous Offer with which you concluded it. For as you are pleaſed to ſay, Sir, it is an Inſtance of your Opinion of my U underſtanding'—Here her Tears flowing apace, ſhe ſtopped a few Mo⯑ments, and then proceeded thus, 'Indeed, Sir, your Kindneſs overcomes me; but I will en⯑deavour [27] to deſerve this good Opinion; for if I have the Underſtanding you are ſo kindly pleaſed to allow me, ſuch Advice cannot be thrown a⯑way upon me. I thank you, Sir, heartily, for your intended Kindneſs to my poor helpleſs Child; he is innocent, and I hope will live to be grateful for all the Favours you ſhall ſhew him. But now, Sir, I muſt on my Knees intreat you, not to perſiſt in aſking me to declare the Father of my Infant. I promiſe you faithfully, you ſhall one Day know; but I am under the moſt ſolemn Ties and Engagements of Honour, as well as the moſt religious Vows and Pro⯑teſtations, to conceal his Name at this Time. And I know you too well to think you would de⯑ſire I ſhould ſacrifice either my Honour or my Religion.'

Mr. Allworthy, whom the leaſt Mention of theſe ſacred Words was ſufficient to ſtagger, heſitated a Moment before he replied, and then told her ſhe had done wrong to enter into ſuch Engagements to a Villain; but ſince ſhe had, he could not inſiſt on her breaking them. He ſaid, it was not from a Motive of vain Curioſity he had enquired, but in order to puniſh the Fellow; at leaſt, that he might not ignorantly confer Favours on the Un⯑deſerving.

As to theſe Points, Jenny ſatisfied him by the moſt ſolemn Aſſurances, that the Man was entire⯑ly out of his Reach, and was neither ſubject to his Power, nor in any probability of becoming an Ob⯑ject of his Goodneſs.

The Ingenuity of this Behaviour, had gained Jenny ſo much Credit with this worthy Man, that he eaſily believed what ſhe told him: For as ſhe had diſdained to excuſe herſelf by a Lie, and had [...]azarded his farther Diſpleaſure in her preſent Si⯑tuation, [28] rather than ſhe would forfeit her Honour, or Integrity, by betraying another, he had but lit⯑tle Apprehenſion that ſhe would be guilty of Falſ⯑hood towards himſelf.

He therefore diſmiſſed her with Aſſurances, that he would very ſoon remove her out of the Reach of that Obloquy ſhe had incurred, concluding with ſome additional Documents, in which he recom⯑mended Repentance, ſaying, "Conſider, Child, 'there is one ſtill to reconcile yourſelf to, whoſe Favour is of much greater Importance to you than mine.'

CHAP. VIII.

WHEN Mr. Allworthy had retired to his Stu⯑dy with Jenny Jones, as hath been ſeen, Mrs. Bridget, with the good Houſekeeper, had be⯑taken themſelves to a Poſt next adjoining to the ſaid Study; whence, through the Conveyance of a Key⯑hole, they ſucked in at their Ears the Inſtructive Lecture delivered by Mr. Allworthy, together with the Anſwers of Jenny, and indeed every other Par⯑ticular which paſſed in the laſt Chapter.

This Hole in her Brother's Study Door, was indeed as well known to Mrs. Bridget, and had been as frequently applied to by her, as the famous Hole in the Wall was by Thiſbe of old. This ſerved to many good Purpoſes. For by ſuch Means Mrs. Bridget became often acquainted with her Brothers Inclinations, without giving him the Trouble of repeating them to her. It is true, ſome Inconveniencies attended this Intercourſe, and ſhe [29] had ſometimes Reaſon to cry out with Thiſbe, in Shakeſpear, 'O wicked, wicked Wall!' For as Mr. Allworthy was a Juſtice of Peace, certain Things occured in Examinations concerning the Baſtards, and ſuch like, which are apt to give great Offence to the chaſte Ears of Virgins, eſpecially when they approach the Age of forty, as was the Caſe of Mrs. Bridget. However, ſhe had, on ſuch Occaſions, the Advantage of concealing her Bluſhes from the Eyes of Men, and ‘De non ap⯑parentibus, et non exiſtentibus eadem eſt ratio.’ In Engliſh: ‘'When a Woman is not ſeen to bluſh, ſhe doth not bluſh at all.'’

Both the good Women kept ſtrict Silence dur⯑ring the whole Scene between Mr. Allworthy and the Girl; but as ſoon as it was ended, and that Gentleman was out of hearing, Mrs. Deborah could not help exclaiming againſt the Clemency of her Maſter, and eſpecially againſt his ſuffering her to conceal the Father of the Child, which ſhe ſwore ſhe would have out of her before the Sun ſet.

At theſe words Mrs. Bridget diſcompoſed her Features with a Smile; (a Thing very unuſual to her) Not that I would have my Reader imagine, that this was one of thoſe wanton Smiles, which Homer would have you conceive came from Venus, when he calls her the laughter-loving Goddeſs; nor was it one of thoſe Smiles, which Lady Se⯑raphina ſhoots from the Stage-Box, and which Venus would quit her Immortality to be able to equal. No, this was rather one of thoſe Smiles, which might be ſuppoſed to have come from the dimpled Cheecks of the auguſt Tyſiphone, or from one of the Miſſes her Siſters.

With ſuch a Smile then, and with a Voice, ſweet as the Evening Breeze of Boreas in the pleaſant Month of November, Mrs. Bridget gent⯑ly [30] reproved the Curioſity of Mrs. Deborah, a Vice with which it ſeems the latter was too much tainted, and which the former inveighed againſt with great Bitterneſs, adding, 'that among all her Faults, ſhe thanked Heaven, her Enemies could not accuſe her of prying into the Affairs of other People.'

She then proceeded to commend the Honour and Spirit with which Jenny had acted. She ſaid, ſhe could not help agreeing with her Brother, that there was ſome Merit in the Sincerity of her Confeſſion, and in her Integrity to her Lover. That ſhe had always thought her a very good Girl, and doubted not but ſhe had been ſe⯑duced by ſome Raſcal, who had been infinitely more to blame than herſelf, and very probably had prevailed with her by a Promiſe of Marriage, or ſome other treacherous Proceeding.

This Behaviour of Mrs. Bridget greatly ſur⯑prized Mrs. Deborah; for this well-bred Woman ſeldom opened her Lips either to her Maſter or his Siſter, 'till ſhe had firſt ſounded their Incli⯑nations, with which her Sentiments were always ſtrictly conſonant. Here, however, ſhe thought ſhe might have launched forth with Safety; and the ſagacious Reader will not perhaps accuſe her of want of ſufficient Forecaſt in ſo doing, but will rather admire with what wonderful Celerity ſhe tacked about, when ſhe found herſelf ſteering a wrong Courſe.

'Nay Madam,' ſaid this able Woman, and truly great Politician, 'I muſt own I cannot help admiring the Girl's Spirit, as well as your La⯑dyſhip. And, as your 'Ladyſhip ſays, if ſhe was deceived by ſome wicked Man, the poor Wretch is to be pitied. And to be ſure, as your Ladyſhip ſays, the Girl hath always appeared [31] like a good, honeſt, plain Girl, and not vain of her Face, forſooth, as ſome wanton Huſſeys in' the Neighbourhood are.

'You ſay true, Deborah, ſaid Mrs. Bridget, if the Girl had been one of thoſe vain Trollops, of which we have too many in the Pariſh, I ſhould have condemned my Brother for his Le⯑nity towards her. I ſaw two Farmers Daugh⯑ters at Church, the other Day, with bare Necks. I proteſt they ſhock'd me. If Wenches will hang out Lures for Fellows, it is no matter what they ſuffer. I deteſt ſuch Creatures; and it would be much better for them, that their Faces had been ſeamed with the Small-Pox; but I muſt confeſs, I never ſaw any of this wan⯑ton Behaviour in poor Jenny; ſome artful Villain, I am convinced, hath betrayed, nay perhaps forc'd her; and I pity the poor Wretch with all my Heart.'

Mrs. Deborah approved all theſe Sentiments, and the Dialogue concluded with a general and bitter Invective againſt Beauty, and with many compaſſionate Conſiderations for all honeſt, plain Girls, who are deluded by the wicked Arts of deceitful Men.

CHAP. IX.

JENNY returned home well pleaſed with the Reception ſhe had met with from Mr. All⯑worthy, whoſe Indulgence to her ſhe induſtrouſly made public; partly perhaps as a Sacrifice to her own Pride, and partly from the more prudent Motive of reconciling her Neighbours to her, and ſilencing their Clamours.

[32] But though this latter View; if ſhe indeed had it, may appear reaſonable enough, yet the Event did not anſwer her Expectation; for when ſhe was convened before the Juſtice, and it, was univerſ⯑ally apprehended, that the Houſe of Correction would have been her Fate; tho' ſome of the young Women cry'd out, 'it was good e⯑nough for her,' and diverted themſelves with the Thoughts of her beating Hemp in a Silk Gown; yet there were many others who began to pity her Condition: But when it was known in what man⯑ner Mr. Allworthy had behaved, the Tide turned againſt her. One ſaid, ''I'll aſſure you, Madam hath had good Luck.' A ſecond cry'd, 'See what it is to be a Favourite.' A third,' Ay, this comes of her Learning.' Every Perſon made ſome malicious Comment or other, on the Occa⯑ſion; and reflected on the Partiality of the Juſtice.

The Behaviour of theſe People, may appear impolitic, and ungrateful to the Reader, who con⯑ſiders the Power, and the Benevolence of Mr. Allworthy: But as to his Power, he never uſed it; and as to his Benevolence, he exerted ſo much, that he had thereby diſobliged all his Neighbours: For it is a Secret well known to great Men, that by conferring an Obligation, they do not always procure a Friend, but are certain of creating many Enemies.

Jenny was, however, by the Care and Goodneſs of Mr. Allworthy, ſoon removed out of the Reach of Reproach; when Malice, being no longer able to vent its Rage on her, began to ſeek another Object of its Bitterneſs, and this was no leſs than Mr. Allworthy himſelf; for a Whiſper ſoon went abroad, that he himſelf was the Father of the foundling Child.

This Suppoſition ſo well reconciled his Conduct [33] to the general Opinion, that it met with univerſal Aſſent; and the Outery againſt his Lenity ſoon be⯑gan to take another Turn, and was changed into an Invective againſt his Cruelty to the poor Girl. Very grave and good Women exclaimed againſt Men who begot Children and then diſowned them. Nor were there wanting ſome, who, after the Departure of Jenny, inſinuated, that ſhe was ſpirit⯑ed away with a Deſign too black to be mentioned, and who gave frequent Hints, that a legal Inquiry ought to be made into the whole Matter, and that ſome People ſhould be forced to produce the Girl.

Theſe Calumnies might have probably produced ill Conſequences (at the leaſt might have occaſioned ſome Trouble,) to a Perſon of a more doubtful and ſuſpicious Character than Mr. Allworthy was bleſſed with; but in his Caſe they had no ſuch Effect; and, being heartily deſpiſed by him, they ſerved only to afford an innocent Amuſement to the good Goſ⯑ſips of the Neighbourhood.

But as we cannot poſſibly divine what Com⯑plexion our Reader may be of, and as it will be ſome Time before he will hear any more of Jenny, we think proper to give him a very early Intimation, that Mr. Allworthy was, and will hereafter appear to be, abſolutely innocent of any criminal Intention whatever. He had indeed committed no other than an Error in Politics, by tempering Juſtice with Mercy, and by refuſing to gratify the good natured Diſpoſition of the Mob, ^* with an Object for their Compaſſion to work on in the Perſon of poor Jen⯑ny, whom, in order to pity, they deſired to have [34] ſeen ſacrificed to Ruin and Infamy by a ſhameful correction in Bridewel.

So far from complying with this their Inclination, by which all Hopes of Reformation would have been aboliſhed, and even the Gate ſhut againſt her, if her own Inclinations ſhould ever hereafter lead her to chuſe the Road of Virtue, Mr. Allworhty ra⯑ther choſe to encourage the Girl to return thither by the only poſſible Means; for too true I am a⯑fraid it is, that many Women have become aban⯑doned, and have ſunk to the laſt Degree of Vice by being unable to retrieve the firſt Slip. This will be, I am afraid, always the Caſe while they remain among their former Acquaintance; it was there⯑fore wiſely done by Mr. Allworthy, to remove Jenny to a Place where ſhe might enjoy the Plea⯑ſure of Reputation, after having taſted the ill Con⯑ſequences of loſing it.

To this Place therefore, wherever it was, we will wiſh her a good Journey, and for the preſent take leave of her, and of the little Foundling her Child, having Matters of much higher Importance to communicate to the Reader.

CHAP. X.

NEITHER Mr. Allworthy's Houſe, nor his Heart, were ſhut againſt any Part of Mankind, but they were both more particularly open to Men of Merit. To ſay the Truth, this was the only Houſe in the Kingdom where you was ſure to gain a Dinner by deſerving it.

[35] Above all others, Men of Genius and Learning ſhared the principal Place in his Favour; and in theſe he had much Diſcernment: For though he had miſſed the Advantage of a learned Education, yet being bleſt with vaſt natural Abilities, he had ſo well profited by a vigorous, though late Application to Letters, and by much Converſation with Men of Eminence in this Way, that he was himſelf a very competent Judge in moſt kind of Literature.

It is no Wonder that in an Age when this kind of Merit is ſo little in Faſhion, and ſo ſlenderly provided for, that Perſons poſſeſſed of it ſhould ve⯑ry eagerly flock to a Place where they were ſure of being received with great Complaiſance; indeed where they might enjoy almoſt the ſame Advantages of a liberal Fortune as if they were entitled to it in their own Right; for Mr. Allworthy was not one of thoſe generous Perſons, who are ready moſt bountifully to beſtow Meat, Drink, and Lodging on Men of Wit and Learning, for which they ex⯑pect no other Return but Entertainment, Inſtruc⯑tion, Flattery, and Subſerviency; in a Word, that ſuch Perſons ſhould be enrolled in the Number of Domeſtics, without wearing their Maſter's Cloaths, or receiving Wages.

On the contrary, every Perſon in this Houſe was perfect Maſter of his own Time: and as he might at his Pleaſure ſatisfy all his Appetites within the Reſtrictions only of Law, Virtue and Religion; ſo he might, if his Health required, or his Incli⯑nation prompted him to Temperance, or even to Abſtinence, abſent himſelf from any Meals, or re⯑tire from them whenever he was ſo diſpoſed, with⯑out even a Solicitation to the contrary: For indeed ſuch Solicitations from Superiors always favour ve⯑ry ſtrongly of Commands. But all here were free from ſuch Impertinence, not only thoſe, whoſe [36] Company is in all other Places eſteemed a Favour from their Equality of Fortune, but even thoſe whoſe indigent Circumſtances make ſuch an eleemo⯑ſynary Abode convenient to them, and who are therefore leſs welcome to a great Man's Table be⯑cauſe they ſtand in need of it.

Among others of this Kind was Dr. Blifil, a Gentleman who had the Misfortune of loſing the Advantage of great Talents by the Obſtinacy of a Father, who would breed him to a Profeſſion he diſliked. In Obedience to this Obſtinacy the Doc⯑tor had in his Youth been obliged to ſtudy Phyſick, or rather to ſay he ſtudied it; for in reality Books of this Kind were almoſt the only ones with which he was unacquainted; and unfortunately for him, the Doctor was Maſter of almoſt every other Science but that by which he was to get his Bread; the Conſequence of which was, that the Doctor at the Age of Forty had no Bread to eat.

Such a Perſon as this was certain to find a Wel⯑come at Mr. Allworthy's Table, to whom Misfor⯑tunes were ever a Recommendation, when they were derived from the Folly or Villany of others, and not of the unfortunate Perſon himſelf. Beſides this negative Merit, the Doctor had one poſitive Recommendation. This was a great Appearance of Religion. Whether his Religion was real, or conſiſted only in Appearance, I ſhall not preſume to ſay, as I am not poſſeſſed of any Touch-ſtone, which can diſtinguiſh the true from the falſe.

If this Part of his Character pleaſed Mr. All⯑worthy, it delighted Miſs Bridget. She engaged him in many religious Controverſies; on which Occaſions ſhe conſtantly expreſſed great Satisfaction in the Doctor's Knowledge, and not much leſs in the Compliments which he frequently beſtowed on her own. To ſay the Truth, ſhe had read much [37] Engliſh Divinity, and had puzzled more than one of the Neighbouring Curates. Indeed her Conver⯑ſation was ſo pure, her Looks ſo ſage, and her whole Deportment ſo grave and ſolemn, that ſhe ſeemed to deſerve the Name of Saint equally with her Name-ſake, or with any other Female in the Ro⯑man Kalendar.

As Sympathies of all Kinds are apt to beget Love, ſo Experience teaches us that none have a more direct Tendency this Way than thoſe of a religious Kind between Perſons of different Sexes. The Doctor found himſelf ſo agreeable to Miſs Bridget, that he now began to lament an unfor⯑tunate Accident which had happened to him aboutten Years before; namely, his Marriage with another Woman, who was not only ſtill alive, but what was worſe, known to be ſo by Mr. Allworthy. This was a fatal Bar to that Happineſs which he otherwiſe ſaw ſufficient Probability of obtaining with this young Lady; for as to criminal Indul⯑gences, he certainly never thought of them. This was owing either to his Religion, as is moſt pro⯑bable, or to the Purity of his Paſſion, which was fixed on thoſe Things, which Matrimony only, and not criminal Correſpondence, could put him in Poſſeſſion of, or could give him any Title to.

He had not long ruminated on theſe Matters be⯑fore it recurred to his Memory that he had a Bro⯑ther who was under no ſuch unhappy Incapacity. This Brother he made no doubt would ſucceed; for he diſcerned, as he thought, an Inclination to Marriage in the Lady; and the Reader perhaps, when he hears the Brother's Qualifications, will not blame the Confidence which he entertained of his Succeſs.

This Gentleman was about 35 Years of Age. He was of a middle Size, and what is called well [38] built. He had a Scar on his Forehead, which did not ſo much injure his Beauty, as it denoted his Valour (for he was a half-pay Officer.) He had good Teeth, and ſomething affable, when he pleaſ⯑ed, in his Smile; though naturally his Countenance, as well as his Air and Voice, had much of Rough⯑neſs in it, yet he could at any Time depoſite this, and appear all Gentleneſs and good Humour. He was not ungenteel, nor entirely void of Wit, and in his Youth had abounded in Spritelineſs, which, though he had lately put on a more ſerious Charac⯑ter, he could, when he pleaſed, reſume.

He had, as well as the Doctor, an Academic Education; for his Father had, with the ſame Pa⯑ternal Authority we have mentioned before, de⯑creed him for holy Orders; but as the old Gentle⯑man died before he was ordained, he choſe the Church Military, and preferred the King's Com⯑miſſion to the Biſhop's.

He had purchaſed the Poſt of Lieutenant of Dra⯑goons, and afterwards came to be a Captain; but having quarrelled with his Colonel, was by his In⯑tereſt obliged to ſell; from which Time he had entirely ruſticated himſelf, had betaken himſelf to ſtudying the Scriptures, and was not a little ſuſpect⯑ed of an Inclination to Methodiſm.

It ſeemed therefore not unlikely that ſuch a Per⯑ſon ſhould ſucceed with a Lady of ſo Saint-like a Diſpoſition, and whoſe Inclinations were no other⯑wiſe engaged than to the married State in general; but why the Doctor, who certainly had no great Friendſhip for his Brother, ſhould for his Sake think of making ſo ill a Return to the Hoſpitality of All⯑worthy, is a Matter not ſo eaſy to be accounted for.

Is it that ſome Natures delight in Evil, as others are thought to delight in Virtue? Or is there a Pleaſure in being acceſſary to a Theft when we cannot [39] commit it ourſelves? Or Laſtly, (which Experience ſeems to make probably) have we a ſatisfaction in aggrandizing our Families, even tho' we have not the leaſt Love or Reſpect for them?

Whether any of theſe Motives operated on the Doctor we will not determine; but ſo the Fact was. He ſent for his Brother, and eaſily found Means to introduce him at Allworthy's as a Perſon who in⯑tended only a ſhort Viſit to himſelf.

The Captain had not been in the Houſe a Week before the Doctor had Reaſon to felicitate himſelf on his Diſcernment. The Captain was indeed as great a Maſter of the Art of Love as Ovid was for⯑merly. He had beſides received proper Hints from his Brother, which he failed not to improve to the beſt Advantage.

CHAP. XI.

IT hath been obſerved by wiſe Men or Women, I forget which, that all Perſons are doomed to be in Love once in their Lives. No particular Seaſon is, as I remember, aſſigned for this; but the Age at which Miſs Bridget was arrived ſeems to me as proper a Period as any to be fixed on for this Purpoſe: It often indeed happens much earlier; but when it doth not, I have obſerved, it ſeldom or never fails about this Time. Moreover, we may remark that at this Seaſon Love is of a more ſerious and ſteady Nature than what ſome times ſhews itſelf in the younger Parts of Life. The Love of Girls is uncertain, capricious, and [40] ſo fooliſh that we cannot always diſcover what the young Lady would be at; nay, it may almoſt be doubted, whether ſhe always knows this herſelf.

Now we are never at a Loſs to diſcern this in Women about Forty; for as ſuch grave, ſerious and experienced Ladies well know their own Meaning, ſo it is always very eaſy for a Man of the leaſt Sa⯑gacity to diſcover this with the utmoſt Certainty.

Miſs Bridget is an Example of all theſe Obſer⯑vations. She had not been many Times in the Captain's Company before ſhe was ſeized with this Paſſion. Nor did ſhe go pining and moping about the Houſe, like a puny fooliſh Girl, ignorant of her Diſtemper: She felt, ſhe knew, and ſhe en⯑joyed, the pleaſing Senſation, of which, as ſhe was certain it was not only innocent but laudable, ſhe was neither afraid nor aſhamed.

And to ſay the Truth, there is in all Points, great Difference between the reaſonable Paſſion which Women at this Age conceive towards Men, and the idle and childiſh Liking of a Girl to a Boy, which is often fixed on the Outſide only, and on Things of little Value and no Duration; as on Cherry Cheeks, ſmall Lily-white Hands, ſlow-black Eyes, flowing Locks, downy Chins, dap⯑per Shapes, nay ſometimes on Charms more worth⯑leſs than theſe, and leſs the Party's own; ſuch are the outward Ornaments of the Perſon, and for which Men are beholden to the Taylor, the Lace⯑man, the Perriwigmaker, the Hatter, and the Mil⯑liner, and not to Nature. Such a Paſſion Girls may well be aſhamed, as they generally are, to own either to themſelves or to others.

The Love of Miſs Bridget was of another Kind. The Captain owed nothing to any of theſe Fop⯑makers in his Dreſs, nor was his Perſon much more beholden to Nature. Both his Dreſs and [41] Perſon were ſuch as, had they appeared in an Aſ⯑ſembly, or a Drawing-room, would have been the Contempt and Ridicule of all the fine Ladies there. The former of theſe was indeed neat, but plain, coarſe, ill-fancied, and out of Faſhion. As for the latter, we have expreſsly deſcribed it above. So far was the Skin on his Cheeks from being Cherry-coloured, that you could not diſcern what the natural Colour of his Cheeks was, they being totally overgrown by a black Beard, which aſ⯑cended to his Eyes. His Shape and Limbs were indeed exactly proportioned, but ſo large, that they denoted the Strength rather of a Ploughman than any other. His Shoulders were broad, be⯑yond all Size, and the Calves of his Legs larger than thoſe of a common Chairman. In ſhort, his whole Perſon wanted all that Elegance and Beauty, which is the very reverſe of clumſy Strength, and which ſo agreeably ſets off moſt of our fine Gen⯑tlemen; being partly owing to the high Blood of their Anceſtors, viz. Blood made of rich Sauces and generous Wines, and partly to an early Town Education.

Tho' Miſs Bridget was a Woman of the great⯑eſt Delicacy of Taſte; yet ſuch were the Charms of the Captain's Converſation, that ſhe totally overlooked the Defects of his Perſon. She ima⯑gined, and perhaps very wiſely, that ſhe ſhould enjoy more agreeable Minutes with the Captain, than with a much prettier Fellow; and forewent the Conſideration of pleaſing her Eyes, in order to procure herſelf much more ſolid Satisfaction.

The Captain no ſooner perceived the Paſſion of Miſs Bridget, in which Diſcovery he was very quick-ſighted, than he faithfully returned it. The Lady, no more than her Lover, was remarkable for Beauty. I would attempt to draw her Picture; [42] but this is done already by a more able Maſter, Mr. Hogarth himſelf, to whom ſhe ſat many Years ago, and had been lately exhibited by that Gentle⯑man in his Print of a Winter's Morning, of which ſhe was no improper Emblem, and may be ſeen walking (for walk ſhe doth in the Print) to Co⯑vent-Garden Church, with a ſtarved Foot-boy be⯑hind carrying her Prayer-book.

The Captain likewiſe very wiſely preferred the more ſolid Enjoyments he expected with this La⯑dy, to the fleeting Charms of Perſon. He was one of thoſe wiſe Men, who regard Beauty in the other Sex as a very worthleſs and ſuperficial Qua⯑lification; or, to ſpeak more truly, who rather chuſe to poſſeſs every Convenience of Life with an ugly Woman, than a handſome one without any of thoſe Conveniencies. And having a very good Appitite, and but little Nicety, he fancied he ſhould play his Part very well at the matrimonial Banquet, without the Sauce of Beauty.

To deal plainly with the Reader, the Captain, ever ſince his Arrival, at leaſt from the Moment his Brother had propoſed the Match to him, long before he had diſcovered any flattering Symptoms in Miſs Bridget, had been greatly enamoured; that is to ſay, of Mr. Allworthy's Houſe and Gar⯑dens, and of his Lands, Tenements and Heredita⯑ments; of all which the Captain was ſo paſſionate⯑ly fond, that he would moſt probably have con⯑tracted Marriage with them, had he been obliged to have taken the Witch of Endor into the Bargain.

As Mr. Allworthy therefore had declared to the Doctor, that he never intended to take a ſecond Wife, as his Siſter was his neareſt Relation, and as the Docter had fiſhed out that his Intentions were to make any Child of hers his Heir, which indeed the Law, without his Interpoſition, would [43] have done for him; the Doctor and his Brother thought it an Act of Benevolence to give Being to a human Creature, who would be ſo plentifully provided with the moſt eſſential Means of Hap⯑pineſs. The whole Thoughts therefore of both the Brothers, were how to engage the Affections of this amiable Lady.

But Fortune, who is a tender Parent, and often doth more for her favourite Offspring than either they deſerve or wiſh, had been ſo induſtrious for the Captain, that whilſt he was laying Schemes to excute his Purpoſe, the Lady conceived the ſame Deſires with himſelf, and was on her Side contriving how to give the Captain proper En⯑couragement, without appearing too forward; for ſhe was a ſtrict Obſerver of all Rules of Decorum. In this, however, ſhe eaſily ſucceeded; for as the Captain was always on the Look-out, no Glance, Geſture, or Word; eſcaped him.

The Satisfaction which the Captain received from the kind Behaviour of Miſs Bridget, was not a little abated by his Apprehenſions of Mr. Allworthy; for, notwithſtanding his diſintereſted Profeſſions, the Captain imagined he would, when he came to act, follow the Example of the reſt of the World, and refuſe his Conſent to a Match, ſo diſadvantageous in point of Intereſt, to his Siſter. From what Oracle he received this Opi⯑nion, I ſhall leave the Reader to determine; but, however he came by it, it ſtrangely perplexed him how to regulate his Conduct ſo, as at once to convey his Affection to the Lady, and to con⯑ceal it from her Brother. He, at length, reſolved to take all private Opportunities of making his Addreſſes; but in the Preſence of Mr. Allworthy to be as reſerved, and as much upon his Guard [44] as was poſſible; and this Conduct was highly ap⯑proved by the Brother.

He ſoon found Means to make his Addreſſes, in expreſs Terms, to his Miſtreſs, from whom he receiv'd an Anſwer in the proper Form; viz. The Anſwer which was firſt made ſome thouſands of Years ago, and which hath been handed down by Tradition from Mother to Daughter ever ſince. If I was to tranſlate this into Latin, I ſhould ren⯑der it by theſe two Words, Nolo Epiſcopari; a Phraſe likewiſe of immemorial Uſe on another Occaſion.

The Captain, however he came by his Know⯑ledge, perfectly well underſtood the Lady; and very ſoon after repeated his Application with more Warmth and Earneſtneſs than before, and was a⯑gain, according to due Form, rejected; but as he had encreaſed in the Eagerneſs of his Deſires, ſo the Lady, with the ſame Propriety, decreaſed in the Violence of her Refuſal.

Not to tire the Reader, by leading him through every Scene of this Courtſhip, (which, tho' in the Opinion of a certain great Author, it is the plea⯑ſanteſt Scene of Life to the Actor, is perhaps as dull and tireſome as any whatever to the Au⯑dience) the Captain made his Advances in Form, the Citadel was defended in Form, and at length, in proper Form, ſurrendered at Diſcretion.

During this whole Time, which filled the Space of near a Month, the Captain preſerved great Diſtance of Behaviour to his Lady, in the Preſence of the Brother, and the more he ſucceeded with her in private, the more reſerved was he in public. And as for the Lady, ſhe had no ſooner ſecured her Lover, than ſhe behaved to him before Com⯑pany with the higheſt Degree of Indifference; ſo that Mr. Allworthy muſt have had the Inſight [45] of the Devil (or perhaps ſome of his worſe Qua⯑lities) to have entertained the leaſt Suſpicion of what was going forward.

CHAP. XII.

IN all Bargains, whether to fight, or to Marry, or concerning any other ſuch Buſineſs, little previous Ceremony is required, to bring the Matter to an Iſſue, when both Parties are really in earneſt. This was the Caſe at preſent, and in leſs than a Month the Captain and his Lady were Man and Wife.

The great Concern now was to break the Mat⯑ter to Mr. Allworthy; and this was undertaken by the Doctor.

One Day then as Allworthy was walking in his Garden, the Doctor came to him, and with great Gravity of Aſpect, and all the Concern which he could poſſibly affect in his Countenance, ſaid, 'I am come, Sir, to impart an Affair to you of the utmoſt Conſequence; but how ſhall I mention to you, what almoſt diſtracts me to think of!' He then launched forth into the moſt bitter Invec⯑tives both againſt Men and Women; accuſing the former of having no Attachment but to their Intereſt, and the latter of being ſo addicted to vicious In⯑clinations, that they could never be ſafely truſted with one of the other Sex. 'Could I, ſaid he, Sir, have ſuſpected, that a Lady of ſuch Prudence, ſuch Judgment, ſuch Learning, ſhould indulge ſo indiſcreet a Paſſion; or could I have imagined that my Brother—why do I call him ſo? He is no longer a Brother of mine.—'

[46] 'Indeed but he is, ſaid Allworthy, and a Bro⯑ther of mine too.'—Bleſs me, Sir, ſaid the Doc⯑tor, do you know the ſhocking Affair?—Look'ee, Mr. Blifil, anſwered the good Man, it hath been my conſtant Maxim in Life, to make the beſt of all Matters which happen. My Siſter, tho' many Years younger than me, is at leaſt old enough to be at the Age of Diſcretion. Had he impoſed on a Child, I ſhould have been more averſe to have forgiven him; but a Wo⯑man upwards of thirty muſt certainly be ſuppoſ⯑ed to know what will make her moſt happy. She hath married a Gentleman, tho' perhaps not quite her Equal in Fortune; and if he hath any Perfections in her Eye, which can make up that Deficiency, I ſee no Reaſon why I ſhould object to her Choice of her own Happineſs; which I, no more than herſelf, imagine to con⯑ſiſt only in immenſe Wealth. I might, perhaps, from the many Declarations I have made, of com⯑plying with almoſt any Propoſal, have expected to have been conſulted on this Occaſion; but theſe Matters are of a very delicate Nature, and the Scruples of Modeſty perhaps are not to be over⯑come. As to your Brother, I have really no Anger againſt him at all. He hath no Obligations to me, nor do I think he was under any Neceſſity of aſking my Conſent, ſince the Woman is, as I have ſaid, Sui Juris, and of a proper Age to be entirely anſwerable only to herſelf for her Con⯑duct.'

The Doctor repeated his Accuſations againſt his Brother, accuſed Mr. Allworthy of too great Le⯑nity and declared that he ſhould never more be brought either to ſee, or to own him for his Re⯑lation. He then launched forth into a Panegyric on Allworthy's Goodneſs, into the higheſt Enco⯑miums [47] on his Friendſhip; and concluded, by ſay⯑ing, he ſhould never forgive his Brother for hav⯑ing put the Place which he bore in that Friendſhip, to a hazard.

Allworthy thus anſwered: 'Had I conceived any Diſpleaſure againſt your Brother, I ſhould never have carried that Reſentment to the Inno⯑cent: But, I aſſure you, I have no ſuch Diſplea⯑ſure. Your Brother appears to me to be a Man of Senſe and Honour. I do not diſapprove the Taſte of my Siſter; nor will I doubt but that ſhe is equally the Object of his Inclinations. I have always thought Love the only Foundation of Happineſs in a married State; as it can only produce that high and tender Friendſhip, which ſhould always be the Cement of this Union; and, in my Opinion, all thoſe Marriages which are contracted from other Motives, are greatly criminal; they are a Profanation of a moſt holy Ceremony, and generally end in Diſquiet and Mi⯑ſery: For ſurely we may call it a Profanation, to convert this moſt ſacred Inſtitution into a wick⯑ed ſacrifice to Luſt, or Avarice: And what bet⯑ter can be ſaid of thoſe Matches to which Men are induced merely by the Conſideration of a' beautiful Perſon, or a great Fortune!

'To deny that Beauty is an agreeable Object to the Eye, and even worthy ſome Admiration, would be falſe and fooliſh. Beautiful is an Epi⯑thet often uſed in Scripture, and always mention⯑ed with Honour. It was my own Fortune to marry a Woman, whom the World thought handſome, and I can truly ſay, I liked her the bet⯑ter on that Account. But, to make this the ſole Conſideration of Marriage, to luſt after it ſo vi⯑olently, as to overlook all Imperfections for its Sake, or to require it ſo abſolutely as to reject and [48] diſdain Religion, Virtue, and Senſe, which are Qualities, in their Nature, of much higher Per⯑fection, becauſe an Elegance of Perſon only is wanting; this is ſurely inconſiſtent either with a wiſe Man, or a good Chriſtian. And it is, perhaps, being too charitable to conclude that ſuch Perſons mean any thing more by their Marriage, than to pleaſe their carnal Appetites, for the Satis⯑faction' of which we are taught it was not ordained.

'In the next Place, with reſpect to Fortune. Worldly Prudence perhaps exacts ſome Conſi⯑deration on this Head; nor will I abſolutely and altogether condemn it. As the World is conſti⯑tuted, the Demands of a married State, and the Care of Poſterity, require ſome little Regard to what we call Circumſtances. Yet this Provi⯑ſion is greatly encreaſed beyond what is really neceſſary, by Folly and Vanity, which create abundantly more Wants than Nature. Equi⯑page for the Wife, and large Fortunes for the Children, are by Cuſtom enrolled in the Liſt of Neceſſaries; and, to procure theſe, every thing truly ſolid and ſweet, and virtuous, and religious,' are neglected and overlooked.

'And this in many Degrees; the laſt and great⯑eſt of which ſeems ſcarce diſtinguiſhable from Madneſs. I mean, where Perſons of immenſe Fortunes contract themſelves to thoſe who are, and muſt be, diſagreeable to them; to Fools and Knaves, in order to encreaſe an Eſtate, already larger even than the Demands of their Pleaſures. Surely ſuch Perſons, if they will not be thought mad, muſt own, either that they are incapable of taſting the ſweets of the tendereſt Friendſhip, or that they ſacrifice the greateſt Happineſs of which they are capable to the vain, uncertain, and ſenſeleſs [49] Laws of vulgar Opinion, which owe as well their Force, as their Foundation, to Folly.'

Here Allworthy concluded his Sermon, to which Blifil had liſtened with the profoundeſt Attention, tho' it coſt him ſome pains to prevent now and then a ſmall Diſcompoſure of his Muſcles. He now praiſed every Period of what he had heard, with the warmth of a young Divine who hath the Ho⯑nour to dine with a Biſhop the ſame Day in which his Lordſhip had mounted the Pulpit.

CHAP. XIII.

THE Reader, from what hath been ſaid, may imagine that the Reconciliation (if indeed it could be ſo called) was only Matter of Form; we ſhall therefore paſs it over, and haſten to what muſt ſurely be thought Matter of Subſtance.

The Doctor had acquainted his Brother with what had paſt between Mr. Allworthy and him; and added with a Smile. 'I promiſe you, I paid you off; nay, I abſolutely deſired the good Gentleman not to forgive you: For you know, after he had made a Declaration in your Favour, I might, with Safety, venture on ſuch a Requeſt with a Perſon of his Temper; and I was wil⯑ling, as well for your Sake as for my own, to prevent the leaſt Poſſibility of a Suſpicion.'

Captain Blifil took not the leaſt Notice of this, at that Time; but he afterwards made a very notable Uſe of it.

One of the Maxims which the Devil, in a late Viſit upon Earth, left to his Diſciples, is, when once you are got up, to kick the Stool from under [50] you. In plain Engliſh, when you have made your Fortune by the good Offices of a Friend, you are adviſed to diſcard him as ſoon you can.

Whether the Captain acted by this Maxim, I will not poſitively determine; ſo far we may confidently ſay, that his Actions may be fairly derived from this diabolical Principle; and indeed it is difficult to aſſign any other Motive to them: For no ſooner was he poſſeſſed of Miſs Bridget, and reconciled to Allworthy, than he began to ſhew a Coldneſs to his Brother, which encreaſed daily; till at length it grew into Rudeneſs, and became viſible to every one.

The Doctor remonſtrated to him privately con⯑cerning this Behaviour, but could obtain no other Satisfaction than the following plain Declaration: 'If you diſlike any thing in my Brother's Houſe, Sir, you know you are at Liberty to quit it.' This ſtrange, cruel, and almoſt unaccountable In⯑gratitude in the Captain, abſolutely broke the poor Doctor's Heart: For Ingratitude never ſo thorough⯑ly pierces the human Breaſt, as when it proceeds from thoſe in whoſe Behalf we have been guilty of Tranſgreſſions. Reflections on great and good Actions, however they are received or returned by thoſe in whoſe Favour they are performed, al⯑ways adminiſter ſome Comfort to us; but what Conſolation ſhall we receive under ſo biting a Ca⯑lamity as the ungratefull Behaviour of our Friend, when our wounded Conſcience at the ſame Time flies in our Face, and upbraids us with having ſpotted it in the Service of one ſo worthleſs?

Mr. Allworthy himſelf ſpoke to the Captain in his Brother's Behalf, and deſired to know what Offence the Doctor had committed; when the hard-hearted Villain had the Beſeneſs to ſay, that he never ſhould forgive him for the Injury [51] which he had endeavoured to do him in his Favour; which, he ſaid, he had pumped out of him, and was ſuch a cruelty, that it ought not to be forgiven.

Allworthy ſpoke in very high Terms upon this Declaration, which, he ſaid, became not a human Creature. He expreſſed, indeed, ſo much Reſent⯑ment againſt an unforgiving Temper, that the Cap⯑tain at laſt pretended to be convinced by his Argu⯑ments, and outwardly profeſſed to be reconciled.

As for the Bride, ſhe was now in her Honey⯑moon, and ſo paſſionately fond of her new Huſ⯑band, that he never appeared, to her, to be in the wrong; and his Diſpleaſure againſt any Perſon, was a ſufficient Reaſon for her Diſlike to the ſame.

The Captain, at Mr. Allworthy's Inſtance, was outwardly, as we have ſaid, reconciled to his Bro⯑ther, yet the ſame Rancour remained in his Heart; and he found ſo many Opportunities of giving him private Hints of this, that the Houſe at laſt grew inſupportable to the poor Doctor; and he choſe rather to ſubmit to any Inconveniencies which he might encounter in the World, than longer to bear theſe cruel and ungrateful Inſults, from a Bro⯑ther for whom he had done ſo much.

He once intended to acquaint Allworthy with the whole; but he could not bring himſelf to ſubmit to the Confeſſion, by which he muſt take to his Share ſo great a Portion of Guilt. Beſides, by how much the worſe Man he repreſented his Brother to be, ſo much the greater would his own Offence appear to Mr. Allworthy, and ſo much the greater, had he Reaſon to imagine, would be his Reſentment.

He feigned, therefore, ſome Excuſe of Buſineſs for his Departure, and promiſed to return ſoon again; and took leave of his Brother with ſo well⯑diſſembled Content, that, as the Captain played [52] his Part to the ſame Perfection, Allworthy remain⯑ed well ſatisfied with the Truth of the Reconciliation.

The Doctor went directly to London, where he died ſoon of a broken Heart; a Diſtemper which kills more than is generally imagined, and would have a fair Title to a Place in the Bill of Mortality, did it not differ in one Inſtance from all other Diſeaſes, viz. That no Phyſician can cure it.

Now, upon the moſt diligent Enquiry into the former Lives of theſe two Brothers, I find, beſides the curſed and helliſh Maxim of Policy above-men⯑tioned, another Reaſon for the Captain's Conduct: The Captain, beſides what we have before ſaid of him, was a Man of great Pride and Fierceneſs, and had always treated his Brother, who was of a dif⯑ferent Complexion, and greatly deficient in both theſe Qualities, with the utmoſt Air of Superiority. The Doctor, however, had much the larger Share of Learning, and was by many reputed to have the better Underſtanding. This the Captain knew, and could not bear. For, tho' Envy is at beſt a very malignant Paſſion, yet is its Bitterneſs greatly heightened by mixing with Contempt towards the ſame Object; and very much afraid I am, that whenever an Obligation is joined to theſe two, In⯑dignation, and not Gratitude, will be the Product of all three.

CHAP I.

THO' we have properly enough entitled this our Work, a Hiſtory, and not a Life; nor an Apology for a Life, as is more in Faſhion; yet we intend in it rather to purſue the Method of thoſe Writers who profeſs to diſcloſe the Revolutions of Countries, than to imitate the painful and volumi⯑nous Hiſtorian, who to preſerve the Regularity of his Series thinks himſelf obliged to fill up as much Paper with the Detail of Months and Years in which nothing remarkable happened, as he employs upon thoſe Aeras when the greateſt Scenes have been tranſacted on the human Stage.

[54] Such Hiſtories as theſe do, in reality, very much reſemble a News-Paper, which conſiſts of juſt the ſame Number of Words, whether there be any News in it or not. They may likewiſe be com⯑pared to a Stage Coach, which performs conſtantly the ſame Courſe, empty as well as full. The Writer, indeed, ſeems to think himſelf obliged to keep even Pace with Time, whoſe Amanuenſis he is; and, like his Maſter, travels as ſlowly through Centuries of monkiſh Dulneſs, when the World ſeems to have been aſleep, as through that bright and buſy Age ſo nobly diſtinguiſhed by the excellent Latin Poet.

Of which, we wiſh we could give our Reader a more adequate Tranſlation than that by Mr. Creech.

Now it is our purpoſe in the enſuing Pages, to purſue a contrary Method. When any extraordinary Scene preſents itſelf (as we truſt will often be the Caſe) we ſhall ſpare no Pains nor Paper to open it at large to our Reader; but if whole Years ſhould paſs without producing any thing worthy his No⯑tice, we ſhall not be afraid of a Chaſm in our Hiſ⯑tory; but ſhall haſten on to Matters of Conſequence, [55] and leave ſuch Periods of Time totally unobſerved.

Theſe are indeed to be conſidered as Blanks in the grand Lottery of Time. We therefore who are the Regiſters of that Lottery, ſhall imitate thoſe ſagacious Perſons who deal in that which is drawn at Guild-hall, and who never trouble the Public with the many Blanks they diſpoſe of; but when a great Prize happens to be drawn, the News-Pa⯑pers are preſently filled with it, and the World is ſure to be informed at whoſe Office it was ſold: Indeed commonly two or three different Offices lay claim to the Honour of having diſpoſed of it; by which I ſuppoſe the Adventurers are given to under⯑ſtand that certain Brokers are in the Secrets of For⯑tune, and indeed of her Cabinet-Council.

My Reader then is not to be ſurprized, if in the Courſe of this Work, he ſhall find ſome Chapters very ſhort, and others altogether as long; ſome that contain only the Time of a ſingle Day, and others that compriſe Years; in a word, if my Hiſ⯑tory ſometimes ſeems to ſtand ſtill, and ſometimes to fly. For all which I ſhall not look on myſelf as accountable to any Court of Critical Juriſdiction whatever: For as I am, in reality, the Founder of a new Province of Writing, ſo I am at liberty to make what Laws I pleaſe therein. And theſe Laws, my Readers, whom I conſider as my Sub⯑jects, are bound to believe in and to obey; with which that they may readily and chearfully comply, I do hereby aſſure them that I ſhall principally re⯑gard their Eaſe and Advantage in all ſuch Inſtituti⯑ons: For I do not, like a jure divino Tyrant, ima⯑gine that they are my Slaves or my Commodity. I am, indeed, ſet over them for their own Good on⯑ly, and was created for their Uſe, and not they for mine. Nor do I doubt, while I make their Inte⯑reſt the great Rule of my Writings, they will una⯑nimouſly [56] concur in ſupporting my Dignity, and in rendering me all the Honour I ſhall deſerve or deſire.

CHAP. II.

EIGHT Months after the Celebration of the Nuptials between Captain Blifil and Miſs Bridget Allworthy, a young Lady of great Beauty, Merit, and Fortune, was Miſs Bridget, by reaſon of a Fright, delivered of a fine Boy. The Child, was indeed, to all Appearance, perfect; but the Midwife diſcovered, it was born a Month before its full Time.

Tho' the Birth of an Heir of his beloved Siſter was a Circumſtance of great Joy to Mr. Allworthy, yet it did not alienate his Affections from the lit⯑tle Foundling, to whom he had been Godfather, had given his own Name of Thomas, and whom he had hitherto ſeldom failed of viſiting at leaſt once a Day, in his Nurſery.

He told his Siſter, if ſhe pleaſed, the new-born Infant ſhould be bred up together with little Tom⯑my, to which ſhe conſented, tho' with ſome little Reluctance: For ſhe had truly a great Complai⯑ſance for her Brother; and hence ſhe had always behaved towards the Foundling with rather more Kindneſs than Ladies of rigid Virtue can ſome⯑times bring themſelves to ſhew to theſe Children, who, however, innocent, may be truly called the living Monuments of Incontinence.

The Captain could not ſo eaſily bring himſelf to bear what he condemned as a Fault in Mr. Allwor⯑thy. [57] He gave him frequent Hints, that to adopt the Fruits of Sin, was to give countenance to it. He quoted ſeveral Texts (for he was well read in Scripture) ſuch as, He viſits the Sins of the Fathers upon the Children; and, the Fathers have eaten ſour Grapes, and the Children's Teeth are ſet on edge, &c. Whence he argued the Legality of pu⯑niſhing the Crime of the Parent on the Baſtard. He ſaid, 'Tho' the Law did not poſitively allow the deſtroying ſuch baſe-born Children, yet it held them to be the Children of no body; that the Church conſidered them as the Children of no bo⯑dy; and that at the beſt, they ought to be brought up to the loweſt and vileſt Offices of the Common⯑wealth.'

Mr. Allworthy anſwered to all this and much more which the Captain had urged on this Subject, 'That however guilty the Parents might be, the Children were certainly innocent. That as to the Texts he had quoted, the former of them was a particular denunciation againſt the Jews for the Sin of Idolatry, of relinquiſhing and hating their heavenly King; and the latter was parabo⯑lically ſpoken, and rather intended to denote the certain and neceſſary Conſequences of Sin, than any expreſs Judgment againſt it. But to repre⯑ſent the Almighty as avenging the Sins of the Guilty on the Innocent, was indecent, if not blaſ⯑phemous, as it was to repreſent him acting againſt the firſt Principles of natural Juſtice, and againſt the original Notions of Right and Wrong, which he himſelf had implanted in our Minds; by which we were to judge not only in all Matters which were not revealed, but even of the Truth of Revelation itſelf. He ſaid, he knew many held the ſame Principles with the Captain on this Head; but he was himſelf firmly convinced to the [58] contrary, and would provide in the ſame Manner for this poor Infant, as if a legitimate Child had had the Fortune to have been found in the ſame Place.'

While the Captain was taking all Opportunities to preſs theſe and ſuch like Arguments to remove the little Foundling from Mr. Allworthy's, of whoſe Fondneſs for him he began to be jealous, Mrs. Deborah had made a Diſcovery, which in its E⯑vent threatened at leaſt to prove more fatal to poor Tommy, than all the Reaſonings of the Captain.

Whether the inſatiable Curioſity of this good Woman had carried her on to that Buſineſs, or, whether ſhe did it to confirm herſelf in the good Graces of Mrs. Blifil, who, notwithſtanding he outward Behaviour to the Foundling, frequently abuſed the Infant in private, and her Brother too for his Fondneſs to it, I will not determine; but ſhe had now, as ſhe conceived, fully detected the Father of the Foundling.

Now as this was a Diſcovery of great Conſe⯑quence, it may be neceſſary to trace it from the Fountain-head. We ſhall therefore very minutel [...] lay open thoſe previous Matters by which it was produced; and for that Purpoſe, we ſhall be obli⯑ged to reveal all the Secrets of a little Family, with which my Reader is at preſent entirely unacquainted and of which the Oeconomy was ſo rare and ex⯑traordinary, that I fear it will ſhock the utmoſt Credulity of many married Perſons.

CHAP. III.

MY Reader may pleaſe to remember he hath been informed that Jenny Jones had live ſome Years with a certain Schoolmaſter, who [59] had, at her earneſt Deſire, inſtructed her in Latin, in which, to do juſtice to her Genius, ſhe had ſo improved herſelf, that ſhe was become a better Scholar than her Maſter.

Indeed, tho' this poor Man had undertaken a Profeſſion to which Learning muſt be allowed ne⯑ceſſary, this was the leaſt of his Commendations. He was one of the beſt-natured Fellows in the World, and was at the ſame time Maſter of ſo much Pleaſantry and Humour that he was reputed the Wit of the Country; and all the neighbouring Gentlemen were ſo deſirous of his Company, that as denying was not his Talent, he ſpent much Time at their Houſes, which he might with more Emolument have ſpent in his School.

It may be imagined, that a Gentleman ſo qua⯑lified, and ſo diſpoſed, was in no danger of be⯑coming formidable to the learned Seminaries of Eton or Weſtminſter. To ſpeak plainly, his Scho⯑lars were divided into two Claſſes. In the up⯑per of which was a young Gentleman, the Son of a neighbouring 'Squire, who at the Age of Se⯑venteen was juſt entered into his Syntaxis; and in the lower was a ſecond Son of the ſame Gentle⯑man, who, together with ſeveral Pariſh-boys, was learning to read and write.

The Stipend ariſing hence would hardly have indulged the Schoolmaſter in the Luxuries of Life, had he not added to this Office thoſe of Clerk and Barber, and had not Mr. Allworthy added to the whole an Annuity of Ten Pound, which the poor Man received every Chriſtmas, and with which he was enabled to chear his Heart during that ſacred Feſtival.

Among his other Treaſures, the Pedagogue had a Wife whom he had married out of Mr. Allworthy's Kitchen, for her Fortune, viz. Twenty Pound, which ſhe had there amaſſed.

[60] This Woman was not very amiable in her Per⯑ſon. Whether ſhe ſat to my Friend Hogarth, or no, I will not determine; but ſhe exactly reſembled the young Woman who is pouring out her Miſtreſs's Tea in the third Picture of the Harlot's Progreſs. She was beſides a profeſt Follower of that notable Sect founded by Xantippe of old; by means of which, ſhe became more formidable in the School than her Huſband; for to confeſs the Truth, he was never Maſter there, or any where elſe, in her Preſence.

Tho' her Countenance did not denote much na⯑tural Sweetneſs of Temper, yet this was perhaps ſomewhat ſoured by a Circumſtance which gene⯑rally poiſons matrimonial Felicity. For Children are rightly called the Pledges of Love; and her Huſband, tho' they had been married nine Years, had given her no ſuch Pledges; a Default for which he had no Excuſe, either from Age or Health, being not yet thirty Years old, and, what they call a jolly, briſk, young Man.

Hence aroſe another Evil which produced no little Uneaſineſs to the poor Pedagogue, of whom ſhe maintained ſo conſtant a Jealouſy, that he durſt hardly ſpeak to one Woman in the Pariſh; for the leaſt Degree of Civility, or even Correſpondence with any Female, was ſure to bring his Wife upon her Back, and his own.

In order to guard herſelf againſt matrimonial Injuries in her own Houſe, as ſhe kept one Maid Servant, ſhe always took Care to chuſe her out of that Order of Females, whoſe Faces are taken as a Kind of Security for their Virtue; of which Number Jenny Jones, as the Reader hath been be⯑fore informed, was one.

As the Face of this young Woman might be called pretty good Security of the before-mentioned [61] Kind, and as her Behaviour had been always ex⯑tremely modeſt; which is the certain Conſequence of Underſtanding in Woman; ſhe had paſſed above four Years at Mr. Partridge's, (for that was the Schoolmaſter's Name) without creating the leaſt Suſpicion in her Miſtreſs. Nay, ſhe had been treat⯑ed with uncommon Kindneſs, and her Miſtreſs had permitted Mr. Partridge to give her thoſe Inſtruc⯑tions, which have been before commemorated.

But it is with Jealouſy, as with the Gout. When ſuch Diſtempers are in the Blood, there is never any Security againſt their breaking out; and that often on the ſlighteſt Occaſions, and when leaſt ſuſpected.

Thus it happened to Mrs. Partridge, who had ſubmitted four Years to her Huſband's teaching this young Woman, and had ſuffered her often to neglect her Work, in order to purſue her Learning. For paſſing by one Day, as the Girl, was reading, and her Maſter leaning over her, the Girl, I know not for what Reaſon, ſuddenly ſtarted up from her Chair; and this was the firſt Time that Suſpicion ever entered into the Head of her Miſtreſs.

This did not, however, at that Time, diſcover itſelf, but lay lurking in her Mind, like a concealed Enemy, who waits for a Reinforcement of addi⯑tional Strength, before he openly declares himſelf, and proceeds upon hoſtile Operations; and ſuch additional Stength ſoon arrived to corroborate her Suſpicion: For not long after, the Huſband and Wife being at Dinner, the Maſter ſaid to his Maid, Da mihi aliquid Potum; upon which the poor Girl ſmiled, perhaps at the Badneſs of the Latin, and when her Miſtreſs caſt her Eyes on her, bluſhed, poſſibly with a Conſciouſneſs of having laughed at her Maſter. Mrs. Partridge, upon this, immedi⯑ately fell into a Fury, and diſcharged the Trencher on which ſhe was eating, at the Head of poor Jenny, [62] crying out, 'You impudent Whore, do you play Tricks with my Huſband before my Face?' and, at the ſame Inſtant, roſe from her Chair, with a Knife in her Hand, with which, moſt probably, ſhe would have executed very tragical Vengeance, had not the Girl taken the Advantage of being nearer the Door than her Miſtreſs, and avoided her Fury, by running away; for, as to the poor Huſband whether Surprize had rendered him motionleſs, or Fear (which is full as probable) had reſtrained him from venturing at any Oppoſition, he ſat ſtaring and trembling in his Chair; nor did he once offer to move or ſpeak, till his Wife returning from the Purſuit of Jenny, made ſome defenſive Meaſures neceſſary for his own Preſervation; and he likewiſe was obliged to retreat, after the Example of the Maid.

This good Woman was, no more than Othello, of a Diſpoſition,

with her, as well as him;

ſhe therefore ordered Jenny immediately to pack up her Alls, and be gone; for that ſhe was deter⯑mined ſhe ſhould not ſleep that Night within her Walls.

Mr. Partridge had profited too much, by Expe⯑rience, to interpoſe in a Matter of this Nature. He therefore had Recourſe to his uſual Recipe of Pa⯑tience; for, tho' he was not a great Adept in Latin, he remembered and well underſtood the Advice contained in theſe Words:

[63] In Engliſh: 'A Burden becomes lighteſt, when it is well borne.'

Which he had always in his Mouth, and of which, to ſay the Truth, he had often Occaſion to experi⯑ence the Truth.

Jenny offered to make Proteſtations of her In⯑nocence; but the Tempeſt was too high for her to be heard. She betook herſelf to the Buſineſs of Packing, for which a ſmall Quantity of brown Pa⯑per ſufficed; and, having received her ſmall Pittance of Wages, ſhe returned home.

The Schoolmaſter and his Conſort paſs'd their Time unpleaſantly enough that Evening; but ſome⯑thing or other happened before the next Morning, which a little abated the Fury of Mrs. Partridge; and ſhe at length admitted her Huſband to make his Excuſe. To which ſhe gave the readier Belief, as he had, inſtead of deſiring her to recall Jenny, pro⯑feſſed a Satisfaction in her being diſmiſſed, ſaying, She was grown of little Uſe as a Servant, ſpending all her time in reading, and was become, moreover, very pert and obſtinate: For indeed ſhe and her Ma⯑ſter had lately had frequent Diſputes in Literature; in which, as hath been ſaid, ſhe was become greatly his Superior. This, however, he would by no means allow; and, as he called her perſiſting in the Right, Obſtinacy, he began to hate her with no ſmall Invetracy.

CHAP. IV.

FOR the Reaſons mentioned in the preceding Chapter, and ſome other matrimonial Con⯑ceſſions, well known to moſt Huſbands; and which, [64] like the Secrets of Free Maſonry, ſhould be di⯑vulged to none who are not Members of that ho⯑nourable Fraternity, Mrs. Partridge was pretty well ſatisfied, that ſhe had condemned her Huſ⯑band without Cauſe, and endeavoured, by Acts of Kindneſs, to make him Amends for her falſe Suſpi⯑cion. Her Paſſions were indeed, equally violent, which every Way they inclined: for, as ſhe could be extremely angry, ſo could ſhe be altogether as fond.

But tho' theſe Paſſions ordinarily ſucceeded each other, and ſcarce twenty-four Hours ever paſſed in which the Pedagogue was not, in ſome Degree, the Object of both; yet, on extraordinary Occa⯑ſions, when the Paſſion of Anger had raged very high, the Remiſſion was uſually longer, and ſo was the Caſe at preſent; for ſhe continued longer in a State of Affability, after this Fit of Jealouſy was ended, than her Huſband had ever known before: And had it not been for ſome little Exerciſes, which all the Followers of Xantip⯑pe are obliged to perform daily, Mr. Partridge would have enjoyed a perfect Serenity of ſeveral Months.

Perfect Calms at Sea are always ſuſpected by the experienced Mariner to be the Forerunners of a Storm: And I know ſome Perſons, who, with⯑out being generally the Devotees of Superſtition, are apt to apprehend, that great and unuſual Peace or Tranquillity, will be attended with its oppo⯑ſite: For which Reaſon the Antients uſed, on ſuch Occaſions, to ſacrifice to the Goddeſs Nemeſis; a Deity who was thought by them to look with an invidious Eye on human Felicity, and to have a peculiar Delight in overturning it.

As we are very far from believing in anyſuch Hea⯑then Goddeſs, or from encouraging any Superſti⯑tion, ſo we wiſh Mr. John Fr—, or ſome other ſuch Philoſopher, would beſtir himſelf a little, in order [65] to find out the real Cauſe of this ſudden Tranſition, from good to bad Fortune, which hath been ſo often remarked, and of which we ſhall proceed to give an Inſtance; for it is our Province to relate [...]acts, and we ſhall leave Cauſes to Perſons of much higher Genius.

Mankind have always taken great Delight in know⯑ing and deſcanting on the Actions of others. Hence there have been, in all Ages, and Nations, certain, Places ſet apart for public Rendezvous, where the cu⯑rious might meet, and ſatisfy their mutual Curioſi⯑ty. Among theſe, the Barbers Shops have juſtly bore the Pre-eminence. Among the Greeks, Bar⯑bers News was a proverbial Expreſſion, and Horace, in one of his Epiſtles, makes honourable Mention of the Roman Barbers in the ſame Light.

Thoſe of England are known to be no wiſe in⯑ferior to their Greek or Roman Predeceſſors. You there ſee foreign Affairs diſcuſſed in a Manner little inferior to that with which they are handled in the Coffee-houſes; and domeſtick Occurrences are much more largely and freely treated in the former, than in the latter. But this ſerves only for the Men. Now, whereas the Females of this Country, eſpe⯑cially thoſe of the lower Order, do aſſociate them⯑ſelves much more than thoſe of other Nations, our Polity would be highly deficient, if they had not ſome Place ſet apart likewiſe for the Indulgence of their Curioſity, ſeeing they are in this no way inferior to the other half of the Species.

In enjoying, therefore, ſuch Place of Rendez⯑vous, the Britiſh Fair ought to eſteem themſelves more happy than any of their foreign Siſters; as I do not remember either to have read in Hiſtory, to have ſeen in my Travels, any thing of the [...]e Kind.

[66] This Place then is no other than the Chandler's Shop; the known Seat of all the News; or, as it is vulgarly called, Goſſiping, in every Pariſh in England.

Mrs. Partridge being one Day at this Aſſembly of Females, was aſked by one of her Neighbours, if ſhe had heard no News lately of Jenny Jones. To which ſhe anſwered in the Negative. Upon this, the other replied, with a Smile, that the Pa⯑riſh was very much obliged to her for having turned Jenny away as ſhe did.

Mrs. Partridge, whoſe Jealouſy, as the Reader well knows, was long ſince cured, and who had no other Quarrel to her Maid, anſwered boldly, She did not know any Obligation the Pariſh had to her on that Account, for ſhe believed Jenny had ſcarce left her Equal behind her.

'No truly, ſaid the Goſſip, I hope not, tho'I fancy we have Sluts enow too.' 'Then you have not heard, it ſeems, that ſhe hath been brought to bed of two Baſtards; but as they are not born here, my Huſband, and the other Overſeer, ſays we ſhall not be obliged to keep them.'

'Two Baſtards!' anſwered Mrs. Partridge haſtily, 'you ſurprize me. I don't know whe⯑ther we muſt keep them; but I am ſure they muſt have been begotten here, for the Wench hath not been nine Months gone away.'

Nothing can be ſo quick and ſudden as the Ope⯑rations of the Mind, eſpecially when Hope, or Fear; or Jealouſy to which the two others are but Journeymen, ſet it to work. It occurred in⯑ſtantly to her, that Jenny had ſcarce ever been out of her own Houſe, while ſhe lived with her. The leaning over the Chair, the ſudden ſtarting up, the Latin, the Smile, and many other Things ruſhed upon her all at once. The Satisfaction her Huſ⯑band [67] expreſſed in the Departure of Jenny, appear⯑ed now to be only diſſembled; again, in the ſame Inſtant to be real, and yet to confirm her Jealouſy, as proceeding from Satiety, and a hundred other bad Cauſes. In a Word, ſhe was convinced of her Huſband's Guilt, and immediately left the Aſ⯑ſembly in Confuſion.

As fair Grimalkin, who, though the youngeſt of the Feline Family, degenerates not in Feroſity from the elder Branches of her Houſe, and, though, in⯑ferior in Strength, is equal in Fierceneſs to the no⯑ble Tyger himſelf, when a little Mouſe, whom it hath long tormented in Sport, eſcapes from her Clutches for a while, frets, ſcolds, growls, ſwears; but if the Trunk, or Box, behind which the Mouſe lay hid, be again removed, ſhe flies like Lightning on her Prey, and with envenomed wrath, bites, ſcratches, mumbles and tears the little Animal.

Not with leſs Fury did Mrs. Partridge fly on the poor Pedagogue. Her Tongue, Teeth, and Hands, fell all upon him at once. His Wig was in an Inſtant torn from his Head, his Shirt from his Back, and from his Face deſcended five Streams of Blood, denoting the Number of Claws with which Nature had unhappily armed the Enemy.

Mr. Partridge acted for ſome Time on the de⯑fenſive only; indeed he attempted only to guard his Face with his Hands; but as he found that his Antagoniſt abated nothing of her Rage, he thought ſhe might, at leaſt, endeavour to diſarm her, or ra⯑ther to confine her Arms; in doing which, her Cap fell off in the Struggle, and her Hair being too ſhort to reach her Shoulders, erected itſelf on her Head; her Stays likewiſe, which were laced through one ſingle Hole at the Bottom, burſt open, and her Breaſts, which were much more redundant than her Hair, hung down below her middle; her [68] Face was likewiſe marked with the Blood of her Huſband; her Teeth gnaſhed with Rage; and Fire, ſuch as ſparkles from a Smith's Forge, darted from her Eyes. So that, altogether, this Amazo⯑nian Heroine might have been an Object of Ter⯑ror to a much bolder Man than Mr. Partridge.

He had at length, the good Fortune, by getting Poſſeſſion of her Arms, to render thoſe Weapons, which ſhe wore at the Ends of her Fingers, uſeleſs; which ſhe no ſooner perceived, than the Softneſs o [...] her Sex prevailed over her Rage, and ſhe preſently diſſolved in Tears, which ſoon after concluded i [...] a Fit.

That ſmall Share of Senſe which Mr. Partridge had hitherto preſerved through this Scene of Fury of the Cauſe of which he was hitherto ignorant, now utterly abandoned him. He ran inſtantly into the Street, hollowing out, that his Wife was in the Agonies of Death, and beſeeching the Neighbours to fly with the utmoſt Haſte to her Aſſiſtance. Se⯑veral good Women obeyed his Summons, who entering his Houſe, and applying the uſual Reme⯑dies on ſuch Occaſions, Mrs. Partridge was, all length, to the great Joy of her Huſband, brought to herſelf.

As ſoon as ſhe had a little recollected her Spirits and ſomewhat compoſed herſelf with a Cordial, ſhe began to inform the Company of the manifold Injuries ſhe had received from her Huſband; who, ſhe ſaid, was not content to injure her in her Bed; but, upon her upbraiding him with it, had treated her in the crueleſt Manner imaginable; had tore her Cap and Hair from her Head, and her Stays from her Body, giving her, at the ſame Time, ſe⯑veral Blows, the Marks of which ſhe ſhould carry to the Grave.

[69] The poor Man, who bore on his Face many [...]ore viſible Marks of the Indignaion of his Wife, [...]od in ſilent Aſtoniſhment at this Accuſation; which the Reader will, I believe, bear Witneſs for [...]m, had greatly exceeded the Truth; for indeed he had not ſtruck her once; and this Silence being [...]terpreted to be a Confeſſion of the Charge, by the whole Court, they all began at once, una voce, to [...]ebuke and revile him, repeating often, that none at a Coward ever ſtruck a Woman.

Mr. Partridge bore all this patiently; but when is Wife appealed to the Blood on her Face, as an Evidence of his Barbarity, he could not help laying [...]laim to his own Blood, for ſo it really was: as [...]e thought it very unnatural, that this ſhould riſe up (as we are taught that of a murdered Perſon of⯑ten doth) in Vengeance againſt him.

To this the Women made no other Anſwer, man that it was Pity it had not come from his Heart, inſtead of his Face; all declaring, that if their Huſ⯑bands ſhould lift their Hands againſt them, they would have their Heart's Blood out of their Bodies.

After much Admonition for what was paſt, and much good Advice to Mr. Partridge for his future Behaviour, the Company, at length, departed, and oft the Huſband and Wife to a perſonal Conference together, in which Mr. Partridge ſoon learned the Cauſe of all his Sufferings.

CHAP. V.

I Believe it is a true Obſervation, that few Secrets are divulged to one Perſon only; but certainly, would be next to a Miracle, that a Fact of this [70] Kind ſhould be known to a whole Pariſh, and no [...] tranſpire any farther.

And, indeed, a very few Days had paſt, before the Country, to uſe a common Phraſe, rung of th [...] Schoolmaſter of Little Baddington; who was ſai [...] to have beaten his Wife in the moſt cruel Manner. Nay, in ſome Places, it was reported he had mur⯑dered her; in others, that he had broke her Arms in others, her Legs; in ſhort, there was ſcarce [...] Injury which can be done to a human Creature, bu [...] what Mrs. Partridge was ſomewhere or other affirmed to have received from her Huſband.

The Cauſe of this Quarrel was likewiſe variouſly reported; for, as ſome People ſaid that Mrs. Par⯑tridge had caught her Huſband in Bed with hi [...] Maid, ſo many other Reaſons, of a very different Kind, went aboard. Nay, ſome transferred th [...] Guilt to the Wife, and the Jealouſy to the Huſband.

Mrs. Wilkins had long ago heard of this Quar⯑rel; but, as a different Cauſe from the true one had reached her Ears, ſhe thought proper to conceal it and the rather, perhaps, as the Blame was univer⯑ſally laid on Mr. Partridge; and his Wife, when ſhe was Servant to Mr. Allworthy, had in ſomething offended Mrs. Wilkins, who was not of a very forgiving Temper.

But Mrs. Wilkins, whoſe Eyes could ſee Ob⯑jects at a Diſtance, and who could very well loo [...] forwards a few Years into Futurity, had perceive a ſtrong Likelihood of Captain Blifil's being here after her Maſter; and, as ſhe plainly diſcerned, tha [...] the Captain bore no great Good will to the little Foundling, ſhe fancied it would be rendering him an agreeable Service, if ſhe could make any Diſ⯑coveries that might leſſen the Affection which Mr. Allworthy ſeemed to have contracted for this Child and which gave viſible Uneaſineſs to the Captain [71] who could not entirely conceal it even before All⯑worthy himſelf; though his Wife, who acted her Part much better in public, frequently recom⯑mended to him her own Example, of conniving at [...]he Folly of her Brother, which, ſhe ſaid, ſhe at [...]eaſt as well perceived, and as much reſented as any other poſſibly could.

Mrs. Wilkins having therefore, by Accident, got⯑ten a true Scent of the above Story, though long [...]fter it had happened, failed not to ſatisfy herſelf [...]horoughly of all the Particulars, and then acquaint⯑ed the Captain, that ſhe had at laſt diſcovered the [...]rue Father of the little Baſtard, which ſhe was ſor⯑ry, ſhe ſaid, to ſee her Maſter loſe his Reputation in the Country, by taking ſo much Notice of.

The Captain chid her for the Concluſion of her Speech, as an improper Aſſurance in judging of her Maſter's Actions: For if his Honour, or his Under⯑ſtanding, would have ſuffered the Captain to make [...]n Alliance with Mrs. Wilkins, his Pride would by no means have admitted it. And, to ſay the Truth, there is no Conduct leſs politic, than to enter into any Confederacy with your Friend's Ser⯑vants, againſt their Maſter. For, by theſe Means you afterwards become the Slave of theſe very Ser⯑vants; by whom you are conſtantly liable to be betrayed. And this Conſideration, perhaps, it was which prevented Captain Blifil from being more explicite with Mrs. Wilkins; or from encouraging ſhe Abuſe which ſhe had beſtowed on Allworthy.

But though he declared no Satisfaction to Mrs. Wilkins at this Diſcovery, he enjoyed not a little from it in his own Mind, and reſolved to make the beſt Uſe of it he was able.

He kept this Matter a long Time concealed with⯑in his own Breaſt, in Hopes that Mr. Allworthy might hear it from ſome other Perſon; but Mrs. [72] Wilkins, whether ſhe reſented the Captain's Beha⯑viour, or whether his Cunning was beyond her, and ſhe feared the Diſcovery might diſpleaſe him, never afterwards opened her Lips about the Matter.

I have thought it ſomewhat ſtrange, upon Reflec⯑tion, that the Houſe-keeper never acquainted Mrs. Blifil with this News, as Women are more inclin⯑ed to communicate all Pieces of Intelligence to their own Sex, than to ours. The only Way, as it appears to me, of ſolving this Difficulty, is, by imputing it to that Diſtance which was now grown between the Lady and the Houſe-keeper: Whether this aroſe from a Jealouſy in Mrs. Blifil, that Wil⯑kins ſhewed too great a Reſpect to the Foundling for while ſhe was endeavouring to ruin the little In⯑fant, in order to ingratiate herſelf with the Captain ſhe was every Day more and more commending i [...] before Allworthy, as his Fondneſs for it every Day encreaſed. This, notwithſtanding all the Care ſhe took at other Times to expreſs the direct contrary to Mrs. Blifil, perhaps offended that delicate Lady who certainly now hated Mrs. Wilkins; and though ſhe did not, or poſſibly could not, abſolutely re⯑move her, from her Place, ſhe found, however the Means of making her Life very uneaſy. This Mrs. Wilkins, at length, ſo reſented, that ſhe very openly ſhewed all Manner of Reſpect and Fondneſs to little Tommy, in Oppoſition to Mrs. Blifil.

The Captain, therefore, finding the Story i [...] Danger of periſhing, he at laſt took an Opportunity to reveal it himſelf.

He was one Day engaged with Mr. Allworthy in a Diſcourſe on Charity; In which the Captain with great Learning, proved to Mr. Allworthy, that the Word Charity, in Scripture, no where means Beneficence, or Generoſity.

'The Chriſtian Religion, he ſaid, was inſtitu⯑ted [73] for much nobler Purpoſes, than to enforce a Leſſon which many Heathen Philoſophers had taught us long before, and which, though it might, perhaps, be called a moral Virtue, favour⯑ed but little of that ſublime Chriſtian-like Diſpo⯑ſition, that vaſt Elevation of Thought, in Puri⯑ty approaching to angelic Perfection, to be attain⯑ed, expreſſed, and felt only by Grace. Thoſe (he ſaid) came nearer to the Scripture Meaning, who underſtood by it Candour, or the forming of a benevolent Opinion of our Brethren, and paſſing a favourable Judgment on their Actions; a Virtue much higher, and more extenſive in its Nature, than a pitiful Diſtribution of Alms, which though we would never ſo much prejudice, or even ruin our Families, could never reach many; whereas Cha⯑rity, in the other and truer Senſe, might be ex⯑tended to all Mankind.'

He ſaid, 'Conſidering who the Diſciples were, it would be abſurd to conceive the Doctrine of Gene⯑roſity, or giving Alms, to have been preached to them. And, as we could not well imagine this Doctrine ſhould be preached by its divine Author to Men who could not practiſe it, much leſs ſhall we think it underſtood ſo by thoſe who can practiſe it, and do not.

'But though, continued he, there is, I am afraid, little Merit in theſe Benefactions; there would, I muſt confeſs, be much Pleaſure in them to a good Mind, if it was not abated by one Conſideration. I mean, that we are liable to be impoſed upon, and to confer our choiceſt Favours often on the Undeſer⯑ving, as you muſt own was your Caſe in your Boun⯑ty to that worthleſs Fellow Partridge: For two or three ſuch Examples muſt greatly leſſen the inward Satisfaction, which a good Man would otherwiſe find in Generoſity; nay, may even make him timo⯑rous in beſtowing, leſt he ſhould be guilty of ſup⯑porting [74] Vice, and encouraging the Wicked; a Crime of a very black Dye, and for which it will by no means be a ſufficient Excuſe, that we have not actually intended ſuch an Encouragement; unleſs we have uſed the utmoſt Caution in chuſing the Ob⯑jects of our Beneficence. A Conſideration which, I make no Doubt, hath greatly checked the Libera⯑lity of many a worthy and pious Man.'

Mr. Allworthy anſwered, 'He could not diſpute with the Captain in the Greek Language, and there⯑fore could ſay nothing as to the true Senſe of the Word, which is tranſlated Charity; but that he had always thought it was interpreted to conſiſt in Ac⯑tion, and that giving Alms conſtituted at leaſt one Branch of that Virtue.

'As to the meritorious Part, he ſaid, he readily a⯑greed with the Captain; for where could be the Merit of barely diſcharging a Duty; which he ſaid, let the Word Charity have what Conſtruction it would, it ſufficiently appeared to be from the whole Tenor of the New Teſtament. And as he thought it an indiſpenſable Duty, enjoined both by the Chriſtian Law, and by the Law of Nature itſelf; ſo was it withal ſo pleaſant, that if any Duty could be ſaid to be its own Reward, or to pay us while we were diſcharging it, it was this.

'To confeſs the Truth, ſaid he, there is one De⯑gree of Generoſity, (of Charity I would have called it) which ſeems to have ſome Shew of Merit, and that is, where from a Principle of Benevolence, and Chriſtian Love, we beſtow on another what we really want ourſelves; where, in order to leſſen the Diſtreſſes of another, we condeſcend to ſhare ſome Part of them, by giving what even our own Neceſſities cannot well ſpare. This is I think, meritorious; but to relieve our Brethren only with our Superfluities; to be charitable (I muſt uſe the Word) rather at the Expence of our Coffers than [75] ourſelves; to ſave ſeveral Families from Miſery ra⯑ther than hang an extraordinary Picture in our Houſes, or gratify any other idle, ridiculous Vanity, this ſeems to be only being Chriſtians, nay indeed, only being human Creatures. Nay, I will venture to go farther, it is being in ſome degree Epicures: For what could the greateſt Epicure wiſh rather than to eat with many Mouths inſtead of one; which I think may be predicated of any one who knows that the Bread of many is owing to his own Largeſſes.

'As to the Apprehenſion of beſtowing Bounty on ſuch as may hereafter prove unworthy Objects, be⯑cauſe many have proved ſuch; ſurely it can never deter a good Man from Generoſity: I do not think a few or many Examples of Ingratitude can juſtify a Man's hardening his Heart againſt the Diſtreſſes of his Fellow Creatures; nor do I believe it can ever have ſuch Effect on a truely benevolent Mind. No⯑thing leſs than a Perſuaſion of univerſal Depravity can lock up the Charity of a good Man; and this Perſuaſion muſt lead him, I think, either into Atheiſm, or Enthuſiaſm; but ſurely it is unfair to argue ſuch univerſal Depravity from a few vicious Individuals; nor was this, I believe, ever done by a Man, who upon ſearching his own Mind found one certain Exception to the general Rule. He then concluded by aſking who that Partridge was whom he had called a worthleſs Fellow.'

'I mean, ſaid the Captain, Partridge, the Bar⯑ber, the Schoolmaſter, what do you call him? Partridge, the Father of the little Child which you found in your Bed.'

Mr. Allworthy expreſt great Surprize at this Account, and the Captain as great at his Ignorance of it: For he ſaid, he had known it above a Month, and at length recollected with much Difficulty that he was told it by Mrs. Wilkins.

Upon this, Wilkins was immediately ſummoned, [76] who having confirmed what the Captain had ſaid, was by Mr. Allworthy, by and with the Captain's Advice, diſpatched to Little Baddington to inform herſelf of the Truth of the Fact: For the Captain expreſt great Diſlike to all haſty Proceedings in criminal Matters, and ſaid he would by no means have Mr. Allworthy take any Reſolution either to the Prejudice of the Child or its Father, before he was ſatisfied that the latter was guilty: For tho' he had privately ſatisfied himſelf of this from one of Partridge's Neighbours, yet he was too generous to give any ſuch Evidence to Mr. Allworthy.

CHAP. VI.

IT may be wondered that a Story ſo well known, and which had furniſhed ſo much matter of Con⯑verſation, ſhould never have been mentioned to Mr. Allworthy himſelf, who was perhaps the only Perſon in that Country who had never heard of it.

To account in ſome meaſure for this to the Rea⯑der, I think proper to inform him that there was no one in the Kingdom leſs intereſted in oppoſing that Doctrine concerning the meaning of the Word Cha⯑rity, which hath been ſeen in the preceding Chapter, than our good Man. Indeed, he was equally intitled to this Virtue in either Senſe: For as no Man was ever more ſenſible of the Wants, or more ready to relieve the Diſtreſſes of others, ſo none could be more tender of their Characters, or ſlower to believe any thing to their Diſadvantage.

Scandal, therefore, never found any Acceſs to his Table: For it hath been long ſince obſerved that you [77] may know a Man by his Companions; ſo I will ven⯑ture to ſay, that by attending to the Converſation at a great Man's Table, you may ſatisfy yourſelf of his Religion, his Politics, his Taſte, and indeed of his entire Diſpoſition: For tho' a few odd Fellows will utter their own Sentiments in all Places, yet much the greater Part of Mankind have enough of the Cour⯑tier to accommodate their Converſation to the Taſte and Inclination of their Superiors.

But to return to Mrs. Wilkins, who having exe⯑cuted her Commiſſion with great Diſpatch, tho' at fifteen Miles Diſtance, brought back, ſuch a Con⯑firmation of the Schoolmaſter's Guilt, that Mr. All⯑worthy determined to ſend for the Criminal, and ex⯑amine him viva voce. Mr. Partridge, therefore, was ſummoned to attend, in order to his Defence (if he could make any) againſt this Accuſation.

At the Time appointed, before Mr. Allworthy himſelf, at Paradiſe-Hall, came as well the ſaid Par⯑tridge, with Anne his Wife, as Mrs. Wilkins, his Accuſer.

And now Mr. Allworthy being ſeated in the Chair of Juſtice, Mr. Partridge was brought before him. Having heard his Accuſation from the Mouth of Mrs. Wilkins, he pleaded not guilty, making many vehe⯑ment Proteſtations of his Innocence.

Mrs. Partridge was then examined, who, after a modeſt Apology for being obliged to ſpeak the Truth againſt her Huſband, related all the Circumſtances with which the Reader hath already been acquainted; and at laſt concluded with her Huſband's Confeſſion of his Guilt.

Whether ſhe had forgiven him or no, I will not venture to determine: But it is certain, ſhe was an unwilling Witneſs in this Cauſe, and it is probable, from certain other Reaſons would never have been brought to depoſe as ſhe did, had not Mrs. Wilkins, with great Art, fiſhed all out of her, at her own [78] Houſe, and had ſhe not indeed made Promiſes in Mr. Allworthy's Name, that the Puniſhment of her Huſband ſhould not be ſuch as might any wiſe affect his Family.

Partridge ſtill perſiſted in aſſerting his Innocence, tho' he admitted he had made the above mentioned Confeſſion; which he however endeavoured to ac⯑count for, by proteſting that he was forced into it by the continued Importunity ſhe uſed, who vowed, that as ſhe was ſure of his Guilt, ſhe would never leave tormenting him till he owned it, and faithfully promiſed, that in ſuch Caſe, ſhe would never mention it to him more. Hence, he ſaid, he had been induced falſely to confeſs himſelf guilty, tho' he was innocent; and that he believed he ſhould have confeſt a Murder from the ſame Motive.

Mrs. Partridge could not bear this Impudence with Patience; and having no other Remedy, in the pre⯑ſent Place but Tears, ſhe called forth a plentiful Aſ⯑ſiſtance from them, and then addreſſing herſelf to Mr. Allworthy, ſhe ſaid, (or rather cried) 'May it pleaſe your Worſhip, there never was any poor Woman ſo injured as I am by that baſe Man: For this is not the only Inſtance of his Falſhood to me. No, may it pleaſe your Worſhip, he hath injured my Bed many's the good time and often. I could have put up with his Drunkenneſs and neglect of his Buſi⯑neſs if he had not broke one of the ſacred Command⯑ments. Beſides, if it had been out of Doors I had not mattered it ſo much; but with my own Ser⯑vant, in my own Houſe, under my own Roof; to defile my own chaſte Bed, which to be ſure he hath with his beaſtly ſtinking Whores. Yes, you Vil⯑lain, you have defiled my own Bed, you have; and then you have charged me with bullocking you into owning the Truth. It is very likely, an't pleaſe your Worſhip, that I ſhould bullock him.—I have Marks enow about my Body to ſhew of his [79] Cruelty to me. If you had been a Man, you Villain, you would have ſcorned to injure a Woman in that Manner. But you an't half a Man, you know it.—Nor have you been half a Huſband to me. You need run after Whores, you need, when I'm ſure—And ſince he provokes me, I am ready an't pleaſe your Worſhip, to take my bodily Oath, that I found them a-bed together. What, you have forgot, I ſup⯑poſe when you beat me into a Fit, and made the Blood run down my Forehead, becauſe I only civil⯑ly taxed you with your Adultery! but I can prove it by all my Neighbours. You have almoſt broke my Heart, you, have, you have.'

Here Mr. Allworthy interrupted, and begged her to be pacified, promiſing her that ſhe ſhould have Juſ⯑tice; then turning to Partridge, who ſtood aghaſt, one half of his Wits being hurried away by Surpriſe, and the other half by Fear, he ſaid, he was ſorry to ſee there was ſo wicked a Man in the World. He aſſured him, that his prevaricating and lying backward and forward was a great Aggravation of his Guilt: For which, the only Atonement he could make was by Confeſſion and Repentance. He exhorted him, therefore, to begin by immediately confeſſing the Fact, and not to perſiſt in denying what was ſo plainly proved againſt him, even by his own Wife.

Here, Reader, I beg your Patience a Moment, while I make a juſt Compliment to the great Wiſdom and Sagacity of our Law, which refuſes to admit the E⯑vidence of a Wife for or againſt her Huſband. This, ſays a certain learned Author, who, I believe, was never quoted before in any but a Law-book, would be the Means of creating an eternal Diſſention be⯑tween them. It would indeed, be the Means of much Perjury, and of much Whipping, Fining, Impriſon⯑ing, Tranſporting, and Hanging.

Partridge ſtood a while ſilent, till being bid to ſpeak, he ſaid, he had already ſpoken the Truth, and ap⯑pealed [80] to Heaven for his Innocence, and laſtly, to the Girl herſelf, whom he deſired his Worſhip immedi⯑ately to ſend for; for he was ignorant, or at leaſt pre⯑tended to be ſo, that ſhe had left that part of the Country.

Mr. Allworthy, whoſe natural Love of Juſtice, joined to his Coolneſs of Temper, made him always a moſt patient Magiſtrate in hearing all the Witneſſes which an accuſed Perſon could produce in his Defence, agreed to defer his final Determination of this Mat⯑ter, till the Arrival of Jenny, for whom he immedi⯑ately diſpatched a Meſſenger; and then having recom⯑mended Peace between Partridge and his Wife (tho' he addreſſed himſelf chiefly to the wrong Perſon) he appointed them to attend again the third Day: For he had ſent Jenny a whole Day's Journey from his own Houſe.

At the appointed Time the Parties all aſſembled, when the Meſſenger returning brought Word, that Jenny was not to be found: for that ſhe had left her Habitation a few Days before, in company with a re⯑cruiting Officer.

Mr. Allworthy then declared, that the Evidence of ſuch a Slut as ſhe appeared to be, would have deſerv⯑ed no Credit; but he ſaid he could not help thinking that had ſhe been preſent, and would have declared the Truth, ſhe muſt have confirmed what ſo many Circumſtances, together with his own Confeſſion, and the Declaration of his Wife, that ſhe had caught her Huſband in the Fact, did ſufficiently prove. He therefore once more exhorted Partridge to confeſs; but he ſtill avowing his Innocence, Mr. Allworthy declared himſelf ſatisfied of his Guilt, and that he was too bad a Man to receive any Encouragement from him. He therefore deprived him of his Annui⯑ty, and recommended Repentance to him, on account of another World, and Induſtry to maintain himſelf and his Wife in this.

[81] There were not, perhaps, many more unhappy Perſons, than poor Partridge. He had loſt the beſt Part of his Income by the Evidence of his Wife, and yet was daily upbraided by her for having, among other Things, been the Occaſion of de⯑priving her of that Benefit; but ſuch was his For⯑tune, and he was obliged to ſubmit to it.

Tho' I called him, poor Patridge, in the laſt Pa⯑ragraph, I would have the Reader rather impute that Epithet to the Compaſſion in my Temper, than con⯑ceive it to be any Declaration of his Innocence. Whe⯑ther he was innocent or not, will perhaps appear hereafter; but if the Hiſtoric-Muſe hath entruſted me with any Secrets, I will by no means be guilty of diſcovering them till ſhe ſhall give me leave.

Here therefore, the Reader muſt ſuſpend his Curio⯑ſity. Certain it is, that whatever was the Truth of the Caſe, there was Evidence more than ſufficient to convict him before Allworthy; indeed much leſs would have ſatisfied a Bench of Juſtices on an Order of Baſtardy; and yet, notwithſtanding the Poſitive⯑neſs of Mrs. Partridge, who would have taken the Sacrament upon the Matter, there is a Poſſibility that the Schoolmaſter was entirely innocent: For tho' it appeared clear, on comparing the Time when Jenny departed from Little Baddington, with that of her De⯑livery, that ſhe had there conceived this Infant, yet it by no means followed, of Neceſſity, that Partridge muſt have been its Father: For, to omit other Par⯑ticulars, there was in the ſame Houſe a Lad near Eighteen, between whom, and Jenny, there had ſub⯑ſiſted ſufficient Intimacy to found a reaſonable Suſpi⯑cion; and yet, ſo blind is Jealouſy, this Circum⯑ſtance never once entered into the Head of the enra⯑ged Wife.

Whether Partridge repented or not, according to Mr. Allworthy's Advice, is not ſo apparent. Certain it is, that his Wife repented heartily of the Evidence [82] ſhe had given againſt him; eſpecially when ſhe found Mrs. Deborah had deceived her, and refuſed to make any Appliation to Mr. Allworthy on her Behalf. She had, however, ſomewhat better Succeſs with Mrs. Blifil, who was, as the Reader muſt have per⯑ceived, a much better-tempered Woman; and very kindly undertook to ſolicit her Brother to reſtore the Annuity. In which, tho' Good nature might have ſome Share, yet a ſtronger and more natural Motive will appear in the next Chapter.

Theſe Solicitations were nevertheleſs unſucceſsful: For tho' Mr. Allworthy did not think, with ſome late Writers, that Mercy conſiſts only in puniſhing Offen⯑ders; yet he was as far from thinking that it is pro⯑per to this excellent Quality to pardon great Criminals wantonly, without any Reaſon whatever. Any Doubt⯑fulneſs of the Fact, or any Circumſtance of Mitigation was never diſregarded; but the Petitions of an Offen⯑der, or the Interceſſions of others, did not in the leaſt affect him. In a word, he never pardoned, becauſe the offender himſelf, or his Friends, were unwilling that he ſhould be puniſhed.

Partridge and his Wife were therefore both obliged to ſubmit to their Fate; which was indeed ſevere e⯑nough; For ſo far was he from doubling his Induſtry on the account of his leſſened Income, that he did in a manner abandon himſelf to deſpair; and as he was by Nature indolent, that Vice now increaſed upon him, by which means he loſt the little School he had; ſo that neither his Wife nor himſelf would have had any Bread to eat, had not the Charity of ſome good Chriſtian interpoſed, and provided them with what was juſt ſufficient for their Suſtenance.

As this Support was conveyed to them by an un⯑known Hand, they imagined, and ſo, I doubt not, will the Reader, that Mr. Allworthy himſelf was their ſecret Benefactor; who, though he would not openly encourage Vice, could yet privately relieve the Diſ⯑treſſes [83] of the Vicious themſelves, when theſe became too exquiſite and diſproportionate to their Merit. In which Light, their Wretchedneſs appeared now to Fortune herſelf; for ſhe at length took pity on this miſerable Couple, and conſiderably leſſened the wretch⯑ed State of Partridge, by putting a final end to that of his Wife, who ſoon after caught the Small-pox, and died.

The Juſtice which Mr. Allworthy had executed on Partridge, at firſt met with univerſal Approbation; but no ſooner had he felt its Conſequences, than his Neighbours began to relent, and to compaſſionate his Caſe; and preſently after, to blame that as Rigour and Severity, which they before called Juſtice. They now exclaimed againſt puniſhing in cold Blood, and ſang forth the Praiſes of Mercy and Forgiveneſs.

Theſe Cries were conſiderably increaſed by the Death of Mrs. Partridge, which, tho' owing to the Diſtemper above mentioned, which is no Conſequence of Poverty or Diſtreſs, many were not aſhamed to impute to Mr. Allworthy's Severity, or, as they now termed it, Cruelty.

Partridge, having now loſt his Wife, his School, and his Annuity, and the unknown Perſon having now diſcontinued the laſt mentioned Charity, reſolved to change the Scene, and left the Country, where he was in Danger of ſtarving with the univerſal Com⯑paſſion of all his Neighbours.

CHAP. VII.

THO' the Captain had effectually demoliſhed poor Partridge, yet had he not reaped the Har⯑veſt he hoped for, which was to turn the Foundling out of Mr. Allworthy's Houſe.

[84] On the contrary, that Gentleman grew every Day fonder of little Tommy, as if he intended to counter⯑balance his Severity to the Father with extraordinary Fondneſs and Affection towards the Son.

This a good deal ſoured the Captain's Temper, as did all the other daily Inſtances of Mr. Allworthy's Generoſity: For he looked on all ſuch Largeſſes to be Diminutions of his own Wealth.

In this, we have ſaid, he did not agree with his Wife; nor indeed, in any thing elſe: For tho' an Affection placed on the Underſtanding is by many wife Perſons thought much more durable than that which is founded on Beauty, yet it happened other⯑wiſe in the preſent Caſe. Nay, the Underſtandings of this Couple were their principal Bone of Contenti⯑on, and one great Cauſe of many Quarrels which from time to time aroſe between them; and which at laſt ended, on the Side of the Lady, in a ſovereign Con⯑tempt for her Huſband, and on the Huſband's, in an utter Abhorrence of his Wife.

As theſe had both exerciſed their Talents chiefly in the Study of Divinity, this was, from their firſt Acquaintance, the moſt common Topic of Conver⯑ſation between them. The Captain, like a well-bred Man, had, before Marriage, always given up his Opinion to that of the Lady; and this, not in the clumſy, aukward Manner of a conceited Blockhead, who' while he civilly yields to a Superiour in an Ar⯑gument, is deſirous of being ſtill known to think him⯑ſelf in the Right. The Captain, on the contrary, tho' one of the proudeſt Fellows in the World, ſo abſolutely yielded the Victory to his Antagoniſt, that ſhe, who had not the leaſt Doubt of his Sincerity, retired always from the Diſpute with an Admiration of her own Underſtanding, and a Love for his.

But tho' this Complaiſance to one whom the Cap⯑tain thoroughly deſpiſed, was not ſo uneaſy to him, as it would have been, had any Hopes of Preferment [85] made it neceſſary to ſhew the ſame Submiſſion to a Hoadley, or to ſome other of great Reputation in the Science, yet even this coſt him too much to be endu⯑red without ſome Motive. Matrimony, therefore, hav⯑ing removed all ſuch Motives, he grew weary of this Condeſcention, and began to treat the Opinions of his Wife with that Haughtineſs and Inſolence, which none but thoſe who deſerve ſome Contempt themſelves can beſtow, and thoſe only who deſerve no Contempt can bear.

When the firſt Torrent of Tenderneſs was over, and when in the calm and long Interval between the Fits, Reaſon began to open the Eyes of the Lady, and ſhe ſaw this Alteration of Behaviour in the Captain, who at length anſwered all her Arguments only with Piſh and Pſhaw, ſhe was far from enduring the In⯑dignity with a tame Submiſſion. Indeed, it at firſt ſo highly provoked her, that it might have produced ſome tragical Event, had it not taken a more harmleſs Turn, by filling her with the utmoſt Contempt for her Huſband's Underſtanding, which ſomewhat qua⯑lified her Hatred towards him; tho' of this likewiſe, ſhe had a pretty moderate Share.

The Captain's Hatred to her was of a purer Kind: For as to any Imperfections in her Knowledge or Un⯑derſtanding, he no more deſpiſed her for them than for her not being ſix Feet high. In his Opinion of the female Sex, he exceeded the Moroſeneſs of Ariſ⯑totle himſelf. He looked on a Woman as on an A⯑nimal of domeſtic Uſe, of ſomewhat higher Conſi⯑deration than a Cat, ſince her Offices were of rather more Importance; but the Difference between theſe two, was in his Eſtimation ſo ſmall, that in his Mar⯑riage contracted with Mr. Allworthy's Lands and Tenements, it would have been pretty equal which of them he had taken into the Bargain. And yet ſo tender was his Pride, that it felt the Contempt which his Wife now began to expreſs towards him; and [86] this, added to the Surfeit he had before taken of her Love, created in him a Degree of Diſguſt and Abhor⯑rence, perhaps hardly to be exceeded.

One Situation only of the married State is exclud⯑ed from Pleaſure; and that is, a State of Indifference; but as many of my Readers, I hope, know what an exquiſite Delight there is in conveying Pleaſure to a beloved Object, ſo ſome few, I am afraid, may have experienced the Satisfaction of tormenting one we hate. It is, I apprehend, to come at this latter Plea⯑ſure, that we ſee both Sexes often give up that Eaſe in Marriage, which they might otherwiſe poſſeſs, tho' their Mate was never ſo diſagreeable to them. Hence the Wife often puts on Fits of Love and Jealouſy, nay, even denies herſelf any Pleaſure, to diſturb and prevent thoſe of her Huſband; and he again, in re⯑turn, puts frequent Reſtraints on himſelf, and ſtays at home in Company which he diſlikes, in order to con⯑fine his Wife to what ſhe equally deteſts. Hence too muſt flow thoſe Tears which a Widow ſome⯑times ſo plentifully ſheds over the Aſhes of a Huſ⯑band with whom ſhe led a Life of conſtant Diſquiet and Turbulency, and whom now ſhe can never hope to torment any more.

But if ever any Couple enjoyed this Pleaſure, it was at preſent experienced by the Captain and his Lady. It was always a ſufficient Reaſon to either of them to be obſtinate in any Opinion, that the other had previouſly aſſerted the contrary. If the one pro⯑poſed any Amuſement, the other conſtantly objected to it. They never loved or hated, commended or abuſed the ſame Perſon. And for this Reaſon, as the Captain looked with an evil Eye on the little Found⯑ling, his Wife began now to careſs it almoſt equally with her own Child.

The Reader will be apt to conceive, that this Be⯑haviour between the Huſband and Wife did not greatly contribute to Mr. Allworthy's Repoſe, as it [87] tended ſo little to that ſerene Happineſs which he had propoſed to all three, from this Alliance; but the Truth is, though he might be a little diſappoint⯑ed in his ſanguine Expectations, yet he was far from being acquainted with the whole Matter: For, as the Captain was, from certain obvious Reaſons, much on his Guard before him, the Lady was obliged, for fear of her Brother's Diſpleaſure, to purſue the ſame Conduct. In fact, it is poſſible for a third Perſon to be very intimate, nay even to live long in the ſame Houſe, with a married Couple, who have any tole⯑rable Diſcretion, and not even gueſs at the four Sen⯑timents which they bear to each other: For though the whole Day may be ſometimes too ſhort for Hatred, as well as for Love: yet the many Hours which they naturally ſpend together, apart from all Obſervers, ſupply People of tolerable Moderation with ſuch ample Opportunity for the Enjoyment of either Paſſion, that, if they love, they can ſupport be⯑ing a few Hours in Company, without toying, or if they hate, without ſpitting in each others Faces.

It is poſſible, however, that Mr. Allworthy ſaw enough to render him a little uneaſy; for we are not always to conclude, that a wiſe Man is not hurt, be⯑cauſe he doth not cry out and lament himſelf, like thoſe of a childiſh or effeminate Temper. But in⯑deed it is poſſible he might ſee ſome Faults in the Captain, without any Uneaſineſs at all: For Men of true Wiſdom and Goodneſs are contented to take Perſons and Things as they are, without complaining of their Imperfections, or attempting to amend them. They can ſee a Fault in a Friend, a Relation, or an Accquaintance, without ever mentioning it to the Parties themſelves, or any others; and this often without the leaſt leſſening their Affection. Indeed unleſs great Diſcernment be tempered with this overlooking Diſpoſition, we ought never to contract Friendſhip but with a Degree of Folly which we can [88] deceive: For I hope my Friends will pardon me, when I declare I know none of them without a Fault; and I ſhould be ſorry if I could imagine I had any Friend who could not ſee mine. Forgiveneſs, of this Kind, we give and demand in Turn. It is an Exerciſe of Friendſhip, and, perhaps, none of the leaſt pleaſant. And this Forgiveneſs we muſt beſtow, without Deſire of Amendment. There is, perhaps, no ſurer Mark of Folly, than an Attempt to correct the natural Infirmities of thoſe we love. The fineſt Compoſition of human Nature, as well as the fineſt China, may have a Flaw in it; and this, I am afraid, in either Caſe, is equally incurable; though, never⯑theleſs, the Pattern may remain of the higheſt Value.

Upon the whole then, Mr. Allworthy certainly ſaw ſome Imperfections in the Captain; but, as this was a very artful Man, and eternally upon his Guard be⯑fore him, theſe appeared to him no more than Ble⯑miſhes in a good Character, which his Goodneſs made him overlook, and his Wiſdom prevented him from diſcovering to the Captain himſelf. Very different would have been his Sentiments, had he diſcovered the whole; which, perhaps, would, in Time, have been the Caſe, had the Husband and Wife long con⯑tinued this Kind of Behaviour to each other; but this kind Fortune took effectual Means to prevent, by for⯑cing the Captain to do that which rendered him again dear to his Wife, and reſtored all her Tenderneſs and Affection towards him.

CHAP. VIII.

THE Captain was made large Amends for the unpleaſant Minutes which he paſſed in the Con⯑verſation of his Wife (and which were as few as he [89] could contrive to make them) by the pleaſant Medita⯑tions he enjoyed when alone.

Theſe Meditations were entirely employed on Mr. Allworthy's Fortune; for firſt, he exerciſed much Thought in calculating, as well as he could, the exact Value of the whole; which Calculations he often ſaw Occaſion to alter in his own Favour: And ſecondly, and chiefly, he pleaſed himſelf with intended Altera⯑tions in the Houſe and Gardens, and in projecting ma⯑ny other Schemes, as well for Improvement of the Eſtate, as of the Grandeur of the Place. For this Purpoſe he applied himſelf to the Studies of Archi⯑tecture and Gardening, and read over many Books on both thoſe Subjects; for theſe Sciences, indeed, em⯑ployed his whole Time, and formed his only amuſe⯑ment. He at laſt completed a moſt excellent Plan; and very ſorry we are, that it is not in our Power to preſent it to our Reader, ſince even the Luxury of the preſent Age, I believe would hardly match it. It had, indeed, in a ſuperlative Degree, the two principal In⯑gredients which ſerve to recommend all great and no⯑ble Deſigns of this Nature: For it required an immo⯑derate Expence to execute, and a vaſt Length of Time to bring it to any Sort of Perfection. The former of theſe, the immenſe Wealth of which the Captain ſup⯑poſed Mr. Allworthy poſſeſſed, and which he thought himſelf ſure of inheriting, promiſed very effectually to ſupply; and the latter, the Soundneſs of his own Conſtitution, and his Time of Life, which was only what is called Middle Age, removed all Apprehen⯑ſion of his not living to accompliſh.

Nothing was wanting to enable him to enter upon the immediate Execution of this Plan, but the Death of Mr. Allworthy; in calculating which he had em⯑ployed much of his own Algebra; beſides purchaſing every Book extant that treats of the Value of Lives, Reverſions, &c. From all which, he ſatisfied himſelf, that as he had every Day a Chance of this happening, [90] ſo had he more than an even Chance of its happening within a few Years.

But while the Captain was one Day buſied in deep Contemplations of this Kind, one of the moſt unlucky as well as unſeaſonable Accidents, happened to him. The utmoſt Malice of Fortune could indeed have con⯑trived nothing ſo cruel, ſo mal-a-propos, ſo abſolute⯑ly deſtructive to all his Schemes. In ſhort, not to keep the Reader in long Suſpence, juſt at the very Inſtant when his Heart was exulting in Meditations o [...] the Happineſs which would accrue to him by Mr. All⯑worthy's Death, he himſelf—died of an Apoplexy.

This unfortunately befel the Captain as he was tak⯑ing his Evening Walk by himſelf, ſo that no Body was preſent to lend him any Aſſiſtance, if indeed any Aſſiſtance could have preſerved him. He took, there⯑fore, Meaſure of that Proportion of Soil, which was now become adequate to all his future Purpoſes, and he lay dead on the Ground, a great (though not a living) Example of the Truth of that Obſervation of Horace:

Which Sentiment, I ſhall thus give to the Engliſh Reader: 'You provide the nobleſt Materials for Building, when a Pick-ax and a Spade are only neceſſary; and build Houſes of five hundred by a hundred Feet, forgetting that of ſix by two.'

CHAP. IX.

MR. Allworthy, his Siſter, and another Lady, were aſſembled at the accuſtomed Hour in the Supper Room, where having waited a conſiderable [91] Time longer than uſual, Mr. Allworthy firſt declared [...]e began to grow uneaſy at the Captain's Stay; (for he was always moſt punctual at his Meals,) and gave Orders that the Bell ſhould be rung without the Doors, and eſpecially towards thoſe Walks which the Captain was wont to uſe.

All theſe Summons proving ineffectual, (for the Captain had, by perverſe Accident, betaken himſelf [...] a new Walk that Evening,) Mrs. Blifil declared ſhe was ſeriouſly frightned. Upon which the other Lady, who was one of her moſt intimate Acquaintance, and who well knew the true State of her Affections, en⯑deavoured all ſhe could to pacify her; telling her—ſo be ſure ſhe could not help being uneaſy; but that ſhe ſhould hope the beſt. That, perhaps, the Sweetneſs of the Evening had enticed the Captain to go farther than his uſual Walk, or he might be detained at ſome Neighbour's. Mrs. Blifil anſwered, No; ſhe was are ſome Accident had befallen him; for that he would never ſtay out without ſending her Word, as [...]e muſt know how uneaſy it would make her. The other Lady, having no other Arguments to uſe, be⯑took herſelf to the Entreaties uſual on ſuch Occaſions, and begged her not to frighten herſelf, for it might be of very ill Conſequence to her own Health; and, fill⯑ing out a very large Glaſs of Wine, adviſed, and at laſt prevailed with her to drink it.

Mr. Allworthy now returned into the Parlour; for he had been himſelf in Search after the Captain. His Countenance ſufficiently ſhewed the Conſternation he was under, which indeed had a good deal deprived him of Speech; but as Grief operates variouſly on different [...]linds, ſo the ſame Apprehenſion which depreſſed his Voice, elevated that of Mrs. Blifil. She now began to bewail herſelf in very bitter Terms, and Floods of Tears accompanied her Lamentations, which the Lady, her Companion, declared ſhe could not blame; [...]ut at the ſame Time diſſuaded her from indulging; [92] attempting to moderate the Grief of her Friend, by philoſophical Obſervations on the many Diſappoint⯑ments to which human Life is daily ſubject, which ſhe ſaid, was a ſufficient Conſideration to fortify on Minds againſt any Accidents, how ſudden or terrible ſoever. She ſaid, her Brother's Example ought to teach her Patience, who, though indeed he could not be ſuppoſed as much concerned as herſelf, yet was doubtleſs very uneaſy, though his Reſignation to the Di⯑vine Will had reſtrained his Grief within due Bounds. 'Mention not my Brother,' ſaid Mrs. Blifil, 'alone am the Object of your Pity. What are the Terrors of Friendſhip to what a Wife feels on theſe Occaſions? O he is loſt! Somebody hath murder⯑ed him—I ſhall never ſee him more'—Here Torrent of Tears had the ſame Conſequence with what the Suppreſſion had occaſioned to Mr. Allworthy and ſhe remained ſilent.

At this Interval, a Servant came running in, ou [...] of Breath, and cried out, the Captain was found; and, before he could proceed farther, he was follow⯑ed by two more, bearing the dead Body between them.

Here the curious Reader may obſerve, another Diverſity in the Operations of Grief: For as Mr. All⯑worthy had been before ſilent, from the ſame Cauſe which had made his Siſter vociferous; ſo did the pre⯑ſent Sight, which drew Tears from the Gentleman, put an entire Stop to thoſe of the Lady; who firſt gave a violent Scream, and preſently after fell into a Fit.

The Room was ſoon full of Servants, ſome of whom, with the Lady viſitant, were employed in Care of the Wife, and others, with Mr. Allworthy, aſſiſted in carrying off the Captain to a warm Bed, where every Method was tried, in order to reſtore him to Life.

[93] And glad ſhould we be, could we inform the Reader at both theſe Bodies had been attended with equal [...]cceſs; for thoſe who undertook the Care of the [...]dy, ſucceeded ſo well, that after the Fit had con⯑ [...]ued a decent Time, ſhe again revived, to their great [...]atisfaction; but as to the Captain, all Experiments bleeding, chafing, dropping, &c. proved ineffc⯑ [...]l. Death, that inexorable Judge, had paſſed Sen⯑ [...]ce on him, and refuſed to grant him a Reprieve, [...]ugh two Doctors who arrived, and were fee'd at [...]e and the ſame Inſtant, were his Council.

Theſe two Doctors, whom, to avoid any malicious [...]pplications, we ſhall diſtinguiſh by the Names of Dr. [...] and Dr. Z. having felt his Pulſe: to wit, Dr. Y. [...]s right Arm, and Dr. Z. his left, both agreed that he [...]as abſolutely dead; but as to the Diſtemper, or Cauſe [...] his Death, they differed, D. Y. holding that he [...]d died of an Apoplexy, and Dr. Z. of an Epilepſy. Hence aroſe a Diſpute between the learned Men, which each delivered the Reaſons of their ſeveral Opi⯑nions. Theſe were of ſuch equal Force, that they ſerved [...]th to confirm either Doctor in his own Sentiments, and made not the leaſt Impreſſion on his Adverſary. To ſay the Truth, every Phyſician, almoſt, hath [...]s favourite Diſeaſe, to which he aſcribes all the Vic⯑ [...]ies obtained over human Nature. The Gout, the [...]eumatiſm, the Stone, the Gravel, and the Conſump⯑ [...]n, have all their ſeveral Patrons in the Faculty; and one more than the nervous Fever, or the Fever on the [...]pirits. And here we may account for thoſe Diſagree⯑ [...]ents in Opinion, concerning the Cauſe of a Pati⯑ [...]t's Death; which ſometimes occur between the [...]oſt learned of the College; and which have greatly [...]rprized that Part of the World who have been ig⯑norant of the Fact we have above aſſerted.

The Reader may, perhaps, be ſurprized, that in⯑ [...]ad of endeavouring to revive the Patient, the learned [...]entlemen ſhould fall immediately into a Diſpute on [94] the Occaſſion of his Death; but in reality, all ſuch Experiments had been made before their Arrival: Fo [...] the Captain was put into a warm Bed, had his Vei [...] ſcarified, his Forehead chafed, and all Sorts of ſtro [...] Drops applied to his Lips and his Noſtrils.

The Phyſicians, therefore, finding themſelves an⯑ticipated in every thing they ordered, were at a Loſ [...] how to employ that Portion of Time which it is uſe ſual and decent to remain for their Fee, and wer [...] neceſſitated to find ſome Subject or other for Diſ⯑courſe; and what could more naturally preſent itſelf than that before-mentioned?

Our Doctors were about to take their Leave when Mr. Allworthy, having given over the Captain and acquieſced in the divine Will, began to enquir [...] after his Siſter, whom he deſired them to viſit before their departure.

This Lady was now recovered of her Fit, and, to uſe the common Phraſe, as well as could be expected for one in her Condition. The Doctors therefore all previous Ceremonies being complied with, as this was a new Patient, attended according to deſire, and laid hold on each of her Hands, as they had before done on thoſe of the Corpſe.

The Caſe of the Lady was in the other Extreme from that of her Huſband; for as he was paſt all the Aſſiſtance of Phyſic, ſo, in reality, ſhe required none.

There is nothing more unjuſt, than the Vulgar O⯑pinion by which Phyſicians are miſrepreſented, a [...] Friends to Death. On the contrary, I believe, i [...] the Number of thoſe who recover by Phyſic could be oppoſed to that of the Martyrs to it, the for⯑mer would rather exceed the latter. Nay, ſome are ſo cautious on this Head, that, to avoid a Poſſi⯑bility of killing the Patient, they abſtain from all Methods of curing, and preſcribe nothing but what can neither do good nor harm: I have heard ſome [95] of theſe, with great Gravity, deliver it as a Maxim, [...]hat Nature ſhould be left to do her own Work, while the Phyſician ſtands by, as it were to clap her [...]n the Back, and encourage her when ſhe doth well.

So little then did our Doctors delight in Death, [...]at they diſcharged the Corpſe after a ſingle Fee; [...]ut they were not ſo diſguſted with their living Pati⯑ [...]t; concerning whoſe Caſe they immediately a⯑ [...]reed, and fell to preſcribing with great Diligence.

Whether, as the Lady had at firſt perſuaded her Phy⯑ [...]cians to believe her ill, they had now, in return, per⯑ [...]aded her to believe herſelf ſo, I will not determine; [...]ut ſhe continued a whole Month with all the Deco⯑ [...]tions of Sickneſs. During this Time ſhe was vi⯑ [...]ted by Phyſicians, attended by Nurſes, and received [...]onſtant Meſſages from her Acquaintance, to enquire after her Health.

At length, the decent Time for Sickneſs and im⯑moderate Grief being expired, the Doctors were diſ⯑charged, and the Lady began to ſee Company; being [...]tered only from what ſhe was before by that Colour of Sadneſs in which ſhe had dreſſed her Perſon and Countenance.

The Captain was now interred, and might per⯑haps, have already made a large Progreſs towards Oblivion, had not the Friendſhip of Mr. Allworthy [...]aken Care to preſerve his Memory, by the following Epitaph, which was written by a Man of as great Genius as Integrity, and one who perfectly knew the Captain.

‘[96] Here lies, In Expectation of a joyful Riſing, The Body of Captain JOHN BLIFIL. LONDON had the Honour of his Birth, OXFORD of his Education. His Parts were an Honour to his Profeſſion and to his Country. His Life to his Religion and human Nature. He was a dutiful Son, a tender Huſband, an affectionate Father, a ſincere Friend, a devout Chriſtian, and a good Man. His inconſolable Widow hath erected this Stone, The Monument of His Virtues, and of Her Affection.’

CHAP. I.

THE Reader will be well pleaſed to remember, that at the Beginning of the Second Book of this Hiſtory, we gave him a Hint of our Intention to paſs over ſeveral large Periods of Time, in which nothing happened worthy of being recorded in a Chro⯑nicle of this Kind.

In ſo doing, we do not only conſult our own Dig⯑nity and Eaſe; but the Good and Advantage of the Reader: For beſides, that by theſe Means we prevent him from throwing away his Time in reading with⯑out either Pleaſure or Emolument, we gave him at [98] all ſuch Seaſons an Opportunity of employing that wonderful Sagacity, of which he is Maſter, by filling up theſe vacant Spaces of Time with his own Con⯑jectures; for which Purpoſe, we have taken care to qualify him in the preceding Pages.

For Inſtance, what Reader but knows that Mr. Allworthy felt at firſt for the Loſs of his Friend, thoſe Emotions of Grief, which on ſuch Occaſions enter into all Men whoſe Hearts are not compoſed of Flint, or their Heads of as ſolid Materials? Again, what Reader doth not know that Philoſophy and Religion, in time, moderated, and at laſt extinguiſhed this Grief? The former of theſe, teaching the Folly and Vanity of it, and the latter, correcting it, as un⯑lawful, and at the ſame time aſſuaging it by raiſing future Hopes and Aſſurances which enable a ſtrong and religious Mind to take leave of a Friend on his Death-bed with little leſs indifference than if he was preparing for a long Journey; and indeed with little leſs Hope of ſeeing him again.

Nor can the judicious Reader be at a greater Loſs on Account of Mrs. Bridget Blifil, who, he may be aſſured, conducted herſelf through the whole Seaſon in which Grief is to make its Appearance on the out⯑ſide of the Body, with the ſtricteſt Regard to all the Rules of Cuſtom and Decency, ſuiting the Alterations of her Countenance to the ſeveral Alterations of her Habit: For as this changed from Weeds to Black, from Black to Grey, from Grey to White, ſo did her Counte⯑nance change from Diſmal to Sorrowful, from Sorrow⯑ful to Sad, and from Sad to Serious, till the Day came in which ſhe was allowed to return to her former Se⯑renity.

We have mentioned theſe two as Examples only of the Taſk which may be impoſed on Readers of the loweſt Claſs. Much higher and harder Exerciſes of Judgment and Penetration may reaſonably be ex⯑pected from the upper Graduates in Criticiſm. Ma⯑by [99] notable Diſcoveries will, I doubt not, be made by ſuch, of the Tranſactions which happened in the Family of our worthy Man, during all the Years which we have thought proper to paſs over: For tho' nothing worthy of a Place in this Hiſtory occurred within that Period; yet did ſeveral Incidents happen, of equal Importance with thoſe reported by the daily and Weekly Hiſtorians of the Age, in reading which, great Numbers of Perſons conſume a conſiderable Part of their Time, very little, I am afraid, to their Emolument. Now, in the Conjectures here pro⯑poſed, ſome of the moſt excellent Faculties of the Mind may be employed to much Advantage, ſince it is a more uſeful Capacity to be able to foretel the Actions of Men in any Circumſtance from their Cha⯑racters; than to judge of their Characters from their Actions. The former, I own, requires the greater Penetration; but may be accompliſhed by true Sa⯑gacity, with no leſs certainty than the latter.

As we are ſenſible that much the greateſt Part of our Readers are very eminently poſſeſſed of this Qua⯑lity, we have left them a Space of twelve Years to exert it in; and ſhall now bring forth our Hero, at about fourteen Years of Age, not queſtioning that many have been long impatient to be introduced to his Acquaintance.

CHAP. II.

AS we determined when we firſt ſat down to write this Hiſtory, to flatter no Man; but to guide our Pen throughout by the Directions of Truth, we are obliged to bring our Hero on the Stage in a much more diſadvantageous Manner than we could wiſh; [100] and to declare honeſtly, even at his firſt Appearance, that it was the univerſal Opinion of all Mr. Allwor⯑thy's Family, that he was certainly born to be hanged.

Indeed, I am ſorry to ſay, there was too much Reaſon for this Conjecture. The Lad having, from his earlieſt Years, diſcovered a Propenſity to many Vices, and eſpecially to one, which hath as direct a Tendency as any other to that Fate, which we have juſt now obſerved to have been prophetically de⯑nounced againſt him. He had been already convicted of three Robberies, viz. of robbing an Orchard, of ſtealing a Duck out of a Farmer's Yard, and of pick⯑ing Maſter Blifil's Pocket of a Ball.

The Vices of this young Man were moreover heightened by the diſadvantageous Light in which they appeared, when oppoſed to the Virtues of Maſter Bli⯑fil, his Companion: A Youth of ſo different a Caſt from little Jones, that not only the Family, but all the Neighbourhood reſounded his Praiſes. He was indeed a Lad of a remarkable Diſpoſition; ſober, diſ⯑creet, and pious beyond his Age. Qualities, which gained him the Love of every one who knew him, while Tom Jones was univerſally diſliked, and many expreſſed their Wonder that Mr. Allworthy would ſuf⯑fer ſuch a Lad to be educated with his Nephew, leſt the Morals of the latter ſhould be corrupted by his Example.

An Incident which happened about this Time, will ſet the Characters of theſe two Lads, more fairly be⯑fore the diſcerning Reader, than is in the Power of the longeſt Diſſertation.

Tom Jones, who, bad as he is, muſt ſerve for the Heroe of this Hiſtory, had only one Friend among all the Servants of the Family; for, as to Mrs. Wilkins, ſhe had long ſince given him up, and was perfectly reconciled to her Miſtreſs. This Friend was the Game-keeper, a Fellow of a looſe kind of Diſpoſition and who was thought not to entertain much ſtrict [...] [101] Notions concerning the Difference of meum and tuum, than the young Gentleman himſelf. And hence, this Friendſhip gave Occaſion to many ſarcaſtical Re⯑marks among the Domeſtics, moſt of which were either Proverbs before, or at leaſt are become ſo now; and indeed, the Wit of them all may be compriſed in that ſhort I atin Proverb, "Noſcitur a ſocio," which I think, is thus expreſſed in Engliſh, "You may know him by the Company he keeps."

To ſay the Truth, ſome of that atrocious Wicked⯑neſs in Jones, of which we have juſt mentioned three Examples, might perhaps be derived from the Encou⯑ragement he had received from this Fellow, who, in two or three Inſtances, had been what the Law calls an Acceſſary after the Fact. For the whole Duck, and great Part of the Apples were converted to the Uſe of the Game-keeper and his Family. Tho' as Jones alone was diſcovered, the poor Lad bore not only the whole Smart, but the whole Blame; both which fell again to his Lot, on the following Occaſion. Contiguous to Mr. Allworthy's Eſtate, was the Ma⯑nor of one of thoſe Gentlemen, who are called Pre⯑ſervers of the Game. This Species of Men, from the great Severity with which they revenge the Death of a Hare or a Partridge, might be thought to culti⯑vate the ſame Superſtition with the Bannians in India; many of whom, we are told, dedicate their whole Lives to the Preſervation and Protection of certain Animals, was it not that our Engliſh Bannians, while they preſerve them from other Enemies, will moſt unmercifully ſlaughter whole Horſe-loads themſelves, ſo that they ſtand clearly acquitted of any ſuch heathen⯑iſh Superſtition.

I have indeed, a much better Opinion of this Kind of Men than is entertained by ſome, as I take them to anſwer the Order of Nature, and the good Pur⯑poſes for which they were ordained in a more ample [102] Manner than many others. Now, as Horace tells us, that there are a ſet of human Beings,

'Born to conſume the Fruits of the Earth.' So, I make no manner of Doubt but that there are others

'Born to conſume the Beaſts of the Field,' or, as it is commonly called, the Game; and none I believe, will deny, but that thoſe Squires fulfil this End of their Creation.

Little Jones went one Day a ſhooting with the Game-keeper; when, happening to ſpring a Covey of Partridges, near the Border of that Manor, over which Fortune, to fulfil the wiſe Purpoſes of Nature, had planted one of the Game-Conſumers, the Birds flew into it, and were marked (as it is called) by the two Sportſmen, in ſome Furze Buſhes, about two or three hundred Paces beyond Mr. Allworthy's Domi⯑nions.

Mr. Allworthy had given the Fellow ſtrict Orders, on Pain of forfeiting his Place, never to treſpaſs on any of his Neighbours, no more on thoſe who were leſs rigid in this Matter, than on the Lord of this Manor. With regard to others, indeed, theſe Or⯑ders had not been always very ſcrupulouſly kept; but as the Diſpoſition of the Gentleman with whom the Partridges had taken ſauctuary, was well known, the Game-keeper had never yet attempted to invade his Territories. Nor had he done it now, had not the younger Sportſman, who was ſo exceſſively eager to purſue the flying Game, over-perſuaded him; but Jones being very importunate, the other, who was himſelf keen enough after the Sport, yielded to his Perſuaſions, entered the Manor, and ſhot one of the Partridges.

The Gentleman himſelf was at that time on horſe⯑back, at a little Diſtance from them; and hearing the Gun go off, he immediately made towards the Place, [103] and diſcovered poor Tom: For the Game-keeper had leapt into the thickeſt Part of the Furze-brake, where he had happily concealed himſelf.

The Gentleman having ſearched the Lad, and found the Partridge upon him, denounced great Vengeance, ſwearing he would acquaint Mr. Allworthy. He was as good as his Word, for he rode immediately to his Houſe, and complained of the Treſpaſs on his Manor, in as high Terms, and as bitter Language, as if his Houſe had been broken open, and the moſt valuable Furniture ſtole out of it. He added, that ſome other Perſon was in his Company, tho' he could not diſcover him: for that two Guns had been diſcharged almoſt in the ſame Inſtant. And, ſays he, 'we have found only this Partridge, but the Lord knows what Miſchief they have done.'

At his Return home, Tom was preſently convened before Mr. Allworthy. He owned the Fact, and al⯑ledged no other Excuſe but what was really true, viz. that the Covey was originally ſprung in Mr. Allworthy's own Manor.

Tom was then interrogated who was with him, which Mr. Allworthy declared he was reſolved to know, acquainting the Culprit with the Circumſtance of the two Guns, which had been depoſed by the Squire and both his Servants; but Tom ſtoutly perſiſted in aſ⯑ſerting that he was alone; yet, to ſay the Truth, he heſitated a little at firſt, which would have confirmed Mr. Allworthy's Belief, had what the Squire and his Servants ſaid, wanted any further Confirmation.

The Game-keeper being a ſuſpected Perſon, was now ſent for, and the Queſtion put to him; but he, relying on the Promiſe which Tom had made him, to take all upon himſelf, very reſolutely denied being in Company with the young Gentleman, or indeed hav⯑ing ſeen him the whole Afternoon.

Mr. Allworthy then turned towards Tom, with more than uſual Anger in his Countenance, and ad⯑viſed [104] him to confeſs who was with him; repeating, that he was reſolved to know. The Lad, however, ſtill maintained his Reſolution, and was diſmiſſed with much Wrath by Mr. Allworthy, who told him, he ſhould have to the next Morning to conſider of it, when he ſhould be queſtioned by another Perſon and in another Manner.

Poor Jones ſpent a very melancholy Night, and the more ſo, as he was without his uſual Companion: for Maſter Blifil was gone abroad on a viſit with his Mother. Fear of the Puniſhment he was to ſuffer was on this Occaſion his leaſt Evil; his chief Anxi⯑ety being, leſt his Conſtancy ſhould fail him, and he ſhould be brought to betray the Game-keeper, whoſe Ruin he knew muſt now be the Conſequence.

Nor did the Game-keeper paſs his Time much bet⯑ter. He had the ſame Apprehenſions with the Youth; for whoſe Honour he had likewiſe a much tenderer Regard than for his Skin.

In the Morning, when Tom attended the Reverend Mr. Thwackum, the Perſon to whom Mr. Allworthy had committed the Inſtruction of the two Boys, he had the ſame Queſtions put to him by that Gentleman, which he had been asked the Evening before, to which he returned the ſame Anſwers. The Conſe⯑quence of this was, ſo ſevere a Whipping, that it poſſibly fell little ſhort of the Torture with which Con⯑feſſions are in ſome Countries extorted from Criminals.

Tom bore his Puniſhment with great Reſolution; and tho' his Maſter asked him between every Stroke, whether he would not confeſs, he was contented to be flead rather than betray his Friend, or break the Promiſe he had made.

The Game-keeper was now relieved from his Anx⯑iety, and Mr. Allworthy himſelf began to be concern⯑ed at Tom's Sufferings: For, beſides that Mr. Thwac⯑kum, being highly enraged that he was not able to make the Boy ſay what he himſelf pleaſed, had car⯑ried [105] his Severity much beyond the good Man's Inten⯑tion, this latter began now to ſuſpect that the Squire had been miſtaken; which his Extreme Eagerneſs and Anger ſeemed to make probable; and as for what the Servants had ſaid in Confirmation of their Maſter's Account, he laid no great Streſs upon that. Now, as Cruelty and Injuſtice were two Ideas, of which Mr. Allworthy could by no Means ſupport the Con⯑ſciouſneſs a ſingle Moment, he ſent for Tom, and af⯑ter many kind and Friendly Exhortations, ſaid, 'I am convinced, my dear Child, that my Suſpicions have wronged you; I am ſorry that you have been ſo ſeverely puniſhed on this Account.'—And at laſt gave him a little Horſe to make him amends; again repeating his Sorrow for what had paſt.

Tom's Guilt now flew in his Face more than any Severity could make it. He could more eaſily bear the Laſhes of Thwackum, than the Generoſity of Allworthy. The Tears burſt from his Eyes, and he fell upon his Knees, crying, 'Oh! Sir, you are too good to me. Indeed, you are. Indeed, I don't deſerve it.' And at that very Inſtant, from the Fullneſs of his Heart, had almoſt betrayed the Secret; but the good Genius of the Game-keeper ſuggeſted to him what might be the Conſequence to the poor Fel⯑low, and this Conſideration ſealed his Lips.

Thwackum did all he could to diſſuade Allworthy from ſhewing any Compaſſion or Kindneſs to the Boy, ſaying, 'He had perſiſted in an Untruth;' and gave ſome Hints, that a ſecond Whipping might pro⯑bably bring the Matter to Light.

But Mr. Allworthy abſolutely refuſed to conſent to the Experiment. He ſaid, the Boy had ſuffered enough already, for concealing the Truth, even if he was guilty, ſeeing that he could have no Motive but a miſtaken Point of Honour for ſo doing.

Honour! cry'd Thwackum, with ſome Warmth, mere Stubborneſs and Obſtinacy! Can Honour teach [106] any one to tell a Lie, or can any Honour exiſt inde⯑pendent of Religion?

This Diſcourſe happened at Table when Dinner was juſt ended; and there were preſent Mr. Allworthy, Mr. Thwackum, and a third Gentleman who entered into the Debate, and whom, before we proceed any farther, we ſhall briefly introduce to our Reader's Acquaintance.

CHAP. III.

THE Name of this Gentleman who had then reſided ſome time at Mr. Allworthy's Houſe, was Mr. Square. His natural Parts were not of the firſt Rate, but he had greatly improved them by a learn Education. He was deeply read in the An⯑tients, and a profeſt Maſter of all the Works of Plato and Ariſtotle. Upon which great Models he had prin⯑cipally form'd himſelf, ſometimes according with the Opinion of the one, and ſometimes with that of the other. In Morals he was a profeſt Platoniſt, and in Religion he inclined to be an Ariſtotelian.

But tho' he had, as we have ſaid, formed his Mo⯑rals on the Platonic Model, yet he perfectly agreed with the Opinion of Ariſtotle, in conſidering that great Man rather in the Quality of a Philoſopher or a Speculatiſt, than as a Legiſlator. This Sentiment he carried a great way; indeed, ſo far, as to regard all Virtue as Matter of Theory only. This, it is true, he never affirmed, as I have heard, to any one; and yet upon the leaſt attention to his Conduct, I can⯑not help thinking, it was his real Opinion, as it will perfectly reconcile ſome Contradictions which might otherwiſe appear in his Character.

[107] This Gentleman and Mr. Thwackum ſcarce ever met without a Diſputation; for their Tenets were, indeed, diametrically oppoſite to each other. Square held human Nature to be the Perfection of all Virtue, and that Vice was a Deviation from our Nature in the ſame Manner as Deformity of Body is. Thwackum, on the contrary, maintained that the human Mind, ſince the fall, was nothing but a Sink of Iniquity, till purified and redeemed by Grace. In one Point only they agreed, which was, in all their Diſcourſes on Morality never to mention the Word Goodneſs. The favourite Phraſe of the former, was the natural Beau⯑ty of Virtue; that of the latter, was the divine Power of Grace. The former meaſured all Actions by the unalterable Rule of Right, and the eternal Fitneſs of Things; the latter decided all Matters by Authority; but, in doing this, he always uſed the Scriptures and their Commentators, as the Lawyer doth his Coke upon Lyt⯑tleton, where the Comment is of equal Authority with the Text.

After this ſhort Introduction, the Reader will be pleaſed to remember, that the Parſon had concluded his Speech with a triumphant Queſtion, to which he had apprehended no Anſwer; viz. Can any Honour exiſt independent on Religion?

To this Square anſwered, that it was impoſſible to diſcourſe philoſophically concerning Words, till their Meaning was firſt eſtabliſhed; that there were ſcarce any two Words of a more vague and incertain Signi⯑fication, than the two he had mentioned: For that there were almoſt as many different Opinions concern⯑ing Honour as concerning Religion. 'But, ſays he, if by Honour you mean the true natural Beauty of Vir⯑tue, I will maintain it may exiſt independent of any Religion whatever. Nay (added he) you yourſelf will allow it may exiſt independent of all but one; ſo will a Mahometan, a Jew, and all the Maintainers of all the different Sects in the World.'

[108] Thwackum replied, This was arguing with the uſual Malice of all the Enemies to the true Church. He ſaid, he doubted not but that all the Infidels and Hereticks in the World would, if they could, con⯑fine Honour to their own abſurd Errors, and dam⯑nable Deceptions; 'But Honour, ſays he, is not therefore manifold, becauſe there are many abſurd Opinions about it; nor is Religion manifold, becauſe there are various Sects and Hereſies in the World. When I mention Religion, I mean the Chriſtian Religion; and not only the Chriſtian Re⯑ligion, but the Proteſtant Religion; and not only the Proteſtant Religion, but the Church of England. And, when I mention Honour, I mean that Mode of divine Grace which is not only conſiſtent with, but dependent upon, this Religion; and is conſiſtent with, and dependent upon, no other. Now to ſay that the Honour I here mean, and which was, I thought, all the Honour I could be ſuppoſed to mean, will uphold, much leſs dictate, an Untruth, is to aſſert an Abſurdity too ſhocking to be conceived.'

'I purpoſely avoided,' ſays Square, 'drawing a Con⯑cluſion which I thought evident from what I have ſaid; but if you perceived it, I am ſure you have not attempted to anſwer it. However, to drop the Article of Religion, I think it is plain, from what you have ſaid, that we have different Ideas of Hon⯑our; or why do we not agree in the ſame Terms of its Explanation? I have aſſerted, that true Honour and true Virtue are almoſt ſynonimous Terms, and they are both founded on the unalter⯑able Rule of Right, and the eternal Fitneſs of Things; to which an Untruth being abſolutely re⯑pugnant and contrary, it is certain that true Ho⯑nour cannot ſupport an Untruth. In this, therefore, I think we are agreed; but that this Honour, can be ſaid to be founded on Religion, to which it is an⯑tecedent, if by Religion be meant any poſitive Law— [109] 'I agree,' anſwered Thwackum, with great 'Warmth, 'with a Man who aſſerts Honour to be antecedent to Religion!—Mr. Allworthy, did I a⯑gree—?

He was proceeding, when Mr. Allworthy inter⯑poſed, telling them very coldly, they had both miſtaken his Meaning; for that he had ſaid nothing of true Honour.—It is poſſible, however, he would not have eaſily quieted the Diſputants, who were growing e⯑qually warm, had not another Matter now fallen out, which put a final End to the Converſation at preſent.

CHAP. IV.

BEFORE I proceed farther, I ſhall beg leave to obviate ſome Miſconſtructions, into which the Zeal of ſome few Readers may lead them; for I would not willingly give Offence to any, eſpecially to Men who are warm in the Cauſe of Virtue or Re⯑ligion.

I hope, therefore, no Man will, by the groſſeſt Miſunderſtanding, or Perverſion, of my Meaning, miſrepreſent me, as endeavouring to caſt any Ridicule on the greateſt Perfections of Human Nature; and which do, indeed, alone purify and ennoble the Heart of Man, and raiſe him above the Brute Creation. This, Reader, I will venture to ſay, (and by how much the better Man you are yourſelf, by ſo much the more will you be inclined to believe me) that I would ra⯑ther have buried the Sentiments of theſe two Perſons in eternal Oblivion, than have done any Injury to either of theſe glorious Cauſes.

On the contrary, it is with a View to their Service that I have taken upon me to record the Lives and Actions of two of their falſe and pretended Champions. [110] A treacherous Friend is the moſt dangerous Enemy; and I will ſay boldly, that both Religion and Virtue have received more real Diſcredit from Hypocrites, than the wittieſt Profligates or Infidels could ever caſt upon them: Nay farther, as theſe two, in their Purity, are rightly called the Bands of civil Society, and are indeed the greateſt of Bleſſings; ſo when poiſoned and corrupted with Fraud, Pretence and Affection, they have become the worſt of civil Curſes, and have enabled Men to perpetrate the moſt cruel Miſchiefs to their own Species.

Indeed, I doubt not but this Ridicule will in gene⯑ral be allowed; my chief Apprehenſions is, as many true and juſt Sentiments often came from the Mouths of theſe Perſons, leſt the whole ſhould be taken to⯑gether, and I ſhould be conceived to ridicule all alike. Now the Reader will be pleaſed to conſider, that as neither of theſe Men were Fools, they could not be ſuppoſed to have holden none but wrong Principles, and to have uttered nothing but Abſurdities; what Injuſtice, therefore, muſt I have done to their Cha⯑racters, had I ſelected only what was bad, and how horridly wretched and maimed muſt their Arguments have appeared!

Upon the whole, it is not Religion or Virtue, but the Want of them which is here expoſed. Had not Thwackum too much neglected Virtue, and Square Religion, in the Compoſition of their ſeveral Syſtems; and had not both utterly diſcarded all natural Goodneſs of Heart, they had never been repreſented as the Ob⯑jects of Deriſion in this Hiſtory; in which we will now proceed.

This Matter, then, which put an end to the Debate mentioned in the laſt Chapter, was no other than a Quarrel between Maſter Blifil and Tom Jones, the Conſequence of which had been a Bloody Noſe to the former; for though Maſter Blifil, notwithſtanding he was the younger, was in Size above the other's [111] Match, yet Tom was much his Superior at the noble Art of Boxing.

Tom, however, cautiouſly avoided all Engagements with that Youth: For beſides that Tommy Jones was an inoffenſive Lad amidſt all his Roguery, and really loved Blifil; Mr. Thwackum being always the Se⯑cond of the latter, would have been ſufficient to deter him.

But well ſays a certain Author, No Man is wiſe at all Hours; it is therefore no Wonder that a Boy is not ſo. A Difference ariſing at Play between the two Lads, Maſter Blifil called Tom a Beggarly Baſtard. Upon which the lattter, who was ſomewhat paſſionate in his Diſpoſition, immediately cauſed that Phaenome⯑non in the Face of the former, which we have above remembered.

Maſter Blifil now, with his Blood running from his Noſe, and the Tears galloping after from his Eyes, appeared before his Uncle, and the tremendous Thwackum. In which Court an Indictment of Aſ⯑ſault, Batterry, and wounding, was inſtantly preſer⯑red againſt Tom; who in his Excuſe only pleaded the Provocation, which was indeed all the Matter that Maſter Blifil had omitted.

It is indeed poſſible, that this Circumſtances might have eſcaped his Memory; for, in his Reply, he po⯑ſitively inſiſted, that he made Uſe of no ſuch Appella⯑tion; adding, 'Heaven forbid ſuch naughty Words ſhould ever come out of his Mouth.'

Tom, though againſt all Form of Law, rejoined in Affirmance of the Words. Upon which Maſter Bli⯑fil ſaid, 'It is no Wonder. Thoſe who will tell one Fib, will hardly ſtick at another. If I had told my Maſter ſuch a wicked Fib as you have done, I ſhould be aſhamed to ſhew my Face.'

'What Fib, Child,' cries Thwackum pretty ea⯑gerly?

'Why he told you that Nobody was with him a [112] ſhooting when he killed the Partridge; but he knows, (here he burſt into a Flood of Tears) yes, he knows; for he confeſſed it to me, that Black Jack the Game-keeper was there. Nay, he ſaid,—Yes you did,—deny it if you can, That you would not have con⯑feſt the Truth, though Maſter had cut you to Pieces.'

At this the Fire flaſhed from Thwackum's Eyes; and he cried out in Triumph: 'Oh ho! This is your miſtaken Notion of Honour! This is the Boy who was not to be whipped again!' But Mr. Allworthy, with a more gentle Aſpect, turned towards the Lad, and ſaid, 'Is this true, Child? How came you to perſiſt ſo obſtinately in a Falſhood?'

Tom ſaid, 'He ſcorned a Lie as much as any one; but he thought his Honour engaged him to act as he did; for he had promiſed the poor Fellow to conceal him; which,' he ſaid, 'he thought him⯑ſelf farther obliged to, as the Game-keeper had begged him not to go into the Gentleman's Manor, and had at laſt gone himſelf in Compliance with his Perſuaſions.' He ſaid, this was the whole Truth of the Matter, and he would take his Oath of it; and concluded with very paſſionately begging Mr. Allworthy, 'to have Compaſſion on the poor Fellow's Family, eſpecially as he himſelf had been only guil⯑ty, and the other had been very difficultly prevailed on to what he did.' 'Indeed Sir,' ſaid he, 'it could hardly be called a Lie that I told; for the poor Fellow was entirely innocent of the whole Matter. I ſhould have gone alone after the Birds; nay, I did go at firſt, and he only followed me to prevent more Miſchief. Do, pray, Sir, let me be puniſhed, take my little Horſe away again; but pray, Sir, forgive poor George.'

Mr. Allworthy heſitated a few Moments, and then diſmiſſed the Boys, adviſing them to live more friend⯑ly and peaceably together.

CHAP. V.

IT is probable, that by diſcloſing this Secret, which had been communicated in the utmoſt Confidence to him, young Blifil preſerved his Companion from a good Laſhing: For the Offence of the bloody Noſe would have been of itſelf ſufficient Cauſe for Thwack⯑um to have proceeded to Correction; but now this was totally abſorbed, in the Conſideration of the o⯑ther Matter; and with Regard to this, Mr. Allwor⯑thy declared privately, he thought the Boy deſerved Reward rather than Puniſhment; ſo that Thwackum's Hand was withheld by a general Pardon.

Thwackum, whoſe Meditations were full of Birch, exclaimed againſt this weak, and, as he ſaid he would venture to call it, wicked Lenity. To remit the Puniſhment of ſuch Crimes was, he ſaid, to encou⯑rage them. He enlarged much on the Correcti⯑on of Children, and quoted many Texts from Solomon, and others; which being to be found in ſo many other Books, ſhall not be found here. He then applied himſelf to the Vice of Lying, on which Head he was altogether as learned as he had been on the o⯑ther.

Square ſaid, he had been endeavouring to reconcile the Behaviour of Tom with his Idea of perfect Virtue; but could not. He owned there was ſomething which at firſt Sight appeared like Fortitude in the Ac⯑tion, but as Fortitude was a Virtue, and Falſhood a Vice, they could by no means agree or unite together. He added, that as this was in ſome meaſure to confound Virtue and Vice, it might be worth Mr. Thwackum's Conſiderations, whether a larger Caſtigation might not be laid on, upon that Account.

[114] As both theſe learned Men concurred in cenſuring Jones, ſo were they no leſs unanimous in applauding Maſter Blifil. To bring Truth to light, was by the Parſon aſſerted to be the Duty of every religious Man; and by the Philoſopher this was declared to be highly conformable with the Rule of Right, and the eternal and unalterable Fitneſs of Things.

All this, however, weighed very little with Mr. Allworthy. He could not be prevailed on to ſign the Warrant for the Execution of Jones. There was ſomething within his own Breaſt with which the in⯑vincible Fidelity which that Youth had preſerved, correſponded much better than it had done with the Religion of Thwackum, or with the Virtue of Square. He therefore ſtrictly ordered the former of theſe Gen⯑tlemen to abſtain from laying violent Hands on Tom for what had paſt. The Pedagogue was obliged to obey thoſe Orders; but not without great Reluctance, and frequent Mutterings, that the Boy would be cer⯑tainly ſpoiled.

Towards the Game-keeper the good Man behaved with more Severity. He preſently ſummoned that poor Fellow before him, and after many bitter Re⯑monſtrances, paid him his Wages, and diſmiſt him from his Service; for Mr. Allworthy rightly obſerved that there was great Difference between being guilty of a Falſehood to excuſe yourſelf, and to excuſe a⯑nother. He likewiſe urged, as the principal Motive to his inflexible Severity againſt this Man, that he had baſely ſuffered Tom Jones to undergo ſo heavy a Puniſhment for his Sake, whereas he ought to have prevented it by making the Diſcovery himſelf.

When this Story became public, many people differ⯑ed from Square and Thwackum, in judging the Conduct of the two Lads on the Occaſion. Maſter Blifil was generally called a ſneaking Raſcal, a poor-ſpirited Wretch; with other Epithets of the like Kind; whilſt Tom was honoured with the Appellations of a [115] brave Lad, a Jolly Dog, and an honeſt Fellow. In⯑deed his Behaviour to Black George much ingratiated him with all the Servants; for though that Fellow was before univerſally diſliked, yet he was no ſooner turn⯑ed away than he was as univerſally pitied; and the Friendſhip and Gallantry of Tom Jones was celebrated by them all with the higheſt Applauſe; and they con⯑demned Maſter Blifil, as openly as they durſt, with⯑out incurring the Danger of offending his Mother. For all this, however, poor Tom ſmarted in the Fleſh; for though Thwackum had been inhibited to exerciſe his Arm on the foregoing Account; yet, as the Pro⯑verb ſays, It is eaſy to find a Stick, &c. So was it eaſy to find a Rod; and, indeed, the not being able to find one was the only thing which could have kept Thwackum any long Time from chaſtiſing poor Jones.

Had the bare Delight in the Sport been the only Inducement to the Pedagogue, it is probable, Maſ⯑ter Blifil would likewiſe have had his Share; but though Mr. Allworthy had given him frequent Orders to make no Difference between the Lads, yet was Thwackum altogether as kind and gentle to this Youth, as he was harſh, nay even barbarous, to the other. To ſay the Truth, Blifil had greatly gained his Ma⯑ſter's Affections; partly by the profound Reſpect he always ſhewed his Perſon, but much more by the decent Reverence with which he received his Doc⯑trine; for he had got by Heart, and frequently re⯑peated his Phraſes, and maintained all his Maſter's religious Principles with a Zeal which was ſurpriſing in one ſo young, and which greatly endeared him to the worthy Preceptor.

Tom Jones, on the other hand, was not only de⯑ficient in outward Tokens of Reſpect, often forget⯑ting to pull off his Hat, or to bow at his Maſter's Approach; but was altogether as unmindful both of his Maſter's Precepts and Example. He was indeed [116] a thoughtleſs, giddy Youth, with little Sobriety in his Manners, and leſs in his Countenance; and would often very impudently and indecently laugh at his Companion for his ſerious Behaviour.

Mr. Square had the ſame Reaſon for his Preference of the former Lad; for Tom Jones ſhewed no more Regard to the learned Diſcourſes which this Gentle⯑man would ſometimes throw away upon him, than to thoſe of Thwackum. He once ventured to make a Jeſt of the Rule of Right; and at another Time ſaid, He believed there was no Rule in the World capable of making ſuch a Man as his Father, (for ſo Mr. All⯑worthy ſuffered himſelf to be called.)

Maſter Blifil, on the contrary, had Addreſs enough at ſixteen to recommend himſelf at one and the ſame Time to both theſe Oppoſites. With one he was all Religion, with the other he was all Virtue. And when both were preſent, he was profoundly ſilent, which both interpreted in his Favour and their own.

Nor was Blifil contented with flattering both theſe Gentlemen to their Faces; he took frequent Occa⯑ſions of praiſing them behind their Backs to Allwor⯑thy; before whom, when they were alone together, and when his Uncle commended any religious or vir⯑tuous Sentiment (for many ſuch came conſtantly from him) he ſeldom failed to aſcribe it to the good In⯑ſtructions he had received from either Thwackum or Square: For he knew his Uncle repeated all ſuch Com⯑pliments to the Perſons for whoſe Uſe they were meant; and he found by Experience the great Im⯑preſſions which they made on the Philoſopher, as well as on the Divine: For, to ſay the Truth, there is no kind of Flattery ſo irreſiſtible as this, at ſecond Hand.

The young Gentleman, moreover, ſoon perceived how extremely grateful all thoſe Panegyricks on his Inſtructors were to Mr. Allworthy himſelf, as they ſo loudly reſounded the Praiſe of that ſingular Plan of [117] Education which he had laid down: For this worthy Man having obſerved the imperfect Inſtitution of our public Schools, and the many Vices which Boys were there liable to learn, had reſolved to educate his Ne⯑phew, as well as the other Lad, whom he had in a Manner adopted, in his own Houſe; where he thought their Morals would eſcape all that Danger of being corrupted, to which they would be unavoidably ex⯑poſed in any public School or Univerſity.

Having therefore determined to commit theſe Boys to the Tuition of a private Tutor, Mr. Thwackum was recommended to him for that Office, by a very particular Friend, of whoſe Underſtanding Mr. All⯑worthy had a great Opinion, and in whoſe Integrity he placed much Confidence. This Thwackum was Fellow of a College, where he almoſt entirely reſid⯑ed; and had a great Ruputation for Learning, Re⯑ligion and Sobriety of Manners. And theſe were doubtleſs the Qualifications by which Mr. Allwor⯑thy's Friend had been induced to recommend him; tho' indeed this Friend had ſome Obligations to Thwackum's Family, who were the moſt conſiderable Perſons in a Borough which that Gentleman repre⯑ſented in Parliament.

Thwackum, at his firſt Arrival, was extremely a⯑greeable to Allworthy; and indeed he perfectly an⯑ſwered the Character which had been given of him. Upon longer Acquaintance, however, and more inti⯑mate Converſation, this worthy Man ſaw Infirmities in the Tutor, which he could have wiſhed him to have been without; tho' as thoſe ſeemed greatly over⯑ballanced by his good Qualities, they did not incline Mr. Allworthy to part with him; nor would they indeed have juſtified ſuch a Proceeding: For the Rea⯑der is greatly miſtaken, if he conceives that Thwack⯑um appeared to Mr. Allworthy in the ſame Light as he doth to him in this Hiſtory; and he is as much de⯑ceived, if he imagines, that the moſt intimate Ac⯑quaintenance [118] which he himſelf could have had with that Divine, would have informed him of thoſe Things which we, from our Inſpiration, are enabled to open and diſcover. Of Readers who from ſuch Conceits as theſe, condemn the Wiſdom or Penetration of Mr. Allworthy, I ſhall not ſcruple to ſay, that they make a very bad and ungrateful Uſe of that Know⯑ledge which we have communicated to them.

Theſe apparent Errors in the Doctrine of Thwack⯑um, ſerved greatly to palliate the contrary Errors in that of Square, which our good Man no leſs ſaw and condemned. He thought indeed that the diffe⯑rent Exuberancies of theſe Gentlemen, would correct their different Imperfections; and that from both, eſpecially with his Aſſiſtance, the two Lads would derive ſufficient Precepts of true Religion and Virtue. If the Event happened contrary to his Expectations, this poſſibly proceeded from ſome Fault in the Plan itſelf; which the Reader hath my Leave to diſcover, if he can. For we do not pretend to introduce any in⯑fallible Characters into this Hiſtory; where we hope nothing will be found which never hath yet been ſeen in human Nature.

To return therefore; the Reader will not, I think, wonder that the different Behaviour of the two Lads above commemorated, produced the different Effects, of which he hath already ſeen ſome Inſtance; and be⯑ſides this, there was another Reaſon for the Conduct of the Philoſopher and the Pedagogue; but this being Matter of great Importance, we ſhall reveal it in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VI.

IT is to be known then, that thoſe two learned Per⯑ſonages, who have lately made a conſiderable Fi⯑gure [119] on the Theatre of this Hiſtory, had from their [...]rſt Arrival at Mr. Allworthy's Houſe, taken ſo great [...]n Affection, the one to his Virtue, the other to his Religion, that they had meditated the cloſeſt Alliance with him.

For this Purpoſe they had caſt their Eyes on that [...]air Widow, whom, tho' we have not for ſome Time made any mention of her, the Reader, we truſt, hath not forgot. Mrs. Blifil was indeed the Object to which they both aſpired.

It may ſeem remarkable that of four Perſons whom we have commemorated at Mr. Allworthy's Houſe; three of them ſhould fix their Inclinations on a La⯑dy who was never greatly celebrated for her Beauty, and who was, moreover, now a little deſcended in⯑to the Vale of Years; but in reality, Boſom Friends, and intimate Acquaintance, have a kind of natural Pro⯑penſity to particular Females at the Houſe of a Friend; viz. to his Grand-mother, Mother, Siſter, Daugh⯑ter, Aunt, Neice and Couſin, when they are rich, and to his Wife, Siſter, Daughter, Neice, Couſin, Miſtreſs or Servant Maid, if they ſhould be hand⯑ſome.

We would not, however, have our Reader ima⯑gine, that Perſons of ſuch Characters as were ſupport⯑ed by Thwackum and Square, would undertake a Matter of this Kind, which hath been a little cenſured by ſome rigid Moraliſts, before they had thoroughly examined it, and conſidered whether it was (as Shakeſpear phraſes it) 'Stuff, o' th' Conſcience' or no. Thwackum was encouraged to the Undertaking, by reflecting, that to court your Neighbour's Siſter is no where forbidden, and he knew it was a Rule in the Conſtruction of all Laws, that "Expreſſum facit ceſſare Tacitum," the Senſe of which is, 'When a Law-giver ſets down plainly his whole Meaning, we are prevent⯑ed from making him mean what we pleaſe our⯑ſelves.' As ſome Inſtances of Women, there⯑fore, [120] are mentioned in the divine Law, which for⯑bids us to covet our Neighbours Goods, and that of a Siſter omitted, he concluded it to be lawful. And as to Square, who was in his Perſon what is called a jolly Fellow, or a Widow's Man, he eaſily recon⯑ciled his Choice to the eternal Fitneſs of Things.

Now, as both theſe Gentlemen were induſtrious in taking every Opportunity of recommending them⯑ſelves to the Widow, they apprehended one certain Method was, by giving her Son the conſtant Prefe⯑rence to the other Lad; and as they conceived the Kindneſs and Affection which Mr. Allworthy ſhewed the latter, muſt be highly diſagreeable to her, they doubted not but the laying hold on all Occaſions to degrade and villify him, would be highly pleaſing to her; who, as ſhe hated the Boy, muſt love all thoſe who did him any hurt. In this Thwackum had the Advantage; for while Square could only ſcarify the poor Lad's Reputation, he could flea his Skin; and indeed he conſidered every Laſh he gave him as a Compliment paid to his Miſtreſs; ſo that he could with the utmoſt Propriety repeat this old flogging Line, "Caſtigo te non quod odio habeam, ſed quod AMEM; I chaſtiſe thee not out of Hatred, but out of Love." And this indeed he often had in his Mouth, or rather, according to the old Phraſe, never more properly applied, at his Fingers Ends.

For this Reaſon principally, the two Gentlemen concurred, as we have ſeen above, in their Opinion concerning the two Lads; this being indeed almoſt the only Inſtance of their concurring on any Point: For beſides the Difference of their Principles, they had both long ago ſtrongly ſuſpected each others De⯑ſign, and hated one another with no little Degree of Inveteracy.

This mutual Animoſity was a good deal increaſed by their alternate Succeſſes: For Mrs. Blifil knew what they would be at long before they imagined it; [121] or indeed intended ſhe ſhould: For they proceeded with great Caution leſt ſhe ſhould be offended, and ac⯑quaint Mr. Allworthy; but they had no Reaſon for any ſuch Fear. She was well enough pleaſed with a Paſſion of which ſhe intended none ſhould have any Fruits but herſelf. And the only Fruits ſhe deſigned for herſelf were Flattery and Courtſhip; for which Purpoſe, ſhe ſoothed them by Turns, and a long Time equally. She was indeed rather inclined to favour the Parſon's Principles; but Square's Perſon was more agreeable to her Eye; for he was a comely Man; whereas the Pedagogue did in Countenance very nearly reſemble that Gentleman, who in the Harlot's Progreſs is ſeen correcting the Ladies in Bridewel.

Whether Mrs. Blifil had been ſurfeited with the Sweets of Marriage, or diſguſted by its Bitters, or from what other Cauſe it proceeded, I will not de⯑termine; but ſhe could never be brought to liſten to any ſecond Propoſals. However, ſhe at laſt converſ⯑ed with Square, with ſuch a Degree of Intimacy, that malicious Tongues began to whiſper Things of her, to which, as well for the Sake of the Lady, as that they were highly diſagreeable to the Rule of Right, and the Fitneſs of Things, we will give no Credit; and therefore ſhall not blot our Paper with them. The Pedagogue, 'tis certain, whipt on without get⯑ting a Step nearer to his Journey's End.

Indeed he had committed a great Error, and that Square diſcovered much ſooner than himſelf. Mrs. Blifl (as perhaps the Readers may have formerly gueſs'd) was not over and above pleaſed with the Be⯑haviour of her Huſband; nay to be honeſt, ſhe abſo⯑lutely hated him, till his Death at laſt a little reconciled him to her Affections. It will not be therefore great⯑ly wondered at, if ſhe had not the moſt violent Re⯑gard to the Offspring ſhe had by him. And, in fact, he had ſo little of this Regard, that in his Infancy ſhe [122] ſeldom ſaw her Son, or took any Notice of him; and hence ſhe acquieſced, after a little Reluctance, in all the Favours which Mr. Allworthy ſhowered on the Foundling; whom the good Man called his own Boy, and in all Things put on an intire Equality with Maſter Blifil. This Acquieſcence in Mrs. Blifil was conſidered by the Neighbours, and by the Family, as a Mark of her Condeſcenſion to her Brother's Hu⯑mour, and ſhe was imagined by all others, as well as Thwackum and Square, to hate the Foundling in her Heart; nay, the more Civility ſhe ſhewed him, the more they conceived ſhe deteſted him, and the ſurer Schemes ſhe was laying for his Ruin: For as they thought it her Intereſt to hate him, it was very diffi⯑cul for her to perſwade them ſhe did not.

Thwackum was the more confirmed in his Opinion, as ſhe had more than once cauſed him to whip Tom Jones, when Mr. Allworthy, who was an Enemy to this Exerciſe, was abroad; whereas ſhe had never given any ſuch Orders concerning young Blifil. And this had likewiſe impoſed upon Square. In reality, though ſhe certainly hated her own Son; of which, however monſtrous it appears, I am aſſured ſhe is not a ſingular Inſtance, ſhe appeared, notwithſtand⯑ing all her outward Compliance, to be in her Heart ſufficiently diſpleaſed with all the Favour ſhewn by Mr. Allworthy to the Foundling. She frequently com⯑plained of this behind her Brother's Back, and very ſharply cenſured him for it, both to Thwackum and Square; nay, ſhe would throw it in the Teeth of Allworthy himſelf, when a little Quarrel or Miff, as it is vulgarly called, aroſe between them.

However, when Tom grew up, and gave Tokens of that Gallantry of Temper which greatly recom⯑mends Men to Women, this Diſinclination which ſhe had diſcovered to him when a Child, by Degrees abated, and at laſt ſhe ſo evidently demonſtrated her Affection to him to be much ſtronger than what ſhe [123] bore her own Son, that it was impoſſible to miſtake her any longer. She was ſo deſirous of often ſeeing him, and diſcovered ſuch Satisfaction and Delight in his Company, that before he was eighteen Years old, he was become a Rival to both Square and Thwackum; and what is worſe, the whole Country began to talk as loudly of her Inclination to Tom, as they had be⯑fore done of that which ſhe had ſhewn to Square; on which Account the Philoſopher conceived the moſt [...]mplacable Hatred for our poor Hero.

CHAP. VII.

THO' Mr. Allworthy was not of himſelf haſty to ſee Things in a Diſadvantageous Light, and was a Stranger to the public Voice, which ſeldom reaches to a Brother or a Huſband, tho' it rings in the Ears of all the Neighbourhood; yet was this Af⯑fection of Mrs. Blifil to Tom, and the Preference which ſhe too viſibly gave him to her own Son, of the utmoſt Diſadvantage to that Youth.

For ſuch was the Compaſſion which inhabited Mr. Allworthy's Mind, that nothing but the Steel of Juſ⯑tice could ever ſubdue it. To be unfortunate in any Reſpect was ſufficient, if there was no Demerit to counterpoiſe it, to turn the Scale of that good Man's Pity, and to engage his Friendſhip, and his Benefac⯑tion.

When therefore he plainly ſaw Maſter Blifil was ab⯑ſolutely deteſted (for that he was) by his own Mother, he began, on that Account only, to look with an Eye of Compaſſion upon him; and what the Effects of Compaſſion are in good and benevolent Minds, I need not here explain to moſt of my Readers.

Henceforward, he ſaw every Appearance of Vir⯑tue in the Youth thro' the magnifying End, and view⯑ed [124] all his Faults with the Glaſs inverted, ſo that they became ſcarce perceptible. And this perhaps the a⯑miable Temper of Pity may make commendable; but the next Step the Weakneſs of human Nature a⯑lone muſt excuſe: For he no ſooner perceived that Preference which Mrs. Blifil gave to Tom, than that poor Youth, (however innocent) began to ſink in his Affections as he roſe in hers. This, it is true, would of itſelf alone never have been able to eradicate Jones from his Boſom; but it was greatly injurious to him, and prepared Mr. Allworthy's Mind, for thoſe Im⯑preſſions, which afterwards produced the mighty E⯑vent, that will be contained hereafter in this Hiſtory; and to which, it muſt be confeſt, the unfortunate Lad, by his own Wantonneſs, Wildneſs, and want of Caution, too much contributed.

In recording ſome Inſtances of theſe, we ſhall, if rightly underſtood, afford a very uſeful Leſſon to thoſe well-diſpoſed Youths, who ſhall hereafter be our Readers: For they may here find that Goodneſs of Heart, and Openneſs of Temper, tho' theſe may give them great Comfort within, and adminiſter to an honeſt Pride in their own Minds, will by no Means, alas! do their Buſineſs in the World. Prudence and Circumſpection are neceſſary even to the beſt of Men. They are indeed as it were a Guard to Virtue, without which ſhe can never be ſafe. It is not enough tha [...] your Deſigns, nay that your Actions are intrinſically good, you muſt take Care they ſhall appear ſo. If you [...] Inſide be never ſo beautiful, you muſt preſerve a fai [...] Outſide alſo. This muſt be conſtantly looked to, o [...] Malice and Envy will take Care to blacken it ſo, tha [...] the Sagacity and Goodneſs of an Allworthy will not be able to ſee through it, and to diſcern the Beauties within. Let this, my younger Readers, be you [...] conſtant Maxim, That no Man can be good enough to enable him to neglect the Rules of Prudence; not will Virtue herſelf look beautiful, unleſs ſhe be be+ [125] decked with the outward Ornaments of Decency and Decorum. And this Precept, my worthy Diſciples, if you read with due Attention, you will, I hope, find ſufficiently enforced by Examples in the follow⯑ing Pages.

I aſk Pardon for this ſhort Appearance, by way of Chorus on the Stage. It is in Reality for my own Sake, that while I am diſcovering the Rocks on which Innocence and Goodneſs often ſplit, I may not be miſunderſtood to recommend the very Means to my worthy Readers, by which I intend to ſhew them they will be undone. And this as I could not prevail on any of my Actors to ſpeak, I was obliged to declare my ſelf.

CHAP. VIII.

THE Reader may remember, that Mr. Allworthy gave Tom Jones a little Horſe, as a kind of ſmart Money for the Puniſhment, which he imagined he had ſuffered innocently.

This Horſe Tom kept above half a Year, and then rode him to a neighbouring Fair, and ſold him.

At his Return, being queſtioned by Thwackum, what he had done with the Money for which the Horſe was ſold, he frankly declared he would not tell him.

Oho! ſays Thwackum, you will not! then I will have it out of your Br—h; that being the Place to which he always applied for Information, on every doubtful Occaſion.

Tom was now mounted on the Back of a Footman, and every Thing prepared for Execution, when Mr. Allworthy entering the Room, gave the Criminal a Reprieve, and took him with him into another Apart⯑ment; where Mr. Allworthy being only preſent with Tom, he put the ſame Queſtion to him which Thwack⯑um had before aſked him.

[126] Tom anſwered, He could in Duty refuſe him no⯑thing; but as for that tyrannical Raſcal, he would ne⯑ver make him any other Anſwer than with a Cudgel, with which he hoped ſoon to be able to pay him for all his Barbarities.

Mr. Allworthy very ſeverely reprimanded the Lad, for his indecent and diſreſpectful Expreſſions concern⯑ing his Maſter; but much more for his avowing an Intention of Revenge. He threatened him with the entire Loſs of his Favour, if he ever heard ſuch ano⯑ther Word from his Mouth; for he ſaid, he would never ſupport or befriend a Reprobate. By theſe and the like Declarations, he extorted ſome Compunction from Tom, in which that Youth was not over ſincere: For he really meditated ſome Return for all the ſmart⯑ing Favours he had received at the Hands of the Peda⯑gogue. He was, however, brought by Mr. Allworthy to expreſs a Concern for his Reſentment againſt Thwackum; and then the good Man, after ſome wholeſome Admonition, permitted him to proceed, which he did, as follows.

'Indeed, my dear Sir, I love and honour you more than all the World; I know the great Obligati⯑ons I have to you, and ſhould deteſt myſelf, if I thought my Heart was capable of Ingratitude. Could the little Horſe you gave me ſpeak, I am ſure he could tell you how fond I was of your Pre⯑ſent: For I had more Pleaſure in feeding him, than in riding him. Indeed, Sir, it went to my Heart to part with him; nor would I have ſold him upon any other Account in the World than what I did. You yourſelf, Sir, I am convinced in my Caſe, would have done the ſame: For none ever ſo ſenſibly felt the Misfortunes of others. What would you feel, dear Sir, if you thought yourſelf the Occaſion of them?—Indeed, Sir, there was never any Miſery like theirs.—Like whoſe, Child," ſays Allworthy, what do you mean? Oh, Sir,' anſwered Tom, [127] your poor Game-keeper, with all his large Family, ever ſince your diſcarding him, have been periſhing with all the Miſeries of Cold and Hunger. I could not bear to ſee theſe poor Wretches naked and ſtarv⯑ing, and at the ſame Time know myſelf to have been the Occaſion of all their Sufferings.—I could not bear it, Sir, upon my Soul, I could not." (here the Tears run down his Cheeks, and he thus proceeded) 'It was to ſave them from abſolute De⯑ſtruction, I parted with your dear Preſent, notwith⯑ſtanding all the Value I had for it.—I ſold the Horſe for them, and they have every Farthing of the Money.'

Mr. Allworthy now ſtood ſilent for ſome Moments, and before he ſpoke, the Tears ſtarted from his Eyes. He at length diſmiſſed Tom with a gentle Rebuke, ad⯑viſing him for the future to apply to him in Caſes of Diſtreſs, rather than to uſe extraordinary Means of relieving them himſelf.

This Affair was afterwards the Subject of much Debate between Thwackum and Square. Thwackum held, that this was flying in Mr. Allworthy's Face, who had intended to puniſh the Fellow for his Diſo⯑bedience. He ſaid, in ſome Inſtances, what the World called Charity appeared to him to be oppoſing the Will of the Almighty, which had marked ſome particular Perſons for Deſtruction; and that this was in like manner acting in Oppoſition to Mr. Allworthy; concluding, as uſual, with a hearty Recommendation of Birch.

Square argued ſtrongly, on the other Side, in Oppo⯑ſition perhaps to Thwackum, or in Compliance with Mr. Allworthy, who ſeemed very much to approve what Jones had done. As to what he urged on this Oc⯑caſion, as I am convinced moſt of my Readers will be much abler Advocates for poor Jones, it would be im⯑pertinent to relate it. Indeed it was not difficult to re⯑concile to the Rule of Right, an Action which it would have been impoſſible to deduce from the Rule of Wrong.

CHAP. IX.

IT hath been obſerved by ſome Man of much grea⯑ter Reputation for Wiſdom than myſelf, that Miſ⯑fortunes ſeldom come ſingle. An Inſtance of this may, I believe, be ſeen in thoſe Gentlemen who have the Misfortune to have any of their Rogueries detect⯑ed: For here Diſcovery ſeldom ſtops till the whole is come out. Thus it happened to poor Tom; who was no ſooner pardoned for ſelling the Horſe, than he was diſcovered to have ſome time before ſold a fine Bible which Mr. Allworthy gave him, the Money ariſing from which Sale he had diſpoſed in the ſame Manner. This Bible Maſter Blifil had purchaſed, though he had already ſuch another of his own, partly out of reſpect for the Book, and partly out of Friend⯑ſhip to Tom, being unwilling that the Bible ſhould be ſold out of the Family at half Price. He therefore depoſited the ſaid half Price himſelf; for he was a very prudent Lad, and ſo careful of his Money, that he had laid up almoſt every Penny which he had re⯑ceived from Mr. Allworthy.

Some People have been noted to be able to read in no Book but their own. On the contrary, from the Time when Maſter Blifil was firſt poſſeſſed of this Bible, he never uſed any other. Nay, he was ſeen reading in it much oftner than he had before been in his own. Now, as he frequently asked Thwackum to explain difficult Paſſages to him, that Gentleman unfortunately took Notice of Tom's Name, which was written in many Parts of the Book. This brought on an Enquiry, which obliged Maſter Blifil to diſco⯑ver the whole Matter.

Thwackum was reſolved, a Crime of this Kind, which he called Sacrilege, ſhould not go unpuniſhed. [129] He therefore proceeded immediately to Caſtigation; and not contented with that, he acquainted Mr. All⯑worthy, at their next Meeting, with this monſtrous Crime, as it appeared to him; inveighing againſt Tom in the moſt bitter Terms, and likening him to the Buyers and Sellers who were driven out of the Temple.

Square ſaw this Matter in a very different Light. He ſaid, He could not perceive any higher Crime in ſelling one Book, than in ſelling another. That to ſell Bibles was ſtrictly lawful by all Laws both di⯑vine and human, and conſequently there was no Un⯑fitneſs in it. He told Thwackum that his great Con⯑cern on this Occaſion brought to his Mind the Story of a very devout Woman, who out of pure Regard to Religion, ſtole Tillotſon's Sermons from a Lady of her Acquaintance.

This Story cauſed a vaſt Quantity of Blood to ruſh into the Parſon's Face, which of itſelf was none of the paleſt; and he was going to reply with great Warmth and Anger, had not Mrs. Blifil, who was preſent at this Debate, interpoſed. That Lady de⯑clared herſelf abſolutely of Mr. Square's Side. She argued, indeed, very learnedly in Support of his Opinion; and concluded with ſaying, If Tom had been guilty of any Fault, ſhe muſt confeſs her own Son appeared to be equally culpable; for that ſhe could ſee no Difference between the Buyer and the Seller; both of whom were alike to be driven out of the Temple.

Mrs. Blifil having declared her Opinion, put an End to the Debate. Square's Triumph would almoſt have ſtopt his Words, had he needed them; and Thwackum, beſides that, for Reaſons before-men⯑tioned, he durſt not venture at diſobliging the Lady, was almoſt choaked with Indignation. As to Mr. Allworthy, he ſaid, Since the Boy had been already puniſhed, he would not deliver his Sentiments on the [130] Occaſion; and whether he was, or was not angry with the Lad, I muſt leave to the Reader's own Conjecture.

Soon after this, an Action was brought againſt the Game-keeper by 'Squire Weſtern (the Gentleman in whoſe Manor the Partridge was killed) for De⯑predations of the like Kind. This was a moſt unfor⯑tunate Circumſtance for the Fellow, as it not only of itſelf threatened his Ruin, but actually prevented Mr. Allworthy from reſtoring him to his Favour: For as that Gentleman was walking out one Evening with Maſter Blifil and young Jones, the latter ſlily drew him to the Habitation of Black George; where the Family of that poor Wretch, namely, his Wife and Children, were found in all the Miſery with which Cold, Hunger, and Nakedneſs, can affect human Creatures: For as to the Money they had received from Jones, former Debts had conſumed almoſt the whole.

Such a Scene as this could not fail of affecting the Heart of Mr. Allworthy. He immediately gave the Mother a couple of Guineas, with which he bid her cloath her Children. The poor Woman burſt into Tears at this Goodneſs, and while ſhe was thanking him, could not refrain from expreſſing her Gratitude to Tom; who had, ſhe ſaid, long preſerved both her and hers from ſtarving. We have not, ſays ſhe, had a Morſel to eat, nor have theſe poor Children had a Rag to put on, but what his Goodneſs hath beſtowed on us: For indeed, beſides the Horſe and the Bible, Tom had ſacrificed a Night-gown and other Things to the Uſe of this diſtreſſed Family.

On their Return home, Tom made uſe of all his Eloquence to diſplay the Wretchedneſs of theſe Peo⯑ple, and the Penitence of Black George himſelf, and in this he ſucceeded ſo well, that Mr. Allworthy ſaid He thought the Man had ſuffered enough for what was paſt; that he would forgive him, and think of ſome Means of providing for him and his Family.

Jones was ſo delighted with this News, that though [131] it was dark when they returned home, he could not help going back a Mile in a Shower of Rain to ac⯑quaint the poor Woman with the glad Tidings; but, like other haſty Divulgers of News, he only brought on himſelf the Trouble of contradicting it: For the Ill-fortune of Black George made uſe of the very Opportunity of his Friend's Abſence to overturn all again.

CHAP. X.

MASTER Blifil fell very ſhort of his Compa⯑nion in the amiable Quality of Mercy; but he as greatly exceeded him in one of a much higher Kind, namely, in Juſtice: In which he followed both the Precepts and example of Thwackum and Square; for though they would both make frequent Uſe of the Word Mercy, yet it was plain, that in reality Square held it to be inconſiſtent with the Rule of Right; and Thwackum was for doing Juſtice, and leaving Mer⯑cy to Heaven. The two Gentlemen did indeed ſome⯑what differ in Opinion concerning the Objects of this ſublime Virtue; by which Thwackum would probably have deſtroyed one half of Mankind, and Square the other half.

Maſter Blifil then, though he had kept Silence in the Preſence of Jones, yet when he had better con⯑ſidered the Matter, he could by no Means endure the Thought of ſuffering his Uncle to confer Favours on the Undeſerving. He therefore reſolved im⯑mediately to acquaint him with the Fact which we have above ſlightly hinted to the Readers. The Truth of which was as follows:

The Game-keeper, about a Year after he was diſ⯑miſſed from Mr. Allworthy's Service, and before Tom's ſelling the Horſe, being in Want of Bread, either to fill his own Mouth, or thoſe of his Family, [132] as he paſſed through a Field belonging to Mr. Weſtern, eſpied a Hare ſitting in her Form. This Hare he had baſely and barbarouſly knocked on the Head, againſt the Laws of the Land, and no leſs againſt the Laws of Sportſmen.

The Higler to whom the Hare was ſold, being unfortunately taken many Months after with a Quan⯑tity of Game upon him, was obliged to make his Peace with the 'Squire by becoming Evidence againſt ſome Poacher. And now Black George was pitched upon by him as being a Perſon already obnoxious to Mr. Weſtern, and one of no good Fame in the Coun⯑try. He was, beſides, the beſt Sacrifice the Higler could make, as he had ſupplied him with no Game ſince; and by this Means the Witneſs had an Oppor⯑tunity of ſcreening his better Cuſtomers: For the 'Squire, being charmed with the Power of Puniſhing Black George, whom a ſingle Tranſgreſſion was ſuffi⯑cient to ruin, made no further Enquiry.

Had this Fact been truly laid before Mr. Allworthy, it might probably have done the Game-keeper very lit⯑tle Miſchief. But there is no Zeal blinder than that which is inſpired with the Love of Juſtice againſt Of⯑fenders. Maſter Blifil had forgot the Diſtance of the Time. He varied likewiſe in the Manner of the Fact; and, by the haſty Addition of the ſingle Letter S, he conſiderably altered the Story; for he ſaid that George had wired Hares. Theſe Alterations might probably have been ſet right, had not Maſter Blifil unluckily inſiſted on a Promiſe of Secrecy from Mr. Allworthy, before he revealed the Matter to him; but by that Means, the poor Game-keeper was condemned, without having any Opportunity to defend himſelf: For as the Fact of killing the Hare, and of the Acti⯑on brought, were certainly true, Mr. Allworthy had no Doubt concerning the reſt.

Short-lived then was the Joy of theſe poor People; for Mr. Allworthy the next Morning declared he had [133] freſh Reaſon, without aſſigning it, for his Anger, and ſtrictly forbad Tom to mention George any more; though as for his Family, he ſaid, he would endeavour to keep them from ſtarving; but as to the Fellow him⯑ſelf, he would leave him to the Laws, which nothing could keep him from breaking.

Tom could by no Means divine what had incenſed Mr. Allworthy: For of Maſter Blifil he had not the leaſt Suſpicion. However, as his Friendſhip was to be tired out by no Diſappointments, he now determined to try another Method of preſerving the poor Game-keeper from Ruin.

Jones was lately grown very intimate with Mr. Weſtern. He had ſo greatly recommended himſelf to that Gentleman, by leaping over five-barred Gates, and by other Acts of Sportmanſhip, that the Squire had declared Tom would certainly make a great Man, if he had but ſufficient Encouragement. He often wiſhed he had himſelf a Son with ſuch Parts; and one Day very ſolemnly aſſerted at a drinking Bout, that Tom ſhould hunt a Pack of Hounds for a thouſand Pound of his Money with any Huntſman in the whole County.

By ſuch kind of Talents he had ſo ingratiated him⯑ſelf with the Squire, that he was a moſt welcome Gueſt at his Table, and a favourite Companion in his Sport: Every Thing which the Squire held moſt dear, to wit, his Guns, Dogs, and Horſes, were now as much at the Command of Jones, as if they had been his own. He reſolved therefore to make uſe of this Favour on Behalf of his Friend Black George, whom he hoped to introduce into Mr. Weſtern's Family in the ſame Capacity in which he had before ſerved Mr. Allworthy.

The Reader, if he conſiders that this Fellow was al⯑ready obnoxious to Mr. Weſtern, and if he conſiders farther the weighty Buſineſs by which that Gentle⯑man's Diſpleaſure had been incurred, will perhaps [134] condemn this as a fooliſh and deſperate Undertaking; but if he ſhould not totally condemn young Jones on that Account, he will greatly applaud him for ſtrength⯑ening himſelf with all imaginable Intereſt on ſo ardu⯑ous an Occaſion.

For this Purpoſe then Tom applied to Mr. Weſtern's Daughter, a young Lady of about ſeventeen Years of Age, whom her Father, next after thoſe neceſſary Implements of Sport juſt before mentioned, loved and eſteemed above all the World. Now as ſhe had ſome Influence on the Squire, ſo Tom had ſome In⯑fluence on her. But this being the intended Heroine of this Work, a Lady with whom we are ourſelves great⯑ly in Love, and with whom many of our Rea⯑ders will probably be in Love too before we part, it is by no Means proper ſhe ſhould make her Appear⯑ance at the End of a Book.

CHAP. I.

AS Truth diſtinguiſhes our Writings from thoſe idle Romances which are filled with Monſters, the Productions, not of nature, but of diſtempered Brains; and which have been therefore recommended by an eminent Critic to the ſole Uſe of the Paſtry-Cook: So, on the other hand, we would avoid any Reſemblance to that Kind of Hiſtory which a ce⯑lebrated Poet ſeems to think is no leſs calculated for the Emolument of the Brewer, as the reading of it ſhould be always attended with a Tankard of good Ale.

For as this is the Liquor of modern Hiſtorians, nay, perhaps their Muſe, if we may believe the O⯑pinion of Butler, who attributes inſpiration to Ale, it ought likewiſe to be the Potation of their Readers; [136] ſince every Book ought to be read with the ſame Spirit, and in the ſame manner, as it is writ. Thus the famous Author of Hurlothrumbo told a learned Biſhop, that the Reaſon his Lordſhip could not taſte the Excellence of his Piece, was that he did not read it with a Fiddle in his Hand; which Inſtrument he himſelf always had in his own, when he compo⯑ſed it.

That our Work, therefore, might be in no Danger of being likened to the Labours of theſe Hiſtorians, we have taken every Occaſion of interſperſing through the whole ſundry Similies, Deſcriptions, and other kind of poetical Embelliſhments. Theſe are indeed, deſigned to ſupply the Place of the ſaid Ale, and to refreſh the Mind, whenever thoſe Slumbers which in a long Work are apt to invade the Reader as well the Writer, ſhall begin to creep upon him. With⯑out Interruptions of this Kind, the beſt Narrative of plain Matter of Fact muſt overpower every Reader; for nothing but the everlaſting Watchfulneſs, which Homer hath aſcribed to Jove himſelf, can be Proof againſt a News Paper of many Volumes.

We ſhall leave to the Reader to determine with what Judgment we have choſen the ſeveral Occaſions for inſerting theſe ornamental Parts of our Work. Surely it will be allowed that none could be more proper than the preſent; where we are about to in⯑troduce a conſiderable Character on the Scene; no leſs, indeed, than the Heroine of this Heroic, Hi⯑ſtorical, Proſaic Poem. Here, therefore, we have thought proper to prepare the Mind of the Reader for her Reception, by filling it with every pleaſing Image, which we can draw from the Face of Nature. And for this Method we plead many Precedents. Firſt, this is an Art well known to, and much practiſed by, our Tragic Poets; who ſeldom fail to prepare their Audience for the Reception of their principal Characters.

[137] Thus the Heroe is always introduced with a flou⯑riſh of Drums and Trumpets, in order to rouſe a martial Spirit in the Audience, and to accommodate their Ears to Bombaſt and Fuſtian, which Mr. Lock's blind Man would not have groſsly erred in likening to the Sound of a Trumpet. Again, when Lovers are coming forth, ſoft Muſic often conducts them on the Stage, either to ſooth the Audience with all the Softneſs of the tender Paſſion, or to lull or prepare them for that gentle Slumber in which they will moſt probably be compoſed by the enſuing Scene.

And not only the Poets, but the Maſters of theſe Poets, the Managers of Play-houſes, ſeem to be in this Secret; for, beſides the aforeſaid Kettle Drums, &c. which denote the Heroe's Approach, he is ge⯑neraly uſhered on the Stage by a large Troop of half a dozen Scene-ſhifters; and how neceſſary theſe are imagined to his Appearance, may be concluded from the following Theatrical Story.

King Pyrrhus was at Dinner at an Ale-houſe bor⯑dering on the Theatre, when he was ſummoned to go on the Stage. The Heroe, being unwilling to quit his Shoulder of Mutton, and as unwilling to draw on himſelf the Indignation of Mr. Wilks, (his Brother Manager) for making the Audience wait, had bribed theſe his Harbingers to be out of the Way. While Mr. Wilks, therefore, was thundering out, ‘'Where are the Carpenters to walk on before King Pyrrhus,'’ that Monarch very quietly eat his Mutton, and the Audience, however impatient, were obliged to en⯑tertain themſelves with Muſic in his Abſence.

To be plain, I much queſtion whether the Politi⯑cian, who hath generally a good Noſe, hath not ſcented out ſomewhat of the Utility of this Practice. I am convinced that awful Magiſtrate my Lord May⯑or contracts a good deal of that Reverence which at⯑tends him through the Year, by the ſeveral Pageants who precede his Pomp. Nay, I muſt confeſs, that [138] even I myſelf, who am not remarkably liable to be captivated with Show, have yielded not a little to the Impreſſions of much preceding State. When I have ſeen a Man ſtrutting in a Proceſſion, after others whoſe Buſineſs hath been only to walk before him, I have conceived a higher Notion of his Dignity, than I have felt on ſeeing him in a common Situation. But there is one Inſtance which comes exactly up to my Purpoſe. This is the Cuſtom of ſending on a Baſ⯑ket-woman, who is to precede the Pomp at a Coro⯑nation, and to ſtrew the Stage with Flowers, before the great Perſonages begin their Proceſſion. The Antients would certainly have invoked the Goddeſs Flora for this Purpoſe, and it would have been no Dif⯑ficulty for their Prieſts or Politicians to have perſuad⯑ed the People of the real Preſence of the Deity, though a plain Mortal had perſonated her, and per⯑formed her Office. But we have no ſuch Deſign of impoſing on our Reader, and therefore thoſe who ob⯑ject to the Heathen Theology, may, if they pleaſe, change our Goddeſs into the above-mentioned Bas⯑ket-woman. Our Intention, in ſhort, is to intro⯑duce our Heroine with the utmoſt Solemnity in our Power, with an Elevation of Stile, and all other Cir⯑cumſtances proper to raiſe the Veneration of our Rea⯑der. Indeed we would, for certain Cauſes, adviſe thoſe of our Male Readers who have any Hearts, to read no farther, were we not well aſſured, that how amiable ſoever the Picture of our Heroine will appear, as it is really a Copy from Nature, many of our fair Country-women will be found worthy to ſatisfy any Paſſion, and to anſwer any Idea of Female Perfecti⯑on, which our Pencil will be able to raiſe.

And now, without any further Preface, we pro⯑ceed to our next Chapter.

CHAP. II.

HUſhed be every ruder Breath. May the Heathen Ruler of the Winds confine in Iron Chains the boiſterous Limbs of noiſy Boreas, and the ſharp-pointed Noſe of bitter-biting Eurus. Do thou, ſweet Zephyrus, riſing from thy fragrant Bed, mount the Weſtern Sky, and lead on thoſe delicious Gales, the Charms of which call forth the lovely Flora from her Chamber, perfumed with pearly Dews, when on the firſt of June, her Birth-day, the blooming Maid in looſe Attire, gently trips it over the verdant Mead, where every Flower riſes to do her Homage, till the whole Field becomes enamelled, and Colours contend with Sweets which ſhall raviſh her moſt.

So charming may ſhew now appear; and you the feather'd Choriſters of Nature, whoſe ſweeteſt Notes not even Handel can excel, tune your melodious Throats, to celebrate her Appearance. From Love proceeds your Muſic, and to Love it returns. Awak⯑en therefore that gentle Paſſion in every Swain: for lo! adorned with all the Charms in which Na⯑ture can array her; bedecked with Beauty, Youth, Sprightlineſs, Innocence, Modeſty, and Tenderneſs, breathing Sweetneſs from her roſy Lips, and darting Brightneſs from her ſparkling Eyes, the lovely Sophia comes.

Reader, perhaps thou haſt ſeen the Statue of the Venus de Medicis. Perhaps too, thou haſt ſeen the Gallery of Beauties at Hampton Court. Thou may'ſt remember each bright Churchill of the Gallaxy, and all the Toaſts of the Kit-Cat. Or if their Reign was before thy Times, at leaſt thou haſt ſeen their Daugh⯑ters, the no leſs dazzling Beauties of the preſent [140] Age; whoſe Names, ſhould we here inſert, we ap⯑prehended they would fill the whole Volume.

Now if thou haſt ſeen all theſe, be not afraid of the rude Anſwer which Lord Rocheſter once gave to a Man, who had ſeen many Things. No. If thou haſt ſeen all theſe without knowing what Beauty is, thou haſt no Eyes; if without feeling its Power, thou haſt no Heart.

Yet is it poſſible, my Friend, that thou mayeſt have ſeen all theſe without being able to form an ex⯑act Idea of Sophia: for ſhe did not exactly reſemble any of them. She was moſt like the Picture of La⯑dy Renelagh; and I have heard more ſtill to the fa⯑mous Dutcheſs of Mazarine: but moſt of all, ſhe reſembled one whoſe Image never can depart from my Breaſt, and whom, if thou doſt remember, thou haſt then, my Friend, an adequate Idea of Sophia.

But leſt this ſhould not have been thy Fortune, we will endeavour with our utmoſt Skill to deſcribe this Paragon, though we are ſenſible that our higheſt Abi⯑lities are very inadequate to the Taſk.

Sophia then, the only Daughter of Mr. Weſtern, was a middle-ſized Woman; but rather inclining to tall. Her Shape was not only exact, but extreme⯑ly delicate; and the nice Proportion of her Arms promiſed the trueſt Symmetry in her Limbs. Her Hair, which was black, was ſo luxuriant, that it reached her Middle, before ſhe cut it, to comply with the modern Faſhion; and it was now curled ſo grace⯑fully in her Neck, that few would believe it to be her own. If Envy could find any Part of her Face which demanded leſs Commendation than the reſt, it might poſſibly think her Forehead might have been higher without Prejudice to her. Her Eye-brows were full, even, and arched beyond the Power of Art to imi⯑tate. Her black Eyes had a Luſtre in them, which all her Softneſs could not extinguiſh. Her Noſe was [141] exactly regular, and her Mouth, in which were two Rows of Ivory, exactly anſwered Sir John Suckling's Deſcription in thoſe Lines.

Her Cheeks, were of the oval Kind; and in her right ſhe had a Dimple which the leaſt Smile diſcover⯑ed. Her Chin had certainly its Share in forming the Beauty of her Face; but it was difficult to ſay it was either large or ſmall, tho' perhaps it was rather of the former kind. Her Complexion had rather more of the Lilly than of the Roſe; but when Exerciſe, or Modeſty, encreaſed her natural Colour, no Vermilion could equal it. Then one might indeed cry out with the celebrated Dr. Donne.

Her Neck was long and finely turned; and here, if I was not afraid of offending her Delicacy, I might juſtly ſay, the higheſt Beauties of the famous Venus de Medicis were outdone. Here was Whiteneſs which no Lillies, Ivory, nor Alabaſter could match. The fineſt Cambric might indeed be ſuppoſed from Envy to cover that Boſom, which was much whiter than itſelf,—It was indeed,

"A Gloſs ſhining beyond the pureſt Brightneſs of Parian Marble."

Such was the Outſide of Sophia; nor was this beau⯑tiful Frame diſgraced by an Inhabitant unworthy of it. Her Mind was every way equal to her Perſon; nay, the latter borrowed ſome Charms from the former: For when ſhe ſmiled, the Sweetneſs of her Temper diffuſed that Glory over her Countenance, which no Regularity of Features can give. But as there are no Perfections of the Mind which do not diſcover them⯑ſelves, [142] in that perfect Intimacy, to which we intend to introduce our Reader, with this charming young Creature; ſo it is needleſs to mention them here: Nay, it is a Kind of tacit Affront to our Reader's Underſtanding, and may alſo rob him of that Pleaſure which he will receive in forming his own Judgment of her Character.

It may however, be proper to ſay, that whatever mental Accompliſhments ſhe had derived from Na⯑ture, they were ſomewhat improved and cultivated by Art: for ſhe had been educated under the Care of an Aunt, who was a Lady of great Diſcretion, and was thoroughly acquainted with the World, having lived in her Youth about the Court, whence ſhe had retir⯑ed ſome Years ſince into the Country. By her Con⯑verſation and Inſtructions, Sophia was perfectly well⯑bred, though perhaps ſhe wanted a little of that Eaſe in her Behaviour, which is to be acquired only by Habit, and living within what is called the polite Cir⯑cle. But this, to ſay the Truth, is often too dearly purchaſed; and though it hath Charms ſo inexpreſſible, that the French, perhaps, among other Qualities, mean to expreſs this, when they declare they know not what it is, yet its Abſence is well compenſated by Innocence; nor can good Senſe, and a natural Gen⯑tility ever ſtand in need of it.

CHAP. III.

THE amiable Sophia was now in her eighteenth Year, when ſhe is introduced into this Hiſtory. Her Father, as hath been ſaid, was fonder of her than of any other human Creature. To her, there⯑fore, Tom Jones applied, in order to engage her In⯑tereſt [143] on the Behalf of his Friend the Game-keeper.

But before we proceed to this Buſineſs, a ſhort Re⯑ [...]apitulation of ſome previous Matters may be neceſ⯑ſary.

Though the different Tempers of Mr. Allworthy, and of Mr. Weſtern did not admit of a very intimate Correſpondence, yet they lived upon what is called a [...]ecent Footing together; by which Means the young People of both Families had been acquainted from their Infancy; and as they were all near of the ſame Age, had been frequent Play-mates together.

The Gaiety of Tom's Temper ſuited better with Sophia, than the grave and ſober Diſpoſition of Maſter Blifil. And the Preference which ſhe gave the for⯑mer of theſe, would often appear ſo plainly, that a Lad of a more paſſionate Turn than Maſter Blifil was, might have ſhewn ſome Diſpleaſure at it.

As he did not, however, outwardly expreſs any ſuch Diſguſt, it would be an ill Office in us to pay a Viſit to the inmoſt Receſſes of his Mind, as ſome ſcandalous People ſearch into the moſt ſecret Affairs of their Friends, and often pry into their Cloſets and Cupboards, only to diſcover their Poverty and Mean⯑neſs to the World.

However, as Perſons who ſuſpect they have given others Cauſe of Offence, are apt to conclude they are offended; ſo Sophia imputed an Action of Maſter Bli⯑fil, to his Anger, which the ſuperior Sagacity of Thwackum and Square diſcerned to have ariſen from a much better Principle.

Tom Jones, when very young, had preſented So⯑phia with a little Bird, which he had taken from the Neſt, had nurſed up, and taught to ſing.

Of this Bird, Sophia, then about thirteen Years old, was ſo extremely fond, that her chief Buſineſs was to feed and tend it, and her chief Pleaſure to play with it. By theſe Means little Tommy, for ſo the Bird was called, was become ſo tame, that it would [144] feed out of the Hand of its Miſtreſs, would perch up on her Finger, and lie contented in her Boſom, where it ſeemed almoſt ſenſible of its own Happineſs; tho ſhe always kept a ſmall String about its Leg, no would ever truſt it with the Liberty of flying away.

One Day, when Mr. Allworthy and his whole Fa⯑mily, dined at Mr. Weſtern's, Maſter Blifil, being in the Garden with little Sophia, and obſerving the ex⯑treme Fondneſs that ſhe ſhewed for her little Bird, de⯑ſired her to truſt it for a Moment in his Hands. So⯑phia preſently complied with the young Gentleman's Requeſt, and after ſome previous Caution, delivered him her Bird; of which he was no ſooner in Poſſeſ⯑ſion, than he ſlipt the String from its Leg, and toſſed it into the Air.

The fooliſh Animal no ſooner perceived itſelf at Liberty, than forgetting all the Favours it had receiv⯑ed from Sophia, it flew directly from her, and perch⯑ed on a Bough at ſome Diſtance.

Sophia, ſeeing her Bird gone, ſereamed out ſo loud, that Tom Jones, who was at a little Diſtance, imme⯑diately ran to her Aſſiſtance.

He was no ſooner informed of what had happened, than he curſed Blifil for a pitiful, malicious Raſcal, and then immediately ſtripping off his Coat, he ap⯑plied himſelf to climbing the Tree to which the Bird eſcaped.

Tom had almoſt recovered his little Name-ſake, when the Branch on which it was perched, and that hung over a Canal, broke, and the poor Lad plump⯑ed over Head and Ears into the Water.

Sophia's Concern now changed its Object. And as ſhe apprehended the Boy's Life was in Danger, ſhe ſcreamed ten times louder than before; and in⯑deed Maſter Blifil himſelf now ſeconded her with all the Vociferation in his Power.

The company who were ſitting in a Room next the Garden, were inſtantly alarmed, and came all [145] forth; but juſt as they reached the Canal, Tom, (for [...]he Water was luckily pretty ſhallow in that Part) [...]rrived ſafely on ſhore.

Thwackum fell violently on poor Tom, who ſtood dropping and ſhivering before him, when Mr. All⯑worthy deſired him to have Patience, and turning to [...]aſter Blifil, ſaid, Pray, Child, what is the Reaſon [...]f all this Diſturbance?

Maſter Blifil anſwered, 'Indeed, Uncle, I am ve⯑ry ſorry for what I have done; I have been unhap⯑pily the Occaſion of it all. I had Miſs Sophia's Bird in my Hand, and thinking the poor Creature lan⯑guiſhed for Liberty, I own, I could not forbear giving it what it deſired: for I always thought there was ſomething very cruel in confining any Thing. It ſeemed to me againſt the Law of Nature, by which every Thing hath a right to Liberty; nay, it is even unchriſtian; for it is not doing what we would be done by: But if I had imagined Miſs So⯑phia would have been ſo much concerned at it, I am ſure I would never have done it; nay, if I had known what would have happened to the Bird itſelf; for when Maſter Jones, who climbed up the Tree after it, fell into the Water, the Bird took a ſecond Flight, and preſently a naſty Hawk carried it away. Poor Sophia, who now firſt heard of her little Tommy's Fate; for her Concern for Jones had pre⯑ [...]ented her perceiving it when it happened, ſhed a Shower of Tears. Theſe Mr. Allworthy endeavour⯑ed to aſſuage, promiſing her a much finer Bird; but he declared ſhe would never have another. Her Fa⯑ther chid her for crying ſo for a fooliſh Bird; but could not help telling young Blifil, if he was a Son of his, his Backſide ſhould be well flea'd.

Sophia now returned to her Chamber, the two [...]oung Gentlemen were ſent home, and the reſt of the Company returned to their Bottle; where a Conver⯑ſation [146] enſued on the Subject of the Bird, ſo curious that we think it deſerves a Chapter by itſelf.

CHAP. IV.

SQUARE had no ſooner lighted his Pipe, that addreſſing himſelf to Allworthy, he thus began 'Sir, I cannot help congratulating you on your Ne⯑phew; who, at an Age when few Lads have any Ideas but of ſenſible Objects, is arrived at a Capa⯑city of diſtinguiſhing Right from Wrong. To con⯑fine any thing, ſeems to me againſt the Law of Na⯑ture, by which every thing hath a Right to Liberty. Theſe were his Words; and the Impreſſion they have made on me is never to be eradicated. Ca [...] any Man have a higher Notion of the Rule of Right and the Eternal Fitneſs of Things. I cannot help promiſing myſelf from ſuch a Dawn, that the Me⯑ridian of this Youth will be equal to that of either the elder or the younger Brutus.'

Here Thwackum haſtily interrupted, and ſpilling ſome of his Wine, and ſwallowing the reſt with great Eagerneſs, anſwered, 'From another Expreſſion h [...] made uſe of, I hope he will reſemble much better Men. The Law of Nature is a Jargon of Words which means nothing. I know not of any ſuch Law, nor of any Right which can be derive [...] from it. To do as we would be done by, is indeed a Chriſtian Motive, as the Boy well expreſſed him⯑ſelf, and I am glad to find my Inſtructions hav [...] born ſo good Fruit.'

'If Vanity was a thing fit (ſays Square) I might indulge ſome on the ſame Occaſion; for whence h [...] can only have learnt his Notions of Right or Wrong I think is pretty apparent. If there be no Law o [...] Nature, there is no Right nor Wrong.'

[147] 'How! (ſays the Parſon) do you then baniſh Re⯑velation? Am I talking with a Deiſt or an Atheiſt?' 'Drink about, (ſays Weſtern) Pox of your Laws, of Nature. I don't know what you mean either of you, by Right and Wrong. To take away my Girl's Bird was wrong in my Opinion; and my Neighbour Allworthy may do as he pleaſes; but to encourage Boys in ſuch Practices, is to breed them up to the Gallows.'

Allworthy anſwered, 'that he was ſorry for what his Nephew had done; but could not conſent to puniſh him, as he acted rather from a generous than unworthy Motive.' He ſaid, 'if the Boy had ſtol⯑en the Bird, none would have been more ready to vote for a ſevere Chaſtiſement than himſelf; but it was plain that was not his Deſign:' And, indeed, was as apparent to him, that he could have no other View but what he had himſelf confeſſed. (For as to [...]hat malicious Purpoſe which Sophia ſuſpected, it ne⯑ [...]er once entered into the Head of Mr. Allworthy). He, at length, concluded with again blaming the Action as inconſiderate, and which, he ſaid, was on⯑ly pardonable in a Child.

Square had delivered his Opinion ſo openly, that [...]f he was now ſilent, he muſt ſubmit to have his Judg⯑ment cenſured. He ſaid, therefore, with ſome Warmth, 'that Mr. Allworthy had too much reſpect to the dirty Conſideration of Property. That in paſſing our Judgments on great and mighty Actions, all private Regards ſhould be laid aſide; for by ad⯑hering to thoſe narrow Rules, the younger Brutus had been condemned of Ingratitude, and the elder of Parricide.'

And if they had been hanged too for thoſe 'Crimes,' cried Thwackum, 'they would have had no more than their Deſerts. A couple of heathen⯑iſh Villains! Heaven be praiſed, we have no Brutus'-now-a-days. [148] I wiſh, Mr. Square, you would deſiſt from filling the Minds of my Pupils with ſuch An⯑tichriſtian Stuff: For the Conſequence muſt be, while they are under my Care, its being well ſcourg⯑ed out of them again. There is your Diſciple Tom almoſt ſpoiled already. I overheard him the other Day diſputing with Maſter Blifil, that there was not Merit in Faith without Works. I know that is one of your Tenets, and I ſuppoſe he had it from you.'

'Don't accuſe me of ſpoiling him,' ſays Square who taught him to laugh at whatever is virtuous and decent, and fit and right in the Nature of Things. He is your own Scholar, and I diſclaim him. No, no, Maſter Blifil is my Boy. Young as he is, tha [...] Lad's Notions of moral Rectitude I defy you eve [...] to eradicate.'

Thwackum put on a contemptuous Sneer at this and replied, 'Ay, ay, I will venture him with you. He is too well grounded for all your philoſophical Cant to hurt. No, no, I have taken Care to in⯑ſtil ſuch Principles into him.—'

'And I have inſtilled Principles into him too cries Square. 'What but the ſublime Idea of Vir⯑tue could inſpire a human Mind with the generous Thought of giving Liberty. And I repeat to yo [...] again, if it was a fit thing to be proud, I might claim the Honour of having infuſed that Idea—'

'And if Pride was not forbidden,' ſaid Thwackum 'I might boaſt of having taught him that Duty which he himſelf aſſigned as his Motive.'

'So between you both,' ſays the Squire, 'the your Gentleman hath been taught to rob my Daughter o [...] ⯑her Bird. I find I muſt take Care of my Partridg [...] Mew. I ſhall have ſome virtuous, religious Ma [...] or other [...]t all my Partridges at Liberty.' The ſlapping a Gentleman of the Law, who was preſ [...]n [...] [149] on the Back. He cried out, 'What ſay you to this, Mr. Counſellor? Is not this againſt Law?'

The Lawyer, with great Gravity, delivered him⯑ſelf as follows:

'If the Caſe be put of a Partridge, there can be no Doubt but an Action would lie: For though this be ferae Naturae, yet being reclaimed, Property veſts; but being the Caſe of a Singing Bird, though re⯑claimed, as it is a Thing of baſe Nature, it muſt be conſidered as nullius in Bonis. In this Caſe, there⯑fore, I conceive the Plaintiff muſt be nonſuited; and I ſhould diſadviſe the bringing any ſuch Action.'

'Well, (ſays the Squire) if it be nullus Bonus, let us drink about, and talk a little of the State of the Nation, or ſome ſuch Diſcourſe that we all under⯑ſtand; for I am ſure I don't underſtand a Word of this. It may be Learning and Senſe for aught I know; but you ſhall never perſuade me into it. Pox! you have neither of you mentioned a Word of that poor Lad who deſerves to be commended. To venture breaking his Neck to oblige my Girl, was a generous ſpirited Action; I have Learning enough to ſee that. D—n me, here's Tom's Health, I ſhall love the Boy for it the longeſt Day I have to live.'

Thus was this Debate interrupted; but it would [...]robably have been ſoon reſumed, had not Mr. All⯑worthy preſently called for his Coach, and carried off [...]he two Combatants.

Such was the Concluſion of this Adventure of the Bird, and the Dialogue occaſioned by it, which we [...]ould not help recounting to our Reader, though it [...]appened ſome Years before the Stage, or Period of Time, at which our Hiſtory is now arrived.

CHAP. V.

PARVA leves capiunt Animos, 'Small Things affect light Minds,' was the Sentiment of a great Maſter of the Paſſion of Love. And certain it is, that from this Day Sophia began to have ſome little Kindneſs for Tom Jones, and no little Averſion for his Companion.

Many Accidents from time to time improved both theſe Paſſions in her Breaſt; which, without our re⯑counting, the Reader may well conclude, from what we have before hinted of the different Tempers of theſe Lads, and how much the one ſuited with her own Inclinations more than the other. To ſay the Truth, Sophia, when very young, diſcerned that Tom, though an idle, thoughtleſs, rattling Raſcal, was no⯑body's Enemy but his own; and that Maſter Blifil, though a prudent, diſcreet, ſober young Gentleman, was at the ſame Time ſtrongly attached to the In⯑tereſt only of one ſingle Perſon; and who that ſin⯑gle Perſon was, the Reader will be able to divine without any Aſſiſtance of ours.

Theſe two Characters are not always received in the World with the different Regard which ſeems ſe⯑verally due to either; and which one would imagine Mankind, from ſelf-intereſt, ſhould ſhew towards them. But perhaps there may be a political Reaſon for it: In finding one of a truly benevolent Diſpoſiti⯑on, Men may very reaſonably ſuppoſe, they have found a Treaſure, and be deſirous of keeping it, like all other good Things, to themſelves. Hence they may imagine, that to trumpet forth the Praiſes of ſuch a Perſon, would, in the vulgar Phraſe, be crying Roaſt⯑meat; and calling in Partakers of what they intend to apply ſolely to their own Uſe. If this Reaſon doth not ſatisfy the Reader, I know no other Means of ac⯑counting [151] for the little Reſpect which I have commonly ſeen paid to a Character which really doth great Ho⯑nour to Human Nature, and is productive of the high⯑eſt Good to Society. But it was otherwiſe with Sophia. She honoured Tom Jones, and ſcorned Maſter Blifil, almoſt as ſoon as ſhe knew the Meaning of thoſe two Words.

Sophia had been abſent upwards of three Years with her Aunt; during all which Time ſhe had ſel⯑dom ſeen either of theſe young Gentlemen. She dined, however, once together with her Aunt, at Mr. Allworthy's. This was a few Days after the Adven⯑ture of the Partridge, before commemorated. Sophia heard the whole Story at Table, where ſhe ſaid no⯑thing; nor indeed could her Aunt get many Words from her, as ſhe returned home; but her Maid, when undreſſing her, happening to ſay, 'Well, Miſs, I ſuppoſe you have ſeen young Maſter Blifil to Day.' She anſwered with much Paſſion, 'I hate the Name of Maſter Blifil, as I do whatever is baſe and trea⯑cherous; and I wonder Mr. Allworthy would ſuffer that old barbarous Schoolmaſter to puniſh a poor Boy ſo cruelly for what was only the Effect of his Good-nature.' She then recounted the Story to her Maid, and concluded with Saying—'Don't you think he is a Boy of a noble Spirit?'

This young Lady was now returned to her Father; who gave her the Command of his Houſe, and placed her at the upper End of his Table, where Tom (who from his great Love of Hunting was become a great Favourite of the Squire) often dined. Young Men of open, generous Diſpoſitions are naturally inclined to Gallantry, which, if they have good underſtand⯑ings, as was in reality Tom's Caſe, exerts itſelf in an obliging, complaiſant Behaviour to all Women in ge⯑neral. This greatly diſtinguiſhed Tom from the boiſterous Brutality of mere Country Squires on the one hand; and from the ſolemn, and ſomewhat ful⯑len, [152] Deportment of Maſter Blifil on the other: And he began now, at Nineteen, to have the Name of a pretty Fellow among all the Women in the Neigh⯑bourhood.

Tom behaved to Sophia with no Particularity, un⯑leſs, perhaps, by ſhewing her a higher Reſpect than he paid to any other. This Diſtinction her Beauty, Fortune, Senſe, and amiable Carriage, ſeemed to de⯑mand; but as to Deſign upon her Perſon he had none; for which we ſhall at preſent ſuffer the Reader to condemn him of Stupidity; but perhaps we ſhall be able indifferently well to account for it hereafter.

Sophia, with the higheſt Degree of Innocence and Modeſty, had a remarkable Sprightlineſs in her Tem⯑per. This was ſo greatly encreaſed whenever ſhe was in Company with Tom, that, had he not been very young and thoughtleſs, he muſt have obſerved it; or had not Mr. Weſtern's Thoughts been gene⯑rally either in the Field, the Stable, or the Dog-kennel, it might have, perhaps, created ſome Jealouſy in him; but ſo far was the good Gentleman from entertain⯑ing any ſuch Suſpicions, that he gave Tom every Op⯑portunity with his Daughter which any Lover could have wiſhed. And theſe Tom innocently improved to better Advantage, by following only the Dictates of his natural Gallantry and good-nature, than he might, perhaps, have done, had he had the deepeſt Deſigns on the young Lady.

But, indeed, it can occaſion little Wonder that this Matter eſcaped the Obſervation of others, ſince poor Sophia herſelf never remarked it, and her Heart was irretrivably loſt before ſhe ſuſpected it was in Danger.

Matters were in this Situation, when Tom one Af⯑ternoon finding Sophia alone, began, after a ſhort Apology, with a very ſerious Face, to acquaint her, that he had a Favour to aſk of her, which he hoped her Goodneſs would comply with.

Though neither the young Man's Behaviour, nor [153] indeed his Manner of opening this Buſineſs, were ſuch as could give her any juſt Cauſe of ſuſpecting he intended to make Love to her; yet, whether Nature whiſpered ſomething into her Ear, or from what Cauſe it aroſe I will not determine, certain it is, ſome Idea of that Kind muſt have intruded itſelf; for her Colour forſook her Cheeks, her Limbs trembled, and her Tongue would have faultered, had Tom ſtopped for an Anſwer: But he ſoon relieved her from her Per⯑plexity, by proceeding to inform her of his Requeſt, which was to ſollicit her Intereſt on Behalf of the Game-keeper, whoſe own Ruin, and that of a large Family, muſt be, he ſaid, the Conſequence of Mr. Weſtern's purſuing his Action againſt him.

Sophia preſently recovered her Confuſion, and with a Smile full of Sweetneſs, ſaid, 'Is this the mighty Favour you aſked with ſo much Gravity. I will do it with all my Heart. I really pity the poor Fel⯑low, and no longer ago than Yeſterday ſent a ſmall Matter to his Wife.' This ſmall Matter was one of her Gowns, ſome Linnen, and ten Shillings in Money, of which Tom had heard, and it had, in reality, put this Solicitation into his Head.

Our Youth, now emboldened with his Succeſs, re⯑ſolved to puſh the Matter farther; and ventured even to beg her Recommendation of him to her Father's Service; proteſting that he thought him one of the honeſteſt Fellows in the Country, and extremely well qualified for the Place of a Game-keeper, which luckily then happened to be vacant.

Sophia anſwered; 'Well, I will undertake this too; but I cannot promiſe you as much Succeſs as in the former Part, which I aſſure you I will not quit my Father without obtaining. However, I will do what I can for the poor Fellow, for I ſincerely look upon him and his Family as Objects of great Compaſſion.'—'And now, Mr. Jones, I muſt aſk' you a Favour.—'

[154] 'A Favour, Madam, (cries Tom) if you knew the Pleaſure you have given me in the Hopes of receiv⯑ing a Command from you, you would think by mentioning it you muſt confer the greateſt Favour on me; for by this dear Hand I would ſacrifice my Life to oblige you.'

He then ſnatched her Hand, and eagerly kiſſed it, which was the firſt Time his Lips had ever touched her. The Blood, which before had forſaken her Cheeks, now made her ſufficient Amends, by ruſh⯑ing all over her Face and Neck with ſuch Violence, that they became all of a ſcarlet Colour. She now firſt felt a Senſation to which ſhe had been before a Stranger, and which, when ſhe had Leiſure to reflect on it, began to acquaint her with ſome Secrets, which the Reader, if he doth not already gueſs them, will know in due Time.

Sophia, as ſoon as ſhe could ſpeak (which was not inſtantly) informed him, that the Favour ſhe had to de⯑ſire of him, was not to lead her Father through ſo many Dangers in Hunting; for that, from what ſhe had heard, ſhe was terribly frightened every Time they went out together, and expected ſome Day or other to ſee her Father brought Home with broken Limbs. She therefore begged him, for her Sake, to be more cautious; and, as he well knew Mr. Weſtern would follow him, not to ride ſo madly, nor to take thoſe dangerous Leaps for the future.

Tom faithfully promiſed to obey her Commands; and after thanking her for her kind Compliance with his Requeſt, took his Leave, and departed highly charmed with his Succeſs.

Poor Sophia was charmed too; but in a very dif⯑ferent Way. Her Senſations, however, the Rea⯑der's Heart, (if he or ſhe have any) will better repre⯑ſent than I can, if I had as many Mouths as ever Poet wiſhed for, to eat, I ſuppoſe, thoſe many Dain⯑ties with which he was ſo plentifully provided.

[155] It was Mr. Weſtern's Cuſtom every Afternoon, as ſoon as he was drunk, to hear his Daughter play on the Harpſichord: for he was a great Lover of Muſic, and perhaps, had he lived in Town, might have paſ⯑ſed for a Connoiſſeur: for he always excepted a⯑gainſt the fineſt Compoſitions of Mr. Handel. He never reliſhed any Muſic but what was light and airy; and indeed his moſt favourite Tunes, were Old Sir Simon the King, St. George, he was for England, Bobbing Joan, and ſome others.

His Daughter tho' ſhe was a perfect Miſtreſs of Muſic, and would never willingly have played any but Handel's, was ſo devoted to her Father's Pleaſure, that ſhe learnt all thoſe Tunes to oblige him. How⯑ever, ſhe would now and then endeavour to lead him into her our own Taſte, and when he required the Repetition of his Ballads, would anſwer with a 'Nay, dear Sir,' and would often beg him to ſuffer her to play ſomething elſe.

This Evening, however, when the Gentleman was retired from his Bottle, ſhe played all his Favourites three Times over, without any Solicitation. This ſo pleaſed the good Squire, that he ſtarted from his Couch, gave his Daughter a Kiſs, and ſwore her Hand was greatly improved. She took this Oppor⯑tunity to execute her promiſe to Tom, in which ſhe ſucceeded ſo well, that the Squire declared, if ſhe would give him t'other Bout of old Sir Simon, he would give the Game-keeper his Deputation the next Morning. Sir Simon was played again and again, till the Charms of the Muſic ſoothed Mr. Weſtern to ſleep. In the Morning Sophia did not fail to re⯑mind him of his Engagement, and his Attorney was immediately ſent for, ordered to ſtop any further pro⯑ceedings in the Action, and to make out the Depu⯑tation.

Tom's Succeſs in this Affair ſoon began to ring over the Country, and various were the Cenſures paſt upon [156] it. Some greatly applauded it as an Act of good Nature, others ſneering, and ſaying, 'No Wonder that one idle Fellow ſhould love another.' Young Blifil was greatly enraged at it. He had long hated Black George in the ſame Proportion as Jones delighted in him; not for any offence which he had ever received, but from his great Love to Religion and Virtue: For Black George had the Reputation of a looſe kind of a Fellow. Blifil therefore repreſented this as flying in Mr. Allworthy's Face; and declared with great Concern, that it was impoſſible to find any other Motive for doing Good to ſuch a Wretch.

Thwackum and Square likewiſe ſung to the ſame Tune: They were now (eſpecially the latter) become greatly jealous of young Jones with the Widow: For he now approached the Age of Twenty, was really a fine young Fellow; and that Lady, by her En⯑couragements to him, ſeemed daily more and more to think him ſo.

Allworthy was not, however, moved with their Malice. He declared himſelf very well ſatisfied with what Jones had done. He ſaid, the Perſeverance and Integrity of his Friendſhip was highly commen⯑dable, and he wiſhed he could ſee more frequent In⯑ſtances of that Virtue.

But Fortune who ſeldom greatly reliſhes ſuch Sparks as my Friend Tom, perhaps, becauſe they do not pay more ardent Addreſſes to her, gave now a very dif⯑ferent Turn to all his Actions, and ſhewed them to Mr. Allworthy in a Light far leſs agreeable than that Gentleman's Goodneſs had hitherto ſeen them in.

CHAP. VI.

THERE are two Sorts of People, who I am afraid, have already conceived ſome Contempt for my Heroe, on Account of his Behaviour to Sophia. The former of theſe will blame his Prudence in ne⯑glecting an Opportunity to poſſeſs himſelf of Mr. Weſtern's Fortune; and the latter will no leſs deſpiſe him for his Backwardneſs to ſo fine a Girl, who ſeemed ready to fly into his Arms, if he would open them to receive her.

Now, though I ſhall not perhaps be able abſolute⯑ly to acquit him of either of theſe Charges; (for Want of Prudence admits of no Excuſe; and what I ſhall produce againſt the latter Charge, will, I apprehend, be ſcarce ſatisfactory;) yet as Evidence may ſome⯑times be offered in Mitigation, I ſhall ſet forth the plain Matter of Fact, and leave the whole to the Rea⯑der's Determination.

Mr. Jones had ſomewhat about him, which, though I think Writers are not thoroughly agreed in its Name, doth certainly inhabit ſome human Breaſts; whoſe Uſe is not ſo properly to diſtinguiſh Right from Wrong, as to prompt and incite them to the former, and to reſtrain and with-hold them from the latter.

This Somewhat may be indeed reſembled to the fa⯑mous Trunk-maker in the Playhouſe: for whenever the Perſon who is poſſeſſed of it doth what is right, no raviſhed or friendly Spectator is ſo eager, or ſo loud in his Applauſe; on the contrary, when he doth wrong, no Critic is ſo apt to hiſs and explode him.

[158] To give a higher Idea of the Principle I mean, as well as one more familiar to the preſent Age; it may be conſidered as ſitting on its Throne in the Mind, like the LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR of this King⯑dom in his Court; where it preſides, governs, di⯑rects, judges, acquits and condemns according to Merit and Juſtice; with a Knowledge which nothing eſcapes, a Penetration which nothing can deceive, and an Integrity which nothing can corrupt.

This Active Principle may perhaps be ſaid to con⯑ſtitute the moſt eſſential Barrier between us, and our Neighbours the Brutes; for if there be ſome in the human Shape, who are not under any ſuch Domini⯑on, I chuſe rather to conſider them as Deſerters from us to our Neighbours; among whom they will have the Fate of Deſerters, and not be placed in the firſt Rank.

Our Heroe, whether he derived it from Thwackum or Square I will not determine, was very ſtrongly under the Guidance of this Principle: for though he did not always act rightly, yet he never did other⯑wiſe without feeling and ſuffering for it. It was this which taught him, that to repay the Civilities and little Friendſhips of Hoſpitality by robbing the Houſe where you have received them, is to be the baſeſt and meaneſt of Thieves. He did not think the Baſeneſs of this Offence leſſened by the Height of the Injury committed; on the contrary, if to ſteal another's Plate deſerved Death and Infamy, it ſeemed to him difficult to aſſign a Puniſhment adequate to the rob⯑bing a Man of his whole Fortune, and of his Child into the Bargain.

This Principle therefore prevented him from any Thought of making his Fortune by ſuch Means (for this, as I have ſaid, is an active Principle, and doth not content itſelf with Knowledge or Belief only.) Had he been greatly enamoured of Sophia, he poſſibly might have thought otherwiſe; but give me Leave to [159] ſay, there is great Difference between running away with a Man's Daughter from the Motive of Love, and doing the ſame Thing from the Motive of Theft.

Now though this young Gentleman was not inſen⯑ſible of the Charms of Sophia; tho' he greatly liked her Beauty, and eſteemed all her other Qualifications, ſhe had made, however, no deep Impreſſion on his Heart: For which, as it renders him liable to the Charge of Stupidity, or at leaſt of Want of Taſte, we ſhall now proceed to account.

The Truth then is, his Heart was in the Poſſeſſion of another Woman. Here I queſtion not, but the Reader will be ſurprized at our long Taciturnity as to this Matter; and at no leſs Loſs to divine who this Woman was; ſince we have hitherto not dropt a Hint of any one likely to be a Rival to Sophia: For as to Mrs. Blifil, though we have been obliged to mention ſome Suſpicions of her Affection for Tom, we have not hitherto given the leaſt Latitude for imagining that he had any for her; and, indeed, I am ſorry to ſay it, but the Youth of both Sexes are too apt to be de⯑ficient in their Gratitude, for that Regard with which Perſons more advanced in Years are ſometimes ſo kind to honour them.

That the Reader may be no longer in Suſpence, he will be pleaſed to remember, that we have often men⯑tioned the Family of George Seagrim, commonly cal⯑led Black George, the Game-keeper, which conſiſted at preſent of a Wife and five Children.

The ſecond of theſe Children was a Daughter, whoſe Name was Molly, and who was eſteemed one of the handſomeſt Girls in the whole Country.

Congreve well ſays, There is in true Beauty ſome⯑thing which vulgar Souls cannot admire; ſo can no Dirt or Rags hide this Something from thoſe Souls which are not of the vulgar Stamp.

The Beauty of this Girl made, however, no Im⯑preſſion on Tom, till ſhe grew towards the Age of [160] Sixteen, when Tom, who was near three Years older, began firſt to caſt the Eyes of Affection upon her. And this Affection he had fixed on the Girl long before he could bring himſelf to attempt the Poſ⯑ſeſſion of her Perſon: for tho' his Conſtitution urged him greatly to this, his Principles no leſs forcibly reſtrained him. To debauch a young Woman, how⯑ever low her Condition was, appeared to him a very heinous Crime; and the Good-will he bore the Fa⯑ther, with the Compaſſion he had for his Family, very ſtrongly corroborated all ſuch ſober Reflections; ſo that he once reſolved to get the better of his In⯑clinations, and he actually abſtained three whole Months without ever going to Seagrim's Houſe, or ſeeing his Daughter.

Now though Molly was, as we have ſaid, gene⯑rally thought a very fine Girl, and in reality ſhe was ſo, yet her Beauty was not of the moſt amiable Kind. It had indeed very little of Feminine in it, and would at leaſt have become a Man as well as a Woman; for, to ſay the Truth, Youth and florid Health had a very conſiderable Share in the Compoſition.

Nor was her Mind more effeminate than her Perſon. As this was tall and robuſt, ſo was that bold and forward. So little had ſhe of Modeſty, that Jones had more Regard for her Virtue than ſhe herſelf. And as moſt probably ſhe liked Tom as well as he liked her, ſo when ſhe perceived his Backwardneſs, ſhe herſelf grew proportionably forward; and when ſhe ſaw he had entirely deſerted the Houſe, ſhe found Means of throwing herſelf in his Way, and behaved in ſuch a Manner, that the Youth muſt have had very much, or very little of the Heroe, if her Endeavours had proved unſucceſsful. In a Word, ſhe ſoon tri⯑umphed over all the virtuous Reſolutions of Jones: For though ſhe behaved at laſt with all decent Reluc⯑tance, yet I rather chuſe to attribute the Triumph [161] to her, Since, in Fact, it was her Deſign which ſuc⯑ceeded.

In the Conduct of this Matter, Molly ſo well play⯑ed her Part, that Jones attributed the Conqueſt en⯑tirely to himſelf, and conſidered the young Woman as one who had yielded to the violent Attacks of his Paſſion. He likewiſe imputed her yielding, to the ungovernable Force of her Love towards him; and this the Reader will allow to have been a very natural and probable Suppoſition, as we have more than once mentioned the uncommon Comelineſs of his Perſon: And indeed he was one of the handſomeſt young Fel⯑lows in the World.

As there are ſome Minds whoſe Affections, like Maſter Blifl's, are ſolely placed on one ſingle Per⯑ſon, whoſe Intereſt and indulgence alone they conſi⯑der on every Occaſion; regarding the Good and Ill of all others as merely indifferent, any farther than as they contribute to the Pleaſure or Advantage of that Perſon: So there is a different Temper of Mind which borrows a Degree of Virtue even from Self-love; ſuch can never receive any kind of Satisfaction from another, without loving the Creature to whom that Satisfaction is owing, and without making its Well⯑being in ſome ſort neceſſary to their own Eaſe.

Of this latter Species was our Heroe. He conſi⯑dered this poor Girl as one whoſe Happineſs or Miſe⯑ry he had cauſed to be dependent on himſelf. Her Beauty was ſtill the Object of Deſire, though greater Beauty, or a freſher Object, might have been more ſo; but the little Abatement which Fruition had oc⯑caſioned to this, was highly overballanced by the Conſiderations of the Affection which ſhe viſibly bore him, and of the Situation into which he had brought her. The former of theſe created Gratitude, the latter Compaſſion; and both together with his Deſire for her Perſon, raiſed in him a Paſſion, which might, without any great Violence to the Word, be called [162] Love; though, perhaps, it was at firſt not very judi⯑ciouſly placed.

This then was the true Reaſon of that Inſenſibility which he had ſhewn of the Charms of Sophia, and of that Behaviour in her, which might have been reaſo⯑nable enough interpreted as an Encouragement to his Addreſſes: For as he could not think of abandoning his Molly, poor and deſtitute as ſhe was, ſo no more could he entertain a Notion of betraying ſuch a Crea⯑ture as Sophia. And ſurely, had he given the leaſt Encouragement to any Paſſion for that young Lady, he muſt have been abſolutely guilty of one or other of thoſe Crimes; either of which would, in my Opi⯑nion, have very juſtly ſubjected him to that Fate, which at his firſt Introduction into this Hiſtory, I mentioned to have been generally predicted as his cer⯑tain Deſtiny.

CHAP. VII.

HER Mother firſt perceived the Alteration in the Shape of Molly, and in order to hide it from her Neighbours, ſhe fooliſhly clothed her in that Sack which Sophia had ſent her. Though indeed that young Lady had little Apprehenſion, that the poor Woman would have been weak enough to let any of her Daughters wear it in that Form.

Molly was charmed with the firſt Opportunity ſhe had ever had of ſhewing her Beauty to Advan⯑tage; for though ſhe could very well bear to con⯑template herſelf in the Glaſs, even when dreſt in Rags; and though ſhe had in that Dreſs conquered the Heart of Jones, and perhaps of ſome others; yet ſhe thought the Addition of Finery would much improve her Charms, and extend her Conqueſts.

Molly, therefore, having dreſſed herſelf out in this Sack, with a new laced Cap, and ſome other Orna⯑ments [163] which Tom had given her, repairs to Church with her Fan in her Hand the very next Sunday. The Great are deceived, if they imagine they have appro⯑priated Ambition and Vanity to themſelves. Theſe no⯑ble Qualities flouriſh as notably in a Country Church, and Church-yard, as in the Drawing-Room, or in the Cloſet. Schemes have indeed been laid in the Veſtry, which would hardly diſgrace the Conclave. Here is a Miniſtry, and here is an Oppoſition. Here are Plots and Circumventions, Parties and Factions, equal to thoſe which are to be found in Courts.

Nor are the Women here leſs practiſed in the higheſt Feminine Arts than their fair Superiors in Quality and Fortune. Here are prudes and Coquettes. Here are Dreſſing and Ogling, Falſhood, Envy, Malice, Scan⯑dal; in ſhort, every Thing which is common to the moſt ſplendid Aſſembly, or politeſt Circle. Let thoſe of high Life, therefore, no longer deſpiſe the Ignorance of their Inferiors; nor the Vulgar any longer rail at the Vices of their Betters.

Molly had ſeated herſelf ſome time before ſhe was known by her Neighbours; and a Whiſper ran through the whole Congregation, 'Who is ſhe?' But when ſhe was diſcovered, ſuch ſneering, gigling, tittering, and laughing, enſued among the Women, that Mr. Allworthy was obliged to exert his Autho⯑rity to preſerve any Decency among them.

CHAP. VIII.

MR. Weſtern had an Eſtate in this Pariſh; and as his Houſe ſtood at little greater Diſtance from this Church than from his own, he very often came to divine Service here; and both he and the charming Sophia happened to be preſent at this Time.

Sophia was much pleaſed with the Beauty of the [164] Girl, whom ſhe pitied for her Simplicity, in having dreſſed herſelf in that Manner, as ſhe ſaw the Envy which it had occaſioned among her Equals. She no ſooner came home, than ſhe ſent for the Game-keep⯑er, and ordered him to bring his Daughter to her; ſaying, She would provide for her in the Family, and might poſſibly place the Girl about her own Perſon, when her own Maid, who was now going away, had left her.

Poor Seagrim was thunderſtruck at this; for he was no Stranger to the Fault in the Shape of his Daughter. He anſwered, in a ſtammering Voice, 'That he was afraid Molly would be too aukward to wait on her Ladyſhip, as ſhe had never been at Service.' 'No matter for that,' ſays Sophia, 'ſhe will ſoon improve. I am pleaſed with the Girl, and am reſolved to try her.'

Black George now repaired to his Wife, on whoſe prudent Council he depended to extricate him out of this Dilemma; but when he came thither, he found his Houſe in ſome Confuſion. So great Envy had this Sack occaſioned, that when Mr. Allworthy and the other Gentry were gone from Church, the Rage which had hitherto been confined, burſt into an Up⯑roar, and having vented itſelf at firſt in opprobrious Words, Laughs, Hiſſes, aud Geſtures, betook itſelf at laſt to certain miſſile Weapons; which, though from their plaſtic Nature they threatened neither the Loſs of Life or of Limb, were however ſufficiently dreadful to a well-dreſſed Lady. Molly had too much Spirit to bear this Treatment tamely. Having there⯑fore—But hold, as we are diffident of our own Abilities, let us here invite a ſuperior Power to our Aſſiſtance.

Ye Muſes then, whoever you are, who love to ſing Battles, and principally thou, who whileom didſt recount the Slaughter in thoſe Fields where Hudibras and Trulla fought, if thou wert not ſtarved with thy [165] Friend Butler, aſſiſt me on this great Occaſion. All things are not in the Power of all.

As a vaſt Herd of Cows in a rich Farmer's Yard, if, while they are milked, they hear their Calves at a Diſtance lamenting the Robbery which is then com⯑mitting, roar and bellow: So roared forth the Somer⯑ſetſhire Mob an Hallaloo, made up of almoſt as many Squawls, Screams, and other different Sounds, as there were Perſons, or indeed Paſſions, among them: Some were inſpired by Rage, others alarmed by Fear, and others had nothing in their Heads but the Love of Fun; but chiefly Envy, the Siſter of Satan, and his conſtant Companion, ruſhed among the Crowd, and blew up the Fury of the Women; who no ſooner came up to Molly, than they pelted her with Dirt and Rubbiſh.

Molly, having endeavoured in vain to make a handſome Retreat, faced about; and laying hold of ragged Beſs, who advanced in the Front of the Ene⯑my, ſhe at one Blow felled her to the Ground. The whole Army of the Enemy (though near a hundred in Number) ſeeing the Fate of their General, gave back many Paces, and retired behind a new-dug Grave; for the Church-yard was the Field of Battle, where there was to be a Funeral that very Evening. Molly purſued her Victory, and catching up a Skull which lay on the Side of the Grave, diſcharged it with ſuch Fury, that having hit a Taylor on the Head, the two Skulls ſent equally forth a hollow Sound at their Meeting, and the Taylor took preſently meaſure of his Length on the Ground, where the Skulls lay ſide by ſide, and it was doubtful which was the moſt va⯑luable of the two. Molly then taking a Thigh Bone in her Hand, fell in among the flying Ranks, and dealing her Blows with great Liberality neither Side, overthrew the Carcaſs of many a mighty Heroe and Heroine.

Recount, O Muſe, the Names of thoſe who fell [166] on this fatal Day. Firſt Jemmy Tweedle felt on his hinder Head the direful Bone. Him the pleaſant Bank of ſweetly winding Stower had nouriſhed, where he firſt learnt the vocal Art, with which, wandering up and down at Wakes and Fairs, he cheered the rural Nymphs and Swains, when upon the Green they interweave the ſprightly Dance; while he himſelf ſtood fidling and jumping to his own Muſic. How little now avails his Fiddle? He thumps the verdant Floor with his Carcaſs. Next old Echepole, the Sow⯑gelder, received a Blow in his Forehead from our Amazonian Heroine, and immediately fell to the Ground. He was a ſwinging fat Fellow, and fell with almoſt as much Noiſe as a Houſe. His Tobac⯑co-box dropt at the ſame Time from his Pocket, which Molly took up as lawful Spoils. Then Kate of the Mill tumbled unfortunately over a Tombſtone, which catching hold of her ungartered Stocking, in⯑verted the Order of Nature, and gave her Heels the Superiority to her Head. Betty Pippin, with young Roger her Lover, fell both to the Ground. Where, O perverſe Fate, ſhe ſalutes the Earth, and he the Sky. Tom Freckle, the Smith's Son, was the next Victim to her Rage. He was an ingenious Work⯑man, and made excellent Pattins; nay the very Pat⯑tin with which he was knocked down was his own Workmanſhip. Had he been at that Time ſinging Pſalms in the Church, he would have avoided a bro⯑ken Head. Miſs Crow, the Daughter of a Farmer; John Giddiſh, himſelf a Farmer; Nan Slouch, Eſther Codling, Will Spray, Tom Bennet; the three Miſſes Potter, whoſe Father keeps the Sign of the Red Lion. Betty Chambermaid, Jack Oſtler, and many others of inferior Note, lay rolling among the Graves.

Not that the ſtrenuous Arm of Molly reached all theſe; for many of them in their Flight overthrew each other.

But now Fortune fearing ſhe had acted out of Cha⯑racter, [167] and had inclined too long to the ſame Side, eſpecially as it was the right Side, haſtily turned about: For now Goody Brown, whom Zekiel Brown careſ⯑ [...]es in his Arms; nor he alone, but half the Pariſh be⯑ſides; ſo famous was ſhe in the Fields of Venus, nor indeed leſs in thoſe of Mars. The Trophies of both theſe, her Husband always bore about on his Head and Face; for if ever human Head did by its Horns diſplay the amorous Glories of a Wife, Zekiel's did; nor did his well-ſcratched Face leſs denote her Talents (or rather Talons) of a different Kind.

No longer bore this Amazon the ſhameful Flight of her Party. She ſtopt ſhort, and calling aloud to all who fled, ſpoke as follows: 'Ye Somerſetſhire Men, or rather ye Somerſetſhire Women, are ye not aſhamed, thus to fly from a ſingle Woman; but if no other will oppoſe her, I myſelf and Joan Top here will have the Honour of the Victory.' Having thus ſaid, ſhe flew at Molly Seagrim, and eaſily wrench⯑ed the Thigh Bone from her Hand, at the ſame Time clawing off her Cap from her Head. Then laying hold of the Hair of Molly, with her Left Hand, ſhe attacked her ſo furiouſly in the Face with the Right, that the Blood ſoon began to trickle from her Noſe. Molly was not idle this while. She ſoon removed the Clout from the Head of Goody Brown, and then faſtening on her Hair with one Hand, with the other ſhe cauſed the ſame bloody Stream to iſſue forth from the Noſtril of the Enemy.

When each of the Combatants had bore off ſuffi⯑cient Spoils of Hair from the Head of her Antagoniſt, the next Rage was againſt their Garments. In this Attack they exerted ſo much Violence, that in a very few Minutes, they were both naked to the middle.

It is lucky for the Women, that the Seat of Fiſty⯑cuff-War is not the ſame with them as among Men; but though they may ſeem a little to deviate from their Sex, when they go forth to Battle, yet I have ob⯑ſerved [168] they never ſo far forget it, as to aſſail the Bo⯑ſom, of each other; where a few Blows would be fa⯑tal to moſt of them. This, I know, ſome derive from their being of a more bloody Inclination than the Males. On which Account they apply to the Noſe, as to the Part whence Blood may moſt eaſily be drawn; but this ſeems a far-fetched, as well as illnatured Suppoſition.

Goody Brown had great Advantage of Molly in this Particular; for the former had indeed no Breaſts, her Boſom (if it may be ſo called) as well in Colour as in many other Properties, exactly reſembling an an⯑tient Piece of Parchment, upon which any one might have drummed a conſiderable while, without doing her any great Damage.

Molly, beſides her preſent unhappy Condition, was differently formed in thoſe Parts, and might, perhaps, have attempted the Envy of Brown to give a her fatal Blow, had not the lucky Arrival of Tom Jones at this Inſtant put an immediate End to the bloody Scene.

This Accident was luckily owing to Mr. Square; for he, Maſter Blifil, and Jones, had mounted their Horſes, after Church, to take the Air, and had rid⯑den about a Quarter of a Mile, when Square, chang⯑ing his Mind, (not idly, but for a Reaſon which we ſhall unfold as ſoon as we have Leiſure) deſired the young Gentlemen to ride with him another Way than they had at firſt purpoſed. This Motion being complied with, brought them of Neceſſity back again to the Church-yard.

Maſter Blifil, who rode firſt, ſeeing ſuch a Mob aſſembled, and two Women in the Poſture in which we left the Combatants, ſtopt his Horſe to enquire what was the Matter. A Country Fellow, ſcratching his Head, anſwered him; 'I don't know Meaſter un't I; an't pleaſe your Honour, here hath been a Vight, I think, between Goody Brown and Mol [169] Seagrim.' 'Who, who, cries Tom?' but without waiting for an Anſwer, having diſcovered the Fea⯑thres of his Molly through all the Diſcompoſure in which they now were, he haſtily alighted, turned [...]is Horſe looſe, and leaping over the Wall, ran to her. She now, firſt burſting into Tears, told him how [...]arbarouſly ſhe had been treated. Upon which, for⯑getting the Sex of Goody Brown, or perhaps not [...]nowing it, in his Rage; for, in reality, ſhe had no [...]eminine Appearance, but a Petticoat, which he might [...]ot obſerve, he gave her a Laſh or two with his Horſewhip; and then flying at the Mob, who were all accuſed by Molly, he dealt his Blows ſo profuſely in all Sides, that unleſs I would again invoke the [...]luſe, (which the good-natured Reader may think a [...]ttle too hard upon her, as ſhe hath ſo lately been vio⯑lently ſweated) it would be impoſſible for me to re⯑ [...]ount the Horſewhipping of that Day.

Having ſcoured the whole Coaſt of the Enemy, as well as any of Homer's Heroes ever did, or as Don Quixotte, or any Knight Errand in the World could [...]ave done, he returned to Molly, whom he found in a Condition, which muſt give both me and my Reader Pain, was it to be deſcribed here. Tom raved like Madman, beat his Breaſt, tore his Hair, ſtamped [...]n the Ground, and vowed the utmoſt Vengeance on all who had been concerned. He then pulled off his Coat, and buttoned it round her, put his Hat upon [...]er Head, wiped the Blood from her Face as well as [...]e could with his Handkerchief, and called out to the Servant to ride as faſt as poſſible for a Side-ſaddle, or Pillion, that he might carry her ſafe home.

Maſter Blifil objected to the ſending away the Ser⯑vant, as they had only one with them; but as Square ſeconded the Order of Jones, he was obliged to comply.

The Servant returned in a very ſhort Time with [...]he Pillion, and Molly, having collected her Rags as [170] well ſhe could, was placed behind him. In which Manner ſhe was carried home, Square, Blifil and Jones, attending.

Here Jones, having received his Coat, given her a ſly Kiſs, and whiſpered her that he would return i [...] the Evening, quitted his Molly, and rode on after his Companions.

CHAP. IX.

MOLLY had no ſooner apparelled herſelf in her accuſtomed Rags, than her Siſters began to fall violently upon her; particularly her elder Siſter, who told her ſhe was well enough ſerved. 'How had ſhe the Aſſurance to wear a Gown which young Madam Weſtern had given to Mother! If one of us was to wear it, I think,' ſays ſhe, 'I myſelf have the beſt Right; but I warrant you think it belongs to your Beauty. I ſuppoſe you think yourſelf more handſomer than any of us.' 'Hand her down the Bit of Glaſs from over the Cupboard,' cries ano⯑ther, I'd waſh the Blood from my Face before I tauked of my Beauty.' You'd better have minded what the Parſon ſays,' cries the eldeſt, 'and not a harkened after Men Voke.' 'Indeed, Child, and ſo ſhe had,' ſays the Mother ſobbing, 'ſhe hath brought a diſgrace upon us all. She's the vurſt of the Vamily that ever was a Whore.' You need not upbraid me with that, Mother, cries Molly, 'you yourſelf was brought to-bed of Siſter there within a Week after you was married,' 'Yes, Huſſy,' anſwered the enraged Mother, 'ſo I was, and what was the mighty Matter of that? I was made an honeſt Woman then; and if you was to be made an honeſt Woman I ſhould not be angry; but you muſt have to doing with a Gentleman, you naſty Slut, you will have a Baſtard, Huſſy, you will; and that I defy any one to ſay of me.'

[171] In this Situation Black George found his Family, when he came home for the Purpoſe before mention⯑ed. As his Wife and three Daughters were all of them talking together, and moſt of them crying, it was ſome time before he could get an Opportunity [...]f being heard; but as ſoon as ſuch an Interval occur⯑red, acquainted the Company with what Sophia had ſaid to him.

Goody Seagrim then began to revile her Daugh⯑ter afreſh. 'Here,' ſays ſhe, 'you have brought us into a fine Quandary indeed. What will Ma⯑dam ſay to that big Belly? Oh that ever I ſhould live to ſee this Day.

Molly anſwered with great Spirit, 'And what is this mighty Place which you have got for me, Father?' (for he had not well underſtood the Phraſe [...]ſed by Sophia of being about her Perſon) 'I ſuppoſe it is to be under the Cook; but I ſhan't waſh Diſhes for any Body. My Gentleman will provide better for me. See what he hath given me this After⯑noon; he hath promiſed I ſhall never want Money; and you ſhan't want Money neither, Mother, if you will hold your Tongue, and know when you are well.' And ſo ſaying, ſhe pulled out ſeveral Guineas, and gave her Mother one of them.

The good Woman no ſooner felt the Gold with⯑in her Palm, than her Temper began (ſuch is the Ef⯑ficacy of that Panacea) to be mollified. 'Why Huſband,' ſays ſhe, 'would any but ſuch a Block⯑head as you not have enquired what Place this was before he had accepted it! Perhaps, as Molly ſays, it may be in the Kitchen, and truly I don't care my Daughter ſhould be a Scullion Wench: For poor as I am, I am a Gentlewoman. And thof I was obliged, as my Father, who was a Clergyman died worſe than nothing, and ſo could not give me a Shilling of Potion, to undervalue myſelf, by mar⯑rying a poor Man, yet I would have you to know, [172] I have a Spirit above all them Things. Marry come up, it would better become Madam Weſtern to look at Home, and remember who her own Grandfather was. Some of my Family, for ought I know, might ride in their Coaches, when the Grandfathers of ſome Voke walked a-voot. I war⯑rant ſhe fancies ſhe did a mighty Matter, when ſhe ſent us that old Gownd; ſome of my Family would not have picked up ſuch Rags in the Streets; but poor People are always trampled upon.—The Pariſh need not have been in ſuch a Fluſter with Mol⯑ly.—You might have told them, Child, your Grand⯑mother wore better Things new out of the Shop.'

'Well but, conſider,' cried George, 'What Anſwer ſhall I make to Madam?' 'I don't know what An⯑ſwer,' ſays ſhe, 'You are always bringing your Fa⯑mily into one Quandary or other. Do you remem⯑ber when you ſhot the Partridge, the Occaſion of all our Misfortunes? Did not I adviſe you never to go into Squire Weſtern's Manor? Did not I tell you many a good Year ago what would come of it? but you would have your own headſtrong Ways; yes, you would, you Villain—'

Black George was, in the main, a peaceable kind of Fellow, and nothing choleric, nor raſh, yet did he bear about him ſomething of what the Antients called the Iraſcible, and which his Wife, if ſhe had been endowed with much Wiſdom, would have feared. He had long experienced, that when the Storm grew very high Arguments were but Wind, which ſerved rather to increaſe than to abate it. He was therefore ſeldom unprovided with a ſmall Switch, a Remedy of wonderful Force, as he had often eſſayed, and which the Word Villain ſerved as a Hint for his ap⯑plying.

No ſooner, therefore, had this Symptom appeared, than he had immediate Recourſe to the ſaid Remedy, which though, as it is uſual in all very efficacious [173] Medicines, it at firſt ſeemed to heighten and inflame the Diſeaſe, ſoon produced a total Calm, and reſtored the Patient to perfect Eaſe and Tranquillity.

This is, however, a kind of Horſe-medicine, which requires a very robuſt Conſtitution to digeſt, and is therefore only proper for the Vulgar, unleſs in one ſingle Inſtance, viz. where Superiority of Birth breaks out; in which Caſe, we ſhould not think it very im⯑properly applied by any Huſband whatever, if the Application was not, in itſelf ſo baſe, that, like certain Applications of the Phyſical Kind which need not be mentioned, it ſo much degrades and contaminates the Hand employed in it, that no Gentleman ſhould en⯑dure the Thought of any Thing ſo low and deteſt⯑able.

The whole Family were ſoon reduced to a State of perfect Quiet: For the Virtue of this Medicine, like that of Electricity, is often communicated through one Perſon to many others, who are not touched by the Inſtrument. To ſay the Truth, as they both operate by Friction, it may be doubted whether there is not ſomething analogous between them, of which Mr. Freke would do well to enquire before he pub⯑liſhes the next Edition of his Book.

A Council was now called, in which, after many Debates, Molly ſtill perſiſting that ſhe would not go to Service, it was at length reſolved, that Goody Seagrim herſelf ſhould wait on Miſs Weſtern, and endeavour to procure the Place for her elder Daugh⯑ter, who declared great Readineſs to accept it; but Fortune, who ſeems to have been an Enemy of this little Family, afterwards put a Stop to her Promotion.

CHAP. X.

THE next Morning Tom Jones hunted with Mr. Weſtern, and was at his Return invited by that Gentleman to Dinner.

The lovely Sophia ſhone forth that Day with more Gaiety and Sprightlineſs than uſual. Her Battery was certainly levelled at our Heroe; though, I be⯑lieve, ſhe herſelf ſcarce yet knew her own Intention; but if ſhe had any Deſign of charming him, ſhe now ſucceeded.

Mr. Supple, the Curate of Mr. Allworthy's Pariſh, made one of the Company. He was a goood-natur⯑ed worthy Man; but chiefly remarkable for his great Taciturnity at Table, though his Mouth was never ſhut at it. In ſhort, he had one of the beſt Appetites in the World. However, the Cloth was no ſooner taken away, than he always made ſufficient Amends for his Silence: For he was a very hearty Fellow; and his Converſation was often entertaining, never offenſive.

At his firſt Arrival, which was immediately before the Entrance of the Roaſt-beef, he had given an Intimation that he had brought ſome News with him, and was beginning to tell, that he came that Moment from Mr. Allworthy's, when the Sight of the Roaſt⯑beef, ſtruck him dumb, permitting him only to ſay Grace, and to declare he muſt pay his Reſpect to the Baronet: For ſo he called the Sirloin.

When Dinner was over, being reminded by Sophia of his News, he began as follows, 'I believe, Lady, your Ladyſhip obſerved a young Woman at Church yeſterday at Even-ſong, who was dreſt in one of your outlandiſh Garments; I think I have ſeen [175] your Ladyſhip in ſuch a one. However, in the Country, ſuch Dreſſes are

That is, Madam, as much as to ſay,

'The Verſe is in Juvenal: but to return to what I was relating. I was ſaying ſuch Garments are rare Sights in the Country, and perchance too, it was thought the more rare, Reſpect being had to the Perſon who wore it, who, they tell me, is the Daughter of Black George, your Worſhip's Game⯑keeper, whoſe Sufferings I ſhould have opined, might have taught him more Wit than to dreſs forth his Wenches in ſuch gaudy Apparel. She created ſo much Confuſion in the Congregation, that if Squire Allworthy had not ſilenced it, it would have interrupted the Service: For I was once about to ſtop in the Middle of the firſt Leſſon. Howbeit, nevertheleſs, after Prayer was over, and I was de⯑parted home, this occaſioned a Battle in the Church⯑yard, where, amongſt other Miſchief, the Head of a travelling Fidler was very much broken. This Morning the Fidler came to Squire Allworthy for a Warrant, and the Wench was brought before him. The Squire was inclined to have compounded Mat⯑ters; when, lo! on a ſudden, the Wench appeared (I aſk your Ladyſhip Pardon) to be, as it were at the Eve of bringing forth a Baſtard. The Squire demanded of her who was the Father; but ſhe per⯑tinaciouſly refuſed to make any Reſponſe. So that he was about to make her Mittimus to Bridewel,' when I departed.'

'And is a Wench having a Baſtard all your News, Doctor? cries Weſtern. 'I thought it might have been ſome public Matter, ſomething about the Na⯑tion.'

[176] 'I am afraid it is too common, indeed,' anſwer⯑ed the Parſon, 'but I thought the whole Story al⯑together deſerved commemorating. As to Natio⯑nal Matters, your Worſhip knows them beſt. My Concerns extend no farther than my own Pariſh.'

'Why ay,' ſays the Squire.' 'I believe I do know a little Matter, as you ſay; but come, Tommy, drink about, the Bottle ſtands with you.'

Tom begged to be excuſed, for that he had parti⯑cular Buſineſs; and getting up from Table, eſcaped the Clutches of the Squire who was riſing to ſtop him, and went off with very little Ceremony.

The Squire gave him a good Curſe at his Depar⯑ture; and then turning to the Parſon, he cried out, 'I ſmoke it, I ſmoke it. Tom is certainly the Fa⯑ther of this Baſtard.' 'Zooks, Parſon, you re⯑member how he recommended the Veather o'her to me—d—n un, what a ſly B—ch 'tis. Ay ay, as ſure as Two-pence, Tom is Veather of the Baſ⯑tard.'

'I ſhould be very ſorry for that,' ſays the Parſon. 'Why ſorry, cries the Squire, Where is the mighty Matter o't? What I ſuppoſe, doſt pretend that thee haſt never got a Baſtard? Pox! more good Luck's thine: for I warrant haſt done therefore many's the good Time and often. 'Your Worſhip is pleaſed to be jocular,' anſwered the Parſon, but I do not only animadvert on the Sinfulneſs of the Ac⯑tion, though that ſurely is to be greatly depreca⯑ted; but I fear his Unrighteouſneſs may injure him with Mr. Allworthy. And truly I muſt ſay, though he hath the Character of being a little wild, I never ſaw any Harm in the young Man; nor can I ſay I have heard any, ſave what your Worſhip now men⯑tions. I wiſh, indeed he was a little more regular in his Reſponſes at Church; but altogether he ſeems.'

[177] 'That is a claſſical Line, young Lady, and being rendered into Engliſh, is, a A Lad of an ingenuous Countenance and of an ingenuous Modeſty: For this was a Virtue in great Repute both among the Latins and Greeks. I muſt ſay the young Gentle⯑man (for ſo I think I may call him, notwithſtand⯑ing his Birth) appears to me a very modeſt, civil Lad, and I ſhould be ſorry that he ſhould do himſelf any Injury in Squire Allworthy's Opinion.'

'Poogh! ſays the Squire, 'Injury with Allwor⯑thy! Why Allworthy loves a Wench himſelf. Doth not all the Country know whoſe Son Tom is? You muſt talk to another Perſon in that Manner. I remember Allworthy at College.'

'I thought,' ſaid the Parſon, 'he had never been at the Univerſity.'

'Yes, yes, he was,' ſays the Squire, 'and many a Wench have we two had together. As errant a Whoremaſter as any within five Miles o'un. No, no. It will do'n no Harm with he, aſſure your⯑ſelf, or with any Body elſe. Aſk Sophy there—You have not the worſe Opinion of a young Fellow for getting a Baſtard, have you, Girl? No, no, the Women will like un the better for't.'

This was a cruel Queſtion to poor Sophia. She had obſerved Tom's Colour change at the Parſon's Story; and that, with his haſty and abrupt Departure, gave her ſufficient Reaſon to think her Father's Suſpi⯑cion not groundleſs. Her Heart now, at once, diſ⯑covered the great Secret to her, which had been ſo long diſcloſing by little and little; and ſhe found her⯑ſelf highly intereſted in this Matter. In ſuch a Si⯑tuation, her Father's malapert Queſtion ruſhing ſud⯑denly upon her, produced ſome Symptoms which might have alarmed a Suſpicious Heart; but to do the Squire Juſtice, that was not his Fault. When ſhe roſe therefore from her Chair, and told him, a Hint from him was always ſufficient to make her with⯑draw, [178] he ſuffered her to leave the Room; and then with great Gravity of Countenance remarked, 'that it was better to ſee a Daughter over-modeſt, than o⯑ver forward;' a Sentiment which was highly ap⯑plauded by the Parſon.

There now enſued between the Squire and the Par⯑ſon, a moſt excellent political Diſcourſe, framed out of News-Papers, and political Pamphlets,; in which they made a Libation of four Bottles of Wine to the Good of their Country; and then, the Squire being faſt aſleep, the Parſon lighted his Pipe, mounted his Horſe, and rode home.

When the Squire had finiſhed his Half-hour's Nap, he ſummoned his Daughter to her Harpſichord; but ſhe begged to be excuſed that Evening, on Account of a violent Head-ach. This Remiſſion was pre⯑ſently granted: For indeed ſhe ſeldom had Occaſion to aſk him twice, as he loved her with ſuch ardent Affection, that by gratifying her, he commonly con⯑veyed the higheſt Gratification to himſelf. She was really what he frequently called her, his little Dar⯑ling; and ſhe well deſerved to be ſo: For ſhe returned all his Affection in the moſt ample Manner. She had preſerved the moſt inviolable Duty to him in all Things; and this her Love made not only eaſy, but ſo delightful, that when one of her Companions laugh⯑ed at her for placing ſo much Merit in ſuch ſcrupulous Obedience, as that young Lady called it, Sophia an⯑ſwered, 'You miſtake me, Madam, if you think I value myſelf upon this Account: For beſides that I am barely diſcharging my Duty, I am likewiſe pleaſing myſelf. I can truly ſay, I have no De⯑light equal to that of contributing to my Father's Happineſs; and if I value myſelf, my Dear, it is on having this Power, and not on executing it.'

This was a Satisfaction, however, which poor So⯑phia was incapable of taſting this Evening. She therefore not only deſired to be excuſed from the At⯑tendance [179] at the Harpſichord, but likewiſe begged that he would ſuffer her to abſent herſelf from Supper. To this Requeſt likewiſe the Squire agreed, though not without ſome Reluctance; for he ſcarce ever permit⯑ted her to be out of his Sight, unleſs when he was engaged, with his Horſes, Dogs, or Bottle. Ne⯑vertheleſs he yielded to the Deſire of his Daughter, though the poor Man was, at the ſame Time, obliged to avoid his own Company, (if I may ſo expreſs myſelf) by ſending for a neighbouring Farmer to ſit with him.

CHAP. XI.

TOM JONES had ridden one of Mr. Weſtern's Horſes that Morning in the Chace: ſo that having no Horſe of his own in the Squire's Stable, he was obliged to go home on Foot. This he did ſo expeditiouſly; that he ran upwards of three Miles within the half Hour.

Juſt as he arrived at Mr. Allworthy's outward Gate, he met the Conſtable and Company, with Molly in their Poſſeſſion, whom they were conducting to that Houſe where the inferior Sort of People may learn one good Leſſon, viz. Reſpect and Deference to their Superiors. Since it muſt ſhew them the wide Diſtinction Fortune intends between thoſe Perſons who are to be corrected for their Faults, and thoſe who are not; which Leſſon, if they do not learn, I am afraid, they very rarely learn any other good Leſſon, or improve their Morals, at the Houſe of Correction.

A Lawyer may, perhaps, think Mr. Allworthy ex⯑ceeded his Authority a little in this Inſtance. And, to ſay the Truth, I queſtion, as here was no regular [180] Information before him, whether his Conduct was ſtrictly regular. However, as his Intention was tru⯑ly upright, he ought to be excuſed in Foro Conſcientiae, ſince ſo many arbitrary Acts are daily committed by Magiſtrates, who have not this Excuſe to plead for themſelves.

Tom was no ſooner informed by the Conſtable, whither they were proceeding, (indeed he pretty well gueſſed it of himſelf) than he caught Molly in his Arms, and embracing her tenderly before them all, ſwore he would murder the firſt Man who offered to lay hold of her. He bid her dry her Eyes, and be comforted; for wherever ſhe went, he would accom⯑pany her. Then turning to the Conſtable, who ſtood trembling with his Hat off, he deſired him, in a very mild Voice, to return with him for a Moment only to his Father, (ſo he now called Allworthy) for he durſt, he ſaid, be aſſured, that when he had alledged what he had to ſay in her Favour, the Girl would be diſ⯑charged.

The Conſtable, who, I make no Doubt, would have ſurrendered his Priſoner, had Tom demanded her, very readily conſented to this Requeſt. So back they all went into Mr. Allworthy's Hall; where Tom deſired them to ſtay till his Return, and then went himſelf in purſuit of the Good Man. As ſoon as he was found, Tom threw himſelf at his Feet, and having begged a patient hearing, confeſſed himſelf to be the Father of the Child, of which Molly was then big. He en⯑treated him to have Compaſſion on the poor Girl, and to conſider, if there was any Guilt in the caſe, it lay principally at his Door.

'If there is any Guilt in the Caſe!' anſwered All⯑worthy warmly, 'are you then ſo profligate and ſo abandoned a Libertine, to doubt whether the break⯑ing the Laws of God and Man, the corrupting and ruining a poor Girl, by Guilt? I own, indeed, it [181] doth lie principally upon you, and ſo heavy it is, that you ought to expect it ſhould cruſh you.'

'Whatever may be my Fate, ſays Tom, let me ſucceed in my Interceſſions for the poor Girl. I conſeſs I have corrupted her; but whether ſhe ſhall be ruined depends on you. For Heaven's Sake, Sir, revoke your Warrant, and do not ſend her to a Place which muſt unavoidably prove her Deſtruc⯑tion.'

Allworthy bid him immediately call a Servant. Tom anſwered, there was no Occaſion; for he had luckily met them at the Gate, and relying upon his Goodneſs, had brought them back into his Hall, where they now waited his final Reſolution, which, upon his Knees, he beſought him might be in Favour of the Girl; that ſhe might be permitted to go home to her Parents, and not be expoſed to a greater Degree of Shame and Scorn than muſt neceſſarily fall upon her. 'I know, ſaid he, that is too much, I know I am the wicked Occaſion of it. I will endeavour to make amends, if poſſible; and if you ſhall have hereafter the Goodneſs to forgive me, I hope I ſhall deſerve it.'

Allworthy heſitated ſome Time, and at laſt ſaid, 'Well, I will diſcharge my Mittimus.—You may ſend the Conſtable to me.' He was inſtantly called, diſcharged, and ſo was the Girl.

It will be believed, that Mr. Allworthy failed not to read Tom a very ſevere Lecture on this Occaſion; but it is unneceſſary to inſert it here, as we have faithfully tranſcribed what he ſaid to Jenny Jones in the firſt Book, moſt of which may be applied to the Men, equally with the Women. So ſenſible an Effect had theſe Reproofs on the young Man, who is no har⯑dened Sinner, that he retired into his own Room, where he paſſed the Evening alone in much melancholy con⯑templation.

[182] Allworthy was ſufficiently offended by this Tranſ⯑greſſion of Jones; for notwithſtanding the Aſſertions of Mr. Weſtern, it is certain this worthy Man had never indulged himſelf in any looſe Pleaſures with Women, and greatly condemned the Vice of Incon⯑tinence in others. Indeed, there is much Reaſon to imagine, that there was not the leaſt Truth in what Mr. Weſtern affirmed, eſpecially as he laid the Scene of thoſe Impurities at the Univerſity, where Mr. All⯑worthy had never been. In fact, the good Squire was a little too apt to indulge that Kind of Pleaſanty which is generally called Rhodomontade; but which may, with as much Propriety, be expreſſed by a much shorter Word; and, perhaps, we too often ſupply the Uſe of this little Monoſyllable by others; ſince very much of what frequently paſſes in the World for Wit and Humour, ſhould, in the ſtricteſt Purity of Language, receive that ſhort Appellation, which, in Conformity to the well-bred Laws of Cuſtom, I here ſuppreſs.

But whatever Deteſtation Mr. Allworthy had to this or to any other Vice, he was not ſo blinded by it, but that he could diſcern any Virtue in the guilty Perſon, as clearly indeed, as if there had been no Mixture of Vice in the ſame Character. While he was angry there⯑fore, with the Incontinence of Jones, he was no leſs pleaſed with the Honour and Honeſty of his Self-ac⯑cuſation. He began now to form in his Mind the ſame Opinion of this young Fellow which we hope our Reader may have conceived. And in ballancing his Faults with his Perfections, the latter ſeemed ra⯑ther to preponderate.

It was to no Purpoſe, therefore, that Thwackum, who was immediately charged by Mr. Blifl with the Story, unbended all his Rancour againſt poor Tom. Allworthy gave a patient Hearing to theſe Invectives, and then anſwered coldly: 'That young Men of Tom's Complexion were too generally addicted [183] to this Vice; but he believed that Youth was ſin⯑cerely affected with what he had ſaid to him on the Occaſion, and he hoped he would not tranſgreſs again.' So that, as the Days of whipping were at an End, the Tutor had no other Vent but his own Mouth for his Gall, the uſual poor Reſource of impo⯑tent Revenge.

But Square, who was a leſs violent, was a much more artful Man; and as he hated Jones more, per⯑haps, than Thwackum himſelf, ſo he contrived to do him more Miſchief in the Mind of Mr. Allworthy.

The Reader muſt remember the ſeveral little In⯑cidents of the Partridge, the Horſe, and the Bible, which were recounted in the ſecond Book. By all which Jones had rather improved than injured the Affection which Mr. Allworthy was inclined to en⯑tertain for him. The ſame, I believe, muſt have happened to him with every other Perſon who hath any Idea of Friendſhip, Generoſity, and Greatneſs of Spirit; that is to ſay, who hath any Traces of Goodneſs in his Mind.

Square himſelf was not unacquainted with the true Impreſſion which thoſe ſeveral Inſtances of Goodneſs had made on the excellent Heart of Allworthy; for the Philoſopher very well knew what Virtue was, though he was not always, perhaps, ſteady in its Purſuit; but as for Thwackum, from what Reaſon I will not determine, no ſuch Thoughts ever entered into his Head. He ſaw Jones in a bad Light, and he imagined Allworthy ſaw him in the ſame, but that he was reſolved, from Pride and Stubbornneſs of Spirit, not to give up the Boy whom he had once cheriſhed, ſince, by ſo doing, he muſt tacitly acknow⯑ledge that his former Opinion of him had been wrong.

Square therefore embraced this Opportunity of injuring Jones in the tendereſt Part, by giving a very bad Turn to all theſe before-mentioned Occurrences.

'I am ſorry, Sir, ſaid he, 'to own I have been de⯑ceived [184] as well as yourſelf. I could not, I confeſs, help being pleaſed with what I aſcribed to the Mo⯑tive of Friendſhip, though it was carried to an Exceſs, and all Exceſs is faulty, and vicious; but in this I made Allowance for Youth. Little did I ſuſpect that the Sacrifice of Truth, which we both imagined to have been made to Friendſhip, was, in reality, a Proſtitution of it to a depraved and debauched Appe⯑tite. You now plainly ſee whence all the ſeeming Ge⯑neroſity of this young Man to the Family of the Game-keeper proceeded. He ſupported the Father in order to corrupt the Daughter, and preſerved the Family from ſtarving, to bring one of them to Shame and Ruin. This is Friendſhip! this is Ge⯑neroſity! As Sir Richard Steele ſays, Gluttons who give high Prices for Delicacies, are very worthy to be called generous. In ſhort, I am reſolved, from this Inſtance, never to give Way to the Weak⯑neſs of Human Nature more, nor to think any thing Virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the unerring Rule of Right.'

The Goodneſs of Allworthy had prevented thoſe Conſiderations from occurring to himſelf; yet were they too plauſible to be abſolutely and haſtily rejected, when laid before his Eyes by another. Indeed what Square had ſaid ſunk very deeply into his Mind, and the Uneaſineſs which it there created was very viſible to the other; though the good Man would not ac⯑knowledge this, but made a very ſlight Anſwer, and forcibly drove off the Diſcourſe to ſome other Sub⯑ject. It was well, perhaps, for poor Tom, that no ſuch Suggeſtions had been made before he was par⯑doned; for they certainly ſtamped in the Mind of Allworthy the firſt bad Impreſſion concerning Jones.

CHAP. XII.

THE Reader will be pleaſed, I believe, to return with me to Sophia. She paſſed the Night, af⯑ter we ſaw her laſt, in no very agreeable Manner. Sleep befriended her but little, and Dreams leſs. In the Morning, when Mrs. Honour her Maid at⯑tended her, at the uſual Hour, ſhe was found already up and dreſt.

Perſons who live two or three Miles Diſtance in the Country are conſidered as next Door Neighbours, and Tranſactions at the one Houſe fly with incre⯑dible Celerity to the other. Mrs. Honour, therefore, had heard the whole Story of Molly's Shame; which ſhe, being of a very communicative Temper, had no ſooner entered the Apartment of her Miſtreſs, than ſhe began to relate in the following Manner.

'La Ma'am, what doth your La'ſhip think? the Girl that your La'ſhip ſaw at Church on Sunday, whom you thought ſo handſome; though you would not have thought her ſo handſome neither, if you had ſeen her nearer; but to be ſure ſhe hath been carried before the Juſtice for being big with Child. She ſeemed to me to look like a confident Slut; and to be ſure ſhe hath laid the Child to young Mr. Jones. And all the Pariſh ſays Mr. Allworthy is ſo angry with young Mr. Jones, that he won't ſee him. To be ſure, one can't help pitying the poor young Man, and yet he doth not deſerve much Pity nei⯑ther, for demeaning himſelf with ſuch Kind of Trumpery. Yet he is ſo pretty a Gentleman I ſhould be ſorry to have him turned out of Doors. I dares to ſwear the Wench was as willing as he; for ſhe was always a forward Kind of Body. And [186] when Wenches are ſo coming, young Men are not ſo much to be blamed neither; for to be ſure they do no more than what is natural. Indeed it is be⯑neath them to meddle with ſuch dirty Draggle-tails, and whatever happens to them, it is good enough for them. And yet to be ſure the vile Baggages are moſt in Fault. I wiſhes, with all my Heart, they were well to be whipped the Cart's Tail; for it is Pity they ſhould be the Ruin of a pretty young Gentleman; and no body can deny but that Mr. Jones is one of the moſt handſomeſt young Men that ever—'

She was running on thus, when Sophia, with a more peeviſh Voice than ſhe had ever ſpoken to her in be⯑fore, cried, 'Prithee why do'ſt thou trouble me with all this Stuff? What Concern have I in what Mr. Jones doth? I ſuppoſe you are all alike. And you ſeem to me to be angry it was not your own Caſe.'

'I, Ma'am!' anſwered Mrs. Honour, I am ſorry your Ladyſhip ſhould have ſuch an Opinion of me. I am ſure nobody can ſay any ſuch thing of me. All the young Fellows in the World may go to the Divil, for me. Becauſe I ſaid he was a handſome Man! Every body ſays it as well as I—To be ſure, I never thought as it was any Harm to ſay a young Man was handſome; but to be ſure I ſhall never think him ſo any more now; for handſome is that' handſome does. A Beggar Wench!—'

'Stop thy Torrent of Impertinence, 'cries Sophia, and ſee whether my Father wants me at Breakfaſt.'

Mrs. Honour then flung out of the Room, mutter⯑ing much to herſelf—of which—'Many come up, I aſſure you,' was all that could be plainly diſtinguiſhed.

Whether Mrs. Honour really deſerved that Suſpi⯑cion, of which her Miſtreſs gave her a Hint, is a Matter which we cannot in dulge our Reader's Curioſi⯑ty [187] by reſolving. We will however make him amends, in diſcloſing what paſſed in the Mind of Sophia.

The Reader will be pleaſed to recollect, that a ſecret Affection for Mr. Jones had inſenſibly ſtolen in⯑to the Boſom of this young Lady. That it had there grown to a pretty great Height before ſhe herſelf had diſcovered it. When ſhe firſt began to perceive is Symptoms, the Senſations were ſo ſweet and pleaſing, that ſhe had not Reſolution ſufficient to check or repel them; and thus ſhe went on cheriſh⯑ing a Paſſion of which ſhe never once conſidered the Conſequences.

This Incident relating to Molly, firſt opened her Eyes. She now firſt perceived the Weakneſs of which ſhe had been guilty; and though it cauſed the utmoſt Perturbation in her Mind, yet it had the Ef⯑fect of other nauſeous Phyſic, and for the Time ex⯑pelled her Diſtemper. Its Operation indeed was moſt wonderfully quick; and in the ſhort Interval, while her Maid was abſent, ſo entirely removed all Symp⯑toms, that when Mrs. Honour returned with a Sum⯑mons from her Father, ſhe was become perfectly eaſy, and had brought herſelf to a thorough Indiffe⯑rence for Mr. Jones.

The Diſeaſes of the Mind do in almoſt every Par⯑ticular imitate thoſe of the Body. For which Rea⯑ſon, we hope, That learned Faculty, for whom we have ſo profound a Reſpect, will pardon us the violent Hands we have been neceſſitated to lay on ſeveral Words and Phraſes, which of Right belong to them, and without which our Deſcriptions muſt have been often unintelligible.

Now there is no one Circumſtance in which the Diſtempers of the Mind bear a more exact Analogy to thoſe which are called Bodily, than that Aptneſs which both have to a Relapſe. This is plain, in the violent Diſeaſes of Ambition and Avarice. I have known Ambition, when cured at Court by frequent [188] Diſappointments, (which are the only Phyſic for it, to break out again in a Conteſt of Foreman of the Grand Jury at an Aſſizes; and have heard of a Man who had ſo far conquered Avarice, as to give away many a Sixpence, that comforted himſelf, at laſt, on his Death-bed, by making a crafty and advan⯑tageous Bargain concerning his enſuing Funeral, with an Undertaker who had married his only Child.

In the Affair of Love, which out of ſtrict Confor⯑mity with the Stoic Philoſophy, we ſhall here treat as a Diſeaſe, this Proneneſs to relapſe is no leſs con⯑ſpicuous. Thus it happened to poor Sophia; upon whom, the very next Time ſhe ſaw young Jones, all the former Symptoms returned, and from that Time cold and hot Fits alternately ſeized her Heart.

The Situation of this young Lady was very diffe⯑rent from what it had ever been before. That Paſ⯑ſion, which had formerly been ſo exquiſitely delicious, became now a Scorpion in her Boſom. She reſiſted it therefore with her utmoſt Force, and ſummoned every Argument her Reaſon (which was ſurprizingly ſtrong for her Age) could ſuggeſt, to ſubdue and ex⯑pel it. In this ſhe ſo far ſucceeded, that ſhe began to hope from Time and Abſence a perfect Cure. She reſolved therefore to avoid Tom Jones, as much as poſſible; for which Purpoſe ſhe began to conceive a Deſign of viſiting her Aunt, to which ſhe made no Doubt of obtaining her Father's Conſent.

But Fortune who had other Deſigns in her Head, put an immediate Stop to any ſuch Proceeding, by in⯑troducing an Accident, which will be related in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XIII.

MR. Weſtern grew every Day fonder and fonder of Sophia, inſomuch that his beloved Dogs themſelves almoſt gave Place to her in his Affections; but as he could not prevail on himſelf to abandon theſe, he contrived very cunningly to enjoy their Company, together with that of his Daughter, by inſiſting on her riding a hunting with him.

Sophia, to whom her Father's Word was a Law, readily complied with his Deſires, though ſhe had not the leaſt Delight in a Sport, which was of too rough and maſculine a Nature to ſuit with her Diſpo⯑ſition. She had, however, another Motive, beſide her Obedience, to accompany the old Gentleman in the Chace; for by her Preſence ſhe hoped in ſome Meaſure to reſtrain his Impetuoſity, and to prevent him from ſo frequently expoſing his Neck to the ut⯑moſt Hazard.

The ſtrongeſt Objection was that which would have formerly been an Inducement to her, namely, the frequent Meeting with young Jones, whom ſhe had determined to avoid; but as the End of the hunt⯑ing Seaſon now approached, ſhe hoped, by a ſhort Abſence with her Aunt, to reaſon herſelf entirely out of her unfortunate Paſſion; and had not any Doubt of being able to meet him in the Field the ſubſequent Seaſon without the leaſt Danger.

On the ſecond Day of her Hunting, as ſhe was returning from the Chaſe, and was arrived within a little Diſtance from Mr. Weſtern's Houſe, her Horſe, whoſe mettleſome Spirit required a better Rider, fell ſuddenly to prancing and capering, in ſuch a Manner, that ſhe was in the moſt imminent Peril of falling. Tom [190] Jones, who was at a little Diſtance behind, ſaw this and immediately galloped up to her Aſſiſtance. As ſoon as he came up, he immediately leapt from his own Horſe, and caught hold of her's by the Bridle. The unruly Beaſt preſently reared himſelf an End on his hind Legs, and threw his Burthen from his Back, and Jones caught her in his Arms.

She was ſo affected with the Fright, that ſhe was not immediately able to ſatisfy Jones, who was very ſollicitous to know whether ſhe had received any Hurt. She ſoon after, however, recovered her Spi⯑rits, aſſured him ſhe was ſafe, and thanked him for the Care he had taken of her. Jones anſwered, 'If I have preſerved you, Madam, I am ſufficiently re⯑paid; for I promiſe you, I would have ſecured you from the leaſt Harm, at the Expence of a much greater Misfortune to myſelf, than I have ſuffered on this Occaſion.'

'What Misfortune,' replied Sophia, eagerly, 'I hope you have come to no Miſchief?'

'Be not concerned, Madam,' anſwered Jones, 'Heaven be praiſed, you have eſcaped ſo well, con⯑ſidering the Danger you was in. If I have broke my Arm, I conſider it as a Trifle, in Compariſon of what I feared upon your Account.'

Sophia then ſcreamed out, 'Broke your Arm! Heaven forbid.'

'I am afraid I have, Madam,' ſays Jones, 'but I beg you will ſuffer me firſt to take Care of you. I have a Right-hand yet at your Service, to help you into the next Field, where we have but a very lit⯑tle Walk to your Father's Houſe.'

Sophia ſeeing his left Arm dangling by his Side, while he was uſing the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the Truth. She now grew much paler than her Fears for herſelf had made her before. All her Limbs were ſeized with a Trembling, inſomuch that Jones could ſcarce ſupport her; and as her Thoughts [191] were in no leſs Agitation, ſhe could not refrain from giving Jones a Look ſo full of Tenderneſs, that it al⯑moſt argued a ſtronger Senſation in her Mind, than even Gratitude and Pity united can raiſe in the gentleſt female Boſom, without the Aſſiſtance of a third more powerful Paſſion.

Mr. Weſtern, who was advanced at ſome Diſtance when this Accident happened, was now returned, as were the reſt of the Horſemen. Sophia immediately acquainted them with what had befallen Jones, and begged them to take Care of him. Upon which, Weſtern, who had been much alarmed by meeting his Daughter's Horſe without its Rider, and was now o⯑verjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, 'I am glad it is no worſe, if Tom hath broken his Arm, we will get a Joiner to mend un again.'

The Squire alighted from his Horſe, and proceeded to his Houſe on Foot, with his Daughter and Jones. An impartial Spectator, who had met them on the Way, would, on viewing their ſeveral Countenances, have concluded Sophia alone to have been the Object of Compaſſion: For as to Jones, he exulted in having probably ſaved the Life of the young Lady, at the Price only of a broken Bone; and Mr. Weſtern, though he was not unconcerned at the Accident which had befallen Jones, was however, delighted in a much higher Degree with the fortunate eſcape of his Daugh⯑ter.

The Generoſity of Sophia's Temper conſtrued this Behaviour of Jones into great Bravery; and it made a deep Impreſſion on her Heart: For certain it is, that there is no one Quality which ſo generally recom⯑mends Men to Women as this; proceeding, if we believe the common Opinion, from that natural Ti⯑midity of the Sex; which is, ſays Mr. Oſborne, ſo great,' that a Woman is the moſt cowardly of all 'the Creatures God ever made.' A Sentiment more remarkable for its Bluntneſs, than for its Truth. Ari⯑ſtotle, [192] in his Politics, doth them, I believe, more Juſ⯑tice, when he ſays, ‘'The Modeſty and Fortitude of Men differ from thoſe Virtues in Women; for the Fortitude which becomes a Woman, would be Cowardice in a Man; and the Modeſty which be⯑comes a Man, would be Pertneſs in a Woman.'’ Nor is there, perhaps, more of Truth in the Opinion of thoſe who derive the Partiality which Women are inclined to ſhew to the Brave, from this Exceſs of their Fear. Mr. Bayle (I think, in his Article of Helen) imputes this, and with greater Probability, to their violent Love of Glory; for the Truth of which, we have the Authority of him, who, of all others, ſaw fartheſt into human Nature; and who introduces the Heroine of his Odyſſey, the great Pattern of ma⯑trimonal Love and Conſtancy, aſſigning the glory of her Huſband as the only Source of her Affections to⯑wards him. ^*

However this be, certain it is that the Accident operated very ſtrongly on Saphia; and, indeed, after much Enquiry into the Matter, I am inclined to be⯑lieve, that at this very Time, the charming Sophia made no leſs Impreſſion on the Heart of Jones; to ſay Truth, he had for ſome Time become ſenſible of the irreſtible Power of her Charms.

CHAP. XIV.

WHEN they arrived in Mr. Weſtern's Hall, So⯑phia, who had totter'd along with much Dif⯑ficulty, ſunk down in a Chair; but by the Aſſiſtance of Hartſhorn and Water, ſhe was prevented from fainting away, and had pretty well recovered her Spirits, when the Surgeon, who was ſent for to Jones, [193] appeared. Mr. Weſtern, who imputed theſe Symp⯑toms in his Daughter to her Fall, adviſed her to be [...]reſently blooded by way of Prevention. In this Opinion he was ſeconded by the Surgeon, who gave [...]o many Reaſons for bleeding, and quoted ſo many Caſes where Perſons had miſcarried for want of it, [...]hat the Squire became very importunate, and indeed [...]nſiſted peremtorily that his Daughter ſhould be blooded.

Sophia ſoon yielded to the Commands of her Fa⯑ther, though entirely contrary to her own Inclinations: For ſhe ſuſpected, I believe, leſs Danger from the Fright, than either the Squire or the Surgeon. She [...]hen ſtretched out her beautiful Arm, and the Opera⯑tor began to prepare for his Work.

While the Servants were buſied in providing Ma⯑terials; the Surgeon, who imputed the Backwardneſs which had appeared in Sophia to her Fears, began to comfort her with Aſſurances that there was not the [...]eaſt Danger; for no Accident, he ſaid, could ever happen in Bleeding, but from the monſtrous Igno⯑rance of Pretenders to Surgery, which he pretty plainly inſinuated was not at preſent to be apprehended. Sophia declared ſhe was not under the leaſt Apprehen⯑ſion; adding, if you open an Artery, I promiſe you I'll forgive you; 'Will you,' cries Weſtern, 'D—n me, if I will; if he does the leaſt Miſchief, d—n me, if I don't ha' the Heart's Blood o'un out.' The Surgeon aſſented to bleed her upon theſe Con⯑ditions, and then proceeded to his Operation, which he performed with as much Dexterity as he had pro⯑miſed; and as much Quickneſs: For he took but lit⯑tle Blood from her, ſaying, it was much ſafer to bleed again and again, than to take away too much at once.

Sophia, when her Arm was bound up, retired: For ſhe was not willing (nor was it, perhaps, ſtrictly de⯑cent) to be preſent at the Operation on Jones. In⯑deed [194] one Objection which ſhe had to Bleeding, (tho ſhe did not make it) was the Delay which it would occaſion to dreſſing the broken Bone. For Weſtern, when Sophia was concerned, had no Conſideration but for her; and as for Jones himſelf, he 'ſat like Patience on a Monument ſmiling at Grief.' T [...] ſay the Truth, when he ſaw the Blood ſpringing from the lovely Arm of Sophia, he ſcarce thought of what had happened to himſelf.

The Surgeon now ordered his Patient to be ſtript t [...] his Shirt, and then entirely baring the Arm, he began to ſtretch and examine it, in ſuch a Manner, that th [...] Tortures he put him to, cauſed Jones to make ſeve⯑ral wry Faces; which the Surgeon obſerving, great wondered at, crying, 'What is the Matter, Sir? am ſure it is impoſſible I ſhould hurt you.' And the holding forth the broken Arm, he began a long and very learned Lecture of Anatomy, in which ſimpl [...] and double Fractures were moſt accurately conſidered and the ſeveral Ways in which Jones might have bro⯑ken his Arm were diſcuſſed, with proper Annotation [...] ſhewing how many of theſe would have been better and how many worſe than the preſent Caſe.

Having at length finiſh'd his laboured Harangu [...] with which the Audience, tho' it had greatly raiſe [...] their Attention and Admiration, were not much edi⯑fied, as they really underſtood not a ſingle Syllable o [...] all he had ſaid, he proceeded to Buſineſs, which h [...] was more expeditious in finiſhing, than he had been in beginning.

Jones was then ordered into a Bed, which Mr. Weſtern compelled him to accept at his own Houſe and Sentence of Water-Gruel was paſſed upon him.

Among the good Company which had attende [...] in the Hall during the Bone-ſetting, Mrs. Honour w [...] one; who being ſummoned to her Miſtreſs as ſoo [...] as it was over, and aſked by her how the young Gen⯑tleman did, preſently launched into extravagant Praiſe [195] on the Magnimity, as ſhe called it, of his Behaviour, which, ſhe ſaid, 'was ſo charming in ſo pretty a 'Creature.' She then burſt forth into much warmer Encomiums on the Beauty of his Perſon; enumerat⯑ing many Particulars, and ending with the Whiteneſs of his Skin.

This Diſcourſe had an Effect on Sophia's Counte⯑nance, which would not perhaps have eſcaped the Obſervance of the ſagacious Waiting-woman, had ſhe once looked her Miſtreſs in the Face, all the Time ſhe was ſpeaking; but as a Looking-glaſs, which was moſt commodiouſly placed oppoſite to her, gave her an Opportunity of ſurveying thoſe Features, in which, of all others, ſhe took moſt Delight, ſo ſhe had not once removed her Eyes from that amiable Object during her whole Speech.

Mrs. Honour was ſo entirely wrapped up in the Subject on which ſhe exerciſed her Tongue, and the Object before her Eyes, that ſhe gave her Miſtreſs Time to conquer her Confuſion; which having done, ſhe ſmiled on her Maid, and told her, 'She was cer⯑tainly in Love with this young Fellow.' 'I in Love,' Madam! anſwers ſhe, 'upon my Word, Ma'am, I aſſure you, Ma'am, upon my Soul, Ma'am, I am not.' 'Why if you was,' cries her Miſtreſs, 'I ſee no Reaſon that you ſhould be aſhamed of it; for he is certainly a pretty Fellow—Yes, Ma'am, anſwered the other 'That he is, the moſt handſomeſt Man I ever ſaw in my Life. Yes, to be ſure, that he is, and, as your Ladyſhip ſays, I don't know why I ſhould be aſhamed of loving him, though he is my Betters. To be ſure gentle Folks are but Fleſh and Blood no more than us Ser⯑vants. Beſides, as for Mr. Jones, tho' Squire Allworthy hath made a Gentleman of him, he was not ſo good as myſelf by Birth: thof I am a poor Body, I am an honeſt Perſon's Child, and my Fa⯑ther and Mother were married, which is more [196] than ſome People can ſay, as high as they hold their Heads. Marry, come up! I aſſure you, my dirty Couſin! thof his Skin be ſo white, and to be ſure, it is the moſt whiteſt that ever was ſeen, I am a Chriſtian as well as he, and no-body can ſay tha [...] I am baſe born, my grand-father was a Clergy man ^*, and would have been very angry, I believe to have thought any of his Family ſhould have tak⯑en up with Molly Seagrim's dirty Leavings.'

Perhaps Sophia might have ſuffered her Maid to ru [...] on in this Manner, from wanting ſufficient Spirits t [...] ſtop her Tongue, which the Reader may probably conjecture was no very eaſy Taſk: For, certain [...] there were ſome Paſſages in her Speech, which wer [...] far from being agreeable to the Lady. However ſhe now checked the Torrent, as there ſeemed n [...] End of its Flowing. 'I wonder,' ſays ſhe, 'a [...] your Aſſurance in daring to talk thus of one of m [...] Father's Friends. As to the Wench, I order yo [...] never to mention her Name to me. And, wit [...] Regard to the young Gentleman's Birth, thoſe wh [...] can ſay nothing more to his Diſadvantage, may a [...] well be ſilent on that Head, as I deſire you will b [...] for the future.'

'I am ſorry, I have offended your Ladyſhip,' an⯑ſwered Mrs. Honour, 'I am ſure I hate Molly Sea⯑grim as much as your Ladyſhip can, and as for a buſing 'Squire Jones, I can call all the Servants [...] the Houſe to witneſs, that whenever any Talk ha [...] been about Baſtards, I have always taken his Part For which of you,' ſays I to the Footmen, 'wou [...] [197] not be a Baſtard, if he could, to be made a Gentle⯑man of? and,' ſays I, 'I am ſure he is a very fine Gentleman; and he hath one of the whiteſt Hands in the World: For to be ſure ſo he hath;' and' ſays 'one of the ſweeteſt temperedeſt, beſt natured⯑eſt Men in the World he is,' and ſays I, 'all the Servants and Neighbours all round the Country loves him. And, to be ſure, I could tell your Ladyſhip ſomething, but that I am afraid it would offend you.'—'What could you tell me, Honour,' ſays Sophia. 'Nay, Ma'am, to ſure he meant no⯑thing by it, therefore I would not have your La⯑dyſhip be offended.'—'Prithee tell me,' ſays So⯑phia,—'I will know it this Inſtant.' Why Ma'am,' anſwered Mrs. Honour, 'he came into the Room, one Day laſt Week when I was at Work, and there lay your Ladyſhip's Muff on a Chair, and to be ſure he put his Hands into it, that very Muff your Ladyſhip gave me but yeſterday; La,' ſays I, Mr. Jones, you will ſtretch my Lady's Muff and ſpoil it; but he ſtill kept his Hands in it, and then he kiſſed it—to be ſure, I hardly ever ſaw ſuch a Kiſs in my Life as he gave it.'—'I ſuppoſe he did not know it was mine,' replied Sophia. 'Your Ladyſhip ſhall hear, Ma'am. He kiſſed it again and again, and ſaid it was the prettieſt Muff in the World.' La! Sir,' ſays I, 'you have ſeen it a hundred Times,'—Yes, Mrs. Honour,' cry'd he; 'but who can ſee any thing beautiful in the Preſence of your Lady but herſelf: Nay, that's not all neither, but I hope your Ladyſhip won't be offended, for to be ſure he meant nothing: One Day as your Ladyſhip was playing on the Harpſicord to my Maſter, Mr. Jones was ſitting in the next Room, and methought he looked melancholy. La!' ſays I, 'Mr. Jones, what's the Matter? A Penny for your Thoughts,' ſays I, 'Why, Huſſy,' ſays he, ſtarting up from a Dream, 'what can I be thinking of when that An⯑gel [198] your Miſtreſs is playing?' And then ſqueezing me by the Hand—'Oh! Mrs. Honour,' ſays he, how happy will that Man be!'—and then he ſigh⯑ed; upon my Troth, his Breath is as ſweet as a Noſegay—but to be ſure he meant no Harm by it. So I hope your Ladyſhip will not mention a Word: For he gave me a Crown never to mention it, and made me ſwear upon a Book, but I believe, in⯑deed, it was not the Bible.'

Till ſomething of a more beautiful Red than Ver⯑milion be found out, I ſhall ſay nothing of Sophia's Colour on this Occaſion. 'Ho—nour,' ſays ſhe, 'I—if you will not mention this any more to me, nor to any Body elſe, I will not betray you—I mean I will not be angry; but I am afraid of your Tongue. Why, my Girl, will you give it ſuch Liberties?' Nay, Ma'am,' anſwered ſhe, to be ſure I would ſooner cut out my Tongue than offend your Ladyſhip—to be ſure, I ſhall never mention a Word that your Ladyſhip would not have me.'—Why I would not have you mention this any more,' ſaid Sophia, 'for it may come to my Father's Ears, and he would be angry with Mr. Jones, tho' I really believe, as you ſay, he meant nothing. I ſhould be very angry myſelf if I imagined'—'Nay, Ma'am,' ſays Honour, 'I proteſt I believe he meant nothing. I thought he talked as if he was out of his Senſes; nay, he ſaid he believed he was beſide himſelf when he had ſpoken the Words.' Ay, Sir, ſays I, 'I believe ſo too.' Yes, ſays he, 'Ho⯑nour,—but I ask your Ladyſhip's Pardon; I could tear my Tongue out for offending you.' 'Go on,' ſays Sophia, 'you may mention any Thing you have not told me before.' 'Yes, Honour,' ſays he; (this was ſome time afterwards when he gave me the Crown) 'I am neither ſuch a coxcomb, or ſuch a Villain as to think of her, in any other Delight, but as my Goddeſs; as ſuch I will always worſhip [199] and adore her while I have Breath. This was all, Ma'am, I will be ſworn, to the beſt of my Remembrance; I was in a Paſſion with him, my⯑ſelf, till I found he meant no Harm. Indeed, Honour, ſays Sophia, I believe you have a real Affection for me; I was provoked the other Day when I gave you Warning, but if you have a De⯑ſire to ſtay with me, you ſhall. To be ſure, Ma'am, anſwered Mrs. Honour, I ſhall never de⯑ſire to part with your Ladyſhip.' To be ſure, I almoſt cried my Eyes out when you gave me Warn⯑ing. It would be very ungrateful in me, to deſire to leave your Ladyſhip; becauſe as why, I ſhould never get ſo good a Place again. I am ſure I would live and die with your Ladyſhip—for, as poor Mr. Jones ſaid, happy is the Man—

Here the Dinner-bell interrupted a Converſation which had wrought ſuch an Effect on Sophia, that ſhe was, perhaps, more obliged to her bleeding in the Morning, than ſhe, at the time, had apprehended ſhe ſhould be. As to the preſent Situation of her Mind, I ſhall adhere to a Rule of Horace, by not attempting to deſcribe it, from deſpair of Succeſs. Moſt of my Readers will ſuggeſt it eaſily to themſelves, and the few who cannot, would not underſtand the Picture, or at leaſt would deny it to be natural, if ever ſo well drawn.

CHAP. I.

PEradventure there may be no Parts in this prodigi⯑ous Work which will give the Reader leſs Plea⯑ſure in the peruſing, than thoſe which have given the Author the greateſt Pains in compoſing. Among theſe probably may be reckoned thoſe initial Eſſays which we have perfixed to the hiſtorical Matter con⯑tained in every Book; and which we have deter⯑mined to be eſſentially neceſſary to this kind of Writ⯑ing, of which we have ſet ourſelves at the Head.

For this our Determination we do not hold our⯑ſelves ſtrictly bound to aſſign any Reaſon; it being a⯑bundantly ſufficient that we have laid it down as a Rule neceſſary to be obſerved in all Proſai-comi-epic Writ⯑ing. Who ever demanded the Reaſons of that nice [201] Unity of Time or Place which is now eſtabliſhed to be ſo eſſential to dramatick Poetry? What Critic hath been ever aſked why a Play may not contain two Days as well as one, or why the Audience (provided they travel like Electors, without any Expence) may not be wafted Fifty Miles as well as five! Hath any Commentator well accounted for the Limitation which an antient Critic had ſet to the Drama, which he will have contain neither more nor leſs than five Acts; or hath any one living attempted to explain, what the modern Judges of our Theatres mean by that Word low; by which they have happily ſucceeded in baniſhing all Humour from the Stage, and have made the Theatre as dull as a Drawing-Room? Upon all theſe Occaſions, the World ſeemed to have embraced a Maxim of our Law, viz. Cuicun (que) in Arte ſua perito credendum eſt: For it ſeems, perhaps, difficult to con⯑ceive that any one ſhould have enough of Impudence, to lay down dogmatical Rules in any Art or Science without the leaſt Foundation. In ſuch Caſes, there⯑fore, we are apt to conclude there are ſound and good Reaſons at the Bottom, tho' we are unfortunately not able to ſee ſo far.

Now, in Reality, the World have paid too great a Compliment to Critics, and have imagined them Men of much greater Profundity than they really are. From this Complaiſance, the Critics have been em⯑boldened to aſſume a Dictatorial Power, and have ſo far ſucceeded that they are now become the Maſters, and have the Aſſurance to give Laws to thoſe Authors, from whoſe Predeceſſors they originally received them.

The Critrc, rightly conſidered, is no more than the Clerk, whoſe Office is to tranſcribe the Rules and Laws laid down by thoſe great Judges, whoſe vaſt Strength of Genius hath placed them in the Light of Legiſlators in the ſeveral Sciences over which [202] they preſided. This Office was all which the Critics of old aſpired to, nor did they ever dare to advance a Sentence, without ſupporting it by the Authority of the Judge from whence it was borrowed.

But in Proceſs of Time, and in Ages of Ignorance, the Clerk began to invade the Power and aſſume the Dignity of his Maſter. The Laws of Writing were no longer founded on the Practice of the Author, but on the Dictates of the Critic. The Clerk became the Legiſlator, and thoſe very peremptorily gave Laws, whoſe Buſineſs it was, at firſt, only to tran⯑ſcribe them.

Hence aroſe an obvious, and, perhaps, an unavoid⯑able Error: For theſe Critics being Men of ſhal⯑low Capacities, very eaſily miſtook mere Form for Subſtance. They acted as a Judge would, who ſhould adhere to the lifeleſs Letter of Law, and reject the Spirit. Little Circumſtances which were, per⯑haps, accidental in a great Author, were, by theſe Critics, conſidered to conſtitute his chief Merit, and tranſmitted as Eſſentials to be obſerved by all his Suc⯑ceſſors. To theſe Encroachments, Time and Ig⯑norance, the two great Supporters of Impoſture, gave Authority; and thus, many Rules for good Writing have been eſtabliſhed, which have not the leaſt Foundation in Truth or Nature; and which com⯑monly ſerve for no other Purpoſe than to crub and reſtrain Genius, in the ſame Manner; as it would have reſtrained the Dancing-maſter, had the many excellent Treatiſes on that Art, laid it down as an eſſential Rule, that every Man muſt dance in Chains.

To avoid, therefore, all Imputation of laying down a Rule for Poſterity, founded only on the Au⯑thority of ipſe dixit; for which, to ſay the Truth, we have not the profoundeſt Veneration; we ſhall here wave the Privilege above contended for, and proceed to lay before the Reader, the Reaſons which have induced us, to interſperſe theſe ſeveral digreſſive Eſſays, in the Courſe of this Work.

[203] And here we ſhall of Neceſſity be led to open a new Vein of Knowledge, which, if it hath been diſ⯑covered, hath not, to our Rememberance, been wrought on by any antient or modern Writer. This Vein is no other than that of Contraſt, which runs through all the Works of the Creation, and may pro⯑bably have a large Share in conſtituting in us the Idea of all Beauty, as well natural as artificial: For what demonſtrates the Beauty and Excellence of any thing, but its Reverſe? Thus the Beauty of Day, and that of Summer, is ſet off by the Horrors of Night and Winter. And I believe, if it was poſſible for a Man to have ſeen only the two former, he would have a very imperfect Idea of their Beauty.

But to avoid too ſerious an Air: Can it be doubt⯑ed, but that the fineſt Woman in the World would loſe all Benefit of her Charms, in the Eye of a Man who had never ſeen one of another Caſt? The La⯑dies themſelves ſeem ſo ſenſible of this, that they are all induſtrious to procure Foils; nay, they will be⯑come Foils to themſelves; for I have obſerved, (at Bath particularly,) that they endeavour to appear as ugly as poſſible in the Morning, in order to ſet off that Beauty which they intend to ſhew you in the Evening.

Moſt Artiſts have this Secret in Practice, tho' ſome, perhaps, have not much ſtudied the Theory. The Jeweller knows that the fineſt Brilliant requires a Foil; and the Painter, by the Contraſt of his Figures, of⯑ten acquires great Applauſe.

A great Genius among us, will illuſtrate this Mat⯑ter fully. I cannot, indeed, range him under any general Head of common Artiſts, as he hath a Title to be placed among thoſe

I mean here the Inventor of that moſt exquiſite Entertainment, called the Engliſh Pantomime.

[204] This Entertainment conſiſted of two Parts, which the Inventor diſtinguiſhed by the Names of the Se⯑rious and the Comic. The Serious exhibited a certain Number of Heathen Gods and Heroes, who were certainly the worſt and dulleſt Company into which an Audience was ever introduced; and (which was a Secret known to few) were actually intended ſo to be, in order to contraſt the Comic Part of the Enter⯑tainment, and to diſplay the Tricks of Harlequin to the better Advantage.

This was, perhaps, no very civil Uſe of ſuch Per⯑ſonages; but the Contrivance was nevertheleſs inge⯑nious enough, and had its Effect. And this will now plainly appear, if inſtead of Serious and Comic, we ſupply the Words Duller and Dulleſt; for the Comic was certainly duller than any thing before ſhewn on the Stage, and could only be ſet off by that ſuperla⯑tive Degree of Dulneſs, which compoſed the Serious. So intolerably ſerious, indeed, were theſe Gods and Heroes, that Harlequin (tho' the Engliſh Gentleman of that Name is not at all related to the French Fami⯑ly, for he is of a much more ſerious Diſpoſition) was always welcome on the Stage, as he relieved the Audience from worſe Company.

Judicious Writers have always practiſed this Art of Contraſt, with great Succeſs. I have been ſurprized that Horace ſhould cavil at this Art in Homer; but indeed he contradicts himſelf in the very next Line.

For we are not here to underſtand, as, perhaps, ſome have, that an Author actually falls aſleep while he is writing. It is true that Readers are too apt to be ſo overtaken; but if the Work was as long as any of Oldmixon, the Author himſelf is too well enter⯑tained [205] to be ſubject to the leaſt Drowſineſs. He is, as Mr. Pope obſerves,

To ſay the Truth, theſe ſoporific Parts are ſo many Scenes of Serious artfully interwoven, in order to con⯑traſt and ſet off the reſt; and this is the true Meaning of a late facetious Writer, who told the Public, that whenever he was dull, they might be aſſured there was a Deſign in it.

In this Light then, or rather in this Darkneſs, I would have the Reader to conſider theſe initial Eſſays. And after this Warning, if he ſhall be of Opinion, that he can find enough of Serious in other Parts of this hiſtory, he may paſs over theſe, in which we profeſs to be laboriouſly dull, and begin the following Books, at the ſecond Chapter.

CHAP. II.

TOM JONES had many Viſitors during his Confinement, tho' ſome, perhaps, were not ve⯑ry agreeable to him. Mr. Allworthy ſaw him almoſt every Day; but tho' he pitied Tom's Sufferings, and greatly approved the gallant Behaviour which had occaſioned them, yet he thought this was a favoura⯑ble Opportunity to bring him to a ſober Senſe of his indiſcreet Conduct; and that wholſome Advice for that Purpoſe, could never be applied at a more proper Seaſon than at the preſent; when the Mind was ſof⯑tened by Pain and Sickneſs, and alarmed by Danger; and when its Attention was unembarraſſed with thoſe turbulent Paſſions, which engage us in the Purſuit of Pleaſure.

At all Seaſons, therefore, when the good Man was alone with the Youth, eſpecially when the latter was [206] totally at Eaſe, he took Occaſian to remind him of his former Miſcarriages, but in the mildeſt and tender⯑eſt Manner, and only in order to introduce the Cau⯑tion, which he preſcribed for his future Behaviour; 'on which alone, 'he aſſured him, 'would depend his own Felicity, and the Kindneſs which he might yet promiſe himſelf to receive at the Hands of his Father by Adoption unleſs he ſhould hereafter for⯑feit his Good Opinion: For as to what had paſt,' he ſaid, 'it ſhould be all forgotten and forgiven. He, therefore, adviſed him to make a good Uſe of this Accident, that ſo in the End it might prove a Viſitation for his own Good.'

Thwackum was likewiſe pretty aſſiduous in his Vi⯑ſits; and he too conſidered a ſick Bed to be a conve⯑nient Scene for Lectures. His Stile, however, was more ſevere than Mr. Allworthy's: He told his Pupil, 'that he ought to look on his broken Limb as a Judgment from Heaven on his Sins. That it would become him to be daily on his Knees, pouring forth Thankſgivings that he had broken his Arm only, and not his Neck; which latter,' he ſaid, 'was very probably reſerved for ſome future Occa⯑ſion, and that perhaps, not very remote. For his Part,' he ſaid, 'he had often wondered ſome Judg⯑ment had not overtaken him before; but it might be perceived by this, that divine Puniſhments, tho' ſlow, are always ſure.' Hence likewiſe he adviſed him 'to foreſee, with equal Certainty, the greater Evils which 'vere yet behind, and which were as ſure as this, of overtaking him in his State of Reprobacy. Theſe are,' ſaid he, 'to be averted only by ſuch a thorough and ſincere Repentance, as is not to be expected or hoped for, from one ſo abandoned in his Youth, and whoſe Mind, I am afraid, is totally corrupted. It is my Duty, however, to exhort you to this Repen⯑tance, tho' I too well know all Exhortations will be vain and fruitleſs. But liberavi Animam meam. I can [207] accuſe my own Conſcience of no Neglect; tho' it is, at the ſame time, with the utmoſt Concern, I ſee you travelling on to certain Miſery in this World, and to as certain Damnation in the next.'

Square talked in a very different Strain, He ſaid, 'ſuch Accidents as a Broken Bone were below the Conſideration of a wiſe Man. That it was abun⯑dantly ſufficient to reconcile the Mind to any of theſe Miſchances, to reflect that they are liable to befal the wiſeſt of Mankind, and are undoubtedly for the Good of the whole.' He ſaid, 'it was a mere Abuſe of Words, to call thoſe Things Evils in which there was no moral Unfitneſs; that Pain, which was the worſt Conſequence of ſuch Accidents, was the moſt contemptible thing in the World;' with more of the like Sentences, extracted out of the Second Book of Tully's Tuſculan Queſtions, and from the Great Lord Shafteſbury. In pronouncing theſe he was one Day ſo eager, that he unfortunately bit his Tongue; and in ſuch a Manner, that it not only put an End to his Diſcourſe, but created much Emotion in him, and cauſed him to mutter an Oath or two: But what was worſt of all, this Accident gave Thwackum, who was preſent, and who held all ſuch Doctrine to be heatheniſh and atheiſtical, an Opportu⯑nity to clap a Judgment on his Back. Now this was done with ſo malicious a Sneer, that it totally unhinged (if I my ſo ſay) the Temper of the Philoſopher, which the Bite of his Tongue had ſomewhat ruffled; and he was ſo diſabled from venting his Wrath at his Lips, he had poſſibly found a more violent Method of re⯑venging himſelf, had not the Surgeon, who was then luckily in the Room, contrary to his own Intereſt, interpoſed, and preſerved the Peace.

Mr. Blifil viſited his Friend Jones but ſeldom, and never alone. This worthy young Man, however, profeſſed much Regard for him, and as great Con⯑cern at his Misfortune; but cautiouſly avoided any [208] Intimacy, leſt, as he frequently hinted, it might con⯑taminate the Sobriety of his own Character: For which Purpoſe, he had conſtantly in his Month that Proverb in which Solomon ſpeaks againſt Evil Commu⯑nication. Not that he was ſo bitter as Thwackum for he always expreſſed ſome Hopes of Tom's Refor⯑mation; 'which,' he ſaid, 'the unparallelled Good⯑neſs ſhewn by his Uncle on this Occaſion, muſt certainly effect, in one not abſolutely abandoned;' but concluded, 'if Mr. Jones ever offends hereafter I ſhall not be able to ſay a Syllable in his Favour.'

As to Squire Weſtern, he was ſeldom out of the Sick Room; unleſs when he was engaged either in the Field, or over his Bottle. Nay, he would ſome⯑times retire hither to take his Beer, and it was not without Difficulty, that he was prevented from forcing Jones to take his Beer too: For no Quack ever held his Noſtrum to be a more general Panacea, than he did this; which, he ſaid, had more Virtues in it than was in all the Phyſic in an Apothecary's Shop. He was, however, by much Entreaty, prevailed on to for⯑bear the Application of this Medicine; but from ſe⯑renading his Patient every Morning with the Horn un⯑der his Window, it was impoſſible to withhold him; nor did he ever lay aſide that Hollow, with which he entered into all Companies, when he viſited Jones, without any Regard to the ſick Perſon's being at that Time either awake or aſleep.

This boiſterous Behaviour, as it meant no Harm, ſo happily it effected none, and was abundantly com⯑penſated to Jones, as ſoon as he was able to ſit up, by the Company of Sophia, whom the Squire then brought to viſit him; nor was it, indeed, long before Jones was able to attend her to the Harpſichord, where ſhe would kindly condeſcend, for Hours together, to charm him with the moſt delicious Muſic, unleſs when the Squire thought proper to interrupt her, by [209] inſiſting on Old Sir Simon, or ſome other of his fa⯑vourite Pieces.

Notwithſtanding the niceſt Guard which Sophia en⯑deavoured to ſet on her Behaviour, ſhe could not avoid letting ſome Appearances now and then ſlip forth: For Love may again be likened to a Diſeaſe in this, that when it is denied a Vent in one Part, it will cer⯑tainly break out in another. What her Lips there⯑fore concealed, her Eyes, her Bluſhes, and many little involuntary Actions, betrayed.

One Day when Sophia was playing on the Harp⯑ſichord, and Jones was attending, the Squire came into the Room, crying, 'There Tom, I have had a Battle for thee below Stairs with thick Parſon Thwackum.—He hath been telling Allworthy, before my Face, that the broken Bone was a Judgment upon thee. D—n it, ſays I, how can that be? Did not he come by it in Defence of a young Woman? A Judgment indeed! Pox, if he never doth any thing worſe, he will go to Heaven ſooner than all the Parſons in the Country. He hath more reaſon to glory in it, than to be aſhamed of it.' 'Indeed, Sir,' ſays Jones, 'I have no Reaſon for either; but if it preſerved Miſs Weſtern, I ſhall al⯑ways think it the happieſt Accident of my Life.'—And to gu,' ſaid the Squire, 'to zet Allworthy a⯑gainſt thee vor it.—D—n 'un, if the Parſon had unt had his Petticuoats on, I ſhould ha lent un a Flick; for I love thee dearly, my Boy, and d—n me if if there is any thing in my Power which I won't do for thee. Sha't take thy Choice of all the Horſes in my Stable to-morrow Morning, except only the Chevalier and Miſs Slouch.' Jones thanked him, but declined accepting the Offer.—'Nay,' added the Squire, 'Shat ha the ſorrel Mare that Sophy rode. She coſt me fifty Guineas, and comes ſix Years old this Graſs.' If ſhe had coſt me a thouſand,' cries Jones paſſionately, 'I would have given her to the [210] 'Dogs,' Pooh! Pooh!' anſwered Weſtern, 'what be⯑cauſe ſhe broke thy Arm. Shouldſt forget and for⯑give. I thought hadſt been more a Man than to bear Malice againſt a dumb Creature.'—Here So⯑phia interpoſed, and put an End to the Converſa⯑tion, by deſiring her Father's Leave to play to him; a Requeſt which he never refuſed.

The Countenance of Sophia had undergone more than one Change during the foregoing Speeches; and probably ſhe imputed the paſſionate Reſentment which Jones had expreſſed againſt the Mare to a different Motive from that from which her Father had derived it. Her Spirits were at this Time in a viſible Flutter; and ſhe played ſo intolerably ill, that had not Weſtern ſoon fallen aſleep, he muſt have remarked it. Jones, however, who was ſufficiently awake, and was not without an Ear any more than without Eyes, made ſome Obſervations; which being joined to all which the Reader may remember to have paſſed formerly, gave him pretty ſtrong Aſſurances, when he came to reflect on the whole, that all was not well in the ten⯑der Boſom of Sophia. An Opinion which many young Gentlemen will, I doubt not, extremely won⯑der at his not having been well confirmed in long ago. To confeſs the Truth, he had rather too much Diffidence in himſelf, and was not forward enough in ſeeing the Advances of a young Lady; a Misfor⯑tune which can only be cured by that early Town E⯑ducation, which is at preſent ſo generally in Faſhion.

When theſe Thoughts had fully taken Poſſeſſion of Jones, they occaſioned a Perturbation in his Mind, which, in a Conſtitution leſs pure and firm than his, might have been, at ſuch a Seaſon, attended with very dangerous Conſequences. He was truly ſenſi⯑ble of the great Worth of Sophia. He extremely lik⯑ed her Perſon, no leſs admired her Accompliſhments, and tenderly loved her Goodneſs. In Reality, as he had never once entertained any Thought of poſſeſſing [211] her, nor had ever given the leaſt voluntary Indulgence [...]o his Inclinations, he had a much ſtronger Paſſion for her than he himſelf was acquainted with. His Heart now brought forth the full Secret, at the ſame Time that it aſſured him the adorable Object return⯑ed his Affection.

CHAP. III.

THE Reader will perhaps imagine, the Senſa⯑tions which now aroſe in Jones to have been ſo ſweet and delicious, that they would rather tend to produce a cheerful Serenity in the Mind, than any of thoſe dangerous Effects which we have mentioned; but in fact, Senſations of this Kind, however delici⯑ous, are, at their firſt Recognition, of a very tumul⯑tuous Nature, and have very little of the Opiate in them. They were, moreover, in the preſent Caſe, embittered with certain Circumſtances, which being mixed with ſweeter Ingredients, tended altogether to compoſe a Draught that might be termed bitter-ſweet; than which, as nothing can be more diſagreeable to the Palate, ſo nothing, in the metaphorical Senſe, can be ſo injurious to the Mind.

For firſt, though he had ſufficient foundation to flatter himſelf on what he had obſerved in Sophia, he was not yet free from Doubt of miſconſtruing Com⯑paſſion, or at beſt, Eſteem, into a warmer Regard. He was far from a ſanguine Aſſurance that Sophia had any ſuch Affection towards him, as might pro⯑miſe his Inclinations that Harveſt, which, if they were encouraged and nurſed, they would finally grow up to require. Beſides, if he could hope to find no Bar to his Happineſs from the Daughter, he thought himſelf certain of meeting an effectual Bar in the Father; who, though he was a Country Squire [212] in his Diverſions, was perfectly a Man of the World in whatever regarded his Fortune; had the moſt vio⯑lent Affection for this only Daughter, and had often ſignified, in his Cups, the Pleaſure he propoſed in ſeeing her married to one of the richeſt Men in the County. Jones was not ſo vain and ſenſeleſs a Cox⯑comb as to expect from any Regard which Weſtern had profeſſed for him, that he would ever be induced to lay aſide theſe Views of advancing his Daughter. He well knew that Fortune is generally the principal if not the ſole Conſideration, which operates on the beſt of Parents in theſe Matters: For Friendſhip makes us warmly eſpouſe the Intereſt of others; but is very cold to the Gratification of their Paſſions. Indeed, to feel the Happineſs which may reſult from this, it is neceſſary we ſhould poſſeſs the Paſſion our⯑ſelves. As he had therefore no Hopes of obtaining her Father's Conſent, ſo he thought to endeavour to ſucceed without it, and by ſuch Means to fruſtrate the Great Point of Mr. Weſtern's Life, was to make a very ill Uſe of his Hoſpitality, and a very ungrateful Return to the many little Favours received (however roughly) at his Hands. If he ſaw ſuch a Conſequence with Horror and Diſdain, how much more was he ſhocked with what regarded Mr. Allworthy; to whom as he had more than filial Obligations, ſo had he for him more than filial Piety. He knew the Nature of that good Man to be ſo averſe to any Baſeneſs o [...] Treachery, that the leaſt Attempt of ſuch a Kind would make the guilty Perſon for ever odious to his Eyes, and the Name of that Perſon a deteſtable Sound in his Ears. The Appearance of ſuch unſurmount⯑able Difficulties was ſufficient to have inſpired him with Deſpair, however ardent his Wiſhes had been but even theſe were controlled by Compaſſion for another Woman. The Idea of lovely Molly now in⯑truded itſelf before him. He had ſworn eternal Con⯑ſtancy in her Arms, and ſhe had as often vowed ne⯑ver [213] to outlive his deſerting her. He now ſaw her in all the moſt ſhocking Poſtures of Death; nay, he conſidered all the Miſeries of Proſtitution to which ſhe would be liable, and of which he would be doubly the Occaſion; firſt by ſeducing, and then by deſerting her; for he well knew the Hatred which all her Neighbours, and even her own Siſters, bore her, and ready they would all be to tear her to Pieces. In⯑deed he had expoſed her to more Envy than Shame, or rather to the latter by Means of the former: For many Women abuſed her for being a Whore, while they envied her her Lover and Finery, and would have been themſelves glad to have purchaſed theſe at the ſame Rate. The Ruin, therefore, of the poor Girl muſt, he foreſaw, unavoidably attend his deſerting her; and this thought ſtung him to the Soul. Pover⯑ty and Diſtreſs ſeemed to him to give none a Right of aggravating thoſe Misfortunes. The Meanneſs of her Condition did not repreſent her Miſery as of little Conſequence in his Eyes, nor did it appear to juſtify, or even to palliate, his Guilt, in bringing that Miſe⯑ry upon her. But why do I mention Juſtification; his own Heart would not ſuffer him to deſtroy a human Creature, who, he thought, loved him, and had to that Love ſacrificed her Innocence. His own good Heart pleaded her Cauſe; not as a cold venal Advocate; but as one intereſted in the Event, and which muſt itſelf deeply ſhare in all the Agonies its Owner brought on another.

When this cunning Advocate had ſufficiently raiſ⯑ed the Pity of Jones, by painting poor Molly in all the Circumſtances of Wretchedneſs; it artfuly called in the Aſſiſtance of another Paſſion, and repreſented the Girl in all the amiable Colours of Youth, Health, and Beauty; as one greatly the Object of Deſire, and much the more ſo, at leaſt to a good Mind, from be⯑ing, at the ſame time, the Object of Compaſſion.

[214] A midſt theſe Thoughts, poor Jones paſſed a long ſleepleſs Night, and in the Morning the Reſult of the whole was to abide by Molly, and to think no more of Sophia.

In this virtuous Reſolution he continued all the next Day till the Evening, cheriſhing the Idea of Molly, and driving Sophia from his Thoughts; but in the fatal Evening, a very trifling Accident ſet all his Paſſions again on Float, worked ſo total a Change in his Mind, that we think it decent to communicate it in a freſh Chapter.

CHAP. IV.

AMONG other Viſitants, who paid their Com⯑pliments to the young Gentleman in his Con⯑finement, Mrs. Honour was one. The Reader, per⯑haps, when he reflects on ſome Expreſſions which have formerly dropt from her, may conceive that ſhe herſelf had a very particular Affection for Mr. Jones; but, in reality, it was no ſuch thing. Tom was a handſome young Fellow; and for that Species of Men Mrs. Honour had ſome Regard; but this was per⯑fectly indiſcriminate: For having been croſſed in the Love which ſhe bore a certain Nobleman's Footman, who had baſely deſerted her after a Promiſe of Mar⯑riage, ſhe had ſo ſecurely kept together the broken Remains of her Heart, that no Man had ever ſince been able to poſſeſs himſelf of any ſingle Fragment. She viewed all handſome Men with that equal Regard and Benevolence, which a ſober and virtuous Mind bears to all the Good.—She might, indeed, be called a Lover of Men, as Socrates was a Lover of Mankind, preferring one to another for corporeal, as he for mental Qualifications; but never carrying this Pre⯑ference [215] ſo far as to cauſe any Perturbation in the phi⯑loſophical Serenity of her Temper.

The Day after Mr. Jones had had that Conflict with himſelf, which we have ſeen in the preceding Chapter, Mrs. Honour came into his Room, and finding him alone, began in the following Manner: 'La, Sir, where do you think I have been? I war⯑rants you, you would not gueſs in fifty Years; but if you did gueſs, to be ſure, I muſt not tell you neither,' 'Nay if it be ſomething which you muſt not tell me,' ſaid Jones, 'I ſhall have the Curioſity to enquire, and I know you will not be ſo barbarous to refuſe me.' 'I don't know,' cries ſhe, 'why I ſhould refuſe you neither, for that Matter; for to be ſure you won't mention it any more. And for that Matter, if you knew where I had been, unleſs you knew what I had been about, it would not ſignify much. Nay, I don't ſee why it ſhould be kept a Secret, for my Part; for to be ſure ſhe is the beſt Lady in the World.' Upon this Jones be⯑gan to beg earneſtly to be let into this Secret, and faithfully promiſed not to divulge it. She then pro⯑ceeded thus. 'Why you muſt know, Sir, my young Lady ſent me to enquire after Molly Sea⯑grim, and to ſee whether the Wench wanted any thing; to be ſure, I did not care to go, methinks; but Servants muſt do what they are ordered.—How could you undervalue yourſelf ſo, Mr. Jones?—So my Lady bid me go, and carry her ſome Linnen, and other Things.—She is too good. If ſuch forward Sluts were ſent to Bridewell it would be better for them. I told my Lady, ſays I, Ma⯑dam, Your La'ſhip is encouraging Idleneſs.—' And was my Sophia ſo good?' ſays Jones.—'My Sophia! I aſſure you, marry come up,' anſwered Honour. 'And yet if you knew all.—Indeed, if I was as Mr. Jones, I ſhould look a little higher than ſuch Trumpery as Molly Seagrim.' 'What [216] do you mean by theſe Words,' replied Jones, 'I [...] I knew all?' 'I mean what I mean,' ſays Honour Don't you remember putting your Hands in my Lady's Muff once? I vow I could almoſt find in my Heart to tell, if I was certain my Lady would never come to the Hearing on't.' —Jones then made ſeveral ſolemn Proteſtations. And Honour proceeded—'then, to be ſure, my Lady gave me that Muff; and afterwards, upon hearing what you had done—' 'Then you told her what I had done! interrupted Jones, 'If I did, Sir,' anſwered ſhe 'you need not be angry with me. Many's the Man would have given his Head to have had my Lady told, if they had known—for, to be ſure the biggeſt Lord in the Land might be proud—but I proteſt, I have a great mind not to tell you.' Jones fell to Entreaties, and ſoon prevailed on he [...] to go on thus. 'You muſt know then, Sir, tha [...] my Lady had given this Muff to me; but about Day or two after I had told her the Story, ſhe quarrels with her new Muff, and to be ſure it is th [...] prettieſt that ever was ſeen. Honour,' ſays ſhe,—this is an odious Muff;—it is too big for me,—I can't wear it—till I can get another, you muſt let me have my old one again, and you may have this in the room on't—for ſhe's a good Lady, and ſcorns to give a Thing and take a Thing, I promiſe you that. So to be ſure I fetched it her back again [...] and I believe, ſhe hath worn it upon her Arm al [...] moſt ever ſince, and I warrants hath given it many' a Kiſs when nobody hath ſeen her.

Here the Converſation was interrupted by Mr. Weſtern himſelf, who came to ſummon Jones to the Harpſichord; whither the poor young Fellow went all pale and trembling. This Weſtern obſerved, but on ſeeing Mrs. Honour, imputed it to a wrong Cauſe and having given Jones a hearty Curſe between Jeſ [...] [217] and Earneſt, he bid him beat abroad, and not poach up the Game in his Warren.

Sophia looked this Evening with more than uſual Beauty, and we may believe it was no ſmall Addition [...]o her Charms in the Eye of Mr. Jones, that ſhe [...]ow happened to have on her Right Arm this very Muff.

She was playing one of her Father's favourite Tunes, and he was leaning on her Chair when the Muff fell over her Fingers, and put her out. This [...]o diſconcerted the Squire, that he ſnatched the Muff from her, and with a hearty Curſe threw it into the [...]ire. Sophia inſtantly ſtarted up, and with the ut⯑moſt Eagerneſs recovered it from the Flames.

Though this Incident will probably appear of little [...]onſequence to many of our Readers, yet, trifling as was, it had ſo violent an Effect on poor Jones, that [...]e thought it our Duty to relate it. In reality, there [...]e many little Circumſtances too often omitted by judicious Hiſtorians, from which Events of the ut⯑moſt Importance ariſe. The World may indeed be [...]onſidered as a vaſt Machine, in which the great Wheels are originally ſet in Motion by thoſe which [...]e very minute, and almoſt imperceptible to any but [...]e ſtrongeſt Eyes.

Thus, not all the Charms, of the incomparable So⯑phia; not all the dazzling Brightneſs, and languiſhing ſoftneſs of her Eyes; the Harmony of her Voice, [...] of her Perſon; not all her Wit, good Humour, Greatneſs of Mind, or ſweetneſs of Diſpoſition, had [...]een able ſo abſolutely to conquer and enſlave the [...]eart of poor Jones, as this little Incident of the Muff. Thus the Poet ſweetly ſings of Troy.

DRYDEN.

The Citadel of Jones was now taken by Surprize All thoſe Conſiderations of Honour and Prudence which our Heroe had lately with ſo much milita [...] Wiſdom placed as Guards over the Avenues of h [...] Heart, ran away from their Poſts, and the God Love marched in in Triumph.

CHAP. V.

BUT though this victorious Deity eaſily expelle [...] his avowed Enemies from the Heart of Jones, [...] found it more difficult to ſupplant the Garriſon whi [...] he himſelf had placed there. To lay aſide all All⯑gory, the Concern for what muſt become of po [...] Molly, greatly diſturbed and perplexed the Mind the worthy Youth. The ſuperior Merit of Sophia totally ecclipſed, or rather extinguiſhed all the Bea [...] ⯑ties of the poor Girl; but compaſſion inſtead of Con⯑tempt ſucceeded to Love. He was convinced t [...] Girl had placed all her Affections, and all her Proſp [...] of future Happineſs in him only. For this he ha [...] he knew, given ſufficient Occaſion, by the utmo [...] Profuſion of Tenderneſs towards her: A Tender⯑neſs which he had taken every Means to perſuade [...] he would always maintain. She, on her Side, h [...] aſſured him of her firm Belief in his Promiſe, a [...] had with the moſt ſolemn Vows declared, that his fulfilling, or breaking theſe Promiſes, it depend [...] whether ſhe ſhould be the happieſt, or the moſt mi [...] ⯑rable of Womankind. And to be the Author this higheſt Degree of Miſery to a human Bei [...] was a Thought on which he could not bear to ru [...] ⯑nate a ſingle Moment. He conſidered this poor [219] as having ſacrificed to him every Thing in her little Power; as having been at her own Expence the Ob⯑ject of his Pleaſure; as ſighing and languiſhing for him even at that very Inſtant. Shall then, ſays he, my Recovery, for which ſhe hath ſo ardently wiſh⯑ed; ſhall my Preſence which ſhe hath ſo eagerly ex⯑pected, inſtead of giving her that Joy with which ſhe hath flattered herſelf, caſt her at once down into Miſery and Deſpair? Can I be ſuch a Villain? Here, when the Genius of poor Molly ſeem'd triumphant, the Love of Sophia towards him, which now appear⯑ed no longer dubious, ruſhed upon his Mind, and bore away every Obſtacle before it.

At length it occurred to him, that he might poſſibly be able to make Molly amends another Way; name⯑ly, by giving her a Sum of Money. This never⯑theleſs, he almoſt deſpaired of her accepting, when he recollected the frequent and vehement Aſſurances he had received from her, that the World put in Ballance with him, would make her no amends for his Loſs. However, her extreme Poverty, and chief⯑ly her egregious Vanity (ſomewhat of which hath been already hinted to the Reader,) gave him ſome little Hope, that notwithſtanding all her avowed Tenderneſs, ſhe might in Time be brought to content herſelf with a Fortune ſuperiour to her Expectation, and which might indulge her Vanity, by ſetting her above all her Equals. He reſolved therefore, to take the firſt Opportunity of making a Propoſal of this Kind.

One Day accordingly, when his Arm was ſo well recovered, that he could walk eaſily with it ſlung in a Saſh, he ſtole forth, at a Seaſon when the Squire was engaged in his Field Exerciſes, and viſited his Fair one. Her Mother and Siſters, whom he found caking their Tea, informed him firſt that Molly was not at Home; but afterwards, the elder Siſter ac⯑quainted him with a malicious Smile, that ſhe was [220] above Stairs abed. Tom had no Objection to this Situation of his Miſtreſs, and immediately aſcended the Ladder which led towards her Bed-Chamber but when he came to the Top, he, to his great Sur⯑prize, found the Door faſt; nor could he for ſome Time obtain any Anſwer from within; for Molly, as ſhe herſelf afterwards informed him, was faſt aſleep.

The Extremes of Grief and Joy have been remark⯑ed to produce very ſimilar Effects; and when either of theſe ruſhes on us by Surprize, it is apt to create ſuch a total Perturbation and Confuſion, that we are often thereby deprived of the Uſe of all our Faculties. It cannot therefore be wondered at, that the unex⯑pected Sight of Mr. Jones ſhould ſo ſtrongly operate on the Mind of Molly, and ſhould overwhelm he [...] with ſuch Confuſion, that for ſome Minutes ſhe wa [...] unable to expreſs the great Raptures, with which the Reader will ſuppoſe ſhe was affected on this Occaſion [...] As for Jones, he was ſo entirely poſſeſſed, and as i [...] were enchanted by the Preſence of his beloved Object that he for a while forgot Sophia, and conſequently the principal Purpoſe of his Viſit.

This, however, ſoon recurred to his Memory and after the firſt Tranſports of their Meeting were over, he found Means by Degrees to introduce a Diſ⯑courſe on the fatal Conſequences which muſt attend their Amour, if Mr. Allworthy, who had ſtrictly for bidden him ever ſeeing her more, ſhould diſcover that he ſtill carried on this Commerce. Such a Diſ⯑covery, which his Enemies gave him Reaſon to thing would be unavoidable, muſt, he ſaid, end in his Ruin, and conſequently in hers. Since, therefore, their hard Fates had determined that they muſt ſeparate, he adviſed her to bear it with Reſolution, and ſwore he would never omit any Opportunity through the Courſe of his Life, of ſhewing her the Sincerity of his Af⯑fection, by providing for her in a Manner beyond her utmoſt Expectation, or even beyond her wiſhes [221] if ever that ſhould be in his Power; concluding, at laſt, that ſhe might ſoon find ſome Man who would marry her, and who would make her much happier than ſhe could be by leading a diſreputable Life with him.

Molly remained a few Moments in Silence, and then burſting into a Flood of Tears, ſhe began to up⯑braid him in the following Words. 'And is this your Love for me, to forſake me in this Manner, now you have ruined me? How often, when I have told you that all Men are falſe and Perjury alike, and grow tired of us as ſoon as ever they have had their wicked Wills of us, how often have you ſworn you would never forſake me? And can you be ſuch a Perjury Man after all? What ſignifies all the Riches in the World to me without you, now you have gained my Heart, ſo you have—you have—? Why do you mention another Man to me? I can never love any other Man as long as I live. All other Men are nothing to me. If the greateſt Squire in all the Country would come a ſuiting to me to⯑morrow, I would not give my Company to him. No, I ſhall always hate and deſpiſe the whole Sex for your Sake—'

She was proceeding thus, when an Accident put a Stop to her Tongue, before it had run out half its Career. The Room, or rather Garret, in which Molly [...]ay, being up one Pair of Stairs, that is to ſay, at the Top of the Houſe, was of a ſloping Figure, reſembling the great Delta of the Greeks. The Engliſh Reader may, perhaps, form a better Idea of it, by being told, that it was impoſſible to ſtand upright any where but in the Middle. Now, as this Room wanted the Con⯑veniency of a Cloſet, Molly had, to ſupply that De⯑fect, nailed up an old Rug againſt the Rafters of the Houſe, which encloſed a little Hole where her beſt Apparel, ſuch as the Remains of that Sack which we have formerly mentioned, ſome Caps, and other [222] Things with which ſhe had lately provided herſelf, were hung up and ſecured from the Duſt.

This incloſed Place exactly fronted the Foot of the Bed, to which, indeed, the Rug hung ſo near, that it ſerved in a Manner, to ſupply the Want of Cur⯑tains. Now, whether Molly in the Agonies of her Rage, puſhed this Rug with her Feet; or, Jones might touch it; or whether the Pin or Nail gave way of its own Accord, I am not certain; but as Molly pronounced thoſe laſt Words, which are recorded a⯑bove, the wicked Rug got looſe from its Faſtning, and diſcovered every thing hid behind it; where a⯑mong other female Utenſils appeared—(with Shame I write it, and with Sorrow will it be read)—the Philoſopher Square, in a Poſture (for the Place would not near admit of his ſtanding upright) as ridiculous as can poſſibly be conceived.

The Poſture, indeed, in which he ſtood, was not greatly unlike that of a Soldier who is tyed Neck and Heels; or rather reſembling the Attitude in which we often ſee Fellows in the public Streets of London, who are not ſuffering but deſerving Puniſhment by ſo ſtand⯑ing. He had a Night-cap belonging to Molly on his Head, and his two large Eyes, the Moment the Rug [...] fell, ſtared directly at Jones; ſo that when the Idea of Philoſophy was added to the Figure now diſcovered, it would have been very difficult for any Spectator to have refrained from immoderate Laughter.

I queſtion not but the Surprize of the Reader will be here equal to that of Jones; as the Suſpicions which muſt ariſe from the Appearance of this wiſe and grave Man in ſuch a Place, may ſeem ſo incon⯑ſiſtent with that Character, which he hath, doubtleſs, maintained hitherto, in the Opinion of every one.

But to confeſs the Truth, this Inconſiſtency is ra⯑ther imaginary than real. Philoſophers are compoſed of Fleſh and Blood as well as other human Creatures; [223] and however ſublimated and refined the Theory of theſe may be, a little practical Frailty is as incident to them as to other Mortals. It is, indeed, in The⯑ [...]ry only and not in Practice, as we have before hint⯑ed, that conſiſts the Difference: For though ſuch great Beings think much better and more wiſely, they always act exactly like other Men. They know ve⯑ry well how to ſubdue all Appetites and Paſſions, and [...]o deſpiſe both Pain and Pleaſure; and this Know⯑ledge affords much delightful Contemplation, and is eaſily acquired; but the Practice would be vexatious and troubleſome; and, therefore, the ſame Wiſdom which teaches them to know this, teaches them to avoid carrying it into Execution.

Mr. Square happened to be at Church, on that Sunday when, as the Reader may be pleaſed to re⯑member, the Appearance of Molly in her Sack had cauſed all this Diſturbance. Here he firſt obſerved her and was ſo pleaſed with her Beauty, that he pre⯑vailed with the young Gentlemen to change their in⯑tended Ride that Evening, that he might paſs by the Habitation of Molly, and, by that Means, might ob⯑tain a ſecond Chance of ſeeing her. This Reaſon, however, as he did not at that Time mention to any, [...]o neither did we think proper to communicate it then to the Reader.

Among other Particulars which conſtituted the Un⯑fitneſs of Things in Mr. Square's Opinion, Danger and Difficulty were two. The Difficulty, there⯑fore, which he apprehended there might be in cor⯑rupting this young Wench, and the Danger which would accrue to his Character on the Diſcovery, were [...]ach ſtrong Diſſuaſives, that it is probable, he at firſt intended to have contented himſelf with the pleaſing Ideas which the Sight of Beauty furniſhes us with. Theſe the graveſt Men, after a full Meal of Medita⯑tion, often allow themſelves by Way of Deſert: For which Purpoſe, certain Books and Pictures find their [224] Way into the moſt private Receſſes of their Study, and a certain liquoriſh Part of natural Philoſophy is often the principal Subject of their Converſation.

But when the Philoſopher heard a Day or two af⯑terwards, that the Fortreſs of Virtue had already been ſubdued, he began to give a larger Scope to his De⯑ſires. His Appetite was not of that ſqueamiſh Kind which cannot feed on a Dainty becauſe another had taſted it. In ſhort, he liked the Girl the better for the Want of that Chaſtity, which, if ſhe had poſſeſſed it, muſt have been a Bar to his Pleaſures; he pur⯑ſued, and obtained her.

The Reader will be miſtaken, if he thinks Molly gave Square the Preference to her younger Lover On the contrary, had ſhe been confined to the Choice of one only, Tom Jones would, undoubtedly, have been, of the two, the victorious Perſon. No [...] was it ſolely the Conſideration that two are better than one (tho' this had it's proper Weight) to which Mr. Square owed his Succeſs; the Abſence of Jones during his Confinement was an unlucky Circumſtance; and in that Interval, ſome well choſen preſents from the Philoſopher ſo ſoftened and unguarded the Girl's Heart, that a favourable Opportunity became irreſiſta⯑ble, and Square triumphed over the poor Remains of Virtue which ſubſiſted in the Boſom of Molly.

It was now about a Fortnight ſince this Conqueſt, when Jones paid the above-mentioned Viſit to his Miſ⯑treſs, at a time when ſhe and Square were in Bed to⯑gether. This was the true Reaſon why the Mother denied her as we have ſeen; for as the old Woman-ſhared in the Profits ariſing from the Iniquity of her Daughter, ſhe encouraged and protected her in it to the utmoſt of her Power; but ſuch was the Envy and Hatred which the eldeſt Siſter bore towards Molly, that, notwithſtanding ſhe had ſome Part of the Booty, ſhe would willingly have parted with this to ruin her Siſ⯑ter, and ſpoil her Trade. Hence ſhe had acquainted [225] Jones with her being above Stairs in Bed, in Hopes that he might have caught her in Square's Arms. This, however, Molly found Means to prevent, as the Door was faſtned; which gave her an Opportu⯑nity of conveying her Lover behind that Rug or Blan⯑ [...]et where he now was unhappily diſcovered.

Square no ſooner made his Appearance than Molly flung herſelf back in her Bed, cried out ſhe was un⯑done, and abandoned herſelf to Deſpair. This poor Girl, who was yet but a Novice in her Buſineſs, had [...]ot arrived to that Perfection of Aſſurance which helps off a Town Lady in any Extremity; and either prompts her with an Excuſe, or elſe inſpires her to brazen out the Matter with her Huſband; who from Love of Quiet, or out of Fear of his Reputation, and ſometimes, perhaps, from Fear of the Gallant, who, like Mr. Conſtant in the Play, wears a Sword, is glad to ſhut his Eyes, and contented to put his Horns in his Pocket: Molly, on the contrary, was ſilenced by this Evidence, and very fairly gave up a Cauſe which ſhe had hitherto with ſo many Tears, and with ſuch ſolemn and vehement Proteſtations of the pureſt Love and Conſtancy, maintained.

As to the Gentleman behind the Arras, he was not in much leſs Conſternation. He ſtood for a while motionleſs, and ſeemed equally at a Loſs what to ſay, or whither to direct his Eyes. Jones, tho' perhaps, the moſt aſtoniſhed of the three, firſt found his Tongue; and, being immediately recovered from thoſe uneaſy Senſations, which Molly by her upbraid⯑ings had occaſioned, he burſt into a loud Laughter, and then ſaluting Mr. Square, advanced to take him by the Hand, and to relieve him from his Place of Confinement.

Square, being now arrived in the Middle of the Room, in which Part only he could ſtand upright, looked at Jones with a very grave Countenance, and [226] ſaid to him, 'Well, Sir, I ſee you enjoy this mighty Diſcovery, and, I dare ſwear, taſte great Delight in the Thoughts of expoſing me: but if you will conſider the Matter fairly, you will find you are yourſelf only to blame. I have done nothing for which that Part of the World which judges of Mat⯑ters by the Rule of Right will condemn me. Fit⯑neſs is governed by the Nature of Things, and not by Cuſtoms, Forms, or municipal Laws. No⯑thing is, indeed, unfit which is not unnatural.' 'Well reaſoned, old Boy,' anſwered Jones; 'but why doſt thou think I ſhould deſire to expoſe thee? I promiſe thee, I was never better pleaſed with thee in my Life; and unleſs thou haſt a Mind to diſcover it thy⯑ſelf, this Affair may remain a profound Secret for me.' 'Nay, Mr. Jones,' replied Square, 'I would not be thought to undervalue Reputation. Good Fame is a Species of the KALON, and it is by no Means fitting to neglect it. Beſides to murder one's own Reputation, is a kind of Suicide, a deteſtable odious Vice. If you think proper, therefore, to conceal any Infirmity of mine; (for ſuch I may have, ſince no Man is perfectly perfect;) I promiſe you I will not betray myſelf. Things may be fit⯑ting to be done, which are not fitting to be boaſted of: for by the perverſe Judgment of the World, That often becomes the Subject of Cenſure, which is, in Truth, not only innocent but laudable.' 'Right!' cries Jones, 'what can be more innocent than the Indulgence of a natural Appetite? or what more laudable than the Propagation of our Species?' 'To be ſerious with you,' anſwered Square, 'I profeſs they always appeared ſo to me.' 'And yet,' ſaid Jones, 'you was of a different Opinion when my Affair with this Girl was firſt diſcovered.' 'Why, I muſt confeſs,' ſays Square, 'as the Matter was miſrepreſented to me by that Parſon Thwakum, I might condemn the Corruption of Innocence. It [227] was that, Sir, it was that—and that—: For you muſt know, Mr. Jones, in the Conſideration of Fit⯑neſs, very minute Circumſtances, Sir, very minute Circumſtances cauſe great Alteration.' —'Well,' cries Jones, 'be that as it will, it ſhall be your own Fault, as I have promiſed you, if you ever hear any more of this Adventure. Behave kindly to the Girl, and I will never open my Lips concern⯑ing the Matter to any one. And, Molly, do you be faithful to your Friend, and I will not only for⯑give your Infidelity to me; but will do you all the Service I can.' So ſaying, he took a haſty Leave, and ſlipping down the Ladder, retired with much Expedition.

Square was rejoyced to find this Adventure was likely to have no worſe Concluſion; and as for Mol⯑ly, being recovered from her Confuſion, ſhe began at firſt to upbraid Square with having been the Oc⯑caſion of her Loſs of Jones; but that Gentleman ſoon found the Means of mitigating her Anger, part⯑ly by a ſmall Noſtrum from his Purſe, of wonder⯑ful and approved Efficacy in purging off the ill Hu⯑mours of the Mind, and in reſtoring it to a good Temper.

She then poured forth a vaſt Profuſion of Ten⯑derneſs towards her new Lover; turned all ſhe had ſaid to Jones, and Jones himſelf into Ridicule, and vowed, tho' he had had the Poſſeſſion of her Perſon, that none but Square had ever been Maſter of her Heart.

CHAP. VI.

THE Infidelity of Molly, which Jones had now diſcovered, would, perhaps, have vindicated a [228] much greater Degree of Reſentment than he expreſſed on the Occaſion; and if he had abandoned her direct⯑ly from that Moment, very few, I believe, would have blamed him.

Certain, however, it is, that he ſaw her in the Light of Compaſſion; and tho' his Love to her was not of that Kind which could give him any great Uneaſineſs at her Inconſtancy, yet was he not a little ſhocked on reflecting that he had himſelf originally corrupted her Innocence; for to this Corruption he imputed all the Vice, into which ſhe appeared now ſo likely to plunge herſelf.

This Conſideration gave him no little Uneaſineſs, till Betty, the elder Siſter, was ſo kind ſome time af⯑terwards entirely to cure him by a Hint, that one Will Barnes, and not himſelf, had been the firſt Seducer of Molly; and that the little Child, which he had hitherto ſo certainly concluded to be his own, might very probably have an equal Title at leaſt, to claim Barnes for its Father.

Jones eagerly purſued this Scent when he had firſt received it; and in a very ſhort Time was ſufficiently aſſured that the Girl had told him Truth, not only by the Confeſſion of the Fellow, but, at laſt, by that of Molly herſelf.

This Will Barnes was a Country Gallant, and had acquired as many Trophies of this Kind as any En⯑ſign or Attorney's Clerk in the Kingdom. He had, indeed, reduced ſeveral Women to a State of utter Profligacy, had broke the Hearts of ſome, and had the Honour of occaſioning the violent Death of one poor Girl, who had either drowned herſelf, or, what was rather more probable, had been drowned by him.

Among other of his Conqueſts, this Fellow had triumphed over the Heart of Betty Seagrim. He had made love to her long before Molly was grown to be a fit Object of that Paſtime; but had afterwards de⯑ſerted her, and applied to her Siſter, with whom he [229] had almoſt immediate Succeſs. Now Will had, in reality, the ſole Poſſeſſion of Molly's Affection, while Jones and Square were almoſt equally Sacrifices to her Intereſt, and to her Pride.

Hence had grown that implacable Hatred which we have before ſeen raging in the Mind of Betty; though we did not think it neceſſary to aſſign this Cauſe ſoon⯑er, as Envy itſelf was alone adequate to all the Ef⯑fects we have mentioned.

Jones was become perfectly eaſy by Poſſeſſion of this Secret with Regard to Molly; but as to Sophia, he was far from being in a State of Tranquillity; nay, indeed, he was under the moſt violent Perturbation: His Heart was now, if I may uſe the Metaphor, en⯑tirely evacuated, and Sophia took abſolute Poſſeſſion of it. He loved her with an unbounded Paſſion, and plainly ſaw the tender Sentiments ſhe had for him; yet could not this Aſſurance leſſen his Deſpair of ob⯑taining the Conſent of her Father, nor the Horrors which attended his Purſuit of her by any baſe or treacherous Method.

The Injury which he muſt thus do to Mr. Weſtern, and the Concern which would accrue to Mr. Allwor⯑thy, were Circumſtances that tormented him all Day, and haunted him on his Pillow at Night. His Life was a conſtant Struggle between Honour and Incli⯑nation, which alternately triumphed over each other in his Mind. He often reſolved in the Abſence of Sophia, to leave her Father's Houſe, and to ſee her no more; and as often, in her preſence, forgot all thoſe Reſolutions, and determined to purſue her at the Hazard of his Life, and at the Forfeiture of what was much dearer to him.

This Conflict began ſoon to produce very ſtrong and viſible Effects: For he loſt all his uſual Spright⯑lineſs and Gaiety of Temper, and became not only melancholy when alone, but dejected and abſent in Company; nay, if ever he put on a forced Mirth, to [230] comply with Mr. Weſtern's Humour, the Conſtraint appeared ſo plain, that he may ſeem to have been giv⯑ing the ſtrongeſt Evidence of what he endeavoured to conceal by ſuch Oſtentation.

It may, perhaps, be a Queſtion, whether the Art which he uſed to conceal his Paſſion, or the Means which honeſt Nature employed to reveal it, betrayed him moſt: For while Art made him more than ever reſerved to Sophia, and forbad him to addreſs any of his Diſcourſe to her; nay, to avoid meeting her Eyes, with the utmoſt Caution; Nature was no leſs buſy in counterplotting him. Hence, at the Approach of the young Lady, he grew pale; and if this was ſud⯑den, ſtarted. If his Eyes accidentally met hers, the Blood ruſhed into his Cheeks, and his Countenance became all over Scarlet. If common Civility ever o⯑bliged him to ſpeak to her, as to drink her Health at Table, his Tongue was ſure to faulter. If he touch⯑ed her, his Hand, nay his whole Frame trembled. And if any Diſcourſe tended, however remotely, to raiſe the Idea of Love, an involuntary Sigh ſeldom failed to ſteal from his Boſom. Moſt of which Accidents Nature was wonderfully induſtrious to throw in his Way.

All theſe Symptoms eſcaped the Notice of the Squire; but not ſo of Sophia. She ſoon perceived theſe Agitations of Mind in Jones, and was at no Loſs to diſcover the Cauſe; for indeed ſhe recognized it in her own Breaſt. And this Recognition is, I ſup⯑poſe, that Sympathy which hath been ſo often noted in Lovers, and which will ſufficiently account for her being ſo much quicker-ſighted than her Father.

But, to ſay the Truth, there is a more ſimple and plain Method of accounting for that prodigious Su⯑periority of Penetration which we muſt obſerve in ſome Men over the reſt of the human Species, and one which will not only ſerve in the Caſe of Lovers, but of all others. For whence is it that the Knave is ge⯑nerally [231] ſo quick-ſighted to thoſe Symptoms and Ope⯑rations of Knavery which often dupe an honeſt Man of a much better Underſtanding? There ſurely is no general Sympathy among Knaves, nor have they, like Free Maſons, any common Sign of Communication. In reality, it is only becauſe they have the ſame thing in their Heads, and their thoughts are turned the ſame Way. Thus, that Sophia ſaw, and that Weſtern did not ſee the plain Symptoms of Love in Jones can be no Wonder, when we conſider that the Idea of Love never entered into the Head of the Father, whereas the Daughter, at preſent, thought of nothing elſe.

When Sophia was well ſatisfied of the Paſſion which tormented poor Jones, and no leſs certain that ſhe herſelf was its Object, ſhe had not the leaſt Diffi⯑culty in diſcovering the true Cauſe of his preſent Be⯑haviour. This highly endeared him to her, and raiſ⯑ed in her Mind two of the beſt Affections which any Lover can wiſh to raiſe in a Miſtreſs. Theſe were Eſteem and Pity; for ſure the moſt outragiouſly rigid among her Sex will excuſe her pitying a Man, whom ſhe ſaw miſerable on her own Account; nor can they blame her for eſteeming one who viſibly from the moſt honourable Motives, endeavoured to ſmother a Flame in his own Boſom, which, like the famous Spartan Theft, was preying upon, and conſuming his very Vitals. Thus his Backwardneſs, his Shun⯑ning her, his Coldneſs and his Silence, were the for⯑wardeſt, the moſt diligent, the warmeſt, and moſt eloquent Advocates; and wrought ſo violently on her ſenſible and tender Heart, that ſhe ſoon felt for him all thoſe gentle Senſations which are conſiſtent with a virtuous and elevated female Mind—In ſhort, all which eſteem, Gratitude and Pity, can inſpire, in ſuch, towards an agreeable Man—Indeed, all which the niceſt Delicacy can allow—In a Word,—ſhe was in Love with him to Diſtraction.

[232] One Day, this young Couple accidentally met in the Garden, at the End of two Walks, which were both bounded by that Canal in which Jones had for⯑merly riſqued drowning to retrieve the little Bird that Sophia had there loſt.

This Place had been of late much frequented by Sophia. Here ſhe uſed to ruminate, with a Mixture of Pain and Pleaſure, on an Incident, which, how⯑ever trifling in itſelf, had poſſibly ſown the firſt Seeds of that Affection which was now arrived to ſuch Ma⯑turity in her Heart.

Here then this young Couple met. They were almoſt cloſe together before either of them knew any Thing of the other's Approach. A By-ſtander would have diſcovered ſufficient Marks of Confuſion, in the Countenance of each; but they felt too much them⯑ſelves to make any Obſervation. As ſoon as Jones had a little recovered his firſt Surprize, he accoſted the young Lady with ſome of the ordinary forms of Salutati⯑on, which ſhe in the ſame Manner returned, and their Converſation began, as uſual, on the delicious Beau⯑ty of the Morning. Hence they paſſed to the Beauty of the Place, on which Jones launched forth very high Encomiums. When they came to the Tree whence he had formerly tumbled into the Canal, Sophia could not help reminding him of that Accident, and ſaid, 'I fancy, Mr. Jones, you have ſome little ſhudder⯑ing when you ſee that Water.' 'I aſſure you, Madam,' anſwered Jones, 'the Concern you felt at the Loſs of your little Bird, will always appear to me the higheſt Circumſtance in that Adventure. Poor little Tommy, there is the Branch he ſtood up⯑on. How could the little Wretch have the Folly to fly away from that State of Happineſs in which I had the Honour to place him? His Fate was a juſt Puniſhment for his Ingratitude.' 'Upon my Word, Mr. Jones.' ſaid ſhe, 'your Gallantry very nar⯑rowly eſcaped as ſevere a Fate. Sure, the Re⯑membrance [233] muſt affect you.' 'Indeed, Madam,' anſwered he, 'if I have any Reaſon to reflect with Sorrow on it, it is, perhaps, that the Water had not been a little deeper, by which I might have eſ⯑caped many bitter Heart-achs, that Fortune ſeems to have in Store for me.' 'Fie, Mr. Jones.' re⯑plied Sophia, 'I am ſure you cannot be in Earneſt now. This affected Contempt of Life is only an Exceſs of your Complaiſance to me. You would endeavour to leſſen the Obligation of having twice ventured it for my Sake. Beware the third Time.'—She ſpoke theſe laſt Words with a Smile and a Soft⯑neſs inexpreſſible. Jones anſwered with a Sigh, 'He feared it was already too late for Caution,'—and then looking tenderly and ſtedfaſtly on her, he cry'd, 'Oh! Miſs Weſtern,—Can you deſire me to live? Can you wiſh me ſo ill?'—Sophia looking down on the Ground, anſwered with ſome Heſitation. Indeed, Mr. Jones, I do not wiſh you ill.'—Oh! I know too well that heavenly Temper,' cries Jones, 'that divine Goodneſs which is beyond e⯑very other Charm.' Nay, now,' anſwered ſhe, I underſtand you not.—I can ſtay no longer,—I—. I would not be underſtood,' cries he,' 'nay, I can't be underſtood. I know not what I ſay. Meeting here ſo unexpectedly—I have been un⯑guarded—for Heaven's Sake pardon me, if I have ſaid any Thing to offend you—I did not mean it—indeed, I would rather have died—nay, the very Thought would kill me.' 'You ſurprize me.' anſwered ſhe,—'How can you poſſibly think you have offended me?' 'Fear, Madam,' ſays he, eaſily runs into Madneſs; and there is no Degree of Fear like that which I feel of offending you. How can I ſpeak then? Nay don't look angrily at me, one Frown will deſtroy me.—I mean nothing—Blame my Eyes, or blame thoſe Beauties— [234] What am I ſaying? Pardon me if I have ſaid too much. My Heart overflowed. I have ſtruggled with my Love to the utmoſt, and have endeavour⯑ed to conceal a Fever which preys on my Vitals, and will, I hope, ſoon make it impoſſible for me' ever to offend you more.

Mr. Jones now fell a trembling as if he had been ſhaken with the Fit of an Ague. Sophia, who was in a Situation not very different from his, anſwered in theſe Words: 'Mr. Jones, I will not affect to miſunderſtand you; indeed I underſtand you too well; but for Heaven's Sake, if you have any Af⯑fection for me, let me make the beſt of my way into the Houſe. I wiſh I may be able to ſupport myſelf thither.'

Jones, who was hardly able to ſupport himſelf, offered her his Arm, which ſhe condeſcended to ac⯑cept, but begged he would not mention a Word more to her of this Nature at preſent. He promiſed he would not, inſiſting only on her Forgiveneſs of what Love, without the Leave of his Will, had forc⯑ed from him: This, ſhe told him, he knew how to obtain by his future Behaviour; and thus this young Pair tottered and trembled along, the Lover not once daring to ſqueeze the Hand of his Miſtreſs, tho' it was locked in his.

Sophia immediately retired to her Chamber, where Mrs. Honour and the Hartſhorn were ſummoned to her Aſſiſtance. As to poor Jones, the only Relief to his diſtempered Mind, was an unwelcome Piece of News, which, as it opens a Scene of a different Na⯑ture from thoſe in which the Reader hath lately been converſant, will be communicated to him in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII.

MR. Weſtern was become ſo fond of Jones, that he was unwilling to part with him, tho' his Arm had been long ſince cured; and Jones, either from his Love of Sport, or from ſome other Reaſon, was eaſily perſuaded to continue at his Houſe, which he did ſometimes for a Fortnight together without pay⯑ing a ſingle Viſit at Mr. Allworthy's; nay, without ever hearing from thence.

Mr. Allworthy had been for ſome Days indiſpoſed with a Cold, which had been attended with a little Fe⯑ver. This he had, however, neglected, as it was uſual with him to do all Manner of Diſorders which did not confine him to his Bed, or prevent his ſeveral Faculties from performing their ordinary Functions. A Conduct which we would by no Means be thought to approve or recommend to Imitation: For ſurely the Gentlemen of the Aeſculapian Art are in the Right in adviſing, that the Moment the Diſeaſe is entered at one Door, the Phyſician ſhould be introduced at the other; what elſe is meant by that old Adage, Venienti [...]ccurrite Morbo? "Oppoſe a Diſtemper at its firſt Approach." Thus the Doctor and the Diſeaſe meet in fair and equal Conflict; whereas, by giving Time to the latter, we often ſuffer him to fortify and en⯑trench himſelf, like a French Army; ſo that the learned Gentleman finds it very difficult, and ſome⯑times impoſſible to come at the Enemy. Nay ſome⯑times by gaining Time, the Diſeaſe applies to the French military Politics, and corrupts Nature over to his Side, and then all the Powers of Phyſick muſt ar⯑rive too late. Agreeable to theſe Obſervations was, I remember, the complaint of the great Doctor Miſ⯑aubin, who uſed very pathetically to lament the late Applications which were made to his Skill: Saying, [236] 'Bygar, me believe my Pation take me for de Under taker: For dey never ſend for me till de Phyſicion have kill dem.'

Mr. Allworthy's Diſtemper, by Means of this Neg⯑lect, gained ſuch Ground, that when the Increaſe o [...] his Fever obliged him to ſend for Aſſiſtance, the Doc⯑tor at his firſt Arrival ſhook his Head, wiſhed he had been ſent for ſooner, and intimated that he thought him in very imminent Danger. Mr. Allworthy, who had ſettled all his Affairs in the World, and was as well prepared, as it is poſſible for human Nature to be, for the other, received this Information with the utmoſt Calmneſs and Unconcern. He could indeed, whenever he laid himſelf down to Reſt, ſay with Cato in the tragical Poem,

In Reality, he could ſay this with ten times more Reaſon and Confidence than Cato, or any other proud Fellow among the antient or modern Heroes: For he was not only devoid of Fear; but might be conſi⯑dered as a faithful Labourer, when at the End of Harveſt, he is ſummoned to receive his Reward at the Hands of a bountiful Maſter.

The good Man gave immediate Orders for all his Family to be ſummoned round him. None of theſe were then abroad, but Mrs. Blifil who had been ſome Time in London, and Mr. Jones, whom the Reader hath juſt parted from at Mr. Weſtern's and who re⯑ceived this Summons juſt as Sophia had left him.

The News of Mr. Allworthy's Danger (for the Servant told him he was dying) drove all Thoughts of Love out of his Head. He hurried inſtantly into the Chariot which was ſent for him, and ordered the [237] Coachman to drive with all imaginable Haſte; nor did the Idea of Sophia, I believe, once occur to him on the Way.

And now, the whole Family, namely, Mr. Blifil, Mr. Jones, Mr. Thwackum, Mr. Square, and ſome of the Servants (for ſuch were Mr. Allworthy's Or⯑ders) being all aſſembled round his Bed, the good Man ſat up in it, and was beginning to ſpeak, when Blifil fell to blubbering; and began to expreſs very loud and bitter Lamentations. Upon this Mr. All⯑worthy ſhook him by the Hand, and ſaid, 'Do not ſorrow thus, my dear Nephew, at the moſt ordi⯑nary of all human Occurrences. When Misfor⯑tunes befal our Friends we are juſtly grieved: For thoſe are Accidents which might often have been avoided, and which may ſeem to render the Lot of one Man, more peculiarly unhappy than that of others; but Death is certainly unavoidable, and is that common Lot, in which alone the Fortunes of all Men agree; nor is the Time when this happens to us material. If the wiſeſt of Men hath com⯑pared Life to a Span, ſurely we may be allowed to conſider it as a Day. It is my Fate to leave it in the Evening; but thoſe who are taken away ear⯑lier, have only loſt a few Hours, at the beſt little worth lamenting, and much oftner Hours of La⯑bour and Fatigue, of Pain and Sorrow. One of the Roman Poets, I remember, likens our leaving Life to our Departure from a Feaſt. A Thought which hath often occurred to me, when I have ſeen Men ſtruggling to protract an Entertainment, and to enjoy the Company of their Friends a few Moments longer. Alas! how ſhort is the moſt protracted of ſuch Enjoyments! How immaterial the Difference between him who retires the ſooneſt, and him who ſtays the lateſt! This is ſeeing Life in the beſt View, and this Unwillingneſs to quit [238] our Friends is the moſt amiable Motive, from which we can derive the Fear of Death; and yo [...] the longeſt Enjoyment which we can hope for o [...] this Kind is of ſo trivial a Duration, that it is to [...] wiſe Man truly contemptible. Few Men, I own think in this Manner: for, indeed, few Men think of Death 'till they are in its Jaws. However gi⯑gantic and terrible an Object this may appear when it approaches them, they are nevertheleſs incapa⯑ble of ſeeing it at any Diſtance; nay, tho' they have been ever ſo much frightned and alarmed when they have apprehended themſelves in Danger o [...] dying, they are no ſooner cleared from this Ap⯑prehenſion than even the Fears of it are eraſed from their Minds. But alas! he who eſcapes from Death is not pardoned, he is only reprieved, and reprieved to a ſhort Day.'

'Grieve, therefore, no more, my dear Child, on this Occaſion; an Event which may happen every Hour, which every Element, nay almoſt every Particle of Matter that ſurrounds us is capa⯑ble of producing, and which muſt and will moſt unavoidably reach us all at laſt, ought neither to occaſion our Surprize, nor our Lamentation.'

'My Phyſician having acquainted me (which I take very kindly of him) that I am in Danger of leaving you all very ſhortly, I have determined to ſay a few Words to you at this our Parting, before my Diſtemper, which I find grows very faſt upon me, puts it out of my Power.'

'But I ſhall waſte my Strength too much.—I intended to ſpeak concerning my Will, which tho' I have ſettled long ago, I think proper to mention ſuch Heads of as concern any of you, that I may have the Comfort of perceiving you are all ſatisfied with the Proviſion I have there made for you.'

'Nephew Blifil, I leave you the Heir to my whole Eſtate, except only 500l. a Year which is to revert [239] to you after the Death of your Mother, and except one other Eſtate of 500l. a Year, and the Sum of 6000l. which I have beſtowed in the following Manner.'

'The Eſtate of 500l. a Year I have given to you, Mr. Jones. And as I know the Inconvenience which attends the Want of ready Money, I have added 1000l. in Specie. In this I know not whether I have exceeded, or fallen ſhort of your Expectata⯑tion. Perhaps you will think I have given you too little, and the World will be as ready to condemn me for giving you too much; but the latter Cen⯑ſure I deſpiſe, and as to the former, unleſs you ſhould entertain that common Error, which I have often heard in my Life pleaded as an Excuſe for a total Want of Charity; namely, that inſtead of raiſ⯑ing Gratitude by voluntary Acts of Bounty, we are apt to raiſe Demands, which of all others are the moſt boundleſs and moſt difficult to ſatisfiy.—Pardon me the bare Mention of this, I will not ſuſpect any ſuch Thing.'

Jones flung himſelf at his Benefactor's Feet, and taking eagerly hold of his Hand, aſſured him, his Goodneſs to him, both now, and at all other Times, had ſo infinitely exceeded not only his Merit, but his Hopes, that no Words could expreſs his Senſe of it. 'And I aſſure you, Sir, ſaid he, your preſent Gene⯑roſity hath left me no other Concern than for the pre⯑ſent melancholy Occaſion.—Oh, my Friend! my Father!' Here his Words choaked him, and he turn⯑ed away to hide a Tear which was ſtarting from his Eyes.

Allworthy then gently ſqueezed his Hand, and pro⯑ceeded thus. 'I am convinced, my Child, that you have much Goodneſs, Generoſity and Honour in your Temper, if you will add Prudence and Reli⯑gion to theſe, you muſt be happy: For the three [240] former Qualities, I admit, make you worthy o [...] Happineſs, but they are the latter only which will put you in Poſſeſſion of it.'

'One thouſand Pound I have given to you Mr. Thwackum; a Sum, I am convinced, which greatly exceeds your Deſires as well as your Wants. How⯑ever, you will receive it as a Memorial of my Friendſhip; and whatever Superfluities may redound to you, that Piety which you ſo rigidly maintain, will inſtruct you how to diſpoſe of it.'

'A like Sum, Mr. Square, I have bequeathed to you. This, I hope, will enable you to purſue your Profeſſion with better Succeſs than hitherto. I have often obſerved with Concern, that Diſtreſs is more apt to excite Contempt than Commiſeration, eſpecially among Men of Buſineſs, with whom Po⯑verty is underſtood to indicate Want of Ability. But the little I have been able to leave you, will extricate you from thoſe Difficulties with which you have formerly ſtruggled, and then I doubt not but you will meet with ſufficient Proſperity to ſupply what a Man of your Philoſophical Temper will re⯑quire.'

'I find myſelf growing faint, ſo I ſhall refer you to my Will for my Diſpoſition of the Reſidue. My Servants will there find ſome Tokens to remember me by, and there are a few Charities which, I truſt, my Executors will ſee faithfully performed. Bleſs you all.' I am ſetting out a little before you—

Here a Footman came haſtily into the Room, and ſaid there was an Attorney from Salisbury, who had a particular Meſſage, which he ſaid he muſt commu⯑nicate to Mr. Allworthy himſelf: That he ſeemed in a violent Hurry, and proteſted he had ſo much Bu⯑ſineſs to do, that if he could cut himſelf into four Quarters, all would not be ſufficient.

Go, Child, ſaid Allworthy to Blifil, ſee what the Gentleman wants. I am not able to do any Buſineſs [241] now, nor can he have any with me, in which you [...]re not at preſent more concerned than myſelf. Be⯑ [...]des I really am—I am incapable of ſeeing any one [...] preſent, or of any longer Attention. He then ſa⯑ [...]ted them all, ſaying, perhaps he would be able to [...]e them again, but he ſhould be now glad to com⯑poſe himſelf a little, finding that he had too much ex⯑ [...]auſted his Spirits in Diſcourſe.

Some of the Company ſhed Tears at their Parting; [...]nd even the Philoſopher Square wiped his Eyes, al⯑ [...]it unuſed to the melting Mood. As to Mrs. Wilkins, [...]e dropt her Pearls as faſt as the Arabian Trees their Medicinal Gums; for this was a Cermonial which that Gentlewoman never omitted on a proper Occaſion.

After this Mr. Allworthy again laid himſelf down [...]n his Pillow, and endeavoured to compoſe himſelf [...]o Reſt.

CHAP. VIII.

BESIDES Grief for her Maſter, there was a⯑nother Source for that briny Stream which ſo [...]entifully roſe above the two Mountainous Cheek [...]ones of the Houſe-keeper. She was no ſooner re⯑ [...]ed, than ſhe began to mutter to herſelf in the fol⯑lowing pleaſant Strain. 'Sure Maſter might have made ſome Difference, methinks, between me and the other Servants. I ſuppoſe he hath left me Mourning; but, i-fackins! if that be all, the De⯑vil ſhall wear it for me. I'd have his Worſhip know I am no Beggar. I have ſaved five hundred Pound in his Service, and after all to be uſed in this Man⯑ner. It is a fine Encouragement to Servants to be honeſt; and to be ſure, if I have taken a little ſome⯑thing now and then, others have taken ten times as much; and now we are all put in a Lump together. If ſo be that it be ſo, the Legacy may go to the [242] Devil with him that gave it. No, I won't give up neither, becauſe that will pleaſe ſome Folks No, I'll buy the gayeſt Gown I can get, and dan [...] over the old Curmugeon's Grave in it. This i [...] my Reward for taking his Part ſo often, when a [...] the Country have cried Shame of him for breeding up his Baſtard in that Manner; but he is going now where he muſt pay for all. It would have be comed him better to have repented of his Sins o [...] his Death-Bed, than to glory in them, and give [...] way his Eſtate out of his own Family to a miſ-be gotten Child. Found in his Bed, forſooth! A pre [...] ⯑ty Story! Ay, ay, thoſe that hide know where [...] find. Lord forgive him, I warrant he hath man more Baſtards to anſwer for, if the Truth wa [...] known. One Comfort is, they will all be know where he is a going now, 'The Servants will fi [...] ſome Token to remember me by.' Thoſe we [...] the very Words, I ſhall never forget them, it was to live a thouſand Years. Ay, ay, I ſhall re⯑member you for huddling me among the Servant One would have thought he might have mention my Name as well as that of Square; but he is Gentleman forſooth, though he had not Clothes his Back when he came hither firſt. Marry co [...] up with ſuch Gentlemen! though he hath lived he [...] theſe many Years, I don't believe there is arr [...] Servant in the Houſe ever ſaw the Colour of [...] Money. The Devil ſhall wait upon ſuch Gentle⯑men for me.' Much more of the like kind ſhe mut⯑tered to herſelf; but this Taſte ſhall ſuffice to the Rea⯑der.

Neither Thwackum nor Square were much bet [...] ſatisfied with their Legacies. Tho' they breath not their Reſentment ſo loud, yet from the Diſcont [...] which appeared in their Countenances, as well from the following Dialogue, we collect that no g [...] Pleaſure reigned in their Minds.

[243] About an Hour after they had left the ſick Room, [...]quare met Thwackum in the Hall, and accoſted him [...]us, 'Well, Sir, have you heard any News of your Friend ſince we parted from him? 'If you mean Mr. Allworthy,' anſwered Thwackum, 'I think you might rather give him the Appellation of your Friend: For he ſeems to me to have deſerved that Title.' 'The Title is as good on your Side,' re⯑ [...]lied Square, 'for his Bounty, ſuch as it is, hath been equal to both.' 'I ſhould not have mention⯑ed it firſt,' cries Thwackum, 'but ſince you begin, I muſt inform you I am of a Different Opinion. There is a wide Diſtinction between voluntary Fa⯑vours and Rewards. The Duty I have done in his Family, and the Care I have taken in the Education of his two Boys, are Services for which ſome Men might have expected a greater Return. I would not have you imagine I am therefore diſſatisfied; for St. Paul hath taught me to be content with the little I have. Had the Modicum been leſs, I ſhould have known my Duty. But though the Scrip⯑ture obliges me to remain contented, it doth not enjoin me to ſhut my Eyes to my own Merit, nor reſtrain me from ſeeing, when I am injured by an unjuſt Compariſon. Since you provoke me,' re⯑ [...]urned Square, 'that Injury is done to me: Nor did I ever imagine Mr. Allworthy had held my Friend⯑ſhip ſo light, as to put me in Ballance with one who received his Wages: I know to what it is owing; it proceeds from thoſe narrow Principles which you have been ſo long endeavouring to infuſe into him, in Contempt of every Thing which is great and no⯑ble. The Beauty and Lovelineſs of Friendſhip is too ſtrong for dim Eyes, nor can it be perceived by any other Medium, than that unerring Rule of Right which you have ſo often endeavoured to ridicule, that you have perverted my Friend's Un⯑derſtanding.' 'I wiſh,' cries Thwackum, in a Rage, [244] 'I wiſh for the Sake of his Soul, your damnabl [...] Doctrines have not perverted his Faith. It is [...] this, I impute his preſent Behaviour ſo unbecoming a Chriſtian. Who but an Athieſt could think [...] leaving the World without having firſt made up h [...] Account? without confeſſing his Sins, and receiv⯑ing that Abſolution which he knew he had one [...] the Houſe duly authoriſed to give him? He w [...] feel the Want of theſe Neceſſaries when it is to late. When he is arrived at the Place where the [...] is Wailing and Gnaſhing of Teeth. It is then [...] will find in what mighty Stead that Heathen God⯑deſs, that Virtue which you and all other Deiſts [...] the Age adore, will ſtand him. He will then ſum⯑mon his Prieſt when there is none to be found, as will lament the Want of that Abſolution, without which no Sinner can be ſafe.' 'If it be ſo materia [...] ſays Square, Why don't you preſent it him [...] 'your own Accord?' 'It hath no Virtue,' cri [...] Thwackum, 'but to thoſe who have ſufficient Gra [...] to require it. But why do I talk thus to a Heath [...] and an Unbeliever? It is you who have taught h [...] this Leſſon, for which you have been well-rewar⯑ed in this World, as I doubt not your Diſciple w [...] ſoon be in the other.' 'I know not what y [...] mean by my Reward,' ſaid Square, 'but if you h [...] at that pitiful Memorial of our Friendſhip, which [...] hath thought fit to bequeath me, I deſpiſe it, a [...] nothing but the unfortunate Situation of my C [...] ⯑cumſtances ſhould prevail on me to accept it.

The Phyſician now arrived, and began to enqu [...] of the two Diſputants, How we all did above Stair 'In a miſerable Way,' anſwered Thwackum, ' [...] is no more than I expected,' cries the Doctor but pray what Symptoms have appeared ſince left you? No good ones, I am afraid,' repl [...] Thwackum, 'after what paſt at our Departure; [245] think there were little Hopes.' The Bodily Phy⯑ [...]cian, perhaps, miſunderſtood the Curer of Souls, and before they came to an Explanation, Mr. Blifil [...]ame to them with a moſt melancholy Counte⯑ [...]ance, and acquainted them that he brought ſad News: for that his Mother was dead at Saliſbury. That ſhe [...]ad been ſeized on the Road home with the Gout [...]n her Head and Stomach, which had carried her off [...]n a few Hours. 'Good-lack-a-day,' ſays the Doc⯑ [...]or, 'One cannot anſwer for Events; but I wiſh I [...] had been at Hand to have been called in. The [...] Gout is a Diſtemper which is difficult to treat, yet [...] I have been remarkably ſucceſsful in it.' Thwack⯑um and Square both condoled with Mr. Blifil for the Loſs of his Mother, which the one adviſed him to [...]ear like a Man, and the other like a Chriſtian. The young Gentleman ſaid, he knew very well we were all mortal, and he would endeavour to ſubmit to his Loſs, as well as he could. That he could not, how⯑ever, help complaining a little againſt the peculiar Se⯑verity of his Fate, which brought the News of ſo great [...] Calamity to him by Surprize, and that at a Time when he hourly expected the ſevereſt Blow he was [...]apable of feeling from the Malice of Fortune. He did, the preſent Occaſion would put to the Teſt thoſe [...]xcellent Rudiments, which he had learnt from Mr. Thwackum and Mr. Square, and it would be entirely owing to them, if he was enabled to ſurvive ſuch Misfortunes.

It was now debated whether Mr. Allworthy ſhould be informed of the Death of his Siſter: This the Doctor violent oppoſed, in which, I believe, the whole College will agree with him; but Mr. Blifil ſaid he had received ſuch poſitive and repeated Orders from his Uncle never to keep any Secret from him, for Fear of the Diſquietude which it might give him, that he durſt not think of Diſobedience, whatever might be the Conſequence. He ſaid, for his Part, [246] conſidering the religious and philoſophic Temper o [...] his Uncle, he could not agree with the Doctor in h [...] Apprehenſions. He was therefore reſolved to com⯑municate it to him: For if his Uncle recovered (as h [...] heartily prayed he might) he knew he would never for⯑give an Endeavour to keep a Secret of this Kind from him.

The Phyſician was forced to ſubmit to theſe Re⯑ſolutions which the two other learned Gentlemen ve⯑ry highly commended. So together moved Mr. Bli⯑fil and the Doctor towards the ſick Room; whe [...] the Phyſician firſt entered, and approached the Be [...] in order to feel his Patient's Pulſe, which he had n [...] ſooner done, than he declared he was much better that the laſt Application had ſucceeded to a Miracle and had brought the Fever to intermit. So that, h [...] ſaid, there appeared now to be as little Danger as h [...] had before apprehended there were Hopes.

To ſay the Truth, Mr. Alworthy's Situation ha [...] never been ſo bad, as the great Caution of the Docto [...] had repreſented it; but as a wiſe General never de⯑ſpiſes his Enemy, however inferior his Force ma [...] be, ſo neither doth a wiſe Phyſician ever deſpiſe Diſtemper, however inconſiderable. As the forme [...] preſerves the ſame ſtrict Diſcipline, places the ſam [...] Guards, and employs the ſame Scouts, tho' the Ene⯑my be never ſo weak; ſo the latter maintains the ſam [...] Gravity of Countenance, and ſhakes his Head wi [...] the ſame ſignificant Air, let the Diſtemper be neve [...] ſo trifling. And both, among many other goo [...] ones, may aſſign this ſolid Reaſon for their Conduct that by theſe Means the greater Glory redounds [...] them if they gain the Victory, and the leſs Diſgrac [...] if by any unlucky Accident they ſhould happen to b [...] conquered.

Mr. Allworthy had no ſooner lifted up his Eye and thanked Heaven for theſe Hopes of his Recovery than Mr. Blifil drew near with a very dejected Aſpect [247] a [...] and having applied his Handkerchief to his Eye, ei⯑ther to wipe away his Tears, or as Ovid ſomewhere expreſſes himſelf on another Occaſion,

he communicated to his Uncle what the Reader hath been juſt before acquainted with.

Allworthy received the News with Concern, with Patience, and with Reſignation. He dropt a tender Tear, then compoſed his Countenance, and at laſt cried, 'The Lord's Will be done in every Thing.'

He now enquired for the Meſſenger; but Blifil told him, it had been impoſſible to detain him a Mo⯑ment; for he appeared by the great Hurry he was into have ſome Buſineſs of Importance on his Hands: That he complained of being hurried, and driven and torn out of his Life, and repeated many Times, that if he could divide himſelf into four Quarters, he knew how to diſpoſe of every one.

Allworthy then deſired Blifil to take Care of the Funeral. He ſaid, he would have his Siſter depoſited in his own Chapel; and as to the Particulars, he left them to his own Diſcretion, only mentioning the Perſon whom he would have employed on this Oc⯑caſion.

CHAP. IX.

THE Reader may, perhaps, wonder at hearing nothing of Mr. Jones in the laſt Chapter. In fact, his Behaviour was ſo different from that of the Perſons there mentioned, that we choſe not to con⯑found his Name with theirs.

When the good Man had ended his Speech, Jones was the laſt who deſerted the Room. Thence he [248] retired to his own Apartment; to give Vent to h [...] Concern; but the Reſtleſsneſs of his Mind would not ſuffer him to remain long there; he ſlipped ſoftly therefore, to Allworthy's Chamber Door, where [...] liſtened a conſiderable Time without hearing and Kind of Motion within, unleſs a violent ſnoring, which at laſt his Fears miſrepreſented as Groans. This alarmed him, that he could not forbear entering th [...] Room; where he found the Good Man in the Be [...] in a ſweet compoſed Sleep, and his Nurſe ſnoring [...] the above-mentioned hearty Manner, at the Bed's Fee [...] He immediately took the only Method of ſilencin [...] this thorough Baſs, whoſe Muſic he feared might diſturb Mr. Allworthy; and then ſitting down by th [...] Nurſe, he remained motionleſs till Blifil and the Do [...] ⯑ter came in together, and waked the ſick Man; order that the Doctor might feel his Pulſe, and tha [...] the other might communicate to him that Piece o [...] News, which, had Jones been apprized of it, would have had great Difficulty of finding its Way to Mr [...] Allworthy's Ear at ſuch a Seaſon.

When he firſt heard Blifil tell his Uncle this Story Jones could hardly contain the Wrath which kindle [...] in him at the other's Indiſcretion, eſpecially as th [...] Doctor ſhook his Head, and declared his Unwilling⯑neſs to have the Matter mentioned to his Patient. But as his Paſſion did not ſo far deprive him of all Uſe of his Underſtanding, as to hide from him the Conſequences which any violent Expreſſions towards Blifil might have on the Sick, this Apprehenſion ſtil⯑led his Rage, at the preſent; and he grew afterward ſo ſatisfied with finding that his News had, in fact produced no Miſchief, that he ſuffered his Anger to die in his own Boſom, without ever mentioning it to Blifil.

The Phyſician dined that Day at Mr. Allworthy's and having after Dinner viſited his Patient, he return⯑ed to the Company, and told them, that he had not [249] the Satisfaction to ſay, with Aſſurance; that his Pa⯑tient was out of all Danger: That he had brought his Fever to a perfect Intermiſſion, and doubted not by throwing in the Bark to prevent its return.

This Account ſo pleaſed Jones, and threw him in⯑to ſuch immoderate Exceſs of Rapture, that he might be truly ſaid to be drunk with Joy. An Intoxicati⯑on which greatly forwards the Effects of Wine; and as he was very free too with the Bottle on this Occa⯑ſion, (for he drank many Bumpers to the Doctor's Health, as well as to other Toaſts) he became very ſoon literally drunk.

Jones had naturally violent animal Spirits. Theſe being ſet on Float, and augmented by the Spirit of Wine, produced moſt extravagant Effects. He kiſſed the Doctor, and embraced him with the moſt paſſi⯑onate Endearments; ſwearing that, next to Mr. All⯑worthy himſelf, he loved him of all Men living.' 'Doctor,' added he, 'you deſerve a Statue to be erected to you at the public Expence, for having preſerved a Man, who is not only the Darling of all good Men who know him, but a Bleſſing to Society, the Glory of his Country, and an Honour to human Nature. D—n me if I don't love him better than my own Soul.'

'More ſhame for you,' cries Thwackum. 'Though I think you have reaſon to love him, for he hath provided very well for you. And, perhaps, it might have been better for ſome Folks, that he had not lived to ſee juſt Reaſon of revoking his Gift.'

Jones now looking on Thwackum with inconceiva⯑ble Diſdain, anſwered, 'And doth thy mcan Soul imagine that any ſuch Conſiderations could weigh with me? No, let the Earth open and ſwallow her own Dirt (if I had Millions of Acres I would ſay it) rather than ſwallow up my dear glorious Friend.'

The Doctor now interpoſed, and prevented the Effects of a Wrath which was kindling between Jones and Thwackum; after which the former gave a Looſe to Mirth, ſang two or three amorous Songs, and fell into every frantic Diſorder which unbridled Joy is apt to inſpire; but ſo far was he from any Diſpoſi⯑tion to quarrel, that he was ten times better humour⯑ed, if poſſible, than when he was ſober.

To ſay Truth, nothing is more erroneous than the common Obſervation, That Men who are ill-na⯑tured and quarrelſome when they are drunk, are very worthy Perſons when they are ſober: For Drink, in reality, doth not reverſe Nature, or create Paſſions in Men, which did not exiſt in them before. It takes away the Guard of Reaſon, and conſequently forces us to produce thoſe Symptoms, which many, when ſober, have Art enough to conceal. It heigh⯑tens and inflames our Paſſions (generally indeed that Paſſion which is uppermoſt in our Mind) ſo that the angry Temper, the amorous, the generous, the good humoured, the avaricious, and all other Diſpoſitions of Men, are in their Cups heightened and expoſed.

And yet as no Nation produces ſo many drunken Quarrels, eſpecially among the lower People, as England; (for, indeed, with them, to drink and to fight together are almoſt ſynonimous Terms;) I would not, methinks, have it thence concluded that the Engliſh are the worſt-natured People alive. Per⯑haps the Love of Glory only is at the Bottom of this; ſo that the fair Concluſion ſeems to be, that our Countrymen have more of that Love, and more of [251] Bravery, than any other Plebeians. And this the rather, as there is ſeldom any thing ungenerous, un⯑fair, or ill-natured, exerciſed on thoſe Occaſions: Nay, it is common for the Combatants to expreſs Good-will for each other, even at the Time of the Conflict; and as their drunken Mirth generally ends in a Battle, ſo do moſt of their Battles end in Friend⯑ſhip.

But to return to our Hiſtory. Tho' Jones had ſhewn no Deſign of giving Offence, yet Mr. Blifil was highly offended at a Behaviour which was ſo in⯑conſiſtent with the ſober and prudent Reſerve of his own Temper. He bore it too with the greater Impa⯑tience, as it appeared to him very indecent at this Sea⯑ſon; 'when,' as he ſaid, 'the Houſe was a Houſe of Mourning, on the Account of his dear Mother; and if it had pleaſed Heaven to give them ſome Proſpect of Mr. Allworthy's Recovery, it would become them better to expreſs the Exultations of their Hearts in Thankſgiving than in Drunkenneſs and Riots; which were properer Methods to encreaſe the divine Wrath, than to avert it.' Thwackum, who had ſwallowed more Liquor than Jones, but without any ill Effect on his Brain, ſeconded the pious Harangue of Blifil; but Square for Reaſons which the Reader may probably gueſs, was totally ſilent.

Wine had not ſo totally overpowered Jones, as to prevent his recollecting on Mr. Blifil's Loſs, the Mo⯑ment it was mentioned. As no Perſon, therefore, was more ready to confeſs and condemn his own Er⯑rors, he offered to ſhake Mr. Blifil by the Hand, and begged his Pardon, ſaying, 'His exceſſive Joy for Mr. Allworthy's Recovery had driven every o⯑ther Thought out of his Mind.'

Blifil ſcornfully rejected his Hand; and, with much Indignation, anſwered, 'It was little to be wondered at, if tragical Spectacles made no Impreſſions on the Blind; but for his Part, he had the Misfortune [252] to know who his Parents were, and conſequently muſt be affected with their Loſs.'

Jones, who, notwithſtanding his good Humour, had ſome Mixture of the iraſcible in his Conſtitution, leaped haſtily from his Chair, and catching hold of Blifil's Collar, cried out, 'D—n you for a Raſcal, do you inſult me with the Misfortune of my Birth' He accompanied theſe Words with ſuch rough Acti⯑ons, that they ſoon got the better of Mr. Blifil's peace⯑able Temper; and a Scuffle immediately enſued, which might have produced Miſchief, had it not been prevented by the Interpoſition of Thwackum and the Phyſician; for the Philoſophy of Square rendered him ſuperior to all Emotions, and he very calmly ſmoaked his Pipe, as was his Cuſtom in all Broils, unleſs when he apprehended ſome Danger of having it broke in his Mouth.

The Combatants being now prevented from exe⯑cuting preſent Vengeance on each other, betook themſelves to the common Reſources of diſappointed Rage, and vented their Wrath in Threats and Defi⯑ance. In this kind of Conflict, Fortune, which, in the perſonal Attack, ſeemed to incline to Jones, was now altogether as favourable to his Enemy.

A Truce, nevertheleſs was at length agreed on, by the Mediation of the neutral Parties, and the whole Company again ſat down at the Table; where Jones being prevailed on to aſk Pardon, and Blifil to give it, Peace was reſtored and every thing ſeemed in Statu quo.

But though the Quarrel was, in all Appearance, perfectly reconciled, the good humour which had been interrupted by it, was by no means reſtored. All Merriment was now at an End, and the ſubſequent Diſ⯑courſe conſiſted only of grave Relations of Matters of Fact, and of as grave Obſervations upon them. A Spe⯑cies of Converſation, in which, though there is much of Dignity and Inſtruction, there is but little Enter⯑tainment. [253] As we preſume, therefore, only to convey this laſt to the Reader, we ſhall paſs by whatever was ſaid, till the reſt of the Company having, by Degrees, dropped off, left Square and the Phyſician only toge⯑ther; at which Time the Converſation was a little heightened by ſome Comments on what had happened between the two young Gentlemen; both of whom the Doctor declared to be no better than Scoundrels; to which Appellation the Philoſopher, very ſagaci⯑ouſly ſhaking his Head, agreed.

CHAP. X.

JONES retired from the Company, in which we have ſeen him engaged, into the Fields, where he intended to cool himſelf by a Walk in the open Air, before he attended Mr. Allworthy. There, whilſt he renewed thoſe Meditations on his dear Sophia, which the dangerous Illneſs of his Friend and Bene⯑factor had for ſome time interrupted, an Accident hap⯑pened, which with Sorrow, we relate, and with Sor⯑row, doubtleſs, will it be read; however, that hiſtoric Truth to which we profeſs ſo inviolable an Attach⯑ment, obliges us to communicate it to Poſterity.

It was now a pleaſant Evening in the latter End of June, when our Heroe was walking in a moſt delici⯑ous Grove, where the gentle Breezes fanning the Leaves, together with the ſweet Trilling of a murmur⯑ing Stream, and the melodious Notes of Nightin⯑gales formed all together the moſt enchanting Har⯑mony. In this Scene, ſo ſweetly accommodated to Love, he meditated on his dear Sophia. While his wanton Fancy roved unbounded over all her Beauties, and his lively Imagination painted the charming Maid in various raviſhing Forms his warm Heart melted [254] with Tenderneſs, and at length throwing himſelf on the ground by the Side of a gentle murmuring Brook, he broke forth into the following Ejaculation.

'O Sophia, would Heaven give thee to my Arms, how bleſt would be my Condition! Curſt be that Fortune which ſets a Diſtance between us. Was I but poſſeſſed of thee, one only Suit of Rags thy whole Eſtate, is there a Man on Earth whom I would envy! How contemptible would the brighteſt Circaſſian Beauty, dreſt in all the Jewels of the Indies, appear to my Eyes! But why do I mention another Woman? could I think my Eyes capable of looking at any other with Tenderneſs, theſe Hands ſhould tear them from my Head. No, my Sophia, if cruel Fortune ſeparates us for ever, my Soul ſhall doat on thee alone. The chaſteſt Con⯑ſtancy will I ever preſerve to thy Image. Tho' I ſhould never have Poſſeſſion of thy charming Per⯑ſon, ſtill ſhalt thou alone have Poſſeſſion of my Thoughts, my Love, my Soul. Oh! my fond Heart is ſo wrapt in that tender Boſom, that the brighteſt Beauties would for me have no Charms, nor would a hermit be colder in their Embraces. Sophia, Sophia alone ſhall be mine. What Raptures are in that Name! I will engrave it on every Tree.'

At theſe Words he ſtarted up, and behold—not his Sophia—no, nor a Circaſſian Maid richly and ele⯑gantly attired for the Grand Signior's Seraglio. No; without a Gown, in a Shift that was ſomewhat of the coarſeſt, and none of the cleaneſt, bedewed likewiſe with ſome odoriferous Effluvia, the Produce of the Day's Labour, with a Pitch-fork in her Hand, Molly Seagrim approached. Our Hero had his Pen-knife in his Hand, which he had drawn for the before-mentioned Purpoſe, of carving on the Bark; when the Girl coming near him cry'd out with a Smile, 'You don't intend to kill me, Squire I hope!' 'Why ſhould you think I would kill you?' anſwered [255] Jones. 'Nay,' replied ſhe, 'after your cruel Uſage of me when I ſaw you laſt, killing me would, per⯑haps, be too great Kindneſs for me to expect.'

Here enſued a Parly, which, as I do not think myſelf obliged to relate, I ſhall omit. It is ſuffi⯑cient that it laſted a full Quarter of an Hour, at the Concluſion of which they retired into the thickeſt Part of the Grove.

Some of my Readers may be inclined to think this Event unnatural. However, the Fact is true; and, perhaps, may be ſufficiently accounted for, by ſug⯑geſting that Jones probably thought one Woman bet⯑ter than none, and Molly as probably imagined two Men to be better than one. Beſides the before men⯑tioned Motive aſſigned to the preſent Behaviour of Jones, the Reader will be likewiſe pleaſed to recollect in his Favour, that he was not at this Time perfect Maſter of that wonderful Power of Reaſon, which ſo well enables grave and wiſe Men to ſubdue their unruly Paſſions, and to decline any of theſe prohi⯑bited Amuſements. Wine now had totally ſubdued this Power in Jones. He was, indeed, in a Condi⯑tion, in which if Reaſon had interpoſed, tho' only to adviſe, ſhe might have received the Anſwer which one Cleoſtratus gave many Years ago to a ſilly Fellow, who aſked him if he was not aſhamed to be drunk? 'Are not you,' ſaid Cleoſtratus, 'aſhamed to admo⯑niſh a drunken Man?'—To ſay the Truth, in a Court of Juſtice, Drunkenneſs muſt not be an Excuſe, yet in a Court of Conſcience it is greatly ſo; and therefore Ariſtotle, who commends the Laws of Pit⯑tacus, by which drunken Men received double Puniſh⯑ment for their Crimes, allows there is more of Poli⯑cy than Juſtice in that Law. Now, if there are any Tranſgreſſions pardonable from Drunkenneſs, they are certainly ſuch as Mr. Jones was at preſent guilty of; on which Head I could pour forth a vaſt Profuſion of Learning, if I imagined it would either entertain my [256] Reader, or teach him any Thing more than he knows already. For his Sake, therefore, I ſhall keep my Learning to myſelf, and return to my Hiſtory.

It hath been obſerved, that Fortune ſeldom doth▪ Things by Halves. To ſay Truth, there is no [...] End to her Freaks whenever ſhe is diſpoſed to gratify or diſpleaſe. No ſooner had our Heroe retired with his Dido, but

the Parſon and the young 'Squire, who were taking a ſerious Walk, arrived at the Stile which leads into the Grove, and the latter caught a View of the Lo⯑vers, juſt as they were ſinking out of Sight.

Blifil knew Jones very well, tho' he was at above a hundred Yards Diſtance, and he was as poſitive to the Sex of his Companion, tho' not to the individual Perſon. He ſtarted; bleſſed himſelf, and uttered a very ſolemn Ejaculation.

Thwackum expreſs'd ſome Surprize at theſe ſudden Emotions, and aſked the Reaſon of them. To which Blifil anſwered, 'he was certain he had ſeen a Fellow and Wench retire together among the Buſhes, which he doubted not was with ſome wicked Purpoſe.' As to the Name of Jones, he thought proper to conceal it, and why he did ſo muſt be left to the Judgment of the ſagacious Reader: For we never chuſe to aſſign Motives to the Actions of Men, when there is any poſſibility of our being miſtaken.

The Parſon, who was not only ſtrictly chaſte in his own Perſon; but a great Enemy to the oppoſite Vice in all others, fired at this Information. He de⯑ſired Mr. Blifil to conduct him immediately to the Place, which as he approached, he breathed forth Vengeance mixed with Lamentations; nor did he refrain from caſting ſome oblique Reflections on Mr [...] Allworthy; inſinuating that the Wickedneſs of the [257] Country was principally owing to the Encouragement he had given to Vice, by having exerted ſuch Kind⯑neſs to a Baſtard, and by having mitigated that juſt and wholſome Rigour of the Law, which allots a ve⯑ry ſevere Puniſhment to looſe Wenches.

The Way, through which our Hunters were to paſs in purſuit of their Game, was ſo beſet with Briars, that it greatly obſtructed their Walk, and cauſed, be⯑ſides, ſuch a ruſtling that Jones had ſufficient Warn⯑ing of their Arrival, before they could ſurprize him; nay, indeed, ſo incapable was Thwackum of conceal⯑ing his Indignation, and ſuch Vengeance did he mut⯑ter forth every Step he took, that this alone muſt have abundantly ſatisfied Jones, that he was (to uſe the Language of Sportſmen) found ſitting.

CHAP. XI.

AS in the Seaſon of RUTTING (an uncouth Phraſe, by which the Vulgar denote that gentle Dalliance, which in the ^* well-wooded Foreſt of Hampſhire, paſſes between Lovers of the Ferine Kind) if while the lofty chreſted Stag meditates the amorous Sport, a Couple of Puppies, or any other Beaſts of hoſtile Note, ſhould wander ſo near the Temple of Venus Ferina, that the fair Hind ſhould ſhrink from the Place, touched with that ſomewhat, either of Fear or Frolic, of Nicety or Skittiſhneſs, with which Nature hath bedecked all Females, or hath, at leaſt, inſtructed them how themſelves to put on; leſt, thro' the Indelicacy of Males, the Samean Myſteries ſhould be pryed into by unhallowed Eyes: For at the celebration of theſe Rites, the female Prieſt⯑eſs [258] cries out with her in Virgil (who was then proba⯑bly hard at Work on ſuch Celebration)

DRYDEN.

If, I ſay, while theſe ſacred Rites, which are in common to Genus omne Animantium, are in Agitation between the Stag and his Miſtreſs, any hoſtile Beaſts ſhould venture too near, on the firſt Hint given by the frighted Hind, fierce and tremendous ruſhes forth the Stag to the Entrance of the Thicket; there ſtands he Centinel over his Love, ſtamps the Ground with his Foot, and with his Horns brandiſhed aloft in Air, proudly provokes the apprehended Foe to Combat.

Thus, and more terrible, when he perceived the Ene⯑my's Approach, leaped forth our Heroe. Many a Step advanced he forwards, in order to conceal the trem⯑bling Hind, and, if poſſible, to ſecure her Retreat. And now Thwackum having firſt darted ſome livid Light⯑ning from his fiery Eyes, began to thunder forth, 'Fie upon it! Fie upon it! Mr. Jones. Is it poſſible you ſhould be the Perſon!' 'You ſee,' anſwered Jones, 'it is poſſible I ſhould be here.' 'And who,' ſaid Thwackum, 'is that wicked Slut with you?' 'If I have any wicked Slut with me,' cries Jones, it is poſſible I ſhall not let you know who ſhe is.' 'I command you to tell me immediately,' ſays Thwackum, 'and I would not have you imagine young Man, that your Age, tho' it hath ſomewhat abridged the Purpoſe of Tuition, hath totally taken away the Authority of the Maſter. The Relation of the Maſter and Scholar is indelible, as indeed, all other Relations are: For they all derive their Original from Heaven. I would have you think yourſelf, therefore, as much obliged to obey me [259] now, as when I taught you your firſt Rudiments.' 'I believe you would,' cries Jones, 'but that will not happen, unleſs you had the ſame Birchen Argu⯑ment to convince me.' 'Then I muſt tell you plain⯑ly,' ſaid Thwackum, 'I am reſolved to diſcover the wicked Wretch.' 'And I muſt tell you plain⯑ly,' returned Jones, 'I am reſolved you ſhall not.' Thwackum then offered to advance, and Jones laid hold of his Arms; which Mr. Blifil endeavoured to reſcue, declaring 'he would not ſee his old Maſter inſulted.'

Jones now finding himſelf engaged with two, thought it neceſſary to rid himſelf of one of his An⯑tagoniſts as ſoon as poſſible. He therefore, applied to the weakeſt firſt; and letting the Parſon go, he directed a Blow at the young Squire's Breaſt, which luckily taking Place, reduced him to meaſure his Length on the Ground.

Thwackum was ſo intent on the Diſcovery, that the Moment he found himſelf at Liberty, he ſtept forward directly into the Fern, without any great Conſideration of what might, in the mean Time, be⯑fal his Friend; but he had advanced a very few Paces into the Thicket, before Jones having defeated Blifil, overtook the Parſon, and dragged him backward by the Skirt of his Coat.

This Parſon had been a Champion in his Youth, and had won much Honour by his Fiſt, both at School and at the Univerſity. He had now, indeed, for a great Number of Years, declined the practice of that noble Art; yet was his Courage full as ſtrong as his Faith, and his Body no leſs ſtrong than either. He was moreover, as the Reader may, perhaps, have conceived, ſomewhat iraſcible in his Nature. When he looked back, therefore, and ſaw his Friend ſtretch⯑ed out on the Ground, and found himſelf at the ſame Time ſo roughly handled by one who had formerly [260] been only paſſive in all Conflicts between them, (a Cir⯑cumſtance which highly aggravated the whole) his Pa⯑tience at length gave Way; he threw himſelf into a Poſture of Offence, and collecting all his Force, at⯑tacked Jones in the Front, with as much Impetuoſity as he had formerly attacked him in the Rear.

Our Heroe received the Enemy's Attack with the moſt undaunted Intrepidity, and his Boſom reſounded with the Blow. This he preſently returned with no leſs Violence, aiming likewiſe at the Parſon's Breaſt; but he dextrouſly drove down the Fiſt of Jones, ſo that it reached only his Belly, where two Pounds of Beef and as many of Pudding were then depoſited, and whence conſequently no hollow Sound could proceed. Many luſty Blows, much more pleaſant as well as eaſy to have ſeen, than to read or deſcribe, were given on both Sides; at laſt a violent Fall in which Jones had thrown his Knees into Thwackum's Breaſt, ſo weak⯑ened the latter, that Victory had been no longer dubious, had not Blifil, who had now recovered his Strength, again renewed the Fight, and, by engaging with Jones, given the Parſon a Moment's Time to ſhake his Ears, and to regain his Breath.

And now both together attacked our Heroe, whoſe Blows did not retain that Force with which they had fallen at firſt; ſo weakened was he by his Combat with Thwackum: For though the Pedagogue choſe rather to play Solos on the human Inſtrument, and had been lately uſed to thoſe only, yet he ſtill retain⯑ed enough of his ancient Knowledge to perform his Part very well in a Duet.

The Victory, according to modern Cuſtom, was like to be decided by Numbers, when on a ſudden, a fourth Pair of Fiſts appeared in the Battle, and imme⯑diately paid their Compliments to the Parſon; the Owner of them, at the ſame Time, crying out,' Are not you aſhamed and be d—nd to you, to fall two of you upon one?

[261] The Battle, which was of the Kind, that for Diſ⯑tinction's Sake is called ROYAL, now raged with the utmoſt Violence during a few Minutes; till Blifil being a ſecond Time laid ſprawling by Jones, Thwach⯑um condeſcended to apply for Quarter to his new Antagoniſt, who was now found to be Mr. Weſtern himſelf: For in the Heat of the Action none of the Combatants had recognized him.

In Fact, that honeſt 'Squire, happening in his Af⯑ternoon's Walk with ſome Company, to paſs through the Field where the bloody Battle was fought, and having concluded from ſeeing three Men engaged, that two of them muſt be on a Side, he haſtened from his Companions, and with more Gallantry than Po⯑licy, eſpouſed the Cauſe of the weaker Party. By which generous Proceeding, he very probably pre⯑vented Mr. Jones from becoming a Victim to the Wrath of Thwackum, and to the pious Friendſhip which Blifil bore his old Maſter: For beſides the Diſadvantage of ſuch Odds, Jones had not yet ſuffi⯑ciently recovered the former Strength of his broken Arm. This Reinforcement, however, ſoon put an End to the Action, and Jones with his Ally obtained the Victory.

CHAP. XII.

THE reſt of Mr. Weſtern's Company were now come up, being juſt at the Inſtant when the Action was over. Theſe were the honeſt Clergy⯑man, whom we have formerly ſeen at Mr. Weſtern's Table, Mrs. Weſtern the Aunt of Sophia; and laſtly, the lovely Sophia herſelf.

At this Time, the following was the Aſpect of the bloody Field. In one Place, lay on the Ground, [262] all pale and almoſt breathleſs, the vanquiſhed Blifil. Near him ſtood the Conqueror Jones, almoſt covered with Blood, part of which was naturally his own, and part had been lately the Property of the Reve⯑rend Mr. Thwackum. In a third Place ſtood the ſaid Thwackum, like King Porus, ſullenly ſubmitting to the Conqueror. The laſt Figure in the Piece was Weſtern the Great, moſt gloriouſly forbearing the vanquiſhed Foe.

Blifil, in whom there was little Sign of Life, was at firſt the principal Object of the Concern of every one, and particularly of Mrs. Weſtern, who had drawn from her Pocket a Bottle of Hartſhorn, and was her⯑ſelf about to apply it to his Noſtrils; when on a ſud⯑den the Attention of the whole Company was di⯑verted from poor Blifil, whoſe Spirit, if it had any ſuch Deſign, might have now taken an Opportunity of ſtealing off to the other World, without any Ce⯑remony.

For now a more melancholy as more lovely Ob⯑ject lay motionleſs before them. This was no other than the charming Sophia herſelf, who, from the Sight of Blood, or from Fear of her Father, or from ſome other Reaſon, had fallen down in a Swoon, before any one could get to her Aſſiſtance.

Mrs. Weſtern firſt ſaw her, and ſcreamed. Im⯑mediately two or three Voices cried out, 'Miſs Weſ⯑tern is dead.' Hartſhorn, Water; every Remedy was called for, almoſt at one and the ſame Inſtant.

The Reader may remember, that in our Deſcrip⯑tion of this Grove, we mentioned a murmuring Brook, which Brook did not come there, as ſuch gentle Streams flow through vulgar Romances, with no other Purpoſe than to murmur. No; Fortune had decreed to enoble this little Brook with a higher Ho⯑nour than any of thoſe which waſh the Plains of Arca⯑dia, ever deſerved.

[263] Jones was rubbing Blifil's Temples: For he be⯑gan to fear he had given him a Blow too much, when the Words Miſs Weſtern and Death ruſhed at once on his Ear. He ſtarted up, left Blifil to his Fate, and flew to Sophia, whom, while all the reſt were running againſt each other backward and forward look⯑ing for Water in the dry Paths, he caught up in his Arms, and then ran away with her over the Field to the Rivulet above-mentioned: where, plunging him⯑ſelf into the Water, he contrived to beſprinkle her Face, Head, and Neck very plentifully.

Happy was it for Sophia, that the ſame Confuſion which prevented her other Friends from ſerving her, prevented them likewiſe from obſtructing Jones. He had carried her half ways before they knew what he was doing, and he had actually reſtored her to Life be⯑fore they reached the Water-ſide: She ſtretched out her Arms, opened her Eyes and cried, 'Oh, Heavens!' juſt as her Father, Aunt and the Parſon came up.

Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely Burthen in his Arms, now relinquiſhed his Hold; but gave her at the ſame Inſtant a tender Careſs, which, had her Senſes been then perfectly reſtored, could not have eſcaped her Obſervation. As ſhe expreſſed, there⯑fore no Diſpleaſure at this Freedom, we ſuppoſe ſhe was not ſufficiently recovered from her Swoon at the Time.

This tragical Scene was now converted into a ſud⯑den Scene of Joy. In this, our Heroe was moſt certainly, the principal Character: For he probably felt more extatic Delight in having ſaved Sophia, than ſhe herſelf received from being ſaved; ſo neither were the Congratulations paid to her, equal to what were conferred on Jones, eſpecially by Mr. Weſtern him⯑ſelf, who, after having once or twice embraced his Daughter, fell to hugging and kiſſing Jones. He called him the preſerver of Sophia, and declared there was nothing except her, or his Eſtate, which he [264] would not give him; but upon Recollection, he af⯑terwards excepted his Fox-hounds, the Chevalier, and Miſs Slouch (for ſo he called his favourite Mare.)

All Fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became the Object of the 'Squire's Conſideration. 'Come, my Lad,' ſays Weſtern, 'D'off thy Quoat and waſh thy Feace: For att in a deviliſh Pickle, I promiſe thee. Come, come, waſh thyſelf, and ſhat go Huome with me; and wel zee to vind thee another Quoat.'

Jones immediately complied; threw off his Coat, went down to the Water, and waſhed both his Face and Boſom: For the latter was as much expoſed, and as bloody as the former: But tho' the Water could clear off the Blood, it could not remove the Black and blue Marks which Thwackum had imprinted on both his Face and Breaſt, and which, being diſcerned by Sophia, drew from her a Sigh, and a look full of inexpreſſible Tenderneſs.

Jones received this full in his Eyes, and it had in⯑finitely a ſtronger Effect on him than all the Con⯑tuſions which he had received before. An Effect, however, widely different; for ſo ſoft and balmy was it, that, had all his former Blows been Stabs, it would for ſome Minutes have prevented his feeling their Smart.

The Company now moved backwards, and ſoon arrived where Thwackum had got Mr. Blifil again on his Legs. Here we cannot ſuppreſs a pious Wiſh, that all Quarrels were to be decided by thoſe Wea⯑pons only, with which Nature, knowing what is pro⯑per for us, hath ſupplied us; and that cold Iron was to be uſed in digging no Bowels, but thoſe of the Earth. Then would War, the Paſtime of Mo⯑narchs, be almoſt inoffenſive, and Battles between great Armies might be fought at the particular De⯑ſire of ſeveral Ladies of Quality; who together with the Kings themſelves, might be actual Spectators of [265] the Conflict. Then might the Field be this Moment well ſtrewed with human Carcaſſes, and the next, [...]he dead Men, or infinitely the greateſt Part of them, [...]ight get up, like Mr. Bayes's Troops, and march if either at the Sound of a Drum or a Fiddle, as could be previouſly agreed on.

I would avoid, if poſſible, treating this Matter lu⯑ [...]crouſly, leſt grave Men and Politicians, whom I now to be offended at a Jeſt, may cry Piſh at it; [...]ot, in reality, might not a Battle be as well decided [...]y the greater Number of broken Heads, bloody [...]oſes, and black Eyes, as by the greater Heaps of [...]angled and murdered human Bodies? Might not Towns be contended for in the ſame Manner? In⯑deed, this may be too detrimental a Scheme to the French Intereſt, ſince they would loſe the Advantage [...]ey have over other Nations, in the Superiority of [...]eir Engineers: But when I conſider the Gallantry and Generoſity of that People, I am perſuaded they [...]ould never decline putting themſelves upon a Par with their Adverſary; or, as the Phraſe is, making themſelves his Match.

But ſuch Reformations are rather to be wiſhed [...]an hoped for; I ſhall content myſelf, therefore, with this ſhort Hint, and return to my Narrative.

Weſtern began now to enquire into the original Riſe [...]f this Quarrel. To which neither Blifil nor Jones [...]ave any Anſwer; but Thwackum ſaid ſurlily, 'I be⯑lieve, the Cauſe is not far off; if you beat the Buſhes well you may find her.' 'Find her!' re⯑ [...]lied Weſtern, 'what have you been fighting for a Wench?' 'Aſk the Gentleman in his Waſtecoat there,' ſaid Thwackum, 'he beſt knows.' 'Nay, then,' cries Weſtern, 'it is a Wench certainly—Ah, Tom, Tom; thou art a liquoriſh Dog—but come, Gentlemen, be all Friends, and go home with me, and make final Peace over a Bottle.' 'I [266] aſk your Pardon, Sir,' ſays Thwackum, 'it is n [...] ſuch ſlight Matter for a Man of my Character to be thus injuriouſly treated, and buffetted by a Boy only becauſe I would have done my Duty, in en⯑deavouring to detect and bring to Juſtice a wanton Harlot; but, indeed, the principal Fault lies in Mr. Allworthy and yourſelf: For, if you put the Laws in Execution, as you ought to do, you would ſoon ri [...] the Country of theſe Vermin.'

'I would as ſoon rid the Country of Foxes,' cries Weſtern. 'I think we ought to encourage the re⯑cruiting thoſe Numbers which we are every Day loſing in the War: But where is ſhe?—Prithee, Tom, ſhew me.' He then began to beat about, in the ſame Language, and in the ſame Manner, as if he had been beating for a Hare, and at laſt cried out, 'Soho! Puſs is not far off. Here's her Form, upon my Soul; I believe I may cry ſtole away.' And indeed ſo he might, for he had now diſcovered the Place whence the poor Girl had, at the Beginning of the Fray, ſtolen away, upon as many Feet as a Hare generally uſes in travelling.

Sophia now deſired her Father to return home; ſay⯑ing, ſhe found herſelf very faint, and apprehended a Relapſe. The Squire immediately complied with his Daughter's Requeſt (for he was the fondeſt of Pa⯑rents). He earneſtly endeavoured to prevail with the whole Company to go and ſup with him; but Blifil and Thwackum abſolutely refuſed; the former ſaying, There were more Reaſons than he could then mention, why he muſt decline this Honour; and the latter de⯑claring (perhaps rightly) that it was not proper for a Perſon of his Function to be ſeen at any Place in his preſent Condition.

Jones was incapable of refuſing the Pleaſure of be⯑ing with his Sophia. So on he marched with Squire Weſtern and his Ladies, the Parſon bringing up the Rear. This had, indeed, offered to tarry with his [267] Brother Thwackum, profeſſing, his Regard for the Cloth would not permit him to depart; but Thwackum would not accept the Favour, and, with no great Civility, puſhed him after Mr. Weſtern.

Thus ended this bloody Fray; and thus ſhall end the fifth Book of this Hiſtory.

CHAP. I.

IN our laſt Book we have been obliged to deal pret⯑ty much with the Paſſion of Love; and, in our ſucceeding Book, ſhall be forced to handle this Sub⯑ject ſtill more largely. It may not therefore, in this Place, be improper to apply ourſelves to the Exami⯑nation of that modern Doctrine, by which certain Philoſophers, among many other wonderful Diſco⯑veries, pretend to have found out, that there is no ſuch Paſſion in the human Breaſt.

Whether theſe Philoſophers be the ſame with that ſurprizing Sect, who are honourably mentioned by the late Dr. Swift; as having, by the mere Force of Ge⯑nius alone, without the leaſt Aſſiſtance of any Kind of Learning, or even Reading, diſcovered that pro⯑found and invaluable Secret, That there was no G—: [269] or whether they are not rather ſhe ſame with thoſe who, ſome Years ſince, very much alarmed the World, by ſhewing that there were no ſuch things as virtue or Goodneſs really exiſting in Human Nature, and who deduced our beſt Actions from Pride, I will not here preſume to determine. In reality, I am in⯑clined to ſuſpect, that all theſe ſeveral Finders of Truth are the very identical Men, who are by others called the Finders of Gold. The Method uſed in both theſe Searches after Truth and after Gold, being, in⯑deed, one and the ſame, viz. the ſearching, rum⯑maging, and examining into a naſty Place; indeed, in the former Inſtances, into the naſtieſt of all Places, ABAD MIND.

But though, in this Particular, and perhaps in their Succeſs, the Truth-finder, and the Gold-finder, may very properly be compared together; yet in Modeſty, ſurely, there can be no Compariſon between the two; for who ever heard of a Gold-finder that had the Im⯑pudence or Folly to aſſert, from the ill Succeſs of his Search, that there was no ſuch thing as Gold in the World? Whereas the Truth-finder, having raked out that Jakes his own Mind, and being there capa⯑ble of tracing no Ray of Divinity, nor any thing virtuous, or good, or lovely, or loving, very fairly, honeſtly, and logically concludes, that no ſuch things exiſt in the whole Creation.

To avoid, however, all Contention, if poſſible, with theſe Philoſophers, if they will be called ſo; and to ſhew our own Diſpoſition to accommodate Matters peaceably between us, we ſhall here make them ſome Conceſſions, which may poſſibly put an End to the Diſpute.

Firſt, we will grant that many Minds, and perhaps thoſe of the Philoſophers, are entirely free from the leaſt Traces of ſuch a Paſſion.

Secondly, That what is commonly called Love, namely, the Deſire of ſatisfying a voracious Appetite [270] with a certain Quantity of delicate white human Fleſh, is by no Means that Paſſion for which I here contend. This is indeed more properly Hunger [...] and as no Glutton is aſhamed to apply the Word Love to his Appetite, and to ſay he LOVES ſuch and ſuch Diſhes; ſo may the Lover of this Kind with equal Propriety ſay, he HUNGERS after ſuch and ſuch Women.

Thirdly, I will grant, which I believe will be a moſt acceptable Conceſſion, that this Love for which I am an Advocate, though it ſatisfies itſelf in a much more delicate Manner, doth nevertheleſs ſeek its own Satisfaction as much as the groſſeſt of all our Appe⯑tites.

And, Laſtly, That this Love when it operates towards one of a different Sex, is very apt, towards its complete Gratification, to call in the Aid of that Hunger which I have mentioned above; and which it is ſo far from abating, that it heightens all its De⯑lights to a Degree ſcarce imaginable by thoſe who have never been ſuſceptible of any other Emotions, than what have proceeded from Appetite alone.

In return to all theſe Conceſſions, I deſire of the Philoſophers to grant, that there is in ſome (I believe in many) human Breaſts, a kind and benevolent Diſ⯑poſition, which is gratified by contributing to the Hap⯑pineſs of others. That in this Gratification alone, as in Friendſhip, in parental and filial Affection, and indeed in general Philanthropy, there is a great and exquiſite Delight. That if we will not call ſuch Diſpoſition Love, we have no Name for it. That though the Pleaſures ariſing from ſuch pure Love may be hightened and ſweetened by the Aſſiſtance of a⯑morous Deſires, yet the former can ſubſiſt alone, nor are they deſtroyed by the Intervention of the latter. Laſtly, That Eſteem and Gratitude are the proper Motives to Love, as Youth and Beauty are to Deſire, and therefore though ſuch Deſire may naturally ceaſe, [271] when Age or Sickneſs overtake its Object, yet theſe [...]an have no Effect on Love, nor ever ſhake or remove from a good Mind, that Senſation or Paſſion which [...]ath Gratitude and Eſteem for its Baſis.

To deny the Exiſtence of a Paſſion of which we often ſee manifeſt Iuſtances, ſeems to be very ſtrange and abſurd; and can indeed proceed only from that ſelf-Admonition which we have mentioned above: But how unfair is this? Doth the Man who recog⯑ [...]izes in his own Heart no Traces of Avarice or Am⯑bition, conclude therefore, that there are no ſuch Paſ⯑ſions in Human Nature? Why will we not modeſtly obſerve the ſame Rule in judging of the Good, as well as the Evil of others; Or why, in any Caſe, will [...]e, as Shakeſpear phraſes it, 'put the World in our own Perſon?'

Predominant Vanity is, I am afraid, too much con⯑cerned here. This is one Inſtance of that Adulation which we beſtow on our own Minds, and this almoſt univerſally. For there is ſcarce any Man, how much ſoever he may deſpiſe the Character of a Flatterer, but will condeſcend in the meaneſt Manner to flatter himſelf.

To thoſe, therefore, I apply for the Truth of the above Obſervations, whoſe own Minds can bear Teſ⯑timony to what I have advanced.

Examine your Heart, my good Reader, and reſolve whether you do believe theſe Matters with me. If you do, you may now proceed to their Exemplifica⯑tion in the following Pages; if you do not, you have, I aſſure you, already read more than you have under⯑ſtood; and it would be wiſer to purſue your Buſineſs, or your Pleaſures (ſuch as they are) than to throw away any more of your Time in reading what you can neither taſte nor comprehend. To treat of the Effects of Love to you, muſt be as abſurd as to diſcourſe on Colours to a Man born blind; ſince poſſibly your Idea of Love may be as abſurd as that which we are told ſuch blind Man once entertained of the Colour [272] Red: that Colour ſeemed to him to be very much like the Sound of a Trumpet; and Love probably may in your Opinion, very greatly reſemble a Diſh o [...] Soup, or a Sir-loin of Roaſt-Beef.

CHAP. II.

THE Reader hath ſeen Mr. Weſtern, his Siſter and Daughter, with young Jones, and the Par⯑ſon, going together to Mr. Weſtern's Houſe, where the greater Part of the Company ſpent the Evening with much Joy and Feſtivity. Sophia was indeed the only grave Perſon: For as to Jones, though Love had now gotten entire Poſſeſſion of his Heart, yet the plea⯑ſing Reflection on Mr. Allworthy's Recovery, and the Preſence of his Miſtreſs, joined to ſome tender Looks which ſhe now and then could not refrain from giving him, ſo elevated our Heroe, that he joined the Mirth of the other three, who were perhaps as good humoured People as any in the World.

Sophia retained the ſame Gravity of Countenance the next Morning at Breakfaſt; whence ſhe retired likewiſe earlier than uſual, leaving her Father and Aunt together. The Squire took no Notice of this Change in his Daughter's Diſpoſition. To ſay the Truth, though he was ſomewhat of a Politician, and had been twice a Candidate in the Country Intereſt at an Elec⯑tion, he was a Man of no great Obſervation. His Siſter was a Lady of a different Turn. She had liv⯑ed about the Court, and had ſeen the World. Hence ſhe had acquired all that Knowledge which the ſaid World uſually communicates; and was a perfect Miſ⯑treſs of Manners, Cuſtoms, Ceremonies, and Faſhions; nor did her Erudition ſtop here. She had conſidera⯑bly [273] improved her Mind by Study; ſhe had not only [...]ead all the modern Plays, Operas, Oratorios, Poems and Romances; in all which ſhe was a Critic; but [...]ad gone thro' Rapin's Hiſtory of England, Echard's Roman Hiſtory, and many French Memoires pour ſer⯑ [...]ir a l' Hiſtoire; to theſe ſhe had added moſt of the political Pamphlets and Journals, publiſhed within the laſt twenty Years. From which ſhe had attained every competent Skill in Politics, and could diſcourſe very learnedly on the Affairs of Europe. She was moreover excellently well ſkilled in the Doctrine of Amour, and knew better than any body who and who were together: A Knowledge which ſhe the more eaſily attained, as her Purſuit of it was never divert⯑ed by any Affairs of her own; for either ſhe had no Inclinations, or theſe had never been ſollicited; which laſt is indeed very probable: For her maſculine Perſon, which was near ſix Foot high, added to her Manner and Learning, poſſibly prevented the other Sex from regarding her, notwithſtanding her Petticoats, in the Light of a Woman. However, as ſhe had conſider⯑ed the Matter ſcientifically, ſhe perfectly well knew, though ſhe had never practiſed them, all the Arts which fine Ladies uſe when they deſire to give Encourage⯑ment, or to conceal Liking, with all the long Ap⯑pendage of Smiles, Ogles, Glances, &c. as they are at preſent practiſed in the Beau-monde. To ſum the whole, no Species of Diſguiſe or Affectation had eſ⯑caped her Notice; but as to the plain ſimple Work⯑ings of honeſt Nature, as ſhe had never ſeen any ſuch, ſhe could know but little of them.

By means of this wonderful Sagacity, Mrs. Weſ⯑tern had now, as ſhe thought, made a Diſcovery of ſomething in the Mind of Sophia. The firſt Hint of this ſhe took from the Behaviour of the young Lady in the field of Battle; and the Suſpicion which ſhe then conceived, was greatly corroborated by ſome Obſervations which ſhe had made that Evening, and [274] the next Morning. However, being greatly cautious to avoid being found in a Miſtake, ſhe carried the Se⯑cret a whole Fortnight in her Boſom, giving only ſome oblique Hints, by Simperings, Winks, Nods and now and then dropping an obſcure Word, which indeed ſufficiently alarmed Sophia, but did not at all affect her Brother.

Being at length, however, thoroughly ſatisfied of the Truth of her Obſervation, ſhe took an Opportu⯑nity, one Morning, when ſhe was alone with her Brother, to interrupt one of his Whiſtles in the fol⯑lowing Manner.

'Pray, Brother, have you not obſerved ſomething very extraordinary in my Niece lately?' 'No, not I,' anſwered Weſtern; 'Is any thing the Matter with the Girl? I think there is,' replies ſhe, 'and ſome⯑thing of much Conſequence too.' 'Why ſhe doth not complain of any Thing', cries Weſtern, 'and ſhe hath had the Small Pox.' 'Brother,' returned ſhe, 'Girls are liable to other Diſtempers beſides the Small Pox, and ſometimes poſſibly to much worſe.' Here Weſtern interrupted her with much Earneſtneſs, and begged her, if any thing ailed his Daughter, to ac⯑quaint him immediately, adding, 'ſhe knew he lov⯑ed her more than his own Soul, and that he would ſend to the World's End for the beſt Phyſician to her.' 'Nay, nay, anſwered ſhe, ſmiling, 'the Diſtemper is not ſo terrible; but I believe, Brother, you are convinced I know the World, and I pro⯑miſe you I was never more deceived in my Life, if my Niece be not moſt deſperately in Love.' 'How! in Love,' cries Weſtern, in a Paſſion, 'in Love without acquainting me! I'll diſinherit her, I'll turn her out of Doors, ſtark naked, without a Farthing. Is all my Kindneſs vor'ur, and vondneſs o'ur come to this, to fall in Love without aſking me Leave!' 'But you will not,' anſwered Mrs. Weſtern, 'turn this Daughter, whom you love better than your own [275] Soul, out of Doors, before you know whether you ſhall approve her Choice. Suppoſe ſhe ſhould have fixed on the very Perſon whom you yourſelf would wiſh, I'hope you would not be angry then.' 'No, no,' cries Weſtern, 'that would make a Differ⯑rence. If ſhe marries the Man I would ha' her, ſhe may love whom ſhe pleaſes, I ſhan't trouble my Head about that.' 'That is ſpoken,' anſwered the Siſter, 'like a ſenſible Man, but I believe the very Perſon, ſhe hath choſen, would be the very Perſon you would chuſe for her. I will diſ⯑claim all Knowledge of the World if it is not ſo; and I believe, Brother, you will allow I have ſome.' 'Why lookee, Siſter,' ſaid Weſtern, 'I do believe you have as much as any Woman; and to be ſure thoſe are Women's Matters. You know I don't love to hear you talk about Politics, they be⯑long to us, and Petticoats ſhould not meddle: But come, Who is the Man?' 'Marry!' ſaid ſhe, 'you may find him out yourſelf, if you pleaſe. You who are ſo great a Politician can be at no great Loſs. The Judgment which can penetrate into the Cabinets of Princes, and diſcover the ſecret Springs which move the great State Wheels in all the political Machines of Europe, muſt ſurely, with very little Difficulty find out what paſſes in the rude uninformed Mind of a Girl.' 'Siſter,' cries the Squire, 'I have often warned you not to talk the Court Gibberiſh to me. I tell you, I don't underſtand the Lingo; but I can read a Journal, or the Lon⯑don Evening Poſt. Perhaps indeed, there may be now and tan a Verſe which I can't make much of, becauſe half the Letters are left out; yet I know very well what is meant by that, and that our Af⯑fairs don't go ſo well as they ſhould do, becauſe of Bribery and Corruption. I pity your Country Ig⯑norance from my Heart,' cries the Lady, 'Do you?' anſwered Weſtern, 'and I pity your Town [276] Learning, I had rather be any Thing than a Cour⯑tier, and a Preſbytcrian, and a Hanoverian too, as ſome People, I believe, are.' 'If you mean me,' anſwered ſhe, 'you know I am a Woman, Brother; and it ſignifies nothing what I am. Beſides—I do know you are a Woman,' cries the Squire, and its well for thee, that at one; if hadſt been a Man, I promiſe thee I had lent thee a Flick long a⯑go.' 'Ay there,' ſaid ſhe, 'in that Flick lies all your fancied Superiority. Your Bodies, and not your Brains, are ſtronger than ours. Believe me, it is well for you that you are able to beat us, or ſuch is the Superiority of our Underſtanding, we ſhould make all of you what the brave, and wiſe, and witty, and polite are already,—our Slaves.' I am glad I know your Mind,' anſwered the Squire, but we'll talk more of this Matter another Time. At preſent, do tell me what Man it is you mean about my Daughter.' 'Hold a Moment,' ſaid ſhe, while I digeſt that ſovereign Contempt I have for your Sex; or elſe I ought to be too angry with you. There—I have made a Shift to gulp it down. And now, good politic Sir, what think you of Mr. Blifil? Did ſhe not faint away on ſeeing him lie breathleſs on the Ground? Did ſhe not, after he was recovered, turn pale again the Moment we came up to that Part of the Field where he ſtood? And pray what elſe ſhould be the Occaſion of all her Melancholy that Night at Supper, the next Morning, and indeed ever ſince?' "Fore George!' cries the Squire, 'now you mind me on't, I remem⯑ber it all. It is certainly ſo, and I am glad on't with all my Heart. I knew Sophy was a good Girl, and would not fall in Love to make me angry. I was never more rejoiced in my Life: For nothing can lie ſo handy together as our two Eſtates. I had this Matter in my Head ſome Time ago; for certainly the two Eſtates are in a Manner joined [277] together in Matrimony already, and it would be a thouſand Pities to part them. It is true indeed, there be larger Eſtates in the Kingdom, but not in this County, and I had rather bate ſomething, than marry my Daughter among Stangers and Foreign⯑ers. Beſides moſt o' zuch great Eſtates be in the Hands of Lords, and I hate the very Name of them⯑mun. Well but, Siſter, what would you adviſe me to do: For I tell you Women know theſe Matters better than we do?' 'O, your humble Servant, Sir,' anſwered the Lady, 'we are obliged to you for al⯑lowing us a Capacity in any Thing. Since you are pleaſed then, moſt politic Sir, to aſk my Advice, I think you may propoſe the Match to Allworthy yourſelf. There is no Indecorum in the Propo⯑ſal's coming from the Parent of either Side. King Alcinous, in Mr. Pope's Odyſſey, offers his Daugh⯑ter to Ulyſſes. I need not caution ſo Politic a Per⯑ſon not to ſay that your Daughter is in Love; that would indeed be againſt all Rules.' 'Well,' ſaid the Squire,' 'I will propoſe it; but I ſhall certainly lend un a Flick, if he refuſe me.' Fear not,' cries Mrs. Weſtern, 'the Match is too advantageous to be refuſed.' 'I don't know that,' anſwered the Squire, 'Allworthy is a queer B—ch, and Money hath no Effect o' un.' 'Brother,' ſaid the Lady, your Politics aſtoniſh me. Are you really to be impoſed on by Profeſſions? Do you think Mr. All⯑worthy hath more Contempt for Money than other Men, becauſe he profeſſes more. Such Credulity would better become one of us weak Women, than that wiſe Sex which Heaven hath formed for Po⯑liticians. Indeed, Brother, you would make a fine Plenipo to negotiate with the French. They would ſoon perſuade you, that they take Towns out of mere defenſive Principles.' 'Siſter,' anſwered the Squire, with much Scorn, Let your Friends at Court anſwer for the Towns taken; as you are a [278] Woman, I ſhall lay no Blame upon you: For I ſuppoſe they are wiſer than to truſt Women with Se⯑crets.' He accompanied this with ſo ſarcaſtical a Laugh, that Mrs. Weſtern could bear no longer. She had been all this Time fretted in a tender Part (for ſhe was indeed very deeply ſkilled in theſe Mat⯑ters, and very violent in them) and therefore burſt forth in a Rage, declared her Brother to be both a Clown and a Blockhead, and that ſhe would ſtay no longer in his Houſe.

The Squire, tho' perhaps, he had never read Ma⯑chiavel, was, however, in many Points, a perfect Politician. He ſtrongly held all thoſe wiſe Tenets, which are ſo well inculcated in that Politico-Peripa⯑tetic School of Exchange-Alley. He knew the juſt Value and only Uſe of Meney, viz. to lay it up. He was likewiſe well ſkilled in the exact Value of Rever⯑ſions, Expectations, &c. and had often conſidered the Amount of his Siſter's Fortune, and the Chance which he or his Poſterity had of inheriting it. This he was infinitely too wiſe to ſacrifice to a trifling Reſentment. When he found, therefore, he had carried Matters too far, he began to think of reconciling them; which was no very difficult Taſk, as the Lady had great Affection for her Brother, and ſtill greater for her Niece; and tho' too ſuſceptible of an Affront offered to her Skill in Politics, on which ſhe much valued herſelf, was a Woman of a very extraordinary good and ſweet Diſpoſition.

Having firſt, therefore, laid violent Hands on the Horſes, for whoſe Eſcape from the Stable no Place but the Window was left open; he next applied himſelf to his Siſter, ſoftened and ſoothed her, by unſaying all he had ſaid, and by Aſſertions directly contrary to thoſe which had incenſed her. Laſtly, he ſum⯑moned the Eloquence of Sophia to his Aſſiſtance, who, beſides a moſt graceful and winning Addreſs, had the Advantage of being heard with great Favour and Partiality by her Aunt.

[279] The Reſult of the whole was a kind Smile from Mrs. Weſtern, who ſaid, 'Brother, you are abſo⯑lutely a perfect Croat: but as thoſe have their Uſe in the Army of the Empreſs Queen, ſo you like⯑wiſe have ſome good in you. I will therefore once more ſign a Treaty of Peace with you, and ſee that you do not infringe it on your Side; at leaſt, as you are ſo excellent a Politician, I may expect you will keep your Leagues like the French, till your Intereſt calls upon you to break them.'

CHAP. III.

THE Squire having ſettled Matters with his Siſ⯑ter, as we have ſeen in the laſt Chapter, was ſo greatly impatient to communicate the Propoſal to Allworthy, that Mrs. Weſtern had the utmoſt Dif⯑ficulty to prevent him from viſiting that Gentleman in his Sickneſs, for this Purpoſe.

Mr. Allworthy had been engaged to dine with Mr. Weſtern at the Time when he was taken ill. He was, therefore, no ſooner diſcharged out of the Cuſtody of Phyſic, but he thought (as was uſual with him on all Occaſions, both the higheſt and the loweſt) of ful⯑filling his Engagement.

In the Interval between the Time of the Dialogue in the laſt Chapter, and this Day of public Entertain⯑ment, Sophia had, from certain obſcure Hints thrown out by her Aunt, collected ſome Apprehenſions that the ſagacious Lady ſuſpected her Paſſion for Jones. She now reſolved to take this Opportunity of wiping out all ſuch Suſpicion, and for that Purpoſe to put an entire Conſtraint on her Behaviour.

Firſt, ſhe endeavoured to conceal a throbbing me⯑lancholy Heart with the utmoſt Sprightlineſs in her Countenance, and the higheſt Gayety in her Man⯑ner. [280] Secondly, ſhe addreſſed her whole Diſcourſe to Mr. Blifil, and took not the leaſt Notice of poor Jones the whole Day.

The Squire was ſo delighted with the Conduct of his Daughter, that he ſcarce eat any Dinner, and ſpent almoſt his whole Time in watching Opportuni⯑ties of conveying Signs of his Approbation by Winks and Nods to his Siſter; who was not at firſt altoge⯑ther ſo pleaſed with what ſhe ſaw as was her Bro⯑ther.

In ſhort Sophia ſo greatly overacted her Part, that her Aunt was at firſt ſtaggered, and began to ſuſpect ſome Affectation in her Niece; but as ſhe was her⯑ſelf a Woman of Great Art, ſo ſhe ſoon attributed this to extreme Art in Sophia. She remembered the many Hints ſhe had given her Neice concerning her being in Love, and imagined the young Lady had taken this Way to rally her out of her Opinion, by an overacted Civility; a Notion that was corrobo⯑rated by the exceſſive Gaiety with which the whole was accompanied. We cannot here avoid remark⯑ing that this Conjecture would have been better found⯑ed, had Sophia lived ten Years in the Air of Groſve⯑nor ſquare, where young Ladies do learn a wonder⯑ful Knack of rallying and playing with that Paſſion, which is a mighty ſerious Thing in the Woods and Groves a hundred Miles Diſtant from London.

To ſay the Truth, in diſcovering the Deceit of others, it matters much that our own Art be wound up, if I may uſe the Expreſſion, in the ſame Key with theirs: For very artful Men ſometimes miſcar⯑ry by fancying others wiſer, or in other Words, great⯑er Knaves than they really are. As this Obſervation is pretty deep, I will illuſtrate it by the following ſhort Story. Three Countrymen were purſuing a Wiltſhire Thief through Brentford. The ſimpleſt of them ſeeing the Wiltſhire Houſe written under a Sign, adviſed his Companions to enter it, for there [281] moſt probably they would find their Countryman. The ſecond, who was wiſer, laughed at this Sim⯑plicity; but the third, who was wiſer ſtill, anſwered, 'Let us go in, however, for he may think we ſhould not ſuſpect him of going amongſt his own Coun⯑trymen.' They accordingly went in and ſearch⯑ed the Houſe, and by that Means miſſed overtaking the Thief, who was, at that Time, but a little ways before them; and who, as they all knew, but had never once reflected, could not read.

The Reader will pardon a Digreſſion in which ſo invaluable a Secret is communicated, ſince every Gameſter will agree how neceſſary it is to know ex⯑actly the Play of another, in order to countermine him. This will, moreover, afford a Reaſon why the wiſer Man, as is often ſeen, is the Bubble of the weaker, and why many ſimple and innocent Charac⯑ters are ſo generally miſunderſtood and miſrepreſent⯑ed; but what is moſt material, this will account for the Deceit which Sophia put on her politic Aunt.

Dinner being ended, and the Company retired into the Garden, Mr. Weſtern, who was thoroughly con⯑vinced of the certainty of what his Siſter had told him, took Mr. Allworthy aſide, and very bluntly propoſed a Match between Sophia and young Mr. Blifil.

Mr. Allworthy was not one of thoſe Men, whoſe Hearts flutter at any unexpected and ſudden Tidings of worldly profit. His Mind was, indeed, tempered with that Philoſophy which becomes a Man and a Chriſtian. He affected no abſolute Superiority to all Pleaſure and Pain, to all Joy and Grief; but was not at the ſame time to be diſcompoſed and ruffled by every accidental Blaſt; by every Smile or Frown of Fortune. He received therefore, Mr. Weſtern's Pro⯑poſal without any viſible Emotion, or without any Alteration of Countenance. He ſaid, the Alliance was ſuch as he ſincerely wiſhed; then launched forth [282] into a very juſt Encomium on the young Lady's Me⯑rit; acknowledged the Offer to be advantageous in Point of Fortune; and after thanking Mr. Weſtern for the good Opinion he had profeſs'd of his Nephew, concluded, that if the young People liked each other, he ſhould be very deſirous to complete the Affair.

Weſtern was a little diſappointed at Mr. Allworthy's Anſwer; which was not ſo warm as he expected. He treated the Doubt whether the young People might like one another with great Contempt; ſaying, 'That Parents were the beſt Judges of proper Matches for their Children; that, for his Part, he ſhould inſiſt on the moſt reſigned Obedience from his Daughter; and if any young Fellow could re⯑fuſe ſuch a Bedfellow, he was his humble Servant, and hoped there was no Harm done.'

Allworthy endeavoured to ſoften this Reſentment by many Elogium's on Sophia; declaring, he had no doubt but that Mr. Blifil would very gladly receive the Offer; but all was ineffectual, he could obtain no other Anſwer from the Squire but—'I ſay no more—I humbly Hope there's no Harm done—that's all.' Which Words he repeated, at leaſt, a hundred Times before they parted.

Allworthy was too well acquainted with his Neigh⯑bour to be offended at this Behaviour; and tho' he was ſo averſe to the Rigour which ſome Parents ex⯑erciſe on their Children in the Article of Marriage, that he had reſolved never to force his Nephew's In⯑clinations, he was nevertheleſs much pleaſed with the proſpect of this Union: For the whole Country re⯑ſounded the praiſes of Sophia, and he had himſelf great⯑ly admired the uncommon Endowments of both her Mind and Perſon. To which, I believe we may add, the Conſideration of her vaſt Fortune, which, tho' he was too ſober to be intoxicated with, he was too ſenſible to deſpiſe.

[283] And here, in Defiance of all the barking Critics in the World, I muſt and will introduce a Digreſſion concerning true Wiſdom, of which Mr. Allworthy was in Reality as great a Pattern as he was of Good⯑neſs.

True Wiſdom then, notwithſtanding all which Mr. Hogarth's poor Poet may have writ againſt Riches, and in Spite of all which any rich, well-fed Divine may have preached againſt Pleaſure, conſiſts not in the con⯑tempt of either of theſe. A Man may have as much Wiſdom in the Poſſeſſion of an affluent Fortune, as any Beggar in the Streets; or may enjoy a handſome Wife or a hearty Friend, and ſtill remain as wiſe as any ſour Popiſh Recluſe, who buries all his ſocial Facul⯑ties, and ſtarves his Belly while he well laſhes his Back.

To ſay Truth, the wiſeſt Man is the likelieſt to poſſeſs all worldly Bleſſings in an eminent Degree: For as that Moderation which Wiſdom preſcribes is the ſureſt Way to uſeful Wealth; ſo can it alone qualify us to taſte many Pleaſures. The wiſe Man gratifies every Appetite and every Paſſion, while the Fool ſacrifices all the reſt to pall and ſatiate one.

It may be objected, that very wiſe Men have been notoriouſly avaricious. I anſwer, not in that In⯑ſtance. It may likewiſe be ſaid, that the wiſeſt Men have been in their Youth, immoderately fond of Pleaſure. I anſwer they were not wiſe then.

Wiſdom in ſhort, whoſe Leſſons have been re⯑preſented as ſo hard to learn by thoſe who never were at her School, teaches us only to extend a ſimple Maxim univerſally known and followed even in the loweſt Life, a little farther than that Life carries it. And this is not to buy at too dear a Price.

Now, whoever takes this Maxim abroad with him into the grand Market of the World, and con⯑ſtantly applies it to Honours, to Riches, to pleaſures, and to every other Commodity which that Market affords, is, I will venture to affirm, a wiſe Man; and [284] muſt be ſo acknowledged in the worldly Senſe of the Word: For he makes the beſt of Bargains, ſince in Reality he purchaſes every Thing at the Price only of a little Trouble, and carries home all the good Things I have mentioned, while he keeps his Health, his Inno⯑cence, and his Reputation, the common Prices which are paid for them by others, entire and to himſelf.

From this Moderation, likewiſe, he learns two other Leſſons, which complete his Character. Firſt, ne⯑ver to be intoxicated when he hath made the beſt Bargain, nor dejected when the Market is empty, or when its Commodities are too dear for his Pur⯑chaſe.

But I muſt remember on what Subject I am writ⯑ing, and not treſpaſs too far on the Patience of a good-natured Critic. Here therefore I put an End to the Chapter.

CHAP. IV.

AS ſoon as Mr. Allworthy returned home, he took Mr. Blifil apart, and after ſome Preface, communicated to him the Propoſal which had been made by Mr. Weſtern, and, at the ſame Time, in⯑formed him how agreeable this Match would be to himſelf.

The Charms of Sophia had not made the leaſt Im⯑preſſion on Blifil; not that his Heart was pre-enga⯑ged; neither was he totally inſenſible of Beauty, or had any Averſion to Women; but his Appetites were, by Nature, ſo moderate, that he was eaſily able by Philoſophy, or by Study, or by ſome other Method, to ſubdue them; and as to that Paſſion which we have treated of in the firſt Chapter of this Book, he had not the leaſt Tincture of it in his whole Com⯑poſition.

[285] But tho' he was ſo entirely free from that mixed Paſſion, of which we there treated, and of which the Virtues and Beauty of Sophia formed ſo notable an Object; yet was he altogether as well furniſhed with ſome other Paſſions, that promiſed themſelves very full gratification in the young Lady's Fortune. Such were Avarice and Ambition, which divided the Do⯑minion of his Mind between them. He had more than once conſidered the Poſſeſſion of this Fortune as a very deſirable Thing, and had entertained ſome diſtant Views concerning it: But his own Youth and that of the young Lady, and indeed principally a Re⯑flection that Mr. Weſtern might marry again, and have more Children, had reſtrained him from too haſty or eager a Purſuit.

This laſt and moſt material Objection was now in great Meaſure removed, as the Propoſal came from Mr. Weſtern himſelf. Blifil therefore after a very ſhort Heſitation, anſwered Mr. Allworthy, that Ma⯑trimony was a Subject on which he had not yet thought: But that he was ſo ſenſible of his friendly and fatherly Care, that he ſhould in all Things ſubmit himſelf to his Pleaſure.

Allworthy was naturally a Man of Spirit, and his preſent Gravity aroſe from true Wiſdom and Philo⯑ſophy, not from any original Phlegm in his Diſpoſi⯑tion: For he had poſſeſſed much Fire in his Youth, and had married a beautiful Woman for Love. He was not, therefore, greatly pleaſed with this cold An⯑ſwer of his Nephew; nor could he help launching forth into the Praiſes of Sophia, and expreſſing ſome Wonder that the Heart of a young Man could be im⯑pregnable to the force of ſuch Charms, unleſs it was guarded by ſome prior Affection.

Blifil aſſured him he had no ſuch Guard; and then proceeded to diſcourſe ſo wiſely and religiouſly on Love and Marriage, that he would have ſtopt the Mouth of a Parent much leſs devoutly inclined than [286] was his Uncle. In the End, the good Man was ſa⯑tisfied, that his Nephew, far from having any Ob⯑jections to Sophia, had that Eſteem for her, which in ſober and virtuous Minds is the ſure Foundation of Friendſhip and Love. And as he doubted not but the Lover would, in a little Time, become altogether as agreeable to his Miſtreſs, he foreſaw great Happineſs ariſing to all Parties by ſo proper and deſirable a Uni⯑on. With Mr. Blifil's Conſent, therefore, he wrote the next Morning to Mr. Weſtern, acquainting him that his Nephew had very thankfully and gladly received the Propoſal, and would be ready to wait on the young Lady, whenever ſhe ſhould be pleaſed to ac⯑cept his Viſit.

Weſtern was much pleaſed with this Letter, and im⯑mediately returned an Anſwer; in which, without having mentioned a Word to his Daughter, he ap⯑pointed that very Afternoon for opening the Scene of Courtſhip.

As ſoon as he had diſpatched this Meſſenger, he went in Queſt of his Siſter, whom he found reading and expounding the Gazette to Parſon Supple. To this Expoſition he was obliged to attend near a Quarter of an Hour, tho' with great Violence to his natural Impetuoſity, before he was ſuffered to ſpeak. At length, however, he found an Opportunity of ac⯑quainting the Lady, that he had Buſineſs of great Conſequence to impart to her; to which ſhe anſwered, 'Brother, I am entirely at your Service. Things look ſo well in the North that I was never in a better Humour.'

The Parſon then withdrawing, Weſtern acquaint⯑ed her with all which had paſſed, and deſired her to communicate the Affair to Sophia, which ſhe readily and chearfully undertook; tho' perhaps her Brother was a little obliged to that agreeable Northern Aſpect which had ſo delighted her, that he heard no Comment [287] on his Proceedings: for they were certainly ſome⯑what too haſty and violent.

CHAP. V.

SOPHIA was in her Chamber reading when her Aunt came in. The Moment ſhe ſaw Mrs. Weſtern, ſhe ſhut the Book with ſo much Eagerneſs, that the good Lady could not forbear aſking her, What Book that was which ſhe ſeemed ſo much afraid of ſhewing. 'Upon my Word, Madam,' anſwered Sophia, 'it is a Book which I am neither aſhamed nor afraid to own I have read. It is the Production of a young Lady of Faſhion, whoſe good Under⯑ſtanding, I think, doth Honour to her Sex, and whoſe good Heart is an Honour to Human Nature.' Mrs Weſtern then took up the Book, and immediate⯑ly after threw it down, ſaying—'Yes, the Author is of a very good Family; but ſhe is not much a⯑mong People one knows. I have never read it; for the beſt Judges ſay, there is not much in it.'' I dare not, Madam, ſet up my own Opinion, ſays Sophia, 'againſt the beſt Judges; but there ap⯑pears to me a great deal of human Nature it; and in many Parts, ſo much true Tenderneſs and Deli⯑cacy, that it hath coſt me many a Tear.' 'Ay, and do you love to cry then?' ſays the Aunt. 'I love a tender Senſation,' anſwered the Niece, and would pay the Price of a Tear for it at any Time.' Well, but ſhew me,' ſaid the Aunt, 'what you was reading when I came in; there was ſome⯑thing very tender in that, I believe, and very loving too.' You bluſh, my dear Sophia. Ah! Child, you ſhould read Books, which would teach you a little Hypocriſy, which would inſtruct you how to hide your Thoughts a little better.' 'I hope, Madam,' anſwered Sophia, 'I have no Thoughts which I ought [288] to be aſhamed of diſcovering.' 'Aſhamed! no,' cries the Aunt, 'I don't think you have any Thoughts which you ought to be aſhamed of, and yet, Child, you bluſhed juſt now when I mentioned the Word Loving. Dear Sophy, be aſſured you have not one Thought which I am not well acquainted with; as well, Child, as the French are with our Motions, long before we put them in Execution. Did you think, Child, becauſe you have been able to impoſe upon your Father, that you could impoſe upon me? Do you imagine I did not know the Reaſon of your over-acting all that Friendſhip for Mr. Blifil yeſ⯑terday? I have ſeen a little too much of the World, to be ſo deceived. Nay, nay, do not bluſh again. I tell you it is a Paſſion you need not be aſhamed of.—It is a Paſſion I myſelf approve, and have al⯑ready brought your Father into the Approbation of. Indeed, I ſolely conſider your Inclination; for I would always have that gratified, if poſſible, though one may ſacrifice higher Proſpects. Come, I have News which will delight your very Soul. Make me your Confident, and I will undertake you ſhall be happy to the very Extent of your Wiſhes.' 'La, Madam,' ſays Sophia, looking more fooliſhly than ever ſhe did in her Life, 'I know not what to ſay—Why, Madam, ſhould you ſuſpect?'—'Nay, no Diſhoneſty,' returned Mr. Weſtern. 'Conſi⯑der, you are ſpeaking to one of your own Sex, to an Aunt, and I hope you are convinced you ſpeak to a Friend. Conſider, you are only revealing to me what I know already, and what I plainly ſaw yeſterday, through that moſt artful of all Diſguiſes, which you had put on, and which muſt have de⯑ceived any one who had not perfectly known the World. Laſtly conſider it is a Paſſion which I highly approve.' 'La, Madam,' ſays Sophia, 'you come upon one ſo unawares, and on a ſudden. To be ſure, Madam, I am not blind—and cer⯑tainly [289] if it be a Fault to ſee all human Perfections aſſembled together—But is it poſſible my Father and you, Madam, can ſee with my Eyes? I tell you,' anſwered the Aunt, 'we do entirely approve; and this very afternoon your Father hath appointed for you to receive your Lover.' 'My Father, this Afternoon!' cries Sophia, with the Blood ſtarting from her Face.—'Yes, Child,' ſaid the Aunt, 'this Afternoon. You know the Impetuoſity of my Brother's Temper. I acquainted him with the Paſ⯑ſion which I firſt diſcovered in you that Evening when you fainted away in the Field. I ſaw it in your Fainting. I ſaw it immediately upon your Recovery. I ſaw it that Evening at Supper, and the next Morning at Breakfaſt: (you know, Child, I have ſeen the World). Well, I no ſooner ac⯑quainted my Brother; but he immediately wanted to propoſe it to Allworthy. He propoſed it Yeſterday, Allworthy conſented, (as to be ſure he muſt with Joy) and this Afternoon, I tell you, you are to put on all your beſt Airs.' This Afternoon!' cries Sophia. 'Dear Aunt, you frighten me out of my Senſes.' 'O, my Dear,' ſaid the Aunt, 'you will ſoon come to yourſelf again; for he is a charming young Fellow, that's the Truth on't.' 'Nay, I will own,' ſays Sophia, I know none with ſuch Per⯑fections. So brave, and yet ſo gentle; ſo witty, yet ſo inoffenſive, ſo humane, ſo civil, ſo genteel, ſo handſome! What ſignifies his being baſe born, when compared with ſuch Qualifications as theſe?' Baſe born! what do you mean,' ſaid the Aunt, Mr. Blifil baſe born!' Sophia turned inſtantly pale [...]t this Name, and faintly repeated it. Upon which [...]he Aunt cried, 'Mr. Blifil, ay Mr. Blifil, of whom elſe have we been talking?' 'Good Heaven,' an⯑ [...]wered Sophia, ready to ſink, 'of Mr. Jones, I thought; I am ſure I know no other who deſerves—' 'I proteſt,' cries the Aunt, 'you frighten [290] me in your Turn. Is it Mr. Jones, and not Mr. Blifil, who is the Object of your Affection?' 'Mr. Blifil!' repeated Sophia. 'Sure it is impoſſible you can be in earneſt; if you are, I am the moſt miſe⯑rable Woman alive.' Mrs. Weſtern now ſtood a few Moments ſilent, while Sparks of fiery Rage flaſh⯑ed from her Eyes. At length, collecting all her Force of Voice, ſhe thundered forth in the following articulate Sounds:

'And is it poſſible you can think of diſgracing your Family by allying yourſelf to a Baſtard? Can the Blood of the Weſterns ſubmit to ſuch Contami⯑nation! If you have not Senſe ſufficient to reſtrain ſuch monſtrous Inclinations, I thought the Pride of our Family would have prevented you from giving' the leaſt Encouragement to ſo baſe an Affection; 'much leſs did I imagine you would ever have had the Aſſurance to own it to my Face.'

'Madam,' anſwered Sophia, trembling, 'what I have ſaid you have extorted from me. I do not remember to have ever mentioned the Name of Mr. Jones, with Approbation, to any one before; nor ſhould I now, had I not conceived he had had your Approbation. Whatever were my Thoughts of that poor unhappy young Man, I intended to have carried them with me to my Grave—To that Grave where now, I find, I am only to ſeek Re⯑poſe.'—Here ſhe ſunk down in her Chair, drown⯑ed in her Tears, and, in all the moving Silence of unutterable Grief, preſented a Spectacle which muſt have affected almoſt the hardeſt Heart.

All this tender Sorrow, however, raiſed no Com⯑paſſion in her Aunt. On the contrary, ſhe now fell into the moſt violent Rage—'And I would rather', ſhe cried, in a moſt vehement Voice, 'follow you to your Grave, than I would ſee you diſgrace your⯑ſelf and your Family by ſuch a Match. O Hea⯑vens! could I have ever ſuſpected that I ſhould live [291] to hear a Niece of mine declare a Paſſion for ſuch a Fellow? You are the firſt—yes, Miſs Weſtern, you are the firſt of your Name who ever enter⯑tained ſo groveling a Thought. A Family ſo not⯑ed' for the Prudence of its Women,—Here ſhe run on a full Quarter of an Hour, till having exhauſt⯑ed her Breath rather than her Rage, ſhe concluded with threatening to go immediately and acquaint her Brother.

Sophia then threw herſelf at her Feet, and laying hold of her Hands. 'begged her, with Tears, to conceal what ſhe had drawn from her; urging the Violence of her Father's Temper, and proteſting that no Inclinations of hers ſhould ever prevail with her to do any thing which might offend him.'

Mrs. Weſtern ſtood a Moment looking at her, and then having recollected herſelf, ſaid, that 'on one Conſideration only ſhe would keep the Secret from her Brother; and this was, that Sophia ſhould pro⯑miſe to entertain Mr. Blifil that very Afternoon as her Lover, and to regard him as the Perſon who was to be her Huſband.'

Poor Sophia was too much in her Aunt's Power to deny her any thing poſitively; ſhe was obliged to promiſe that ſhe would ſee Mr. Blifil, and be as civil to him as poſſible; but begged her Aunt that the Match might not be hurried on. She ſaid, 'Mr. Blifil was by no means agreeable to her, and ſhe hoped her Father would be prevailed on not to make her the moſt wretched of Women.'

Mrs. Weſtern aſſured her, 'that the Match was en⯑tirely agreed upon, and that nothing could or ſhould prevent it.' 'I muſt own,' ſaid ſhe, 'I looked on it as on a Matter of Indifference; nay, perhaps, had ſome Scruples about it before, which were ac⯑tually got over by my thinking it highly agreeable to your own Inclinations; but now I regard it as the moſt eligible Thing in the World; nor ſhall there [292] be, if I can prevent it, a Moment of Time loſt on the Occaſion.'

Sophia replied, 'Delay at leaſt, Madam, I may expect from both your Goodneſs and my Father's. Surely you will give me Time to endeavour to get the better of ſo ſtrong a Diſinclination as I have at preſent to this Perſon.'

The Aunt anſwered, 'She knew too much of the World to be ſo deceived; that as ſhe was ſenſible another Man had her Affections, ſhe would per⯑ſuade Mr. Weſtern to haſten the Match as much as poſſible. It would be bad Politics indeed, added ſhe, to protract a Siege when the Enemy's Army is at Hand, and in Danger of relieving it. No, no, Sophy, ſaid ſhe, as I am convinced you have a vio⯑lent Paſſion, which you can never ſatisfy with Ho⯑nour, I will do all I can to put your Honour out of the Care of your Family: For when you are married thoſe Matters will belong only to the Conſideration of your Huſband. I hope, Child, you will always have Prudence enough to act as becomes you; but if you ſhould not, Marriage hath ſaved many a Woman from Ruin.'

Sophia well underſtood what her Aunt menat; but did not think proper to make her an Anſwer. How⯑ever, ſhe took a Reſolution to ſee Mr. Blifil, and to behave to him as civilly as ſhe could: For on that Condition only ſhe obtained a Promiſe from her Aunt to keep ſecret the Liking which her ill Fortune, ra⯑ther than any Scheme of Mrs. Weſtern, had unhap⯑pily drawn from her.

CHAP. VI.

MRS. Weſtern having obtained that Promiſe from her Niece which we have ſeen in the laſt Chap⯑ter, [293] withdrew, and preſently after arrived Mrs. Ho⯑nour. She was at Work in a neighbouring Apartment, and had been ſummoned to the Key-hole by ſome Vociferation in the preceding Dialogue, where ſhe had continued during the remaining Part of it. At her Entry into the Room, ſhe found Sophia ſtanding mo⯑tionleſs, with the Tears trickling from her Eyes. Upon which ſhe immediately ordered a proper Quan⯑tity of Tears into her own Eyes, and then began, 'O Gemini, my dear Lady, what is the Matter? Nothing,' cries Sophia. 'Nothing! dear Madam,' anſwers Mrs. Honour, 'you muſt not tell me that, when your Ladyſhip is in this Taking, and when there hath been ſuch a Preamble between your La⯑dyſhip and Madam Weſtern.' 'Don't teaze me,' cries Sophia, 'I tell you nothing is the Matter.—Good Heavens; Why was I born!—Nay, Ma⯑dam,' ſays Mrs. Honour, 'you ſhall never perſuade me, that your La'ſhip can lament yourſelf ſo for nothing. To be ſure, I am but a Servant; but to be ſure I have been always faithful to your Lady⯑ſhip, and to be ſure I would ſerve your La'ſhip with my Life.' 'My dear Honour,' ſays Sophia 'tis not in thy Power to be of any Service to me. I am irretrievably undone.' 'Heaven forbid,' an⯑ſwered the Waiting woman; 'but if I can't be of any Service to you, pray tell me, Madam, it will be ſome Comfort to me to know; Pray, dear Ma'am, tell me what's the Matter.' 'My Father,' cries Sophia, 'is going to marry me to a Man I both deſpiſe and hate.' O, dear Ma'am,' an⯑ſwered the other, 'Who is this wicked Man? for to be ſure he is very bad, or your La'ſhip would not deſpiſe him.' 'His Name is Poiſon to my Tongue, replied Sophia,' 'thou wilt know it too ſoon.' In⯑deed, to confeſs the Truth, ſhe knew it already, and therefore was not very inquiſitive as to that Point. She then proceeded thus: 'I don't pretend to give [294] your La'ſhip Advice, whereof your La'ſhip knows much better than I can pretend to, being but a Ser⯑vant; but i-fackins! no Father in England ſhould marry me againſt my Conſent. And to be ſure, the Squire is ſo good, that if he did but know your La'ſhip deſpiſes and hates the young Man, to be ſure he would not deſire you to marry him. And if your La'ſhip would but give me Leave to tell my Maſter ſo—To be ſure, it would be more properer to come from your own Mouth; but as your La'ſhip doth not care to foul your Tongue with his naſty Name.' 'You are miſtaken, Honour,' ſays Sophia, 'my Father was determined before he ever thought fit to mention it to me.' 'More Shame for him,' cries Honour, 'you are to go to Bed to him, and not Maſter. And thof a Man may be a very proper Man, yet every Woman mayn't think him handſome alike. I am ſure my Maſter would ne⯑ver act in this Manner of his own Head. I wiſh ſome People would trouble themſelves only with what belongs to them; they would not, I believe, like to be ſerved ſo, if it was their own Caſe: For tho' I am a Maid, I can eaſily believe as how all Men are not equally agreeable. And what ſignifies your La'ſhip having ſo great a Fortune, if you can't pleaſe yourſelf with the Man you think moſt hand⯑ſomeſt? Well, I ſay nothing, but to be ſure it is Pity ſome Folks had not been better born; nay, as for that Matter, I ſhould not mind it my ſelf: But then there is not ſo much Money, and what of that, your La'ſhip hath Money enough for both; and where can your La'ſhip beſtow your Fortune bet⯑ter? For to be ſure every one muſt allow, that he is the moſt handſomeſt, charmingeſt, fineſt, talleſt, propereſt Man in the World.' 'What do you mean by running on in this Manner to me?' cries Sophia, with a very grave Countenance. 'Have I ever giv⯑en any Encouragement for theſe Liberties? Nay, [295] Ma'am, I aſk Pardon, I meant no Harm,' anſwer⯑ed ſhe, 'but to be ſure the poor Gentleman hath run in my Head ever ſince. I ſaw him this Morning.—To be ſure, if your Ladyſhip had but ſeen him juſt now, you muſt have pitied him. Poor Gentle⯑man! I wiſhes ſome Misfortune hath not happened to him: For he hath been walking about with his Arms a-croſs, and looking ſo melancholy all this Morning; I vow and proteſt it made me almoſt cry to ſee him.' 'To ſee whom? ſays Sophia. 'Poor Mr. Jones,' anſwered Honour. 'See him! Why, where did you ſee him?' cries Sophia. 'By the Canal, Ma'am,' ſays Honour. 'There he hath been walking all this Morning, and at laſt there he laid himſelf down; I believe he lies there ſtill. To be ſure, if it had not been for my Modeſty, being a Maid as I am, I ſhould have gone and ſpoke to him. Do, Ma'am, let me go and ſee, only for a Fancy, whether he is there ſtill.'' 'Pugh!' ſays Sophia, 'There! no, no, what ſhould he do there? He is gone before this Time to be ſure. Beſides, why—what—why ſhould you go to ſee?—Beſides, I want you for ſomething elſe. Go, fetch me my Hat and Gloves. I ſhall walk with my Aunt in the Grove before Dinner.' Honour did immediate⯑ly as ſhe was bid, and Sophia put her Hat on; when looking in the Glaſs, ſhe fancied the Ribbon with which her Hat was tied, did not become her, and ſo ſent her Maid back again for a Ribbon of a different Colour; and then giving Mrs. Honour repeated Charges not to leave her Work on any Account, as ſhe ſaid it was in violent Haſte, and muſt be finiſhed that very Day, ſhe muttered ſomething more about going to the Grove, and then ſallied out the contrary Way, and walked as faſt as her tender trembling Limbs could carry her, directly towards the Canal.

Jones had been there, as Mrs. Honour had told her: He had indeed ſpent two Hours there that Morning [296] in melancholy Contemplation on his Sophia, and had gone out from the Garden at one Door, the Moment ſhe entered it at another. So that thoſe unlucky Minutes which had been ſpent in changing the Rib⯑bons, had prevented the Lovers from Meeting at this Time. A moſt unfortunate Accident, from which my fair Readers will not fail to draw a very whole⯑ſome Leſſon. And here I ſtrictly forbid all Maie Critics to intermeddle with a Circumſtance, which I have recounted only for the Sake of the Ladies, and upon whichthey only are at Liberty to comment.

CHAP. VII.

IT was well remarked by one, (and perhaps by more) that Misfortunes do not come ſingle. This wiſe Maxim was now verified by Sophia, who was not only diſappointed of ſeeing the Man ſhe loved; but had the Vexation of being obliged to dreſs herſelf out, in order to receive a Viſit from the Man ſhe hated.

That Afternoon, Mr. Weſtern, for the firſt Time, acquainted his Daughter with his Intention; telling her, he knew very well that ſhe had heard it before from her Aunt. Sophia looked very grave upon this, nor could ſhe prevent a few Pearls from ſtealing into her Eyes. 'Come, come,' ſays Weſtern, 'none of your Maideniſh Airs; I know all; I aſſure you,' Siſter hath told me all.'

'Is it poſſible,' ſays Sophia, 'that my Aunt can have betrayed me already?' 'Ay, ay,' ſays Weſtern, betrayed you! ay. Why, you betrayed yourſelf yeſterday at Dinner. You ſhewed your Fancy ve⯑ry plainly, I think. But you young Girls never know what you would be at. So you cry becauſe I am going to marry you to the Man you are in [297] Love with! Your Mother, I remember, whimper⯑ed and whined juſt in the ſame Manner; but it was all over within twenty-four Hours after we were married: Mr. Blifil is a briſk young Man, and will ſoon put an End to your Squeamiſhneſs. Come, chear up, chear up, I expect un every Minute.'

Sophia was now convinced that her Aunt had be⯑haved honourably to her; and ſhe determined to go through that diſagreeable Afternoon with as much Reſolution as poſſible, and without giving the leaſt Suſpicion in the World to her Father.

Mr. Blifil ſoon arrived; and Mr. Weſtern ſoon af⯑ter withdrawing, left the young Couple together.

Here a long Silence of near a Quarter of an Hour enſued: For the Gentleman who was to begin the Converſation had all that unbecoming Modeſty which conſiſts in Baſhfulneſs. He often attempted to ſpeak, and as often ſuppreſſed his Words juſt at the very Point of Utterance. At laſt out they broke in a Torrent of far-fetched and high-ſtrained Com⯑pliments, which were anſwered, on her Side, by downcaſt Looks, half Bows and civil Monoſyl⯑lables. Blifil from his Inexperience in the Ways of Women, and from his Conceit of himſelf, took this Behaviour for a modeſt Aſſent to his Courtſhip; and when to ſhorten a Scene which ſhe could no longer ſupport, Sophia roſe up and left the Room, he im⯑puted that too, merely to Baſhfulneſs, and comfort⯑ed himſelf, that he ſhould have enough of her Com⯑pany.

He was indeed perfectly well ſatisfied with his proſpect of Succeſs: For as to that entire and abſo⯑lute Poſſeſſion of the Heart of his Miſtreſs, which romantic Lovers require, the very Idea of it never entered his Head. Her Fortune and Perſon were the ſole Object of his Wiſhes, of which he made no Doubt ſoon to obtain the abſolute Property; as Mr. Weſtern's Mind was ſo earneſtly bent on the Match; [298] and as he well knew the ſtrict Obedience which So⯑phia was always ready to pay to her Father's Will, and the greater ſtill which her Father would exact, if there was Occaſion. This Authority, therefore, to⯑gether with the Charms which he fancied in his own Perſon and Converſation, could not fail, he thought, of ſucceeding with a young Lady, whoſe Inclinations, were, he doubted not, entirely diſengaged.

Of Jones he certainly had not even the leaſt Jea⯑louſy; and I have often thought it wonderful that he had not. Perhaps he imagined the Character which Jones bore all over the Country, (how juſtly let the Reader determine) of being one of the wildeſt Fel⯑lows in England, might render him odious to a Lady of the moſt exemplary Modeſty. Perhaps his Suſ⯑picions might be laid aſleep by the Behaviour of So⯑phia, and of Jones himſelf, when they were all in Company together. Laſtly, and indeed principally, he was well aſſured there was not another Self in the Caſe. He fancied that he knew Jones at the Bottom, and had in Reality a great Contempt for his Under⯑ſtanding, for not being more attached to his own In⯑tereſt. He had no Apprehenſion that Jones was in Love with Sophia; and as for any lucrative Motives, he imagined they would ſway very little with ſo ſilly a Fellow. Blifil, moreover, thought the Affair of Molly Seagrim ſtill went on, and indeed believed it would end in Marriage: For Jones really loved him from his Childhood, and kept no Secret from him, till his Behaviour on the Sickneſs of Mr. Allworthy had entirely alienated his Heart; and it was by means of the Quarrel which had enſued on this Occaſion, and which was not yet reconciled, that Mr. Blifil knew nothing of the Alteration which had happened in the Affection which Jones had formerly bore to⯑wards Molly.

From theſe Reaſons, therefore, Mr. Blifil ſaw no Far to his Succeſs with Sophia. He concluded, her [299] Behaviour was like that of all other young Ladies on [...] firſt viſit from a Lover, and it had indeed entirely anſwered his Expectations.

Mr. Weſtern took Care to way-lay the Lover at his Exit from his Miſtreſs. He found himſelf ſo e⯑levated with his Succeſs, ſo enamoured with his Daughter, and ſo ſatisfied with her Reception of him, that the old Gentleman began to caper and dance a⯑bout his Hall, and by many other antic Actions, to expreſs the Extravagance of his Joy: For he had not the leaſt Command over any of his Paſſions; and that which had at any Time the Aſcendant in his Mind, hurried him to the wildeſt Exceſſes.

As ſoon as Blifil was departed, which was not till after many hearty Kiſſes and embraces beſtowed on him by Weſtern, the good Squire went in Queſt of his Daughter, whom he no ſooner found than he poured forth the moſt Extravagant Raptures, bid⯑ding her chuſe what Clothes and Jewels ſhe pleaſed; and declaring that he had no other Uſe for Fortune but to make her happy. He then careſſed her again and again with the utmoſt Profuſion of Fondneſs, called her by the moſt endearing Names, and pro⯑teſted ſhe was his only Joy on Earth.

Sophia perceiving her Father in this Fit of Affec⯑tion, which ſhe did not abſolutely know the Reaſon of (for Fits of Fondneſs were not unuſual to him, tho' this was rather more violent than ordinary) thought ſhe ſhould never have a better Opportunity of diſcloſing herſelf than at preſent; as far at leaſt, as re⯑garded Mr. Blifil; and ſhe too well foreſaw the Ne⯑ceſſity which ſhe ſhould ſoon be under of coming to a full Explanation. After having thanked the Squire, therefore for all his Profeſſions of Kindneſs, ſhe ad⯑ded, with a Look full of inexpreſſible Softneſs, 'And is it poſſible my Papa can be ſo good to place all his Joy in his Sophy's Happineſs?' which Weſtern [300] having confirmed by a great Oath, and a Kiſs; ſhe then laid hold of his Hand, and falling on her Knees, after many warm and paſſionate Declarations of Af⯑fection and Duty, ſhe begged him 'not to make her the moſt miſerable Creature on Earth, by forc⯑ing her to marry a Man whom ſhe deteſted. This I entreat of you, dear Sir,' ſaid ſhe, 'for your Sake as well as my own, ſince you are ſo very kind to tell me your Happineſs depends on mine.' How! what!' ſays Weſtern, ſtaring wildly.' 'O Sir,' continued ſhe, 'not only your poor Sophy's Happineſs; her very Life, her Being depends up⯑on your granting her Requeſt. I cannot live with Mr. Blifil. To force me into this Marriage, would be killing me.' 'You can't live with Mr. Blifil!' ſays Weſtern. 'No, upon my Soul I can't, an⯑ſwered Sophia. Then die and be d—ned,' cries he, ſpurning her from him. 'Oh! Sir,' cries So⯑phia, catching hold of the Skirt of his Coat, 'take Pity on me, I beſeech you. Don't look and ſay ſuch cruel—Can you be unmoved while you ſee your Sophy in this dreadful Condition? Can the beſt of Father's break my Heart? Will he kill me by the moſt painful, cruel, lingering Death?' Pooh! Pooh!' cries the Squire, all Stuff and Nonſenſe, all Maideniſh Tricks. Kill you indeed! Will Marriage kill you?'—'Oh Sir,' anſwered Sophia, ſuch a Marriage is worſe than Death—He is not even indifferent, I hate and deteſt him.—If you deteſt un never ſo much,' cries Weſtern, 'you ſhall ha'un.' This he bound by an Oath too ſhocking to repeat, and after many violent Aſſeverations, con⯑cluded in theſe Words. 'I am reſolved upon the Match, and unleſs you conſent to it, I will not give you a Groat, not a ſingle Farthing; no, tho' I ſaw you expiring with Famine in the Street, I would not relieve you with a Morſel of Bread. This is my fixed Reſolution, and ſo I leave you to [301] conſider on it.' He then broke from her with ſuch Violence, that her Face daſhed againſt the Floor, and he burſt directly out of the Room, leaving poor Sophia proſtrate on the Ground.

When Weſtern came into the Hall, he there found Jones; who ſeeing his Friend looking wild, and pale, and almoſt Breathleſs, could not forbear enquiring the Reaſon of all theſe melacholy Appearances. Up⯑on which the Squire immediately acquainted him with the whole Matter, concluding with bitter denuncia⯑tions againſt Sophia, and very pathetic Lamentations of the Miſery of all Fathers who are ſo unfortunate to have Daughters.

Jones, to whom all the Reſolutions which had been taken in Favour of Blifil were yet a Secret, was al⯑moſt ſtruck dead with this Relation; but recovering his Spirits a little, mere Deſpair, as he afterwards ſaid, inſpired him to mention a Matter to Mr. Weſtern, which ſeemed to require more impudence than a human Forehead was ever gifted with. He deſired Leave to go to Sophia, that he might endeavour to obtain her Concurrence with her Father's Inclina⯑tions.

If the Squire had been as quick-ſighted, as he was remarkable for the contrary, Paſſion might at preſent very well have blinded him. He thanked Jones for offering to undertake the Office, and ſaid, 'Go, go, prithee, try what can'ſt do;' and then ſwore many execrable Oaths that he would turn her out of Doors unleſs ſhe conſented to the Match.

CHAP. VIII.

JONES departed inſtantly in Queſt of Sophia, whom he found juſt riſen from the Ground where her Father had left her, with the Tears trickling from her Eyes, and her Blood running from her Lips. [302] He preſently ran to her, and with a Voice full at once of Tenderneſs and Terrour, cried, 'O my Sophia, what means this dreadful Sight!'—She looked ſoftly at him for a Moment before ſhe ſpoke, and then ſaid, 'Mr. Jones, for Heaven's Sake, how came you here?—Leave me, I beſeech you, this Moment.' 'Do not,' ſays he, 'impoſe ſo harſh a Command upon me—my Heart bleeds faſter than thoſe Lips. O Sophia, how eaſily could I drain my Veins to preſerve one Drop of that dear Blood.' 'I have too many Obli⯑gations to you already,' anſwered ſhe, 'for ſure' you meant them ſuch—Here ſhe looked at him tenderly almoſt a Minute, and then burſting into an an Agony, cried,—'O Mr. Jones,—why did you ſave my Life?—my Death would have been hap⯑pier for us both—'Happier for us both!' cried he, Could Racks or Wheels kill me ſo painfully as So⯑phia's!—I cannot bear the dreadful Sound—Do I live but for her?'—Both his Voice and look were full of inexpreſſible Tenderneſs when he ſpoke theſe Words, and at the ſame Time he laid gently hold on her Hand, which ſhe did not withdraw from him; to ſay the Truth, ſhe hardly knew what ſhe did or ſuffered. A few Moments now paſſed in Silence between thoſe Lovers, while his Eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, and hers declining towards the Ground; and at laſt ſhe recovered Strength enough to deſire him again to leave her; for that her cer⯑tain Ruin would be the Conſequence of their being found together; adding,—'O Mr. Jones, you know not, you know not what paſſed this cruel After⯑noon.' I know all, my Sophia,' anſwered he; your cruel Father has told me all, and he himſelf hath ſent me hither to you.' My Father ſent you to me!' replied ſhe, 'ſure you dream.' Would to Heaven,' cries he, 'it was but a Dream. O Sophia, your Father hath ſent me to you, to be [303] an Advocate for my odious Rival, to ſolicite you in his Favour—I took any Means to get Acceſs to you—O ſpeak to me, Sophia, comfort my bleed⯑ing Heart. Sure no one ever loved, ever doated like me. Do not unkindly with-hold this dear, this ſoft, this gentle Hand—One Moment, perhaps, tears you for ever from me—Nothing leſs than this cruel Occaſion could, I believe, have ever con⯑quered the Reſpect and Awe, with which you have inſpired me.' She ſtood a Moment ſilent and covered with Confuſion, then lifting up her Eyes gently towards him, ſhe cried, 'What would Mr. Jones have me ſay?' 'O do but promiſe,' cries he, that you never will give yourſelf to Blifil,' 'Name not,' anſwered ſhe, 'the deteſted Sound. Be aſſured I never will give him what it is in my Power to with-hold from him.' 'Now then,' cries he, 'while you are ſo perfectly kind, go a little far⯑ther, and add that I may hope.'—'Alaſs,' ſays ſhe, 'Mr. Jones, whither will you drive me? What Hope have I to beſtow? You know my Father's Intentions.'—'But I know,' anſwered he, 'your Compliance with them cannot be compelled.' What,' ſays ſhe, 'muſt be the dreadful Conſe⯑quence of my Diſobedience? My own Ruin is my leaſt Concern. I cannot bear the Thoughts of being the Cauſe of my Father's Miſery.' He is himſelf the Cauſe,' cries Jones, 'by exacting a Power over you which Nature hath not given him. Think on the Miſery I am to ſuffer, if I am to loſe you, and ſee on which Side Pity will turn the Bal⯑lance.' 'Think of it!' replied ſhe, 'can you imagine I do not feel the Ruin which I muſt bring on you, ſhould I comply with your Deſire—It is that Thought which gives me Reſolution to bid you fly from me for ever, and avoid your own Deſtruc⯑tion.' I fear no Deſtruction,' cries he, 'but the Loſs of Sophia; if you would ſave me from the [304] moſt bitter Agonies, recall that cruel Sentence—Indeed, I can never part with you, indeed I can⯑not.'

The Lovers ſtood both ſilent and trembling, So⯑phia being unable to withdraw her Hand from Jones, and he almoſt as unable to hold it; when the Scene, which I believe ſome of my Readers will think had laſted long enough, was interrupted by one of ſo dif⯑ferent a Nature, that we ſhall reſerve the Relation of it for a different Chrpter.

CHAP. IX.

BEFORE we proceed with what happened to our Lovers, it may be proper to recount what had paſt in the Hall, during their tender Interview.

Soon after Jones had left Mr. Weſtern in the Man⯑ner above-mentioned, his Siſter came to him; and was preſently informed of all that had paſt between her Brother and Sophia, relating to Blifil.

This Behaviour in her Neice, the good Lady con⯑ſtrued to an abſolute Breach of the Condition, on which ſhe had engaged to keep her Love for Mr. Jones a Secret. She conſidered herſelf, therefore, at full Liberty to reveal all ſhe knew to the Squire, which ſhe did immediately in the moſt explicite Terms, and without any Ceremony or Preface.

The Idea of a Marriage between Jones and his Daughter, had never once entered into the Squire's Head, either in the warmeſt Minutes of his Affection towards that young Man, or from Suſpicion, or on any other Occaſion. He did indeed conſider a Parity of Fortune and Circumſtances, to be phyſically as neceſſary an Ingredient in Marriage, as Difference of Sexes, or any other Eſſential; and had no more Ap⯑prehenſion of his Daughter's falling in Love with a [305] poor Man, than with any Animal of a different Species.

He became, therefore, like one Thunderſtruck at his Siſter's Relation. He was, at firſt, incapable of mak⯑ing any Anſwer, having been almoſt deprived of his Breath by the Violence of the Surprize. This, however, ſoon returned, and as is uſual in other Caſes after an Intermiſſion, with redoubled Force and Fury.

The firſt Uſe he made of the Power of Speech, af⯑ter his Recovery from the ſudden Effects of his Aſto⯑niſhment, was to diſcharge a round Volley of Oaths and Imprecations. After which he proceeded haſtily to the Apartment, where he expected to find the Lovers, and murmured, or indeed, rather roared forth Intentions of Revenge every Step he went.

As when two Doves, or two Wood-pigeons, or as when Strephon and Phillis (for that comes neareſt to the Mark) are retired into ſome pleaſant ſolitary Grove, to enjoy the delightful Converſation of Love; that baſhful Boy who cannot ſpeak in public, and is never a good Companion to more than two at a Time. Here, while every Object is ſerene, ſhould a hoarſe Thunder burſt ſuddenly through the ſhattered Clouds, and rumbling roll along the Sky, the frightened Maid ſtarts from the moſſy Bank or verdant Turf; the pale Livery of Death ſucceeds the red Regimentals in which Love had before dreſt her Cheeks; Fear ſhakes her whole Frame, and her Lover ſcarce ſupports her trembling, tottering Limbs.

Or as when two Gentlemen, Strangers to the won⯑derous Wit of the Place, are cracking a Bottle toge⯑ther at ſome Inn or Tavern at Salisbury, if the great Dowdy who acts the Part of a Madman, as well as ſome of his Setters-on do that of a Fool, ſhould rat⯑tle his Chains, and dreadfully hum forth the grumb⯑ling Catch along the Gallery; the frighted Strangers ſtand aghaſt, ſcared at the horrid Sound, they ſeek [306] ſome Place of Shelter from the approaching Danger, and if the well-barred Windows did admit their Exit, would venture their Necks to eſcape the threatning Fury now coming upon them.

So trembled poor Sophia, ſo turned ſhe pale at the Noiſe of her Father, who in a Voice moſt dreadful to hear, came on ſwearing, curſing and vowing the De⯑ſtruction of Jones. To ſay the Truth, I believe the Youth himſelf would, from ſome prudent Conſidera⯑tions, have preferred another Place of Abode at this Time, had his Terrour on Sophia's Account given him Liberty to reflect a Moment on what any other⯑ways concerned himſelf, than as his Love made him partake whatever affected her.

And now the Squire having burſt open the Door, beheld an Object which inſtantly ſuſpended all his Fu⯑ry againſt Jones; this was the ghaſtly Appearance of Sophia, who had fainted away in her Lover's Arms. This tragical Sight Mr. Weſtern no ſooner beheld, than all his Rage forſook him, he roared for Help with his utmoſt Violence; ran firſt to his Daughter, then back to the Door, calling for Water, and then back again to Sophia, never conſidering in whoſe Arms ſhe then was, nor, perhaps, once recollecting that there was ſuch a Perſon in the World as Jones: For, indeed, I believe, the preſent Circumſtances of his Daughter were now the ſole conſideration which em⯑ployed his Thoughts.

Mrs. Weſtern and a great Number of Servants ſoon came to the Aſſiſtance of Sophia, with Water, Cordi⯑als, and every Thing neceſſary on thoſe Occaſions. Theſe were applied with ſuch Succeſs, that Sophia in a very few Minutes began to recover, and all the Symptoms of Life to return. Upon which ſhe was preſently led off by her own Maid and Mrs. Weſtern; nor did that good Lady depart without leaving ſome wholeſome Admonitions with her Brother, on the [307] dreadful Effects of his Paſſion, or, as ſhe pleaſed to call it, Madneſs.

The Squire, perhaps, did not underſtand this goo Advice, as it was delivered in obſcure Hints, Shrugs, and Notes of Admiration; at leaſt, if he did under⯑ſtand it, he profited very little by it: For no ſooner was he cured of his immediate Fears for his Daughter, than he relapſed into his former Frenzy, which muſt have produced an immediate Battle with Jones, had not Parſon Supple, who was a very ſtrong Man, been preſent, and by mere Force reſtrained the Squire from Acts of Hoſtility.

The Moment Sophia was departed, Jones advanced in a very ſuppliant Manner to Mr. Weſtern, whom the Parſon held in his Arms, and begged him to be pacify'd; for that while he continued in ſuch a Paſſion it would be impoſſible to give him any Satisfac⯑tion.

'I wull have ſatisfaction o' thee,' anſwered the Squire, 'ſo doff thy Clothes. At unt half a Man, 'and I'll lick thee as well as waſt ever licked in thy Life.' Hethen beſpattered the Youth with Abundance of that Language, which paſſes between Country Gen⯑tlemen who embrace oppoſite Sides of the Queſtion; with frequent Applications to him to ſalute that Part which is generally introduced into all Controverſies, that ariſe among the lower Orders of the Engliſh Gen⯑try, at Horſe-races, Cock-matches, and other pub⯑lic Places. Alluſions to this Part are likewiſe often made for the Sake of the Jeſt. And here, I believe, the Wit is generally miſunderſtood. In Reality, it lies in deſiring another to kiſs your A—for having juſt before threatened to kick his: For I have obſerv⯑ed very accurately, that no one ever deſires you to kick that which belongs to himſelf, nor offers to kiſs this Part in another.

It may likewiſe ſeem ſurprizing, that in the many thouſand kind Invitations of this Sort, which every [308] one who hath converſed with Country Gentlemen, muſt have heard, no one, I believe, hath ever ſeen a ſingle Inſtance where the Deſire hath been com⯑plied with. A great Inſtance of their Want of Po⯑liteneſs: For in Town, nothing can be more com⯑mon than for the fineſt Gentlemen to perform this Ceremony every Day to their Superiors, without having that Favour once requeſted of them.

To all ſuch Wit, Jones very calmly anſwered, 'Sir, this Uſage, may, perhaps, cancel every o⯑ther Obligation you have conferred on me; but there is one you can never cancel; nor will I be provoked by your Abuſe, to lift my Hand againſt the Father of Sophia.'

At theſe Words, the Squire grew ſtill more out⯑rageous than before; ſo that the Parſon begged Jones to retire, ſaying, 'You behold, Sir, how he waxeth Wroth at your abode here; therefore, let me pray you not to tarry any longer. His Anger is too much kindled for you to commune with him at pre⯑ſent. You had better, therefore, conclude your Viſit, and refer what Matter you have to urge in your Behalf, to ſome other Opportunity.'

Jones accepted this Advice with Thanks, and im⯑mediately departed. The Squire now regained the Liberty of his Hands, and ſo much Temper as to expreſs ſome Satisfaction in the Reſtraint which had been laid upon him; declaring that he ſhould certainly have beat his Brains out; and adding, 'It would have vexed one confoundedly to have been hanged for ſuch a Raſcal.'

The Parſon now began to triumph in the Succeſs of his Peace-making Endeavours, and proceeded to read a Lecture againſt Anger, which might, perhaps, rather have tended to raiſe than to quiet that Paſſion in ſome haſty Minds. This Lecture he enriched with many valuable Quotations from the Antients, particularly from Seneca; who hath, indeed, ſo well [309] handled this Paſſion, that none but a very angry Man can read him without great Pleaſure and Profit. The Doctor concluded his Harangue with the famous Sto⯑ry of Alexander and Clytus; but as I find that entered in my Common-Place under Title Drunkenneſs, I ſhall not inſert it here.

The Squire took no Notice of this Story, nor, perhaps, of any Thing he ſaid: For he interrupted him before he had finiſhed by calling for a Tankard of Beer; obſerving (which is, perhaps, as true as any Obſervation on this Fever of the Mind) that Anger makes a Man dry.

No ſooner had the Squire ſwallowed a large Draught than he renewed the Diſcourſe on Jones, and declared a Reſolution of going the next Morning early to acquaint Mr. Allworthy. His Friend would have diſſuaded him from this, from the mere Motive of Good-nature; but his Diſſuaſion had no other Effect, than to produce a large Volley of Oaths and Curſes, which greatly ſhocked the pious Ears of Supple; but he did not dare to remonſtrate againſt a Privilege, which the Squire claimed as a free-born Engliſhman. To ſay Truth, the Parſon ſubmitted to pleaſe his Palate at the Squire's Table, at the Ex⯑pence of ſuffering this Violence now and then to his Ears. He contented himſelf with thinking he did not promote this evil Practice, and that the Squire would not ſwear an Oath the leſs if he never entered within his Gates. However, tho' he was not guilty of ill Manners by rebuking a Gentleman in his own Houſe, he paid him off obliquely in the Pulpit; which had not, indeed, the good Effect of working a Re⯑formation in the Squire himſelf, yet it ſo far operated on his Conſcience, that he put the Laws very ſevere⯑ly in Execution againſt others, and the Magiſtrate was the only Perſon in the Pariſh who could ſwear with Impunity.

CHAP. X.

MR. Allworthy was now retired from Breakfaſt with his Nephew, well ſatisfied with the Re⯑port of the young Gentleman's ſucceſsful Viſit to Sophia (for he greatly deſired the Match, more on Account of the young Lady's Character than of her Riches) when Mr. Weſtern broke abrubtly in upon them, and without any Ceremony began as follows.

'There, you have done a fine Piece of Work tru⯑ly. You have brought up your Baſtard to a fine Purpoſe; not that I believe you have had any Hand in it neither, that is, as a Man may ſay, deſignedly; but there is a fine Kettle of Fiſh made o't up at our Houſe.' 'What can be the Matter, Mr. Weſ⯑tern? ſaid Allworthy. O Matter enow of all Con⯑ſcience; my Daughter hath fallen in Love with your Baſtard, that's all, but I won't ge her a Ha⯑penny, not the Twentieth Part of a Braſs Farthing. I always thought what would come o' breeding up a Baſtard like a Gentleman, and letting un come a⯑bout to Volk's Houſes. Its well vor un I could not get at un, I'd a licked un, I'd a ſpoil'd his Ca⯑terwauling, I'd a taught the Son of a Whore to meddle with Meat for his Maſter. He ſhan't ever have a Morſel of Meat of mine, or a Farthing to buy it: If ſhe will ha un, one Smock ſhall be her Portion. I'll ſooner ge my Eſteate to the zinking Fund, that it may be ſent to Hannover to corrupt our Nation with.' I am heartily ſorry,' cries All⯑worthy. 'Pox o' your Sorrow,' ſays Weſtern, 'it will do me Abundance of Good, when I have loſt my only Child, my poor Sophy, that was the Joy of my Heart, and all the Hope and Comfort of my Age; but I am reſolved I will turn her out o' Doors, ſhe ſhall beg and ſtarve and rot in the Streets. Not [311] one Hapenny, not a Hapenny ſhall ſhe ever hae o' mine. The Son of a Bitch was always good at finding a Hare ſitting; an be rotted to'n, I little thought what Puſs he was looking after; but it ſhall be the worſt he ever vound in his Life. She ſhall be no better than Carrion; the Skin o'er is all he ſhall ha, and zu you may tell un.' 'I am in A⯑mazement,' cries Alllworthy 'at what you tell me, after what paſſed between my Nephew and the young Lady no longer ago than Yeſterday.' 'Yes, Sir,' anſwered Weſtern, 'it was after what paſſed be⯑tween your Nephew and ſhe that the whole Mat⯑ter came out. Mr. Blifil there was no ſooner gone than the Son of a Whore came lurching about the Houſe. Little did I think when I uſed to love him for a Sportſman, that he was all the while a poach⯑ing after my Daughter.' 'Why, truly,' ſays All⯑worthy, 'I could wiſh you had not given him ſo ma⯑ny Opportunities with her; and you will do me the Juſtice to acknowledge, that I have always been averſe to his ſtaying ſo much at your Houſe, tho' I own I had no Suſpicion of this Kind.' 'Why, Zounds!' cries Weſtern, 'who could have thought it? What the Devil had ſhe to do wi'n? He did not come there a courting to her, he came a hunt⯑ing with me.' 'But was it poſſible,' ſays Allwor⯑thy, 'that you ſhould never diſcern any Symptoms of Love between them, when you have ſeen them ſo often together? 'Never in my Life, as I hope to be ſaved,' cries Weſtern. I never ſo much as ſee him kiſs her in all my Life; and ſo far from courting her, he uſed rather to be more ſilent when ſhe was in Company than at any other Time: And as for the Girl, ſhe was always leſs civil to'n than to any young Man that came to the Houſe. As to that Matter, I am not more eaſy to be deceived than another, I would not have you think I am Neigh⯑bour.' Allworthy could ſcarce refrain Laughter at [312] this; but he reſolved to do a Violence to himſelf: For he perfectly well knew Mankind, and had too much good Breeding and good Nature to offend the Squire in his preſent Circumſtances. He then aſked Weſtern what he would have him do upon this Occaſion. To which the other anſwered, 'That he would have him keep the Raſcal away from his Houſe, and that he would go and lock up the Wench: For he was reſolved to make her marry Mr. Blifil in Spite of her Teeth.' He then ſhook Blifil by the Hand, and ſwore he would have no other Son-in-law. Preſent⯑ly after which he took his Leave, ſaying, his Houſe was in ſuch Diſorder, that it was neceſſary for him to make Haſte home, to take care his Daughter did not give him the Slip; and as for Jones, he ſwore if he caught him at his Houſe, he would qualify him to run for the Gelding's Plate.

When Allworthy and Blifil were again left toge⯑ther, a long Silence enſued between them; all which Interval the young Gentleman filled up with Sighs, which proceeded partly from Diſappointment, but more from Hatred: For the Succeſs of Jones was much more grievous to him, than the Loſs of Sophia.

At length his Uncle aſked him what he was deter⯑mined to do, and he anſwered in the following Words. 'Alas, Sir, can it be a Queſtion what Step a Lover will take, when Reaſon and Paſſion point different Ways? I am afraid it is too certain he will, in that Dilemma, always follow the latter. Reaſon dic⯑tates to me, to quit all Thoughts of a Woman who places her Affections on another; my Paſſion bids me hope ſhe may, in Time, change her Inclinations in my Favour. Here, however, I conceive an Ob⯑jection may be raiſed, which if it could not fully be anſwered, would totally deter me from any fur⯑ther Purſuit. I mean the Injuſtice of endeavouring to ſupplant another, in a Heart of which he ſeems already in Poſſeſſion; but the determined Reſolu⯑tion [313] of Mr. Weſtern ſhews, that in this Caſe, I ſhall by ſo doing, promote the Happineſs of every Party; not only that of the Parent, who will thus be pre⯑ſerved from the higheſt Degree of Miſery, but of both the others, who muſt be undone by this Match. The Lady, I am ſure, will be undone in every Senſe: For beſides the Loſs of moſt Part of her own Fortune, ſhe will be married not only to a Beg⯑gar, but the little Fortune which her Father cannot with-hold from her, will be ſquandered on that Wench, with whom I know he yet converſes—Nay, that is a Trifle: For I know him to be one of the worſt Men in the World: For had my dear Un⯑cle known what I have hitherto endeavoured to con⯑ceal, he muſt have long ſince abandoned ſo profli⯑gate a Wretch.' 'How,' ſaid Allworthy, 'hath he done any Thing worſe than I already know? Tell me, I beſeech you.' 'No,' replied Blifil, 'it is now paſt, and perhaps he may have repented of it.' 'I command you on your Duty,' ſaid Allworthy, to tell me what you mean.' 'You know, Sir,' ſays Blifil, 'I never diſobeyed you: but I am ſorry I mentioned it, ſince it may now look like Revenge, whereas, I thank Heaven, no ſuch Motive ever en⯑tered my Heart; and if you oblige me to diſcover it, I muſt be his Petitioner to you for your Forgive⯑neſs.' 'I will have no Conditions,' anſwered All⯑worthy, 'I think I have ſhewn Tenderneſs enough towards him, and more, perhaps, than you ought to thank me for.' 'More, indeed, I fear than he deſerved,' cries Blifil, 'for in the very Day of your utmoſt Danger, when myſelf and all the Family were in Tears, he filled the Houſe with Riot and De⯑bauchery. He drank and ſung and roared, and when I gave him a gentle Hint of the Indecency of his Actions, he fell into a violent Paſſion, ſwore many Oaths, called me Raſcal, and ſtruck me.' 'How!' cries Allworthy, 'did he dare to ſtrike you?' 'I am [314] ſure,' cries Blifil, 'I have forgiven him that long ago. I wiſh I could ſo eaſily forget his Ingratitude to the beſt of Benefactors; and yet, even that, I hope you will forgive him, ſince he muſt have certainly been poſſeſſed with the Devil: For that very Even⯑ing, as Mr. Thwackum and myſelf were taking the Air in the Fields, and exulting in the good Symp⯑toms which then firſt began to diſcover themſelves, we unluckily ſaw him engaged with a Wench in a Manner not fit to be mentioned. Mr. Thwackum, with more Boldneſs than Prudence, advanced to re⯑buke him, (when I am ſorry to ſay it,) he fell up⯑on the worthy Man, and beat him ſo outragiouſly, that I wiſh he may have yet recovered the Bruiſes. Nor was I without my Share of the Effects of his Malice, while I endeavoured to protect my Tutor: But that I have long forgiven, nay I prevailed with Mr. Thwackum to forgive him too, and not to in⯑form you of a Secret which I feared might be fatal to him. And now, Sir, ſince I have unadviſedly dropped a Hint of this Matter, and your Commands have obliged me to diſcover the whole, let me inter⯑cede with you for him.' 'O Child,' ſaid Allworthy, I know not whether I ſhould blame or applaud your Goodneſs, in concealing ſuch Villany a Moment; but where is Mr. Thwackum? Not that I want any Confirmation of what you ſay; but I will examine all the Evidence of this Matter, to juſtify to the World the Example I am reſolved to make of ſuch a Monſter.'

Thwackum was now ſent for, and preſently ap⯑peared. He corroborated every Circumſtance which the other depoſed. Nay, he produced the Record up⯑on his Breaſt, where the Hand-writing of Mr. Jones remained very legible in black and blue. He con⯑cluded with declaring to Mr. Allworthy, that he ſhould have long ſince informed him of this Matter, had not Mr. Blifil, by the moſt earneſt Interpoſitions, [315] prevented him. 'He is, ſays he, an excellent Youth; though ſuch Forgiveneſs of Enemies is carrying the Matter too far.'

In reality, Blifil had taken ſome Pains to prevail with the Parſon, and to prevent the Diſcovery at that Time; for which he had many Reaſons. He knew that the Minds of Men are apt to be ſoftened and re⯑laxed from their uſual Severity by Sickneſs. Be⯑ſides, he imagined that if the Story was told when the Fact was ſo recent, and the Phyſician about the Houſe, who might have unravelled the real Truth, he ſhould never be able to give it the malicious Turn which he intended. Again, he reſolved to hoard up this Buſineſs, till the Indiſcretion of Jones ſhould af⯑ford ſome additional Complaints; for he thought the joint Weight of many Facts falling upon him toge⯑ther, would be the moſt likely to cruſh him; and he watched therefore ſome ſuch Opportunity as that, with which Fortune had now kindly preſented him. Laſtly, by prevailing with Thwackum to conceal the Matter for a Time, he knew he ſhould confirm an Opinion of his Friendſhip to Jones, which he had greatly laboured to eſtabliſh in Mr. Allworthy.

CHAP. XI.

IT was Mr. Allworthy's Cuſtom never to puniſh any one, not even to turn away a Servant, in a Paſſion. He reſolved, therefore, to delay his paſ⯑ſing Sentence on Jones till the Afternoon.

The poor young Man attended at Dinner, as uſual; but his Heart was too much loaded to ſuffer him to eat. His Grief was a good deal aggravated by the un⯑kind Looks of Mr. Allworthy; whence he concluded that Weſtern had diſcovered the whole Affair between him and Sophia: But as to Mr. Blifil's Story, he had [316] not the leaſt Apprehenſion; for of much the greater Part he was entirely innocent, and for the Reſidue, as he had forgiven and forgotten it himſelf, ſo he ſuſ⯑pected no Remembrance on the other Side. When Dinner was over, and the Servants departed, Mr. Allworthy began to harangue. He ſet forth, in a long Speech, the many Iniquities of which Jones had been guilty, particularly thoſe which this Day had brought to light, and concluded by telling him, 'that unleſs he could clear himſelf of the Charge, he was reſolv⯑ed to baniſh him from his Sight for ever.'

Many Diſadvantages attended poor Jones in making his Defence; nay, indeed he hardly knew his Accu⯑ſation: For as Mr. Allworthy, in recounting the Drunkenneſs, &c. while he lay ill, out of modeſty ſunk every thing that related particularly to himſelf, which indeed principally conſtituted the Crime, Jones could not deny the Charge. His Heart was, beſides, almoſt broken already, and his Spirits were ſo ſunk, that he could ſay nothing for himſelf; but acknow⯑ledged the whole, and, like a Criminal in Deſpair, threw himſelf upon Mercy; concluding, 'That tho' he muſt own himſelf guilty of many Follies and Inadvertencies, he hoped he had done nothing to deſerve what would be to him the greateſt Puniſh⯑ment in the World.'

Allworthy anſwered, 'that he had forgiven him too often already, in Compaſſion to his Youth, and in Hopes of his Amendment: That he now found he was an abandoned Reprobate, and ſuch as it would be criminal in any one to ſupport and en⯑courage. Nay,' ſaid Mr. Allworthy to him, 'your audacious Attempt to ſteal away the young Lady, calls upon me to juſtify my own Character in pu⯑niſhing you. The World, who have already cen⯑ſured the Regard I have for you, may think, with ſome Colour at leaſt of Juſtice, that I connive at [317] ſo baſe and barbarous an Action. An Action of which you muſt have known my Abhorrence, and which, had you any Concern for my Eaſe and Ho⯑nour, as well as for my Friendſhip, you would never have thought of undertaking. Fie upon it, young Man! indeed there is ſcarce any Puniſhment equal to your Crimes, and I can ſcarce think myſelf juſtifiable in what I am now going to beſtow on you. However, as I have educated you like a Child of my own, I will not turn you naked into the World. When you open this Paper, there⯑fore, you will find ſomething which may enable you with Induſtry, to get an honeſt Livelihood; but if you employ it to worſe Purpoſes, I ſhall not think myſelf obliged to ſupply you farther, be⯑ing reſolved, from this Day forward, to converſe no more with you on any Account. I cannot avoid ſaying, There is no Part of your Conduct which I reſent more than your ill Treatment of that good young Man (meaning Blifil) who had behaved with ſo much Tenderneſs and Honour towards you.'

Theſe laſt Words were a Doſe almoſt too bitter to be ſwallowed. A Flood of Tears now guſhed from the Eyes of Jones, and every Faculty of Speech and Motion ſeemed to have deſerted him. It was ſome Time before he was able to obey Allworthy's peremp⯑tory Commands of departing; which he at length did, having firſt kiſſed his Hands with a Paſſion dif⯑ficult to be affected, and as difficult be deſcribed.

The Reader muſt be very weak, if when he con⯑ſiders the Light in which Jones then appeared to Mr. Allworthy, he ſhould blame the Rigour of his Sen⯑tence. And yet all the Neighbourhood, either from this Weakneſs, or from a worſe Motive, condemned this Juſtice and Severity as the higheſt Cruelty. Nay, the very Perſons who had before cenſured the good Man for the Kindneſs and Tenderneſs ſhewn [318] to a Baſtard (his own, according to the general Opi⯑nion) now cried out as loudly againſt turning his own Child out of Doors. The Women eſpecially were unanimous in taking the Part of Jones, and raiſ⯑ed more Stories on the Occaſion, than I have room, in this Chapter, to ſet down.

One Thing muſt not be omitted, that in their Cen⯑ſures on this Occaſion, none ever mentioned the Sum contained in the Paper which Allworthy gave Jones, which was no leſs than Five hundred Pounds; but all agreed that he was ſent away Pennyleſs, and ſome ſaid, naked from the Houſe of his inhuman Father.

CHAP. XII.

JONES was commanded to leave the Houſe im⯑mediately, and told, that his Clothes and every thing elſe ſhould be ſent to him whitherſoever he ſhould order them.

He accordingly ſet out, and walked above a Mile, not regarding, and indeed ſcarce knowing whither he went. At length a little Brook obſtructed his Paſ⯑ſage, he threw himſelf down by the Side of it; nor could he help muttering with ſome little Indignation, 'Sure my Father will not deny me this Place to reſt in?'

Here he preſently fell into the moſt violent Ago⯑nies, tearing his Hair from his Head, and uſing moſt other Actions which generally accompany Fits of Madneſs, Rage, and Deſpair.

When he had in this Manner vented the firſt Emo⯑tions of Paſſion, he began to come a little to him⯑ſelf. His Grief now took another Turn, and diſ⯑charged itſelf in a gentler Way, till he became at laſt cool enough to reaſon with his Paſſion, and to conſider what Steps were proper to be taken in his deplorable Condition.

[319] And now the great Doubt was how to act with regard to Sophia. The Thoughts of leaving her al⯑moſt rent his Heart aſunder; but the Conſideration of reducing her to Ruin and Beggary ſtill racked him, if poſſible, more; and if the violent Deſire of poſſeſ⯑ſing her Perſon could have ſuffered him to liſten one Moment to the Alternative, ſtill he was by no means certain of her Reſolution to indulge his Wiſhes at ſo high an Expence. The Reſentment of Mr. Allwor⯑thy, and the Injury he muſt do to his Quiet, argued ſtrongly againſt this latter; and laſtly, the apparent Impoſſibility of his Succeſs, even if he would ſa⯑crifice all theſe Conſiderations to it, came to his Aſſiſ⯑tance; and thus Honour at laſt, backed with Deſpair, with Gratitude to his Benefactor, and with real Love to his Miſtreſs, got the better of burning Deſire, and he reſolved rather to quit Sophia, than to purſue her to Ruin.

It is difficult for any who have not felt it, to con⯑ceive the glowing Warmth which filled his Breaſt, on the firſt Contemplation of this Victory over his Paſſion. Pride flattered him ſo agreeably, that his Mind perhaps enjoyed perfect Happineſs; but this was only momentary, Sophia ſoon returned to his Imagination, and allayed the Joy of his Triumph with no leſs bitter Pangs than a good-natured Gene⯑ral muſt feel when he ſurveys the bleeding Heaps, at the Price of whoſe Blood he hath purchaſed his Lau⯑rels; for thouſands of tender Ideas lay murdered be⯑fore our Conqueror.

Being reſolved, however, to purſue the Paths of this Giant Honour, as the gigantic Poet Lee calls it, he determined to write a farewel to Sophia; and accordingly proceeded to a Houſe not far off, where, being furniſhed with Materials, he wrote as follows:

He was now ſearching his Pockets for his Wax, but found none, nor indeed any thing elſe, therein; for in Truth he had, in his frantic Diſpoſition, toſſed every thing from him, and, amongſt the reſt, his [321] Pocket-book, which he had received from Mr. All⯑worthy, which he had never opened, and which now firſt occurred to his Memory.

The Houſe ſupplied him with a Wafer for his pre⯑ſent Purpoſe, with which having ſealed his Letter, he returned haſtily towards the Brook Side, in or⯑der to ſearch for the Things which he had there loſt. In his Way he met his old Friend Black George, who heartily condoled with him on his misfortune; for this had already reached his Ears, and indeed thoſe of all the Neighbours.

Jones acquainted the Game-keeper with his Loſs, and he as readily went back with him to the Brook, where they ſearched every Tuft of Graſs in the Mea⯑dow, as well where Jones had not been, as where he had been; but all to no Purpoſe, for they found nothing: For indeed, though the Things were then in the Meadow, they omitted to ſearch the only Place where they were depoſited; to wit, in the Pockets of the ſaid George; for he had juſt before found them, and being luckily apprized of their Value, had very carefully put them up for his own Uſe.

The Game-keeper having exerted as much Dili⯑gence in Queſt of loſt Goods, as if he had hoped to find them, deſired Mr. Jones to recollect if he had been in no other Place; 'For ſure,' 'ſaid he, 'if you had loſt them here ſo lately, the Things muſt have been here ſtill; for this is a very unlikely Place for any one to paſs by;' and indeed it was by great Accident that he himſelf had paſſed through the Field, in order to lay the Wires for Hares, with which he was to ſupply a Poulterer at Bath the next Morn⯑ing.

Jones now gave over all Hopes of recovering his Loſs, and almoſt all Thoughts concerning it, and turning to Black George, aſked him earneſtly, If he would do him the greateſt Favour in the World.

[322] 'George anſwered, with ſome Heſitation, Sir, you know you may command me whatever is in my Power, and I heartily wiſh it was in my Power to do you any Service.' In fact, the Queſtion ſtag⯑gared him; for he had, by ſelling Game, amaſſed a pretty good Sum of Money in Mr. Weſtern's Ser⯑vice, and was afraid that Jones wanted to borrow ſome ſmall Matter of him; but he was preſently relieved from his Anxiety, by being deſired to convey a Let⯑ter to Sophia, which with great Pleaſure he promiſed to do. And indeed, I believe there are few Favours which he would not have gladly conferred on Mr. Jones; for he bore as much Gratitude towards him as he could, and was as honeſt as Men who love Money better than any other Thing in the Univerſe generally are.

Mrs. Honour was agreed by both to be the proper Means by which this Letter ſhould paſs to Sophia. They then ſeparated; the Game-keeper returned home to Mr. Weſtern's, and Jones walked to an Ale-houſe at half a Mile's Diſtance, to wait for his Meſſenger's Return.

George no ſooner came home to his Maſter's Houſe, than he met with Mrs. Honour; to whom, having firſt ſounded her with a few previous Queſtions, he delivered the Letter for her Miſtreſs, and received at the ſame Time another from her for Mr. Jones; which Honour told him ſhe had carried all that Day in her Boſom, and began to deſpair of finding any Means of delivering it.

The Game-keeper returned haſtily and joyfully to Jones, who having received Sophia's Letter from him, inſtantly withdrew, and eagerly breaking it open, read as follows:

Jones read this Letter a hundred Times over, and kiſſed it a hundred Times as often. His Paſſion now brought all tender Deſires back into his Mind. He repented that he had writ to Sophia in the Manner we have ſeen above; but he repented more that he had made uſe of the Interval of his Meſſenger's Abſence to write and diſpatch a Letter to Mr. Allworthy, in which he had faithfully promiſed and bound himſelf to quit all Thoughts of his Love. However, when his cool Reflections returned, he plainly perceived that his Caſe was neither mended nor altered by So⯑phia's Billet, unleſs to give him ſome little Glimpſe of Hope from her Conſtancy, of ſome favourable Accident hereafter. He therefore reſumed his Re⯑ſolution, and taking leave of Black George, ſet for⯑ward to a Town about five Miles diſtant, whither he had deſired Mr. Allworthy, unleſs he pleaſed to re⯑voke his Sentence, to ſend his Things after him.

CHAP. XIII.

SOPHIA had paſſed the laſt twenty-four Hours in no very deſirable Manner. During a large Part of them ſhe had been entertained by her Aunt, with Lectures of Prudence, recommending to her the Ex⯑ample of the polite World, where Women conſider [324] Matrimony, as Men do Offices of public Truſt, only as the means of making their Fortunes, and of ad⯑vancing themſelves in the World. In commenting on which Text Mrs. Weſtern had diſplayed her Elo⯑quence ſeveral Hours.

Theſe ſagacious Lectures, though little ſuited ei⯑ther to the Taſte or Inclination of Sophia, were, however, leſs irkſome to her than her own Thoughts, that formed the Entertainment of the Night, during which ſhe never once cloſed her Eyes.

But though ſhe could neither ſleep nor reſt in her Bed, yet, having no Avocation from it, ſhe was found there by her Father at his return from Allwor⯑thy's, which was not till paſt Ten o'Clock in the Morning. He went directly up to her Apartment, opened the Door, and ſeeing ſhe was not up—cried 'Oh! you are ſafe then, and I am reſolved to keep you ſo' He then locked the Door and de⯑livered the Key to Honour, having firſt given her the ſtricteſt Charge, with great Promiſes of Rewards for her Fidelity, and moſt dreadful Menaces of Puniſh⯑ment, in caſe ſhe ſhould betray her Truſt.

Honour's Orders were not to ſuffer her Miſtreſs to come out of her Room without the Authority of the Squire himſelf, and to admit none to her but him and her Aunt; but ſhe was herſelf to attend her with whatever Sophia pleaſed, except only Pen, Ink, and Paper, of which ſhe was forbidden the Uſe.

The Squire ordered his Daughter to dreſs herſelf and attend him at Dinner; which ſhe obeyed; and having ſat the uſual Time, was conducted to her Priſon.

In the Evening, the Goaler Honour brought her the Letter which ſhe received from the Game-keeper. Sophia read it very attentively twice or thrice over, and then threw herſelf upon the Bed, and burſt into a Flood of Tears. Mrs. Honour expreſſed great Aſtoniſhment at this Behaviour in her Miſtreſs; nor [325] could ſhe forbear very eagerly begging to know the Cauſe of this Paſſion. Sophia made her no Anſwer for ſome Time, and then ſtarting ſuddenly up, caught her Maid by the Hand, and cried, 'O Honour! I am undone.' 'I wiſh the Letter had been burnt before I had brought it to your La'ſhip. I'm ſure I thought it would have comforted your La'ſhip, or I would have ſeen it at the Devil before I would have touch'd it.' 'Honour, ſays Sophia, 'you are a good Girl, and it is vain to attempt conceal⯑ing longer my Weakneſs from you; I have thrown away my Heart on a Man who hath forſaken me.' And is Mr. Jones, anſwered the Maid, 'ſuch a Per⯑fidy Man?' 'He hath taken his Leave of me' ſays Sophia, 'for ever in that Letter. Nay, he hath de⯑ſired me to forget him. Could he have deſired that, if he had loved me? Could he have borne ſuch a Thought? could he have written ſuch a Word?' No certainly, Ma'am,' cries Honour, 'and to be ſure, if the beſt Man in England was to deſire me to forget him, I'd take him at his Word. Marry come up! I am ſure your La'ſhip hath done him too much Honour ever to think on him. A young Lady who may take her Choice of all the young Men in the County. And to be ſure, if I may be ſo pre⯑ſumptious as to offer my poor Opinion, there is young Mr. Blifil, who beſides that he is come of ho⯑neſt Parents, and will be one of the greateſt Squires all hereabouts, he is to be ſure, in my poor Opi⯑nion, a more handſomer, and a more politer Man by half; and beſides, he is a young Gentleman of a ſober Character, and may defy any of the Neigh⯑bours to ſay black is his Eye: He follows no dirty Trollops, nor can any Baſtards be laid at his Door. Forget him indeed! I thank Heaven I myſelf am not ſo much at my laſt Prayers, as to ſuffer any Man to bid me forget him twice. If the beſt He that wears a Head was for to go for to offer for to [326] ſay ſuch an affronting Word to me, I would never give him my Company afterwards, if there was another young Man in the Kingdom. And as I was a ſaying, to be ſure, there is young Mr. Blifil,—Name not his deteſted Name,' cries Sophia. 'Nay, Ma'am, ſays Honour, if your La'ſhip doth not like him, there be more jolly handſome young Men that would court your La'ſhip, if they had but the leaſt Encouragement. I don't believe there is arrow young Gentleman in this County, or the next to it, that if your La'ſhip was but to look as if you had a Mind to him, would not come about to make his Offers directly.' 'What a Wretch doſt thou ima⯑gine me,' cries Sophia, 'by affronting my Ears with ſuch Stuff! I deteſt all Mankind.' 'Nay, to be ſure, Ma'am,' anſwered Honour, 'your La'ſhip hath had enough to give you a Surfeit of them. To be uſed ill by ſuch a poor beggarly baſtardly Fellow.' Hold your blaſphemous Tongue,' cries Sophia, how dare you mention his Name with Diſreſpect before me? He uſe me ill? No, his poor bleed⯑ing Heart ſuffered more when he writ the cruel Words, than mine from reading them. O! he is all heroic Virtue, and Angelic Goodneſs. I am aſhamed of the Weakneſs of my own Paſſion, for blaming what I ought to admire.—O Honour! it is my good only which he conſults. To my In⯑tereſt he ſacrifices both himſelf and me.—The Apprehenſion of ruining me hath driven him to De⯑ſpair.' 'I am very glad, ſays Honour, 'to hear your La'ſhip takes that into your Conſideration: for to be ſure, it muſt be nothing leſs than Ruin, to give your Mind to one that is turned out of Doors, and is not worth a Farthing in the World. 'Turn⯑ed out of Doors! cries Sophia haſtily, 'how! what doſt thou mean? 'Why, to be ſure, Ma'am, my Maſter no ſooner told Squire Allworthy about Mr. Jones having offered to make Love to your [327] 'Ladyſhip, than the Squire ſtripped him ſtark naked, and turned him out of Doors. 'Ha! ſays Sophia, have I been the curſed, wretched Cauſe of his De⯑ſtruction?—Turned naked out of Doors! Here, Honour, take all the Money I have; take the Rings from my Fingers.—Here my Watch, carry him all.—Go, find him immediately. For Heaven's Sake, Ma'am, anſwered Mrs. Honour, 'do but conſider, if my Maſter ſhould miſs any of theſe Things, I ſhould be made to Anſwer for them. Therefore let me beg your Ladyſhip not to part with your Watch and Jewels. Beſides the Mo⯑ney, I think, is enough of all Conſcience; and as for that, my Maſter can never know any thing of the Matter.' 'Here then,' cries Sophia, take every Farthing I am worth, find him out immediately and' give it him. Go, go, loſe not a Moment.

Mrs. Honour departed according to Orders, and finding Black George below Stairs, delivered him the Purſe which contained Sixteen Guineas, being in⯑deed the whole Stock of Sophia: For tho' her Father was very liberal to her, ſhe was much too generous herſelf to be rich.

Black George having received the Purſe, ſet for⯑ward towards the Alehouſe; but in the Way a Thought occurred to him, whether he ſhould not de⯑tain this Money likewiſe. His Conſcience, how⯑ever, immediately ſtarted at this Suggeſtion, and be⯑gan to upbraid him with Ingratitude to his Benefac⯑tor. To this his Avarice anſwered, 'That his Con⯑ſcience ſhould have conſidered that Matter before, when he deprived poor Jones of his 500l. That having quietly acquieſced in what was of ſo much greater Importance, it was abſurd, if not down⯑right Hypocriſy, to affect any Qualms at this Trifle.' In return to which, Conſcience, like a good Lawyer, attempted to diſtinguiſh between an abſolute Breach of Truſt, as here where the Goods were de⯑livered, [328] and a bare Concealment of what was found, as in the former Caſe. Avarice preſently treated this with Ridicule, called it a Diſtinction without a Differ⯑ence, and abſolutely inſiſted, that when once all Pre⯑tenſions of Honour and Virtue were given up in any one Inſtance, that there was no Precedent for reſorting to them upon a ſecond Occaſion. In ſhort, poor Con⯑ſcience had certainly been defeated in the Argument, had not Fear ſtept in to her Aſſiſtance, and very ſtre⯑nuouſly urged, that the real Diſtinction between the two Actions, did not lie in the different Degrees of Honour, but of Safety: For that the ſecreting the 500l. was a Matter of very little Hazard; whereas the detaining the Sixteen Guineas was liable to the utmoſt Danger of Diſcovery.

By this friendly Aid of Fear, Conſcience obtained a compleat Victory in the Mind of Black George, and after making him a few Compliments on his Honeſty, forced him to deliver the Money to Jones.

CHAP. XIV.

MRS. Weſtern had been engaged abroad all that Day. The Squire met her at her Return home; and when ſhe enquired after Sophia, he ac⯑quainted her that he had ſecured her ſafe enough. 'She is locked up in Chamber,' cries he, 'and Honour keeps the Key.' As his Looks were full of prodi⯑gious Wiſdom and Sagacity when he gave his Siſter this Information, it is probable he expected much Applauſe from her for what he had done; but how was he diſappointed, when with a moſt diſdainful Aſ⯑pect, ſhe cried, 'Sure Brother, you are the weakeſt of all Men. Why will you not confide in me for the Management of my Niece? Why will you in⯑terpoſe? [329] You have now undone all that I have been ſpending my Breath in order to bring about. While I have been endeavouring to fill her Mind with Ma⯑xims of Prudence, you have been provoking her to reject them. Engliſh Women, Brother, I thank Heaven, are no Slaves. We are not to be locked up like the Spaniſh and Italian Wives. We have as good a Right to Liberty as yourſelves. We are to be convinced by Reaſon and Perſuaſion only, and not governed by Force. I have ſeen the World, Brother, and know what Arguments to make Uſe of; and if your Folly had not prevented me, ſhould have prevailed with her to form her Conduct by thoſe Rules of Prudence and Diſcretion which I for⯑merly taught her.' 'To be ſure,' ſaid the Squire,. I am always in the Wrong.' 'Brother,' anſwered the Lady, 'you are not in the Wrong, unleſs when you meddle with Matters beyond your Know⯑ledge. You muſt agree, that I have ſeen moſt of the World; and happy had it been for my Niece, if ſhe had not been taken from under my Care. It is by living at home with you that ſhe hath learnt ro⯑mantick Notions of Love and Nonſenſe.' 'You don't imagine, I hope,' cries the Squire, 'that I have taught her any ſuch Things.' Your Ignorance, Brother,' returned ſhe, 'as the great Milton ſays, almoſt ſubdues my Patience.' ^* 'D—n Milton,' an⯑ſwered the Squire, 'if he had the Impudence to ſay ſo to my Face, I'd lend him a Douſe, thof he was never ſo great a Man. Patience! an you come to that, Siſter, I have more Occaſion of Patience, to be uſed like an overgrown School-boy as I am by' you. Do you think no one hath any Underſtand⯑ing, [330] unleſs he hath been about at Court? Pox! the World is come to a fine Paſs indeed, if we are all Fools, except a Parcel of Roundheads and Han⯑nover Rats. Pox! I hope the Times are a coming that we ſhall make Fools of them, and every Man ſhall enjoy his own. That's all, Siſter, and every man ſhall enjoy his own. I hope to zee it, Siſter, before the Hannover Rats have eat up all our Corn, and left us nothing but Turneps to feed upon.' 'I proteſt, Brother,' cries ſhe, 'you are now got beyond my Underſtanding. Your Jargon of Tur⯑neps and Hannover Rats, is to me perfectly unin⯑telligible.' 'I believe,' cries he, 'you don't care to hear o'em; but the country Intereſt may ſucceed one Day or other for all that. 'I wiſh,' anſwered the Lady, 'you would think a little of your Daugh⯑ter's Intereſt: For believe me, ſhe is in greater Danger than the Nation.' 'Juſt now,' ſaid he, you chid me for thinking on her, and would ha' her left to you.' 'And if you will promiſe to interpoſe on more,' anſwered ſhe, 'I will, out of my Regard to my Niece, undertake the Charge.' 'Well, do then,' ſaid the Squire, 'for you know I always a⯑greed, that Women are the propereſt to manage Women.'

Mrs. Weſtern then departed, muttering ſomething with an Air of Diſdain, concerning Women and the Management of the Nation. She immediately re⯑paired to Sophia's Apartment, who was now, after a Day's Confinement releaſed again from her Cap⯑tivity.