CHAP. I. An Invocation.

COME, bright Love of Fame, inſpire my glowing Breaſt: Not thee I call, who over ſwelling Tides of Blood and Tears, doſt bear the Heroe on to Glory, while Sighs of Millions waft his ſpreading Sails; but thee, fair, gentle Maid, whom Mneſis, happy Nymph, firſt on the Banks of Hebrus didſt produce. Thee, whom Maeonia educated, whom Mantua charm'd, and who, on that fair Hill which overlooks the proud Metro⯑polis of Britain, ſat, with thy Milton, ſweetly tun⯑ing the Heroic Lyre; fill my raviſhed Fancy with the Hopes of charming Ages yet to come. Foretel me that ſome tender Maid, whoſe Grandmother is yet unborn, hereafter, when under the fictitious Name of Sophia, ſhe reads the real worth which once exiſted in [2] my Charlotte, ſhall, from her ſympathetic Breaſt, ſend forth the heaving Sigh. Do thou teach me not only to foreſee, but to enjoy, nay, even to feed on future Praiſe. Comfort me by a ſolemn Aſſurance, that when the little Parlour in which I ſit at this In⯑ſtant, ſhall be reduced to a worſe furniſhed Box, I ſhall be read, with Honour, by thoſe who never knew nor ſaw me, and whom I ſhall neither know nor ſee.

And thou, much plumper Dame, whom no airy Forms nor Phantoms of Imagination cloathe: Whom the well-ſeaſoned Beef, and Pudding richly ſtained with Plumbs delight. Thee, I call; of whom in a Trachtchugt in ſome Dutch Canal the fat Ufrow Gelt, impregnated by a jolly Merchant of Amſterdam, was delivered: In Grubſtreet-School didſt thou ſuck in the Elements of thy Erudition. Here haſt thou, in thy maturer Age, taught Poetry to tickle not the Fancy, but the Pride of the Patron. Comedy from thee learns a grave and ſolemn Air; while Tragedy ſtorms loud, and rends the affrighted Theatres with its Thunder. To ſooth thy wearied Limbs in Slumber, Alderman Hiſtory tells his tedious Tale; and again to awaken thee, Monſieur Romance performs his ſur⯑prizing Tricks of Dexterity. Nor leſs thy well-fed Bookſeller obeys thy Influence. By thy Advice the heavy, unread, Folio Lump, which long had dozed on the duſty Shelf, piece-mealed into Numbers, runs nimbly through the Nation. Inſtructed by thee ſome Books, like Quacks, impoſe on the World by pro⯑miſing Wonders; while others turn Beaus, and truſt all their Merits to a gilded Outſide. Come, thou jolly Subſtance, with thy ſhining Face, keep back thy In⯑ſpiration, but hold forth thy tempting Rewards; thy ſhining, chinking Heap; thy quickly-convertible Bank-bill, big with unſeen Riches; thy often-varying Stock; the warm, the comfortable Houſe; and, [3] laſtly, a fair Portion of that bounteous Mother, whoſe flowing Breaſts yield redundant Suſtenance for all her numerous Off-ſpring, did not ſome too greedi⯑ly and wantonly drive their Brethren from the Teat. Come thou, and if I am too taſteleſs of thy valuable Treaſures, warm my Heart with the tranſporting Thought of conveying them to others. Tell me, that through thy Bounty, the prattling Babes, whoſe innocent Play hath often been interrupted by my Labours, may one Time be amply rewarded for them.

And now this ill-yoked Pair, this lean Shadow and this fat Subſtance, have prompted me to write, whoſe Aſſiſtance ſhall I invoke to direct my Pen?

Firſt, Genius; thou Gift of Heaven; without whoſe Aid, in vain we ſtruggle againſt the Stream of Nature. Thou, who doſt ſow the generous Seeds which Art nouriſhes, and brings to Perfection. Do thou kindly take me by the Hand, and lead me through all the Mazes, the winding Labyrinths of Nature. Initiate me into all thoſe Myſteries which profane Eyes never beheld. Teach me, which to thee is no difficult Taſk, to know Mankind better than they know themſelves. Remove that Miſt which dims the Intellects of Mortals, and cauſes them to a⯑dore Men for their Art, or to deteſt them for their Cunning in deceiving others, when they are, in rea⯑lity, the Objects only of Ridicule, for deceiving them⯑ſelves. Strip off the thin Diſguiſe of Wiſdom from Self-Conceit, of Plenty from Avarice, and of Glory from Ambition. Come thou, that haſt inſpired thy Ariſtophanes, thy Lucian, thy Cervantes, thy Rabe⯑lais, thy Moliere, thy Shakeſpear, thy Swift, thy Marivaux, fill my Pages with Humour; 'till Man⯑kind learn the Good-nature to laugh only at the Fol⯑lies of others, and the Humility to grieve at their own.

[4] And thou, almoſt the conſtant Attendant on true Genius, Humanity, bring all thy tender Senſations. If thou haſt already diſpoſed of them all between thy Allen and thy Lyttleton, ſteal them a little while from their Boſoms. Not without theſe the tender Scene is painted. From theſe alone proceed the noble, diſin⯑tereſted Friendſhip, the melting Love, the generous Sentiment, the ardent Gratitude, the ſoft Compaſ⯑ſion, the candid Opinion; and all thoſe ſtrong Ener⯑gies of a good Mind, which fill the moiſtened Eyes with Tears, the glowing Cheeks with Blood, and ſwell the Heart with Tides of Grief, Joy, and Be⯑nevolence.

And thou, O Learning, (for without thy Aſſiſtance, nothing pure, nothing correct, can Genius produce) do thou guide my Pen. Thee, in thy favourite Fields, where the limpid, gently rolling Thames waſhes thy Etonian Banks, in early Youth I have worſhip⯑ped. To thee, at thy birchen Altar, with true Spar⯑tan Devotion, I have ſacrificed my Blood. Come, then, and from thy vaſt luxuriant Stores, in long An⯑tiquity piled up, pour forth the rich Profuſion. Open thy Maeonian and thy Mantuan Coffers, with what⯑ever elſe includes thy Philoſophic, thy Poetic, and thy Hiſtorical Treaſures, whether with Greek or Ro⯑man Characters thou haſt choſen to inſcribe the pon⯑derous Cheſts: Give me a while that Key, to all thy Treaſures, which to thy Warburton thou haſt entruſted.

Laſtly, come Experience long converſant with the Wiſe, the Good, the Learned, and the Polite. Nor with them only, but with every Kind of Character from the Miniſter at his Levee, to the Bailiff in his Spunging-Houſe; from the Dutcheſs at her Drum, to the Landlady behind her Bar. From thee only can the Manners of Mankind be known; to which [5] the recluſe Pedant, however great his Parts, or exten⯑ſive his Learning may be, hath ever been a Stranger.

Come all theſe, and more, if poſſible; for ardu⯑ous is the Taſk I have undertaken: And without all your Aſſiſtance, will, I find, be too heavy for me to ſupport. But if you all ſmile on my Labours, I hope ſtill to bring them to a happy Concluſion.

CHAP. II. What befel Mr. Jones on his Arrival in London.

THE learned Dr. Miſaubin uſed to ſay, that the proper Direction to him was, To Dr. Miſau⯑bin, in the World; intimating, that there were few People in it to whom his great Reputation was not known, And, perhaps, upon a very nice Examina⯑tion into the Matter, we ſhall find that this Circum⯑ſtance bears no inconſiderable Part among the many Bleſſings of Grandeur.

The great Happineſs of being known to Poſterity, with the Hopes of which we ſo delighted ourſelves in the preceding Chapter, is the Portion of few. To have the ſeveral Elements which compoſe our Names, as Sydenham expreſſes it, repeated a thouſand Years hence, is a Gift beyond the Power of Title and Wealth; and is ſcarce to be purchaſed, unleſs by the Sword and the Pen. But to avoid the ſcan⯑dalous Imputation, while we yet live, of being one whom No-body knows, (a Scandal, by the by, as old as the Days of Homer ^*) will always be the envied Portion of thoſe, who have a legal Title either to Ho⯑nour or Eſtate.

From that Figure, therefore, which the Iriſh Peer, who brought Sophia to Town, hath already made in this Hiſtory, the Reader will conclude, doubtleſs, it [6] muſt have been an eaſy Matter to have diſcovered his Houſe in London, without knowing the particular Street or Square which he inhabited, ſince he muſt have been one whom every Body knows. To ſay the Truth, ſo it would have been to any of thoſe Tradeſ⯑men who are accuſtomed to attend the Regions of the Great: For the Doors of the Great are generally no leſs eaſy to find, than it is difficult to get Entrance into them. But Jones, as well as Partridge, was an entire Stranger in London; and as he happened to ar⯑rive firſt in a Quarter of the Town, the Inhabitants of which have very little Intercourſe with the Houſe⯑holders of Hanover or Groſvenor Square, (for he en⯑tered through Grays-Inn Lane) ſo he rambled about ſome Time, before he could even find his Way to thoſe happy Manſions, where Fortune ſegregates from the Vulgar, thoſe magnanimous Heroes, the De⯑ſcendants of antient Britons, Saxons, or Danes, whoſe Anceſtors being born in better Days, by ſun⯑dry Kinds of Merit, have entailed Riches and Honour on their Poſterity.

Jones being at length arrived at thoſe terreſtrial Elyſian Fields, would now ſoon have diſcovered his Lordſhip's Manſion; but the Peer unluckily quitted his former Houſe when he went for Ireland; and as he was juſt entered into a new one, the Fame of his Equipage had not yet ſufficiently blazed in the Neigh⯑bourhood: So that after a ſucceſsleſs Enquiry 'till the Clock had ſtruck Eleven, Jones, at laſt, yielded to the Advice of Partridge, and retreated to the Bull and Gate in Holborn, that being the Inn where he had firſt alighted, and where he retired to enjoy that Kind of Repoſe, which uſually attends Perſons in his Cir⯑cumſtances.

Early in the Morning he again ſet forth in Purſuit of Sophia; and many a weary Step he took to no bet⯑ter Purpoſe than before. At laſt, whether it was that [7] Fortune relented, or whether it was no longer in her Power to diſappoint him, he came into the very Street which was honoured by his Lordſhip's Reſidence; and being directed to the Houſe, he gave one gentle Rap at the Door.

The Porter, who, from the Modeſty of the Knock, had conceived no high Idea of the Perſon approach⯑ing, conceived but little better from the Appearance of Mr. Jones, who was dreſt in a Suit of Fuſtian, and had by his Side the Weapon formerly purchaſed of the Serjeant; of which, tho' the Blade might be compoſed of well-tempered Steel, the Handle was compoſed only of Braſs, and that none of the bright⯑eſt. When Jones, therefore, enquired after the young Lady, who had come to Town with his Lordſhip, this Fellow anſwered ſurlily, ‘'That there were no Ladies there.'’ Jones then deſired to ſee the Maſter of the Houſe; but was informed that his Lordſhip would ſee no Body that Morning. And upon grow⯑ing more preſſing, the Porter ſaid, ‘'He had poſitive Orders to let no Perſon in; but if you think pro⯑per,' ſaid he, 'to leave your Name, I will ac⯑quaint his Lordſhip; and if you call another Time, you ſhall know when he will ſee you.'’

Jones now declared, ‘'that he had very particular Buſineſs with the young Lady, and could not de⯑part without ſeeing her.’ Upon which the Porter, with no very agreeable Voice or Aſpect, affirmed, ‘'That there was no young Lady in that Houſe, and, conſequently, none could he ſee; adding, Sure you are the ſtrangeſt Man I ever met with; for you will not take an Anſwer.'’

I have often thought, that by the particular De⯑ſcription of Cerberus the Porter of Hell, in the 6th Aeneid, Virgil might poſſibly intend to ſatyrize the Porters of the great Men in his Time; the Picture, at leaſt, reſembles thoſe who have the Honour to at⯑tend [8] at the Doors of our great Men. The Porter in his Lodge, anſwers exactly to Cerberus in his Den, and, like him, muſt be appeaſed by a Sop, before Ac⯑ceſs can be gained to his Maſter. Perhaps Jones might have ſeen him in that Light, and have recol⯑lected the Paſſage, where the Sybil, in order to pro⯑cure an Entrance for Aeneas, preſents the Keeper of the Stygian Avenue with ſuch a Sop. Jones, in like Manner, now began to offer a Bribe to the human Cerberus, which a Footman overhearing, inſtantly advanced, and declared, ‘'if Mr. Jones would give him the Sum propoſed, he would conduct him to the Lady.'’ Jones inſtantly agreed, and was forth⯑with conducted to the Lodging of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, by the very Fellow who had attended the Ladies thi⯑ther the Day before.

Nothing more aggravates ill Succeſs than the near Approach to Good. The Gameſter, who loſes his Party at Piquet by a ſingle Point, laments his bad Luck ten Times as much as he who never came with⯑in a Proſpect of the Game. So in a Lottery, the Proprietors of the next Numbers to that which wins the great Prize, are apt to account themſelves much more unfortunate than their Fellow-Sufferes. In ſhort, theſe kind of hair-breadth Miſſings of Happi⯑neſs, look like the Inſults of Fortune, who may be conſidered as thus playing Tricks with us, and wan⯑tonly diverting herſelf at our Expence.

Jones, who more than once already had experien⯑ced this frolickſome Diſpoſition of the Heathen God⯑deſs, was now again doomed to be tantalized in the like Manner: For he arrived at the Door of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, about ten Minutes after the Departure of Sophia. He now addreſſed himſelf to the Wait⯑ing-Woman belonging to Mrs. Fitzpatrick; who told him the diſagreeable News, that the Lady was gone, but could not tell him whither; and the ſame [9] Anſwer he afterwards received from Mrs. Fitzpatrick herſelf. For as that Lady made no doubt but that Mr. Jones was a Perſon detached from her Uncle Weſtern, in Purſuit of his Daughter, ſo ſhe was too generous to betray her.

Though Jones had never ſeen Mrs. Fitzpatrick, yet he had heard that a Couſin of Sophia was mar⯑ried to a Gentleman of that Name. This, however, in the preſent Tumult of his Mind, never once re⯑curred to his Memory: But when the Footman, who had conducted him from his Lordſhip's, acquainted him with the great Intimacy between the Ladies, and with their calling each other Couſin, he then recol⯑lected the Story of the Marriage which he had for⯑merly heard; and as he was preſently convinced that this was the ſame Woman, he became more ſurpriz⯑ed at the Anſwer which he had received, and very earneſtly deſired Leave to wait on the Lady herſelf; but ſhe as poſitively refuſed him that Honour.

Jones, who, though he had never ſeen a Court, was better bred than moſt who frequent it, was in⯑capable of any rude or abrupt Behaviour to a Lady. When he had received, therefore, a peremptory De⯑nial, he retired for the preſent, ſaying to the waiting Woman, ‘'That if this was an improper Hour to wait on her Lady, he would return in the After⯑noon; and that he then hoped to have the Honour of ſeeing her.'’ The Civility with which he uttered this, added to the great Comelineſs of his Perſon, made an Impreſſion on the Waiting-Woman, and ſhe could not help anſwering; ‘'Perhaps, Sir, you may: And, indeed, ſhe afterwards ſaid every Thing to her Miſtreſs, which ſhe thought moſt likely to prevail on her to admit a Viſit from the handſome young Gen⯑tleman; for ſo ſhe called him.'’

Jones very ſhrewdly ſuſpected, that Sophia herſelf was now with her Couſin, and was denied to him; [10] which he imputed to her Reſentment of what had happened at Upton. Having, therefore, diſpatched Partridge to procure him Lodgings, he remained all Day in the Street, watching the Door where he thought his Angel lay concealed; but no Perſon did he ſee iſſue forth, except a Servant of the Houſe. And in the Evening he returned to pay his Viſit to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, which that good Lady at laſt con⯑deſcended to admit.

There is a certain Air of natural Gentility, which it is neither in the Power of Dreſs to give, nor to conceal. Mr. Jones, as hath been before hinted, was poſſeſſed of this in a very eminent Degree. He met, therefore, with a Reception from the Lady, ſome⯑what different from what his Apparel ſeemed to de⯑mand; and after he had paid her his proper Reſpects, was deſired to ſit down.

The Reader will not, I believe, be deſirous of knowing all the Particulars of this Converſation, which ended very little to the Satisfaction of poor Jones. For though Mrs. Fitzpatrick ſoon diſcovered the Lover, (as all Women have the Eyes of Hawks in thoſe Matters) yet ſhe ſtill thought it was ſuch a Lover, as a generous Friend of the Lady ſhould not betray her to. In ſhort, ſhe ſuſpected this was the very Mr. Blifil, from whom Sophia had flown; and all the Anſwers which ſhe artfully drew from Jones, concerning Mr. Allworthy's Family, confirmed her in this Opinion. She therefore ſtrictly denied any Knowledge concerning the Place whither Sophia was gone; nor could Jones obtain more than a Permiſſion to wait on her again the next Evening.

When Jones was departed, Mrs. Fitzpatrick com⯑municated her Suſpicion concerning Mr. Blifil, to her Maid; who anſwered, ‘'Sure, Madam, he is too pretty a Man, in my Opinion, for any Woman in the World to run away from. I had rather fancy [11] it is Mr. Jones.—'Mr. Jones, ſaid the Lady, what Jones?'’ For Sophia had not given the leaſt Hint of any ſuch Perſon in all their Converſation: But Mrs. Honour had been much more communica⯑tive, and had acquainted her Siſter Abigail with the whole Hiſtory of Jones, which this now again relat⯑ed to her Miſtreſs.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick no ſooner received this Informa⯑tion, than ſhe immediately agreed with the Opinion of her Maid; and, what is very unaccountable, ſaw Charms in the gallant, happy Lover, which ſhe had overlooked in the ſlighted Squire. ‘'Betty, ſays ſhe, 'you are certainly in the right: He is a very pretty Fellow, and I don't wonder that my Couſin's Maid ſhould tell you ſo many Women are fond of him. I am ſorry now I did not inform him where my Couſin was: And yet if he be ſo terrible a Rake as you tell me, it is a Pity ſhe ſhould ever ſee him any more; for what but her Ruin can happen from marrying a Rake and a Beggar againſt her Father's Conſent. I proteſt, if he be ſuch a Man as the Wench deſcribed him to you, it is but an Office of Charity to keep her from him; and, I am ſure, it would be unpardonable in me to do otherwiſe, who have taſted ſo bitterly of the Misfortunes at⯑tending ſuch Marriages.'’

Here ſhe was interrupted by the Arrival of a Viſi⯑tor, which was no other than his Lordſhip; and as nothing paſſed at this Viſit either new or extraordi⯑nary, or any Ways material to this Hiſtory, we ſhall here put an End to this Chapter.

CHAP. III. A Project of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and her Viſit to Lady Bellaſton.

WHEN Mrs. Fitzpatrick retired to Reſt, her Thoughts were entirely taken up by her Cou⯑ſin Sophia and Mr. Jones. She was, indeed, a little offended with the former, for the Diſingenuity which ſhe now diſcovered. In which Meditation ſhe had not long exerciſed her Imagination, before the follow⯑ing Conceit ſuggeſted itſelf: That could ſhe poſſibly become the Means of preſerving Sophia from this Man, and of reſtoring her to her Father, ſhe ſhould, in all human Probability, by ſo great a Service to the Family, reconcile to herſelf both her Uncle and her Aunt Weſtern.

As this was one of her moſt favourite Wiſhes, ſo the Hope of Succeſs ſeemed ſo reaſonable, that no⯑thing remained but to conſider of proper Methods to accompliſh her Scheme. To attempt to reaſon the Caſe with Sophia, did not appear to her one of thoſe Methods: For as Betty had reported from Mrs. Ho⯑nour, that Sophia had a violent Inclination to Jones, ſhe conceived, that to diſſuade her from the Match, was an Endeavour of the ſame Kind as it would be, very heartily and earneſtly to entreat a Moth not to fly into a Candle.

If the Reader will pleaſe to remember, that the Acquaintance which Sophia had with Lady Bellaſton, was contracted at the Houſe of Mrs. Weſtern, and muſt have grown at the very Time when Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick lived with this latter Lady, he will want no Information, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick muſt have been acquainted with her likewiſe. They were, beſides, both equally her diſtant Relations.

After much Conſideration, therefore, ſhe reſolved to go early in the Morning to that Lady, and endea⯑vour [13] to ſee her, unknown to Sophia, and to acquaint her with the whole Affair. For ſhe did not in the leaſt doubt, but that the prudent Lady, who had often ri⯑diculed romantic Love, and indiſcreet Marriages, in her Converſation, would very readily concur in her Sentiments concerning this Match, and would lend her utmoſt Aſſiſtance to prevent it.

This Reſolution ſhe accordingly executed; and the next Morning before the Sun, ſhe huddled on her Cloaths, and at a very unfaſhionable, unſeaſonable, unviſitable Hour went to Lady Bellaſton, to whom ſhe got Acceſs, without the leaſt Knowledge or Suſ⯑picion of Sophia, who though not aſleep, lay at that Time awake in her Bed, with Honour ſnoring by her Side.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick made many Apologies for this early, abrupt Viſit, at an Hour when, ‘'ſhe ſaid, ſhe ſhould not have thought of diſturbing her Lady⯑ſhip, but upon Buſineſs of the utmoſt Conſequence.'’ She then opened the whole Affair, told all ſhe had heard from Betty; and did not forget the Viſit which Jones had paid to herſelf the preceding Evening.

Lady Bellaſton anſwered with a Smile, ‘'Then you have ſeen this terrible Man, Madam; pray is he ſo very fine a Figure as he is repreſented? For Etoff entertained me laſt Night almoſt two Hours with him. The Wench I believe is in Love with him by Reputation.'’ Here the Reader will be apt to wonder, but the Truth is that Mrs. Etoff who had the Honour to pin and unpin the Lady Bellaſton, had received complete Information concerning the ſaid Mr. Jones, and had faithfully conveyed the ſame to her Lady laſt Night (or rather that Morning) while ſhe was undreſſing; on which Accounts ſhe had been detained in her Office above the Space of an Hour and half.

The Lady indeed, though generally well enough [14] pleaſed with the Narratives of Mrs. Etoff at thoſe Seaſons, gave an extraordinary Attention to her Ac⯑count of Jones, for Honour had deſcribed him as a very handſome Fellow, and Mrs. Etoff in her Hurry added ſo much to the Beauty of his Perſon to her Report, that Lady Bellaſton began to conceive him to be a kind of Miracle in Nature.

The Curioſity which her Woman had inſpired, was now greatly increaſed by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who ſpoke as much in Favour of the Perſon of Jones, as ſhe had before ſpoken in Diſpraiſe of his Birth, Cha⯑racter and Fortune.

When Lady Bellaſton had heard the whole, ſhe anſwered gravely, ‘'Indeed Madam, this is a Matter of great Conſequence. Nothing can certainly be more commendable than the Part you act, and I ſhall be very glad to have my Share in the Preſer⯑vation of a young Lady of ſo much Merit, and for whom I have ſo much Eſteem.'’

‘'Doth not your Ladyſhip think, ſays Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick eagerly, that it would be the beſt Way to write immediately to my Uncle, and acquaint him where my Couſin is?'’

The Lady pondered a little upon this, and thus anſwered—‘'Why, no, Madam, I think not. Di Weſtern hath deſcribed her Brother to me to be ſuch a Brute, that I cannot conſent to put any Woman under his Power who hath eſcaped from it. I have heard he behaved like a Monſter to his own Wife; for he is one of thoſe Wretches who think they have a Right to tyrannize over us, and from ſuch I ſhall ever eſteem it the Cauſe of my Sex to reſ⯑cue any Woman who is ſo unfortunate to be under their Power.—The Buſineſs, dear Couſin, will be only to keep Miſs Weſtern from ſeeing this young Fellow, till the good Company, which ſhe will [15] have an Opportunity of meeting here, give her a proper Turn.'’

‘'If he ſhould find her out, Madam, anſwered the other, your Ladyſhip may be aſſured he will leave nothing unattempted to come at her.'’

‘'But Madam, replied the Lady, it is impoſſible he ſhould come here,—tho' indeed it is poſſible he may get ſome intelligence where ſhe is, and then may lurk about the Houſe.—I wiſh therefore I knew his Perſon.'’

‘'Is there no Way, Madam, by which I could have a Sight of him? For otherwiſe you know, Couſin, ſhe may contrive to ſee him here without my Knowledge.'’ Mrs. Fitzpatrick anſwer'd, ‘'that he had threatened her with another Viſit that Af⯑ternoon, and that in her Ladyſhip pleaſed to do her the Honour of calling upon her then, ſhe would hardly fail of ſeeing him between ſix and ſeven, and if he came earlier, ſhe would, by ſome Means or other, detain him till her Ladyſhip's Arrival.'’—Lady Bellaſton replied, ‘'ſhe would come the Mo⯑ment ſhe could get from Dinner, which ſhe ſup⯑poſed would be by ſeven at fartheſt, for that it was abſolutely neceſſary ſhe ſhould be acquainted with his Perſon. Upon my Word, Madam, ſays ſhe, it was very good to take this Care of Miſs Weſtern, but common Humanity as well as Regard to our Family requires it of us both, for it would be a dreadful Match indeed.'’

Mrs. Fitzpatrick failed not to make a proper Re⯑turn to the Compliment which Lady Bellaſton had beſtow'd on her Couſin, and after ſome little imma⯑terial Converſation withdrew, and getting as faſt as ſhe could into her Chair unſeen by Sophia or Honour, returned home.

CHAP. IV. Which conſiſts of Viſiting.

MR. Jones had walked within Sight of a certain Door during the whole Day, which, though one of the ſhorteſt, appeared to him to be one of the longeſt in the whole Year. At length the Clock having ſtruck five he returned to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who, though it was a full Hour earlier than the decent Time of viſiting, receiv'd him very civilly; but ſtill perſiſted in her Ig⯑norance concerning Sophia.

Jones in aſking for his Angel, had drop'd the Word Couſin; upon which Mrs. Fitzpatrick ſaid, ‘'Then, Sir, you know we are related, and as we are, you will permit me the Right of enquiring into the Par⯑ticulars of your Buſineſs with my Couſin.'’ Here Jones heſitated a good while, and at laſt anſwered, He had a conſiderable Sum of Money of hers in his Hands, which he deſired to deliver to her. He then produced the Pocket-book, and acquainted Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick with the Contents, and with the Method in which they came into his Hands. He had ſcarce fi⯑niſhed his Story when a moſt violent Noiſe ſhook the whole Houſe. To attempt to deſcribe this Noiſe to thoſe who have heard it would be in vain, and to aim at giving any Idea of it to thoſe who have never heard the like, would be ſtill more vain: For it may be truly ſaid,

In ſhort a Footman knocked, or rather thundered at the Door. Jones was a little ſurpriſed at the [17] Sound, having never heard it before; but Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick very calmly ſaid, that as ſome Company were coming, ſhe could not make him any Anſwer now; but if he pleaſed to ſtay till they were gone, ſhe inti⯑mated ſhe had ſomething to ſay to him.

The Door of the Room now flew open, and, af⯑ter puſhing in her Hoop ſideways before her, entered Lady Bellaſton, who having firſt made a very low Curteſy to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and as low a one to Mr. Jones, was uſhered to the upper End of the Room.

We mention theſe minute Matters for the Sake of ſome Country Ladies of our Acquaintance, who think it contrary to the Rules of Modeſty to bend their Knees to a Man.

The Company were hardly well ſettled, before the Arrival of the Peer lately mentioned cauſed a freſh Di [...]urbance and a Repetition of Ceremonials.

[...]here being over, the Converſation began to be (as the Phraſe is) extremely brilliant. However, as nothing paſt in it which can be thought material to this Hiſtory, or, indeed, very material in itſelf, I ſhall omit the Relation; the rather as I have known ſome very fine polite Converſation grow extreamly dull, when tranſcribed into Books, or repeated on the Stage. Indeed this mental Repaſt is a Dainty, of which thoſe who are excluded from polite Aſſemblies, muſt be contented to remain as ignorant as they muſt of the ſeveral Dainties of French Cookery, which are only ſerved at the Tables of the Great. To ſay the Truth, as neither of theſe are adapted to every Taſte, they might both be often thrown away on the Vulgar.

Poor Jones was rather a Spectator of this elegant Scene, than an Actor in it; for though in the ſhort Interval before the Peer's Arrival, Lady Bellaſton firſt, and afterwards Mrs. Fitzpatrick, had addreſſed ſome of their Diſcourſe to him; yet no ſooner was [18] the noble Lord entered, than he engroſſed the whole Attention of the two Ladies to himſelf; and as he took no more Notice of Jones than if no ſuch Perſon had been preſent, unleſs by now and then ſtaring at him, the Ladies followed his Example.

The Company had now ſtaid ſo long, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick plainly perceived they all deſigned to ſtay out each other. She therefore reſolved to rid herſelf of Jones, he being the Viſitant, to whom ſhe thought the leaſt Ceremony was due. Taking therefore an Opportunity of a Ceſſation of Chat, ſhe addreſſed herſelf gravely to him, and ſaid, ‘'Sir, I ſhall not poſſibly be able to give you an Anſwer To-night, as to that Buſineſs; but if you pleaſe to leave Word where I may ſend to you To-morrow.'’—

Jones had natural, but not artificial good Breeding. Inſtead therefore of communicating the Secret of [...] is Lodgings to a Servant, he acquainted the Lady [...]e [...] ⯑ſelf with it particularly, and ſoon after very ceremo⯑niouſly withdrew.

He was no ſooner gone, than the great Perſonages who had taken no Notice of him preſent, began to take much Notice of him in his Abſence; but if the Reader hath already excuſed us from relating the more brilliant Part of this Converſation, he will ſurely be very ready to excuſe the Repetition of what may be called vulgar Abuſe: Though, perhaps, it may be material to our Hiſtory to mention an Obſervation of Lady Bellaſton, who took her Leave in a few Mi⯑nutes after him, and then ſaid to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, at her Departure. ‘'I am ſatisfied on the Account of my Couſin, ſhe can be in no Danger from this Fellow.'’

Our Hiſtory ſhall follow the Example of Lady Bel⯑laſton, and take Leave of the preſent Company, which was now reduced to two Perſons; between whom, as nothing paſſed, which in the leaſt concerns us or our Reader, we ſhall not ſuffer ourſelves to be [19] diverted by it from Matters which muſt ſeem of more Conſequence to all thoſe who are at all intereſted in the Affairs of our Heroe.

CHAP. V. An Adventure which happened to Mr. Jones, at his Lodgings, with ſome Account of a young Gentle⯑man who lodged there, and of the Miſtreſs of the Houſe, and her two Daughters.

THE next Morning as early as it was decent, Jones attended at Mrs. Fitzpatrick's Door, where he was anſwered that the Lady was not at Home; an Anſwer which ſurpriſed him the more, as he had walked backwards and forwards in the Street from Break of Day; and if ſhe had gone out, he muſt have ſeen her. This Anſwer, however, he was o⯑bliged to receive, and not only now, but to five ſeveral Viſits which he made her that Day. To be plain with the Reader, the noble Peer, had from ſome Reaſon or other, perhaps from a Regard for the Lady's Honour, inſiſted that ſhe ſhould not ſee Mr. Jones, whom he looked on as a Scrub, any more; and the Lady had complied in making that Promiſe to which we now ſee her ſo ſtrictly adhere.

But as our gentle Reader may poſſibly have a better Opinion of the young Gentleman than her Lady⯑ſhip, and may even have ſome Concern, ſhould it be apprehended, that during this unhappy Separation from Sophia, he took up his Reſidence either at an Inn, or in the Street; we ſhall now give an Ac⯑count of his Lodging, which was indeed in a very reputable Houſe, and in a very good Part of the Town.

Mr. Jones then had often heard Mr. Allworthy mention the Gentlewoman at whoſe Houſe he uſed to lodge when he was in Town. This Perſon, who as [20] Jones likewiſe knew, lived in Bond-Street, was the Widow of a Clergyman, and was left by him at his Deceaſe, in Poſſeſſion of two Daughters, and of a compleat Set of Manuſcript Sermons.

Of theſe two Daughters, Nancy, the elder, was now arrived at the Age of ſeventeen, and Betty, the younger at that of ten.

Hither Jones had diſpatched Partridge, and in this Houſe he was provided with a Room for himſelf in the ſecond Floor, and with one for Partridge in the fourth.

The firſt Floor was inhabited by one of thoſe young Gentlemen, who, in the laſt Age were called Men of Wit and Pleaſure about Town, and properly enough: For as Men are uſually denominated from their Buſineſs or Profeſſion, ſo Pleaſure may be ſaid to have been the only Buſineſs or Profeſſion of thoſe Gentlemen to whom Fortune had made all uſeful Occupations unneceſſary. Play-Houſes, Coffee-Houſes and Taverns were the Scenes of their Rendezvous, Wit and Humour were the Entertainment of their looſer Hours, and Love was the Buſineſs of their more ſerious Moments. Wine and the Muſes conſpired to kindle the brighteſt Flames in their Breaſts; nor did they only admire, but ſome were able to celebrate the Beauty they admired, and all to judge of the Merit of ſuch Compoſitions.

Such therefore were properly called the Men of Wit and Pleaſure; but I queſtion whether the ſame Appellation may, with the ſame Propriety, be given to thoſe young Gentlemen of our Times, who have the ſame Ambition to be diſtinguiſhed for Parts. Wit certainly they have nothing to do with. To give them their due, they ſoar a Step higher than their Predeceſ⯑ſors, and may be called Men of Wiſdom and Vertù (take heed you do not read Virtue). Thus at an Age when the Gentlemen abovementioned employed their Time in toaſting the Charms of a Woman, or in [21] making Sonnets in her Praiſe; in giving their Opinion of a Play at the Theatre, or of a Poem at Will's or Button's; theſe Gentlemen are conſidering of Me⯑thods to bribe a Corporation, or meditating Speeches for the Houſe of Commons, or rather for the Maga⯑zines. But the Science of Gaming is that which a⯑bove all others employs their Thoughts. Theſe are the Studies of their graver Hours, while for their A⯑muſements they have the vaſt Circle of Connoiſſeur⯑ſhip, Painting, Muſic, Statuary, and natural Philo⯑ſophy, or rather unnatural, which deals in the Won⯑derful, and knows nothing of Nature, except her Monſters and Imperfections.

When Jones had ſpent the whole Day in vain En⯑quiries after Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he returned at laſt diſ⯑conſolate to his Apartment. Here while he was vent⯑ing his Grief in private, he heard a violent Uproar be⯑low Stairs; and ſoon after a female Voice begged him for Heaven's Sake to come and prevent Murder. Jones, who was never backward on any Occaſion, to help the Diſtreſſed, immediately ran down Stairs; when ſtepping into the Dining-room, whence all the Noiſe iſſued, he beheld the young Gentleman of Wiſ⯑dom and Vertù juſt before mentioned, pinned cloſe to the Wall by his Footman, and a young Woman ſtanding by, wringing her Hands, and crying out, ‘'He will be murdered, he will be murdered; and indeed the poor Gentleman ſeemed in ſome Danger of being choaked,'’ when Jones flew haſtily to his Aſſiſ⯑tance, and reſcued him juſt as he was breathing his laſt, from the unmerciful Clutches of the Enemy.

Though the Fellow had received ſeveral Kicks and Cuffs from the little Gentleman, who had more Spirit than Strength, he had made it a kind of Scruple of Conſcience to ſtrike his Maſter, and would have con⯑tented himſelf with only choaking him; but towards Jones he bore no ſuch Reſpect: He no ſooner there⯑fore [22] found himſelf a little roughly handled by his new Antagoniſt, than he gave him one of thoſe Punches in the Guts, which, tho' the Spectators at Brough⯑ton's Amphitheatre have ſuch exquiſite Delight in Seeing them, convey but very little Pleaſure in the Feeling.

The luſty Youth had no ſooner received this Blow, than he meditated a moſt grateful Return; and now enſued a Combat between Jones and the Footman, which was very fierce, but ſhort; for this Fellow was no more able to contend with Jones, than his Maſter had before been to contend with him.

And now Fortune, according to her uſual Cuſtom, reverſed the Face of Affairs, the former Victor lay breathleſs on the Ground, and the vanquiſhed Gentle⯑man had recovered Breath enough to thank Mr. Jones for his ſeaſonable Aſſiſtance: He received likewiſe the hearty Thanks of the young Woman preſent, who was indeed no other than Miſs Nancy, the eldeſt Daughter of the Houſe.

The Footman having now recovered his Legs, ſhook his Head at Jones, and with a ſagacious Look, cry'd,—O d—n me, I'll have nothing more to do with you, you have been upon the Stage, or I am d—nably miſtaken: And indeed we may forgive this his Suſpicion; for ſuch was the Agility and Strength of our Heroe, that he was perhaps a Match for one of the firſt Rate Boxers, and could with great Eaſe, have beaten all the muffled ^* Graduates of Mr. Broughton's School.

[23] His Maſter foaming with Wrath, ordered his Man immediately to ſtrip, to which the latter very readily agreed, on Condition of receiving his Wages. This Condition was preſently complied with, and the Fel⯑low was diſcharged.

And now the young Gentleman whoſe Name was Nightingale, very ſtrenuouſly inſiſted that his Deli⯑verer ſhould take Part of a Bottle of Wine with him; to which Jones, after much Entreaty, conſented; tho' more out of Complaiſance than Inclination; for the Uneaſineſs of his Mind fitted him very little for Converſation at this Time. Miſs Nancy likewiſe, who was the only Female then in the Houſe, her Mamma and Siſter being gone to the Play, condeſcend⯑ed to favour them with her Company.

When the Bottle and Glaſſes were on the Table, the Gentleman began to relate the Occaſion of the preceding Diſturbance.

‘'I hope, Sir, ſaid he to Jones, you will not, from this Accident, conclude, that I make a Cuſtom of ſtriking my Servants; for I aſſure you this is the firſt Time I have been guilty of it in my Remem⯑brance, and I have paſſed by many provoking Faults in this very Fellow, before he could pro⯑voke me to it; but when you hear what hath hap⯑pened this Evening, you will, I believe, think me [24] excuſeable. I happened to come home ſeveral Hours before my uſual Time, when I found four Gentle⯑men of the Cloth at Whiſk by my Fire;—and my Hoyle, Sir,—my beſt Hoyle, which coſt me a Guinea, lying open on the Table, with a Quantity of Porter ſpilt on one of the moſt material Leaves of the whole Book. This, you will allow, was provoking; but I ſaid nothing till the reſt of the honeſt Company were gone, and then gave the Fel⯑low a gentle Rebuke, who, inſtead of expreſſing any Concern, made me a pert Anſwer, ‘'"That Servants muſt have their Diverſions as well as other People; that he was ſorry for the Accident which had happened to the Book; but that ſeveral of his Acquaintance had bought the ſame for a Shilling; and that I might ſtop as much in his Wages if I pleaſed:"’ 'I now gave him a ſeverer Reprimand than before, when the Raſcal had the Inſolence to—In ſhort he imputed my early coming Home to—In ſhort, he caſt a Reflection,—He men⯑tioned the Name of a young Lady, in a Manner—In ſuch a Manner that incenſed me be⯑yond all Patience, and in my Paſſion, I ſtruck him.'’

Jones anſwered, ‘'That he believed no Perſon liv⯑ing would blame him; for my Part, ſaid he, I con⯑feſs I ſhould on the laſt mentioned Provocation, have done the ſame Thing.'’

Our Company had not ſat long before they were joined by the Mother and Daughter, at their Return from the Play. And now they all ſpent a very chear⯑ful Evening together, for all but Jones were heartily merry, and even he put on as much conſtrained Mirth as poſſible. Indeed half his natural Flow of animal Spirits, joined to the Sweetneſs of his Temper, was ſufficient to make a moſt amiable Companion; and notwithſtanding the Heavineſs of his Heart, ſo agree⯑able did he make himſelf on the preſent Occaſion, [25] that at their breaking up, the young Gentleman ear⯑neſtly deſired his further Acquaintance. Miſs Nancy was well pleaſed with him; and the Widow, quite charm'd with her new Lodger, invited him with the other, next Morning to Breakfaſt.

Jones, on his Part, was no leſs ſatisfied. As for Miſs Nancy, tho' a very little Creature, ſhe was ex⯑tremely pretty, and the Widow had all the Charms which can adorn a Woman near fifty. As ſhe was one of the moſt innocent Creatures in the World, ſo ſhe was one of the moſt chearful. She never thought, nor ſpoke, nor wiſhed any ill, and had conſtantly that Deſire of pleaſing, which may be called the happieſt of all Deſires in this, that it ſcarce ever fails of at⯑taining its Ends, when not diſgraced by Affectation. In ſhort, though her Power was very ſmall, ſhe was in her Heart one of the warmeſt Friends. She had been a moſt affectionate Wife, and was a moſt fond and tender Mother.

As our Hiſtory doth not, like a News-Paper, give great Characters to People who never were heard of before, nor will ever be heard of again; the Reader may hence conclude, that this excellent Woman will hereafter appear to be of ſome Importance in our Hiſtory.

Nor was Jones a little pleaſed with the young Gentleman himſelf, whoſe Wine he had been drink⯑ing. He thought he diſcerned in him much good Senſe, though a little too much tainted with Town Fop⯑pery; but what recommended him moſt to Jones were ſome Sentiments of great Generoſity and Hu⯑manity, which occaſionally dropt from him; and par⯑ticularly many Expreſſions of the higheſt Diſintereſted⯑neſs in the Affair of Love. On which Subject the young Gentleman delivered himſelf in a Language which might have very well become an Arcadian Shepherd of Old, and which appeared very extraordinary when [26] proceeding from the Lips of a modern fine Gentle⯑man, but he was only one by Imitation, and meant by Nature for a much better Character.

CHAP. VI. What arrived while the Company were at Breakfaſt, with ſome Hints concerning the Government of Daughters.

OUR Company brought together in the Morning the ſame good Inclinations towards each other, with which they had ſeparated the Evening before; but poor Jones was extreme diſconſolate; for he had juſt received Information from Partridge, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick had left her Lodging, and that he could not learn whither ſhe was gone. This News highly affected him, and his Countenance, as well as his Be⯑haviour, in Defiance of all his Endeavours to the contrary, betrayed manifeſt Indications of a diſorder⯑ed Mind.

The Diſcourſe turned at preſent, as before, on Love; and Mr. Nightingale again expreſſed many of thoſe warm, generous, and diſintereſted Senti⯑ments upon this Subject, which wiſe and ſober Men call romantic, but which wiſe and ſober Women ge⯑nerally regard in a better Light. Mrs. Miller, (for ſo the Mrs. of the Houſe was called) greatly approved theſe Sentiments; but when the young Gentleman appealed to Miſs Nancy, ſhe anſwered only, ‘'That ſhe believed the Gentleman who had ſpoke the leaſt, was capable of feeling the moſt.'’

This Compliment was ſo apparently directed to Jones, that we ſhould have been ſorry had he paſſed it by unregarded. He made her indeed a very polite An⯑ſwer, and concluded with an oblique Hint, that her own Silence ſubjected her to a Suſpicion of the ſame [27] Kind: For indeed ſhe had ſcarce opened her Lips ei⯑ther now, or the laſt Evening.

‘'I am glad Nanny, ſays Mrs. Miller, the Gentle⯑man hath made the Obſervation; I proteſt I am al⯑moſt of his Opinion. What can be the Matter with you Child? I never ſaw ſuch an Alteration. What is become of all your Gayety? Would you think, Sir, I uſed to call her my little Prattler. She hath not ſpoke twenty Words this Week.'’

Here their Converſation was interrupted by the En⯑trance of a Maid-Servant, who brought a Bundle in her Hands, which, ſhe ſaid, ‘'was delivered by a Por⯑ter for Mr. Jones.'’ She added, ‘'that the Man immediately went away, ſaying, it required no Anſwer.'’

Jones expreſſed ſome Surprize on this Occaſion, and declared it muſt be ſome Miſtake: But the Maid perſiſting that ſhe was certain of the Name, all the Women were deſirous of having the Bundle imme⯑diately opened; which Operation was at length per⯑formed by little Betſy, with the Conſent of Mr. Jones; and the Contents were found to be a Domino, a Maſk, and a Maſquerade Ticket.

Jones was now more poſitive than ever, in aſſert⯑ing, that theſe Things muſt have been delivered by Miſtake; and Mrs. Miller herſelf expreſſed ſome Doubt, and ſaid, ‘'ſhe knew not what to think.'’ But when Mr. Nightingale was aſked, he delivered a very different Opinion. ‘'All I can conclude from it, Sir,' ſaid he, 'is, that you are a very happy Man: For I make no doubt but theſe were ſent you by ſome Lady whom you will have the Happineſs of meeting at the Maſquerade.'’

Jones had not a ſufficient Degree of Vanity to en⯑tertain any ſuch flattering Imagination; nor did Mrs. Miller herſelf give much Aſſent to what Mr. Night⯑ingale had ſaid, 'till Miſs Nancy having lifted up the [28] Domino, a Card dropt from the Sleeve, in which was written as follows:

Mrs. Miller and Miſs Nancy now both agreed with Mr. Nightingale; nay, Jones himſelf was almoſt perſuaded to be of the ſame Opinion. And as no other Lady but Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he thought, knew his Lodging, he began to flatter himſelf with ſome Hopes that it came from her, and that he might poſ⯑ſibly ſee his Sophia. Theſe Hopes had ſurely very little Foundation; but as the Conduct of Mr. Fitz⯑patrick, in not ſeeing him according to her Promiſe, and in quitting her Lodgings, had been very odd and unaccountable, he conceived ſome faint Hopes, that ſhe (of whom he had formerly heard a very whim⯑ſical Character) might poſſibly intend to do him that Service, in a ſtrange Manner, which ſhe declined do⯑ing by more ordinary Methods. To ſay the Truth, as nothing certain could be concluded from ſo odd and uncommon an Incident, he had the greater Lati⯑tude to draw what imaginary Concluſions from it he pleaſed. As his Temper therefore was naturally ſan⯑guine, he indulged it on this Occaſion, and his Ima⯑gination worked up a thouſand Conceits, to favour and ſupport his Expectations of meeting his dear So⯑phia in the Evening.

Reader, if thou haſt any good Wiſhes towards me, I will fully repay them, by wiſhing thee to be poſſeſ⯑ſed of this ſanguine Diſpoſition of Mind: Since, after having read much, and conſidered long on that Sub⯑ject of Happineſs which hath employed ſo many great Pens, I am almoſt inclined to fix it in the Poſſeſſion of this Temper; which puts us; in a Manner, out of the Reach of Fortune, and makes us happy with⯑out [29] her Aſſiſtance. Indeed the Senſations of Pleaſure it gives are much more conſtant, as well as much keener than thoſe which that blind Lady beſtows; Nature having wiſely contrived, that ſome Satiety and Languor ſhould be annexed to all our real Enjoy⯑ments, leſt we ſhould be ſo taken up by them, as to be ſtopt from further Purſuits. I make no Manner of doubt but that, in this Light, we may ſee the ima⯑ginary future Chancellor juſt called to the Bar, the Archbiſhop in Crape, and the Prime Miniſter at the Tail of an Oppoſition, more truly happy than thoſe who are inveſted with all the Power and Profit of theſe reſpective Offices.

Mr. Jones having now determined to go to the Maſ⯑querade that Evening, Mr. Nightingale offered to conduct him thither. The young Gentleman, at the ſame Time, offered Tickets to Miſs Nancy and her Mother; but the good Woman would not accept them. She ſaid, ‘'She did not conceive the Harm which ſome People imagined in a Maſquerade; but that ſuch extravagant Diverſions were only proper for Perſons of Quality and Fortune, and not for young Women who were to get their Living, and could, at beſt, hope to be married to a good Tradeſman.'’

—‘'A Tradeſman! cries Nightingale, you ſhan't undervalue my Nancy. There is not a Nobleman upon Earth above her Merit.'’ ‘'O fie! Mr. Nightingale,' anſwered Mrs. Miller, 'you muſt not fill the Girl's Head with ſuch Fancies: But if it was her good Luck (ſays the Mother with a Simper) to find a Gentleman of your generous Way of thinking, I hope ſhe would make a better Return to his Generoſity, than to give her Mind up to ex⯑travagant Pleaſures. Indeed where young Ladies bring great Fortunes themſelves, they have ſome Right to inſiſt on ſpending what is their own: [30] and on that Account, I have heard the Gentlemen ſay, a Man has ſometimes a better Bargain with a poor Wife, than with a rich one.—But let my Daughters marry whom they will, I ſhall en⯑deavour to make them Bleſſings to their Huſbands:—I beg, therefore, I may hear of no more Maſquerades. Nancy is, I am certain, too good a Girl to deſire to go; for ſhe muſt remember when you carried her thither laſt Year, it almoſt turned her Head, and ſhe did not return to her⯑ſelf, or to her Needle, in a Month afterwards.'’

Though a gentle Sigh which ſtole from the Boſom of Nancy, ſeemed to argue ſome ſecret Diſapprobation of theſe Sentiments, ſhe did not dare openly to oppoſe them. For as this good Woman had all the Tender⯑neſs, ſo ſhe had preſerved all the Authority of a Pa⯑rent; and as her Indulgence to the Deſires of her Children, was only reſtrained, by her Fears for their Safety and future Welfare, ſo ſhe never ſuffered thoſe Commands, which proceeded from ſuch Fears, to be either diſobeyed or diſputed. And this the young Gentleman who had lodged two Years in the Houſe, knew ſo well, that he preſently acquieſced in the Refuſal.

Mr. Nightingale, who grew every Minute fonder of Jones, was very deſirous of his Company that Day to Dinner at the Tavern, where he offered to intro⯑duce him to ſome of his Acquaintance; but Jones begged to be excuſed, ‘'as his Cloaths, he ſaid, were not yet come to Town.'’

To confeſs the Truth, Mr. Jones was now in a Situation, which ſometimes happens to be the Caſe of young Gentlemen of much better Figure than him⯑ſelf. In ſhort, he had not one Penny in his Pocket; a Situation in much greater Credit among the ancient Philoſophers, than among the modern wiſe Men who live in Lombard Street, or thoſe who frequent White's [31] Chocolate Houſe. And, perhaps, the great Honours which thoſe Philoſophers have aſcribed to an empty Pocket, may be one of the Reaſons of that high Con⯑tempt in which they are held in the aforeſaid Street and Chocolate-Houſe.

Now if the antient Opinion, that Men might live very comfortably on Virtue only, be, as the modern wiſe Men juſt above-mentioned pretend to have diſ⯑covered, a notorious Error; no leſs falſe is, I appre⯑hend, that Poſition of ſome Writers of Romance, that a Man can live altogether on Love: For how⯑ever delicious Repaſts this may afford to ſome of our Senſes or Appetites, it is moſt certain it can afford none to others. Thoſe, therefore, who have placed too great a Confidence in ſuch Writers, have expe⯑rienced their Error when it was too late; and have found that Love was no more capable of allaying Hunger, than a Roſe is capable of delighting the Ear, or a Violin of gratifying the Smell.

Notwithſtanding, therefore, all the Delicacies which Love had ſet before him, namely, the Hopes of ſee⯑ing Sophia at the Maſquerade; on which, however ill-founded his Imagination might be, he had volup⯑tuouſly feaſted during the whole Day, the Evening no ſooner came, than Mr. Jones began to languiſh for ſome Food of a groſſer Kind. Partridge diſco⯑vered this by Intution, and took the Occaſion to give ſome oblique Hints concerning the Bank-bill, and when thoſe were rejected with Diſdain, he collected Courage enough once more to mention a Return to Mr. Allworthy.

‘'Partridge, cries Jones, you cannot ſee my Fortune in a more deſperate Light than I ſee it my⯑ſelf; and I begin heartily to repent, that I ſuffered you to leave a Place, where you was ſettled, and to follow me. However, I inſiſt now on your return⯑ing Home; and for the Expence and Trouble which [32] you have ſo kindly put yourſelf to on my Account, all the Cloaths I left behind in your Care, I deſire you would take as your own. I am ſorry I can make you no other Acknowledgment.'’

He ſpoke theſe Words with ſo pathetic an Accent, that Partridge, among whoſe Vices Ill-Nature or Hardneſs of Heart were not numbered, burſt into Tears; and after ſwearing he would not quit him in his Diſtreſs, he began with the moſt earneſt Intrea⯑ties to urge his return Home. ‘'For Heaven's Sake, Sir,' ſays he, 'do but conſider: What can your Ho⯑nour do? How is it poſſible you can live in this Town without Money? Do what you will, Sir, or go wherever you pleaſe, I am reſolved not to deſert you.—But pray, Sir, conſider,—Do pray, Sir, for your own Sake, take it into your Conſideration; and I'm ſure,' ſays he, 'that your own Good-Senſe will bid you return Home.'’

‘'How often ſhall I tell thee, anſwered Jones, that I have no Home to return to. Had I any Hopes that Mr. Allworthy's Doors would be open to receive me, I want no Diſtreſs to urge me:—Nay, there is no other Cauſe upon Earth, which could detain me a Moment from flying to his Pre⯑ſence, but, alas! that I am for ever baniſhed from it. His laſt Words were,—O Partridge, they ſtill ring in my Ears—His laſt Words were, when he gave me a Sum of Money, what it was I know not, but conſiderable I'm ſure it was.—His laſt Words were—I am reſolved from this Day forward, on no Account, to converſe with you any more.'’

Here Paſſion ſtopt the Mouth of Jones; as Sur⯑prize, for a Moment, did that of Partridge: But he ſoon recovered the Uſe of Speech, and after a ſhort Preface, in which he declared he had no Inquiſitive⯑neſs in his Temper, enquired, what Jones meant by [33] a conſiderable Sum; he knew not how much; and what was become of the Money?

In both theſe Points he now received full Satisfac⯑tion; on which he was proceeding to comment, when he was interrupted by a Meſſage from Mr. Nightin⯑gale, who deſired his Maſter's Company in his Apart⯑ment.

When the two Gentlemen were both attired for the Maſquerade, and Mr. Nightingale had given Or⯑ders for Chairs to be ſent for, a Circumſtance of Diſ⯑treſs occurred to Jones, which will appear very ridi⯑culous to many of my Readers. This was how to procure a Shilling; but if ſuch Readers will reflect a little on what they have themſelves felt from the Want of a thouſand Pound, or, perhaps, of ten or twenty, to execute a favourite Scheme, they will have a per⯑fect Idea of what Mr. Jones felt on this Occaſion. For this Sum, therefore, he applied to Partridge, which was the firſt he had permitted him to advance, and was the laſt he intended that poor Fellow ſhould advance in his Service. To ſay the Truth, Partridge had lately made no Offer of this Kind; whether it was that he deſired to ſee the Bank-bill broke in up⯑on, or that Diſtreſs ſhould prevail on Jones to re⯑turn Home, or from what other Motive it proceed⯑ed, I will not determine.

CHAP. VII. Containing the whole Humours of a Maſquerade.

OUR Cavaliers now arrived at that Temple, where Heydegger, the great Arbiter Deliciarum, the great High-Prieſt of Pleaſure preſides; and, like other Heathen Prieſts, impoſes on his Votaries by the pretended Preſence of the Deity, when in reality no ſuch Deity is there.

Mr. Nightingale having taken a Turn or two with [34] his Companion, ſoon left him, and walked off with a Female, ſaying, ‘'Now you are here, Sir, you muſt beat about for your own Game.'’

Jones began to entertain ſtrong Hopes that his So⯑phia was preſent; and theſe Hopes gave him more Spirits than the Lights, the Muſic, and the Compa⯑ny; though theſe are pretty ſtrong Antidotes againſt the Spleen. He now accoſted every Woman he ſaw, whoſe Stature, Shape, or Air, bore any Reſemblance to his Angel. To all of whom he endeavoured to ſay ſomething ſmart, in order to engage an Anſwer, by which he might diſcover that Voice which he thought it impoſſible he ſhould miſtake. Some of theſe anſwered by a Queſtion, in a ſqueaking Voice, Do you know me? Much the greater Numbers ſaid, I don't know you, Sir; and nothing more. Some called him an impertinent Fellow; ſome made him no An⯑ſwer at all; ſome ſaid, Indeed I don't know your Voice, and I ſhall have nothing to ſay to you; and many gave him as kind Anſwers as he could wiſh, but not in the Voice he deſired to hear.

Whilſt he was talking with one of theſe laſt, (who was in the Habit of a Shepherdeſs) a Lady in a Do⯑mino came up to him, and ſlapping him on the Shoul⯑der, whiſpered him, at the ſame Time, in the Ear, ‘'If you talk any longer with that Trollop, I will acquaint Miſs Weſtern.'’

Jones no ſooner heard that Name, than, immedi⯑ately quitting his former Companion, he applied to the Domino, begging and entreating her to ſhew him the Lady ſhe had mentioned, if ſhe was then in the Room.

The Maſk walked haſtily to the upper end of the innermoſt Apartment before ſhe ſpoke, and then, in⯑ſtead of anſwering him, ſat down, and declared ſhe was tired. Jones ſat down by her, and ſtill perſiſted in his Entreaties; at laſt the Lady coldly anſwered, [35] ‘'I imagined Mr. Jones had been a more diſcerning Lover, than to ſuffer any Diſguiſe to conceal his Miſtreſs from him. Is ſhe here then, Madam? replied Jones, with much Vehemence.'’ Upon which the Lady cry'd,—‘'Huſh, Sir, you will be obſerv⯑ed—I promiſe you, upon my Honour, Miſs We⯑ſtern is not here.'’

Jones now taking the Maſk by the Hand, fell to entreating her in the moſt earneſt Manner, to ac⯑quaint him where he might find Sophia: And when he could obtain no direct Anſwer, he began to up⯑braid her gently for having diſappointed him the Day before; and concluded, ſaying, ‘'Indeed, my good Fairy Queen, I know your Majeſty very well, not⯑withſtanding the affected Diſguiſe of your Voice. Indeed, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, it is a little cruel to di⯑vert yourſelf at the Expence of my Torments.'’

The Maſk anſwered, ‘'Though you have ſo inge⯑niouſly diſcovered me, I muſt ſtill ſpeak in the ſame Voice, leſt I ſhould be known by others. And do you think, good Sir, that I have no greater Regard for my Couſin, than to aſſiſt in carrying on an Affair between you two, which muſt end in her Ruin, as well as your own? Beſides, I promiſe you, my Couſin is not mad enough to conſent to her own Deſtruction, if you are ſo much her Ene⯑my as to tempt her to it.'’

‘'Alas, Madam, ſaid Jones, you little know my Heart, when you call me an Enemy of Sophia.'’

‘'And yet to ruin any one, cries the other, you will allow, is the Act of an Enemy; and when by the ſame Act you muſt knowingly and certainly bring Ruin on yourſelf, is it not Folly or Madneſs, as well as Guilt? Now, Sir, my Couſin hath very little more than her Father will pleaſe to give her; very little for one of her Faſhion,—you know him, and you know your own Situation.'’

[36] Jones vowed he had no ſuch Deſign on Sophia, ‘'That he would rather ſuffer the moſt violent of Deaths than ſacrifice her Intereſt to his Deſires. He ſaid, he knew how unworthy he was of her every Way; that he had long ago reſolved to quit all ſuch aſpiring Thoughts, but that ſome ſtrange Accidents had made him deſirous to ſee her once more, when he promiſed he would take Leave of her for ever. No, Madam, concluded he, my Love is not of that baſe Kind which ſeeks its own Satisfaction, at the Expence of what is moſt dear to its Object. I would ſacrifice every Thing to the Poſſeſſion of my Sophia, but Sophia herſelf.'’

Though the Reader may have already conceived no very ſublime Idea of the Virtue of the Lady in the Maſk; and tho' poſſibly ſhe may hereafter appear not to deſerve one of the firſt Characters of her Sex; yet, it is certain, theſe generous Sentiments made a ſtrong Impreſſion upon her, and greatly added to the Affec⯑tion ſhe had before conceived for our young Heroe.

The Lady now, after a Silence of a few Moments, ſaid, ‘'She did not ſee his Pretenſions to Sophia ſo much in the Light of Preſumption, as of Impru⯑dence. Young Fellows, ſays ſhe, can never have too aſpiring Thoughts. I love Ambition in a young Man, and I would have you cultivate it as much as poſſible. Perhaps you may ſucceed with thoſe who are infinitely ſuperior in Fortune, nay, I am con⯑vinced there are Women,—but don't you think me a ſtronge Creature, Mr. Jones, to be thus giv⯑ing Advice to a Man, with whom I am ſo little acquainted, and one with whoſe Behaviour to me I have ſo little Reaſon to be pleaſed?'’

Here Jones began to apologize, and to hope he had not offended in any thing he had ſaid of her Couſin. —To which the Maſk anſwered, ‘'And are you ſo little verſed in the Sex, to imagine you can well [37] affront a Lady more, than by entertaining her with your Paſſion for another Woman? If the Fairy Queen had had no better Opinion of your Gallan⯑try, ſhe would ſcarce have appointed you to meet her at a Maſquerade.'’

Jones had never leſs Inclination to an Amour than at preſent; but Gallantry to the Ladies was among his Principles of Honour; and he held it as much incum⯑bent on him to accept a Challenge to Love, as if it had been a Challenge to Fight. Nay, his very Love to Sophia made it neceſſary for him to keep well with the Lady, as he made no doubt but ſhe was capable of bringing him into the Preſence of the other.

He began therefore to make a very warm Anſwer to her laſt Speech, when a Maſk in the Character of an old Woman, joined them. This Maſk was one of thoſe Ladies who go to a Maſquerade only to vent Ill-nature, by telling People rude Truths, and by en⯑deavouring, as the Phraſe is, to ſpoil as much Sport as they are able. This good Lady therefore, having obſerved Jones, and his Friend, whom ſhe well knew, in cloſe Conſultation together in a Corner of the Room, concluded ſhe could no where ſatisfy her Spleen better than by interrupting them. She attack⯑ed them therefore, and ſoon drove them from their Retirement; nor was ſhe contented with this, but purſued them to every Place which they ſhifted to avoid her; till Mr. Nightingale ſeeing the Diſtreſs of his Friend, at laſt relieved him, and engaged the old Woman in another Purſuit.

While Jones and his Maſk were walking together about the Room, to rid themſelves of the Teazer, he obſerved his Lady ſpeak to ſeveral Maſks, with the ſame Freedom of Acquaintance as if they had been barefaced. He could not help expreſſing his Surpriſe at this, ſaying, ‘'Sure, Madam, you muſt have in⯑finite Diſcernment to know People in all Diſguiſes.'’ [38] To which the Lady anſwered, ‘'You cannot con⯑ceive any Thing more inſipid and childiſh than a Maſquerade to the People of Faſhion, who in ge⯑neral know one another as well here, as when they meet in an Aſſembly or a Drawing-room; nor will any Woman of Condition converſe with a Perſon with whom ſhe is not acquainted. In ſhort, the Generality of Perſons whom you ſee here, may more properly be ſaid to kill Time in this Place, than in any other; and generally retire from hence more tired than from the longeſt Sermon. To ſay the Truth, I begin to be in that Situation myſelf, and if I have any Faculty at gueſſing, you are not much better pleaſed. I proteſt it would be almoſt Charity in me to go Home for your Sake.'’ ‘'I know but one Charity equal to it, cries Jones, and that is to ſuffer me to wait on you Home. Sure, an⯑ſwered the Lady, you have a ſtrange opinion of me, to imagine, that upon ſuch an Acquaintance, I would let you into my Doors at this Time o'Night. I fancy you impute the Friendſhip I have ſhewn my Couſin, to ſome other Motive. Confeſs honeſtly; don't you conſider this contrived Interview as little better than a downright Aſſignation? Are you uſed, Mr. Jones, to make theſe ſudden Conqueſts? I am not uſed, Madam, ſaid Jones, to ſubmit to ſuch ſudden Conqueſts; but as you have taken my Heart by Surprize, the reſt of my Body hath a Right to follow; ſo you muſt pardon me if I reſolve to at⯑tend you wherever you go.'’ He accompanied theſe Words with ſome proper Actions; upon which the Lady, after a gentle Rebuke, and ſaying their Fami⯑liarity would be obſerved, told him, ‘'She was going to ſup with an Acquaintance, whither ſhe hoped he would not follow her; for if you ſhould, ſaid ſhe, I ſhall be thought an unaccountable Creature, though my Friend indeed is not cenſorious, yet I [39] hope you won't follow me: I proteſt I ſhall not know what to ſay, if you do.'’

The Lady preſently after quitted the Maſquerade, and Jones, notwithſtanding the ſevere Prohibition he had received, preſumed to attend her. He was now reduced to the ſame Dilemma we have mentioned be⯑fore, namely, the want of Shilling, and could not relieve it by borrowing as before. He therefore walk⯑ed boldly on after the Chair in which his Lady rode, purſued by a grand Huzza from all the Chairmen preſent, who wiſely take the beſt Care they can to diſcountenance all walking afoot by their Betters. Luckily however the Gentry who attend at the Ope⯑ra-Houſe were too buſy to quit their Stations, and as the Lateneſs of the Hour prevented him from meet⯑ing many of their Brethren in the Street, he proceed⯑ed without Moleſtation, in a Dreſs, which, at ano⯑ther Seaſon, would have certainly raiſed a Mob at his Heels.

The Lady was ſet down in a Street, not far from Hanover-Square, where the Door being preſently opened, ſhe was carried in, and the Gentleman, with⯑out any Ceremony, walked in after her.

Jones and his Companion were now together in a very well-furniſhed and well-warm'd Room, when the Female ſtill ſpeaking in her Maſquerade Voice, ſaid, ſhe was ſurprized at her Friend, who muſt ab⯑ſolutely have forgot her Appointment; at which after venting much Reſentment, ſhe ſuddenly expreſt ſome Apprehenſion from Jones, and aſked him what the World would think of their having been alone toge⯑ther in a Houſe at that Time of Night? But inſtead of a direct Anſwer to ſo important a Queſtion, Jones began to be very importunate with the Lady to un⯑maſk, and at length having prevailed, there appeared not Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but the Lady Bellaſton herſelf.

It would be tedious to give the particular Converſa⯑tion [40] which conſiſted of very common and ordinary Oc⯑currences, and which laſted from two till ſix o'Clock in the Morning. It is ſufficient to mention all of it that is any wiſe material to this Hiſtory. And this was a Promiſe that the Lady would endeavour to find out Sophia, and in a few Days bring him to an In⯑terview with her, on Condition that he would then take his Leave of her. When this was thoroughly ſettled, and a ſecond Meeting in the Evening ap⯑pointed at the ſame Place, they ſeparated; the Lady returned to her Houſe, and Jones to his Lodgings.

CHAP. VIII. Containing a Scene of Diſtreſs, which will appear very extraordinary to moſt of our Readers.

JONES having refreſhed himſelf with a few Hours Sleep, ſummoned Partridge to his Preſence; and delivering him a Bank Note of fifty Pounds, ordered him to go and change it. Partridge received this with ſparkling Eyes, though when he came to reflect farther, it raiſed in him ſome Suſpicions not very ad⯑vantageous to the Honour of his Maſter; to theſe the dreadful Idea he had of the Maſquerade, the Diſguiſe in which his Maſter had gone out and returned, and his having been abroad all Night, contributed. In plain Language, the only Way he could poſſibly find to account for the Poſſeſſion of this Note, was by Robbery; and, to confeſs the Truth, the Reader, unleſs he ſhould ſuſpect it was owing to the Genero⯑ſity of Lady Bellaſton, can hardly imagine any other.

To clear therefore the Honour of Mr. Jones, and to do Juſtice to the Liberality of the Lady, he had really received this Preſent from her, who, though ſhe did not give much in to the Hackney Charities of the Age, ſuch as building Hoſpitals, &c. was not, how⯑ever, entirely void of that Chriſtian Virtue; and con⯑ceived [41] (very righty I think) that a young Fellow of Merit, without a Shilling in the World, was no im⯑proper Object of this Virtue.

Mr. Jones and Mr. Nightingale had been invited to dine this Day with Mrs. Miller. At the appointed Hour therefore the two young Gentlemen, with the two Girls, attended in the Parlour, where they waited from three till almoſt five before the good Woman appeared. She had been out of Town to viſit a Relation, of whom, at her Return, ſhe gave the fol⯑lowing Account,

‘'I hope, Gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am ſure if you knew the Occaſion.—I have been to ſee a Couſin of mine, about ſix Miles off, who now lies in.—It ſhould be a Warning to all Perſons (ſays ſhe, looking at her Daughters) how they marry indiſcreetly. There is no Happineſs in this World, without a Competency. O Nancy! how ſhall I deſcribe the wretched Con⯑dition in which I found your poor Couſin; ſhe hath ſcarce lain in a Week, and there was ſhe, this dreadful Weather, in a cold Room, without any Curtains to her Bed, and not a Buſhel of Coals in her Houſe to ſupply her with Fire: Her ſecond Son, that ſweet little Fellow, lies ill of a Quinzy in the ſame Bed with his Mother, for there is no other Bed in the Houſe. Poor little Tommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never ſee your Favourite any more, for he is really very ill. The reſt of the Children are in pretty good Health; but Molly, I am afraid, will do herſelf an Injury; ſhe is but thirteen Years old, Mr. Nightingale, and yet, in my Life, I ne⯑ver ſaw a better Nurſe: She tends both her Mother and her Brother; and what is wonderful in a Crea⯑ture ſo young, ſhe ſhows all the Chearfulneſs in the World to her Mother; and yet I ſaw her.—I ſaw the poor Child, Mr Nightingale, turn about, [42] and privately wipe the Tears from her Eyes.'’ Here Mrs. Miller, was prevented, by her own Tears, from going on, and there was not, I believe, a Perſon pre⯑ſent, who did not accompany her in them; at length ſhe a little recovered herſelf, and proceeded thus, ‘'In all this Diſtreſs the Mother ſupports her Spirits in a ſurpriſing Manner. The Danger of her Son ſits heavieſt upon her, and yet ſhe endeavours as much as poſſible to conceal even this Concern, on her Huſband's Account. Her Grief, however, ſome⯑times gets the better of all her Endeavours; for ſhe was always extravagantly fond of this Boy, and a moſt ſenſible, ſweet-tempered Creature it is. I pro⯑teſt never was I more affected in my Life, than when I heard the little Wretch, who is hardly yet ſeven Years old, while his Mother was wetting him with her Tears, beg her to be comforted.—Indeed, Mamma, cry'd the Child, I ſhan't die, God Almighty, I'm ſure, wont take Tommy away; let Heaven be ever ſo fine a Place, I had rather ſtay here and ſtarve with you and my Papa, than go to it.—Pardon me, Gentlemen, I can't help it, (ſaus ſhe, wiping her Eyes) ſuch Senſibility and Af⯑fection in a Child—And yet, perhaps, he is leaſt the Object of Pity, for a Day or two will, moſt probably, place him beyond the Reach of all human Evils. The Father is indeed moſt worthy of Compaſſion. Poor Man, his Countenance is the very Picture of Horror, and he looks rather like one dead than alive. Oh Heavens! what a Scene did I behold at my firſt coming into the Room! The good Creature was lying behind the Bolſter, ſupporting at once both his Child and his Wife. He had nothing on but a thin Waiſtcoat, for his Coat was ſpread over the Bed, to ſupply the Want of Blankets—When he roſe up, at my Entrance, I ſcarce knew him. As comely a Man, Mr. Jones, [43] within this Fortnight, as you ever beheld; Mr. Nightingle had ſeen him. His Eyes ſunk, his Face pale, with a long Beard. His Body ſhivering with Cold, and worn with Hunger too; for my Couſin ſays, ſhe can hardly prevail upon him to eat.—He told me himſelf in a Whiſper—he told me—I can't repeat it—he ſaid he could not bear to eat the Bread his Children wanted. And yet, can you believe it, Gentlemen? In all this Mi⯑ſery, his Wife has as good a Cawdle as if ſhe lay in, in the midſt of the greateſt Affluence; I taſted it, and I ſcarce ever taſted better—The Means of procuring her this,' he ſaid, he believed was ſent him by an Angel from Heaven; I know not what he meant, for I had not Spirits enough to aſk a ſingle Queſtion.'’

‘'This was a Love-Match, as they call it on both Sides; that is, a Match between two Beggars. I muſt indeed ſay I never ſaw a fonder Couple; but what is their Fondneſs good for, but to torment each other? Indeed Mamma, cries Nancy, I have always look⯑ed on my Couſin Anderſon (for that was her Name) as one of the happieſt of Women.'’ I am ſure' ſays Mrs. Miller, ‘'the Caſe at preſent is much otherwiſe; for any one might have diſcerned that the tender Conſideration of each other's Sufferings, makes the moſt intolerable Part of their Calamity, both to the Huſband and the Wife. Compared to which, Hunger and Cold, as they affect their own Perſons only, are ſcarce Evils. Nay, the very Children, the youngeſt, which is not two Years old, excepted, feel in the ſame Manner; for they are a moſt loving Family; and if they had but a bare Competency, would be the happieſt People in the World. I ne⯑ver ſaw the leaſt Sign of Miſery at her Houſe, re⯑plied Nancy; I am ſure my Heart bleeds for what [44] you now tell me.—O Child,' anſwered the Mother, 'ſhe hath always endeavoured to make the beſt of every Thing. They have always been in great Diſtreſs; but, indeed, this abſolute Ruin hath been brought upon them by others. The poor Man was Bail for the Villain his Brother; and a⯑bout a Week ago, the very Day before her Lying⯑in, their Goods were all carried away, and ſold by an Execution. He ſent a Letter to me of it by one of the Bailiffs, which the Villain never delivered.—What muſt he think of my ſuffering a Week to paſs before he heard of me?'’

It was not with dry Eyes that Jones heard this Nar⯑rative; when it was ended, he took Mrs. Miller a⯑part with him into another Room, and delivering her his Purſe, in which was the Sum of 50 l. deſired her to ſend as much of it as ſhe thought proper to theſe poor People. The Look which Mrs. Miller gave Jones, on this Occaſion, is not eaſy to be deſcribed. She burſt into a Kind of Agony of Tranſport, and cry'd out—‘'Good Heavens! Is there ſuch a Man in the World?'’—But recollecting herſelf, ſhe ſaid, ‘'Indeed I know one ſuch; but can there be another? I hope, Madam, cries Jones, there are many who have common Humanity: For to relieve ſuch Diſtreſſes in our Fellow-Creatures, can hardly be called more.'’ Mrs. Miller then took ten Guineas, which were the utmoſt he could prevail with her to accept, and ſaid, ‘'ſhe would find ſome Means of conveying them the next Morning;' adding, 'that ſhe had herſelf done ſome little Matter for the poor People, and had not left them in quite ſo much Miſery as ſhe found them.'’

They then returned to the Parlour, where Night⯑ingale expreſs'd much Concern at the dreadful Situa⯑tion of theſe Wretches, whom, indeed, he knew [...] for he had ſeen them more than once at Mrs. Mil⯑ler's. [45] He inveighed againſt the Folly of making one's ſelf liable for the Debts of others; vented many bitter Execrations againſt the Brother; and concluded with wiſhing ſomething could be done for the unfortunate Family. ‘'Suppoſe, Madam, ſaid he, you ſhould recommend them to Mr. Allworthy? Or what think you of a Collection? I will give them a Guinea with all my Heart.'’

Mrs. Miller made no Anſwer; and Nancy, to whom her Mother had whiſpered the Generoſity of Jones, turned pale upon the Occaſion; though if ei⯑ther of them was angry with Nightingale, it was ſurely without Reaſon. For the Liberality of Jones, [...] he had known it, was not an Example which he had any Obligation to follow; and there are Thou⯑ſands who would not have contributed a ſingle Half⯑penny, as indeed he did not in Effect, for he made no Tender of any Thing; and therefore as the others thought proper to make no Demand, he kept his Mo⯑ney in his Pocket.

I have in Truth obſerved, and ſhall never have a better Opportunity than at preſent to communicate my Obſervation, that the World are in general divid⯑ed into two Opinions concerning Charity, which are he very reverſe of each other. One Party ſeems to [...]old, that all Acts of this Kind are to be eſteemed as [...]oluntary Gifts, and however little you give (if in⯑ [...]eed no more than your good Wiſhes) you acquire a [...]reat Degree of Merit in ſo doing.—Others on the [...]ontrary, appear to be as firmly perſuaded, that Be⯑ [...]eficence is a poſitive Duty, and that whenever the [...]ich fall greatly ſhort of their Ability in relieving the Diſtreſſes of the Poor, their pitiful Largeſſes are ſo [...]r from being meritorious, that they have only per⯑ [...]ormed their Duty by Halves, and are in ſome Senſe more contemptible than thoſe who have entirely ne⯑ [...]lected it.

[46] To reconcile theſe different Opinions is not in my Power. I ſhall only add, that the Givers are generally of the former Sentiment, and the Receivers are almoſt univerſally inclined to the latter.

CHAP. IX. Which treats of Matters of a very different Kind from thoſe in the preceding Chapter.

IN the Evening Jones met his Lady again, and a long Converſation again enſued between them; but as it conſiſted only of the ſame ordinary Occur⯑rences as before, we ſhall avoid mentioning Particu⯑lars, which we deſpair of rendring agreeable to the Reader; unleſs he is one whoſe Devotion to the Fair Sex, like that of the Papiſts to their Saints, wants to be raiſed by the Help of Pictures. But I am ſo far from deſiring to exhibit ſuch Pictures to the Public, that I would wiſh to draw a Curtain over thoſe that have been lately ſet forth in certain French Novels; very bungling Copies of which have been preſented us here, under the Name of Tranſlations.

Jones grew ſtill more and more impatient to ſee Sophia; and finding, after repeated Interviews with Lady Bellaſton, no Likelihood of obtaining this by her Means; for, on the contrary, the Lady began to treat even the Mention of the Name of Sophia with Reſentment; he reſolved to try ſome other Method. He made no Doubt but that Lady Bellaſton knew where his Angel was, ſo he thought it moſt likely, that ſome of her Servants ſhould be acquainted with the ſame Secret. Partridge therefore was employed to get acquainted with thoſe Servants, in order to fiſh this Secret out of them.

Few Situations can be imagined more uneaſy than that to which his poor Maſter was at preſent reduced; for beſides the Difficulties he met with in diſcovering [47] Sophia, beſides the Fears he had of having diſobliged [...]er, and the Aſſurances he had received from the Lady Bellaſton of the Reſolution which Sophia had taken a⯑gainſt him, and of her having purpoſely concealed herſelf from him, which he had ſufficient Reaſon to believe might be true; he had ſtill a Difficulty to com⯑bat, which it was not in the Power of his Miſtreſs to remove, however kind her Inclination might have been. This was the expoſing of her to be diſin⯑herited of all her Father's Eſtate, the almoſt inevit⯑able Conſequence of their coming together without a Conſent, which he had no Hopes of ever obtaining.

Add to all theſe the many Obligations which Lady Bellaſton, whoſe violent Fondneſs we can no longer conceal, had heaped upon him; ſo that by her Means he was now become one of the beſt dreſs'd Men a⯑bout Town; and was not only relieved from thoſe ri⯑diculous Diſtreſſes we have before mentioned, but was actually raiſed to a State of Affluence, beyond what he had ever known.

Now though there are many Gentlemen who very well reconcile it to their Conſciences to poſſeſs them⯑ſelves of the whole Fortune of a Woman, without making her any Kind of Return; yet to a Mind the [...]roprietor of which doth not deſerve to be hang'd, [...]othing is, I believe, more irkſome than to ſupport Love with Gratitude only; eſpecially where Inclina⯑ [...]ion pulls the Heart a contrary Way. Such was the unhappy Caſe of Jones; for tho' the virtuous Love which he bore to Sophia, and which left very little Affection for any other Woman, had been entirely out of the Queſtion, he could never have been able to [...]ave made an adequate Return to the generous Paſ⯑ [...]ion of this Lady, who had indeed been once an Ob⯑ [...]ect of Deſire; but was now entered at leaſt into the Autumn of Life; though ſhe wore all the Gayety of Youth both in her Dreſs and Manner; nay, ſhe con⯑trived [48] ſtill to maintain the Roſes in her Cheeks; but theſe, like Flowers forced out of Seaſon by Art, had none of that lively blooming Freſhneſs with which Na⯑ture, at the proper Time, bedecks her own Produc⯑tions. She had, beſides, a certain Imperfection, which renders ſome Flowers, tho' very beautiful to the Eye, very improper to be placed in a Wilderneſs of Sweets, and what above all others is moſt diſagreeable to the Breath of Love.

Though Jones ſaw all theſe Diſcouragements on the one Side, he felt his Obligations full as ſtrongly on the other; nor did he leſs plainly diſcern the ardent Paſ⯑ſion whence theſe Obligations proceeded, the extreme Violence of which if he failed to equal, he well knew the Lady would think him ungrateful; and, what is worſe, he would have thought himſelf ſo. He knew the tacit Conſideration upon which all her Favours were conferred; and as his Neceſſity obliged him to accept them, ſo his Honour, he concluded, forced him to pay the Price. This therefore he reſolved to do, what⯑ever Miſery it coſt him, and to devote himſelf to her, from that great Principle of Juſtice, by which the Laws of ſome Countries oblige a Debtor who is no otherwiſe capable of diſcharging his Debt to become the Slave of his Creditor.

While he was meditating on theſe Matters, he re⯑ceived the following Note from the Lady.

‘'A very fooliſh, but a very perverſe Accident hath happened ſince our laſt Meeting, which makes it improper I ſhould ſee you any more at the uſual Place. I will, if poſſible, contrive ſome other Place by To-morrow. In the mean Time, Adieu.'’

This Diſappointment, perhaps, the Reader may conclude was not very great; but if it was, he was quickly relieved; for in leſs than an Hour afterwards another Note was brought him from the ſame Hand, which contained as follows.

[49] ‘'I have altered my Mind ſince I wrote, a Change, which if you are no Stranger to the tendereſt of all Paſſions, you will not wonder at. I am now re⯑ſolved to ſee you this Evening, at my own Houſe, whatever may be the Conſequence. Come to me exactly at ſeven; I dine abroad, but will be at Home by that Time. A Day, I find, to thoſe that ſincerely love ſeems longer than I imagined.'’

‘'If you ſhould accidentally be a few Moments before me, bid them ſhew you into the Drawing-Room.'’

To confeſs the Truth, Jones was leſs pleaſed with this laſt Epiſtle than he had been with the former, as he was prevented by it from complying with the ear⯑neſt Entreaties of Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now contracted much Intimacy and Friendſhip. Theſe Entreaties were to go with that young Gentle⯑man and his Company to a new Play, which was to be acted that Evening, and which a very large Party had agreed to damn, from ſome Diſlike they had ta⯑ken to the Author, who was a Friend to one of Mr. Nightingale's Acquaintance. And this Sort of Funn, our Heroe, we are aſhamed to confeſs, would willingly have preferred to the above kind Appointment; but his Honour got the better of his Inclination.

Before we attend him to this intended Interview with the Lady, we think proper to account for both the preceding Notes, as the Reader may poſſibly be not a little ſurprized at the Imprudence of Lady Bel⯑laſton in bringing her Lover to the very Houſe where her Rival was lodged.

Firſt then the Miſtreſs of the Houſe where theſe Lovers had hitherto met, and who had been for ſome Years a Penſioner to that Lady, was now become a Methodiſt, and had that very Morning waited upon her Ladyſhip, and after rebuking her ſeverely for her paſt Life, had poſitively declared, that ſhe would, [50] on no Account, be inſtrumental in carrying on any of her Affairs for the future.

The Hurry of Spirits into which this Accident threw the Lady, made her deſpair of poſſibly finding any o⯑ther Convenience to meet Jones that Evening; but as ſhe began a little to recover from her Uneaſineſs at the Diſappointment, ſhe ſet her Thoughts to work, when luckily it came into her Head to propoſe to Sophia to go to the Play, which was immediately conſented to, and a proper Lady provided for her Companion. Mrs. Honour was likewiſe diſpatched with Mrs. Etoff on the ſame Errand of Pleaſure; and thus her own Houſe was left free for the ſafe Reception of Mr. Jones, with whom ſhe promiſed herſelf two or three Hours of uninterrupted Converſation, after her Return from the Place where ſhe dined, which was at a Friend's Houſe in a pretty diſtant Part of the Town, near her old Place of Aſſignation, where ſhe had en⯑gaged herſelf before ſhe was well apprized of the Re⯑volution that had happened in the Mind and Morals of her late Confidante.

CHAP. X. A Chapter which, though ſhort, may draw Tears from ſome Eyes.

MR. Jones was juſt dreſs'd to wait on Lady Bel⯑laſton, when Mrs. Miller rapp'd at his Door; and being admitted, very earneſtly deſired his Company below Stairs to drink Tea in the Parlour.

Upon his Entrance into the Room, ſhe preſently in⯑troduced a Perſon to him, ſaying, ‘'This, Sir, is my Couſin, who hath been ſo greatly beholden to your Goodneſs, for which he begs to return you his ſin⯑cereſt Thanks.'’

The Man had ſcarce entered upon that Speech, which Mrs. Miller had ſo kindly prefaced, when both Jones and he looking ſtedfaſtly at each other, ſhowed [51] at once the utmoſt Tokens of Surprize. The Voice of the latter began inſtantly to faulter; and, inſtead of finiſhing his Speech, he ſunk down into a Chair, cry⯑ing, ‘'It is ſo, I am convinced it is ſo!'’

‘'Bleſs me, what's the Meaning of this, cries Mrs. Miller, you are not ill, I hope, Couſin? Some Water, a Dram this Inſtant.'’

‘'Be not frighted, Madam, cries Jones, I have al⯑moſt as much Need of a Dram as your Couſin. We are equally ſurprized at this unexpected Meet⯑ing. Your Couſin is an Acquaintance of mine, Mrs. Miller.'’

‘'An Acquaintance! cries the Man,—Oh Heaven!'’

‘'Ay, an Acquaintance, repeated Jones, and an honoured Acquaintance too. When I do not love and honour the Man who dares venture every thing to preſerve his Wife and Children from inſtant De⯑ſtruction, may I have a Friend capable of diſowning me in Adverſity.'’

‘'O you are an excellent young Man cries Mrs. Miller,—yes, indeed, poor Creature! he hath ventured every thing—if he had not had one of the beſt of Conſtitutions it muſt have killed him.'’

‘'Couſin, cries the Man, who had now pretty well recovered himſelf; this is the Angel from Hea⯑ven whom I meant. This is he to whom before I ſaw you, I owed the Preſervation of my Peggy. He it was to whoſe Generoſity every Comfort, every Support which I have procured for her was owing. He is indeed the worthieſt, braveſt, nob⯑leſt of all human Beings. O, Couſin, I have Obli⯑gations to this Gentleman of ſuch a Nature!'’

‘'Mention nothing of Obligations, cries Jones eagerly, not a Word I inſiſt upon it, not a Word.'’ (Meaning, I ſuppoſe, that he would not have him betray the Affair of the Robbery to any Perſon)— [52] ‘'If by the Trifle you have received from me, I have preſerved a whole Family, ſure Pleaſure was never bought ſo cheap.'’

‘'O, Sir, cries the Man, I wiſh you could this In⯑ſtant ſee my Houſe. If any Perſon had ever a Right to the Pleaſure you mention, I am convinced it is yourſelf. My Couſin tells me, ſhe acquainted you with the Diſtreſs in which ſhe found us. That, Sir, is all greatly removed, and chiefly by your Goodneſs.—My Children have now a Bed to lie on,—and they have—they have—eternal Bleſſings reward you for it,—they have Bread to eat. My little Boy is recovered; my Wife is out of Danger, and I am happy. All, all owing to you, Sir, and to my Couſin here, one of the beſt of Women. Indeed, Sir, I muſt ſee you at my Houſe.—Indeed my Wife muſt ſee you, and thank you.—My Children too muſt expreſs their Gratitude.—Indeed, Sir, they are not without a Senſe of their Obligation; but what is my Feeling when I reflect to whom I owe, that they are now capable of expreſſing their Gratitude.—Oh, Sir! the little Hearts which you have warm⯑ed had now been cold as Ice without your Aſ⯑ſiſtance.—'’

Here Jones attempted to prevent the poor Man from proceeding; but indeed the Overflowing of his own Heart would of itſelf have ſtopped his Words. And now Mrs. Miller likewiſe began to pour forth Thankſgivings, as well in her own Name, as in that of her Couſin, and concluded with ſaying, ſhe doubted not but ſuch Goodneſs would meet a glorious Reward.

Jones anſwered, ‘'He had been ſufficiently reward⯑ed already. Your Couſin's Account, Madam, ſaid he, hath given me a Senſation more pleaſing than I have ever known. He muſt be a Wretch who [53] is unmoved at hearing ſuch a Story; how tranſport⯑ing then muſt be the Thought of having happily acted a Part in this Scene. If there are Men who cannot feel the Delight of giving Happineſs to o⯑thers, I ſincerely pity them, as they are incapable of taſting what is in my Opinion, a greater Ho⯑nour, a higher Intereſt, and a ſweeter Pleaſure, than the ambitious, the avaritious, or the voluptu⯑ous Man can ever obtain.'’

The Hour of Appointment being now come, Jones was forced to take a haſty Leave, but not be⯑fore he had heartily ſhaken his Friend by the Hand, and deſired to ſee him again as ſoon as poſſible; pro⯑miſing, that he would himſelf take the firſt Opportu⯑nity of viſiting him at his own Houſe. He then ſtept into his Chair, and proceeded to Lady Bellaſton's, greatly exulting in the Happineſs which he had pro⯑cured to this poor Family; nor could he forbear re⯑flecting without Horror on the dreadful Conſequences which muſt have attended them, had he liſtened ra⯑ther to the Voice of ſtrict Juſtice, than to that of Mercy when he was attacked on the high Road.

Mrs. Miller ſung forth the Praiſes of Jones during the whole Evening, in which Mr. Enderſon, while he ſtayed, ſo paſſionately accompanied her, that he was often on the very Point of mentioning the Cir⯑cumſtances of the Robbery. However, he luckily recalled himſelf, and avoided an Indiſcretion which would have been ſo much the greater, as he knew Mrs. Miller to be extremely ſtrict and nice in her Principles. He was likewiſe well appriſed of the Lo⯑quacity of this Lady; and yet ſuch was his Gratitude, that it had almoſt got the better both of Diſcretion and Shame, and made him publiſh that which would have defamed his own Character, rather than omit any Circumſtances which might do the fulleſt Honour to his Benefactor.

CHAP. XI. In which the Reader will be ſurprized.

MR. Jones was rather earlier than the Time ap⯑pointed, and earlier than the Lady, whoſe Ar⯑rival was hindered not only by the Diſtance of the Place where ſhe dined, but by ſome other croſs Ac⯑cidents, very vexatious to one in her Situation of Mind. He was accordingly ſhewn into the Drawing-Room, where he had not been many Minutes before the Door opened, and in came—no other than So⯑phia herſelf, who had left the Play before the End of the firſt Act; for this, as we have already ſaid, being a new Play, at which two large Parties met, the one to damn, and the other to applaud, a violent Uproar, and an Engagement between the two Parties had ſo terrified our Heroine, that ſhe was glad to put herſelf under the Protection of a young Gentleman, who ſafely conveyed her to her Chair.

As Lady Bellaſton had acquainted her that ſhe ſhould not be at Home till late, Sophia expecting to find no one in the Room, came haſtily in, and went di⯑rectly to a Glaſs which almoſt fronted her, without once looking towards the upper End of the Room, where the Statue of Jones now ſtood motionleſs.—In this Glaſs it was, after contemplating her own love⯑ly Face, that ſhe firſt diſcovered the ſaid Statue; when inſtantly turning about, ſhe perceived the Reality of the Viſion: Upon which ſhe gave a violent Scream, and ſcarce preſerved herſelf from fainting, till Jones was able to move to her, and ſupport her in his Arms.

To paint the Looks or Thoughts of either of theſe Lovers is beyond my Power. As their Senſations, from their mutual Silence, may be judged to have been too big for their Utterance, it cannot be ſup⯑poſed, [55] that I ſhould be able to expreſs them: And the Misfortune is, that few of my Readers have been enough in Love, to feel by their own Hearts what paſt at this Time in theirs.

After a ſhort Pauſe, Jones, with faultering Ac⯑cents, ſaid,—‘'I ſee, Madam, you are ſurprized.'’—‘'Surprized! anſwered ſhe; Oh Heavens! In⯑deed, I am ſurprized. I almoſt doubt whether you are the Perſon you ſeem.'’ ‘'Indeed, cries he, my Sophia, pardon me, Madam, for this once call⯑ing you ſo, I am that very wretched Jones, whom Fortune, after ſo many Diſappointments, hath, at laſt, kindly conducted to you. Oh! my Sophia, did you know the thouſand Torments I have ſuffer⯑ed in this long, fruitleſs Purſuit'’—‘'Purſuit of whom?'’ ſaid Sophia, a little recollecting herſelf, and aſſuming a reſerved Air.—‘'Can you be ſo cruel to aſk that Queſtion?' cries Jones. 'Need I ſay of you?’ ‘'Of me?' anſwered Sophia: 'Hath Mr. Jones then any ſuch important Buſineſs with me?'’ ‘'To ſome, Madam, cries Jones, 'this might ſeem an important Buſineſs, (giving her the Poc⯑ket-Book).' I hope, Madam, you will find it of the ſame Value, as when it was loſt.'’ Sophia took the Pocket-Book, and was going to ſpeak, when he interrupted her, thus;—‘'Let us not, I beſeech you, loſe one of theſe precious Moments which For⯑tune hath ſo kindly ſent us.—O my Sophia, I have Buſineſs of a much ſuperior Kind.—Thus, on my Knees, let me aſk your Pardon.'’—‘'My Pardon?' cries ſhe;—'Sure, Sir, after what is paſt you cannot expect, after what I have heard'’—‘'I ſcarce know what I ſay, anſwered Jones. 'By Heavens! I ſcarce wiſh you ſhould pardon me. O my Sophia, henceforth never caſt away a Thought on ſuch a Wretch as I am. If any Remembrance of me ſhould ever intrude to give a Moment's Un⯑eaſineſs [56] to that tender Boſom, think of my Unwor⯑thineſs; and let the Remembrance of what paſt at Upton blot me for ever from your Mind'’—

Sophia ſtood trembling all this while. Her Face was whiter than Snow, and her Heart was throbbing through her Stays. But at the mention of Upton, a Bluſh aroſe in her Cheeks, and her Eyes, which be⯑fore ſhe had ſcarce lifted up, were turned upon Jones with a Glance of Diſdain. He underſtood this ſilent Reproach, and replied to it thus: ‘'O my Sophia, my only Love, you cannot hate or deſpiſe me more for what happened there, than I do myſelf: But yet do me the Juſtice to think, that my Heart was never unfaithful to you. That had no Share in the Folly I was guilty of; it was even then unalterably yours. Though I deſpaired of poſſeſſing you, nay, almoſt of ever ſeeing you more, I doated ſtill on your charming Idea, and could ſeriouſly love no other Woman. But if my Heart had not been en⯑gaged, ſhe, into whoſe Company I accidentally fell at that curſed Place, was not an Object of ſerious Love. Believe me, my Angel, I never have ſeen her from that Day to this; and never intend, or deſired to ſee her again.'’ Sophia, in her Heart, was very glad to hear this; but forcing into her Face an Air of more Coldneſs than ſhe yet had aſſumed; Why, ſaid ſhe, Mr. Jones, do you take the ‘'Trou⯑ble to make a Defence, where you are not accuſed? If I thought it worth while to accuſe you, I have a Charge of an unpardonable Nature indeed.'’ ‘'What is it, for Heaven's Sake?'’ anſwered Jones, trembling and pale, expecting to hear of his Amour with Lady Bellaſton. ‘'Oh, ſaid ſhe, how is it poſſible! Can every Thing noble, and every Thing baſe, be lodged together in the ſame Boſom?'’ La⯑dy Bellaſton, and the ignominious Circumſtance of having been kept, roſe again in his Mind, and ſtopt [57] his Mouth from any Reply. ‘'Could I have expected, proceeded Sophia, ſuch Treatment from you? Nay, from any Gentleman, from any Man of Honour? To have my Name traduced in Public; in Inns, among the meaneſt Vulgar! To have any little Fa⯑vours, that my unguarded Heart may have too lightly betray'd me to grant, boaſted of there! Nay, even to hear that you had been forced to fly from my Love!'’ Nothing could equal Jones's Sur⯑prize at theſe Words of Sophia; but yet, not being guilty, he was much leſs embarraſſed how to defend himſelf, than if ſhe had touched that tender String, at which his Conſcience had been alarmed. By ſome Examination he preſently found, that her ſuppoſing him guilty of ſo ſhocking an Outrage againſt his Love, and her Reputation, was entirely owing to Par⯑tridge's Talk at the Inns, before Landlords and Ser⯑vants; for Sophia confeſſed to him, it was from them that ſhe received her Intelligence. He had no very great Difficulty to make her believe that he was entire⯑ly innocent of an Offence ſo foreign to his Character; but ſhe had a great deal to hinder him from going in⯑ſtantly home, and putting Partridge to Death, which he more than once ſwore he would do. This Point being cleared up, they ſoon found themſelves ſo well pleaſed with each other, that Jones quite forgot he had begun the Converſation with conjuring her to give up all Thoughts of him; and ſhe was in a Temper to have given Ear to a Petition of a very different Na⯑ture: For before they were aware, they had both gone ſo far, that he let fall ſome Words that ſounded like a Propoſal of Marriage. To which ſhe replied, ‘'That, did not her Duty to her Father forbid her to follow her own Inclinations, Ruin with him would be more welcome to her, than the moſt affluent Fortune with another Man.'’ At the men⯑tion of the Word Ruin he ſtarted, let drop her Hand, [58] which he had held for ſome Time, and ſtriking his Breaſt with his own, cried out, ‘'Oh, Sophia, can I then ruin thee? No; by Heavens, no! I never will act ſo baſe a Part. Deareſt Sophia, whatever it coſts me, I will renounce you; I will give you up: I will tear all ſuch Hopes from my Heart, as are inconſiſtent with your real Good. My Love I will ever retain, but it ſhall be in Silence; it ſhall be at a Diſtance from you; it ſhall be in ſome fo⯑reign Land; from whence no Voice, no Sigh of my Deſpair, ſhall ever reach and diſturb your Ears. And when I am dead'’—He would have gone on, but was ſtopt by a Flood of Tears which Sophia let fall in his Boſom, upon which ſhe leaned, without being able to ſpeak one Word. He kiſſed them off, which, for ſome Moments, ſhe allowed him to do without any Reſiſtance; but then recollecting herſelf, gently withdrew out of his Arms; and, to turn the Diſcourſe from a Subject too tender, and which ſhe found ſhe could not ſupport, bethought herſelf to aſk him a Queſtion ſhe had never had Time to put to him before, ‘'How he came into that Room?'’ He begun to ſtammer, and would, in all Probability, have raiſed her Suſpicions by the Anſwer he was go⯑ing to give, when, at once, the Door opened, and in came Lady Bellaſton.

Having advanced a few Steps, and ſeeing Jones and Sophia together, ſhe ſuddenly ſtopt; when after a Pauſe of a few Moments, recollecting herſelf with ad⯑mirable Preſence of Mind, ſhe ſaid,—tho' with ſuf⯑ficient Indications of Surprize both in Voice and Countenance—‘'I thought, Miſs Weſtern, you had been at the Play?'’

Though Sophia had had no Opportunity of learn⯑ing of Jones, by what Means he had diſcovered her, yet as ſhe had not the leaſt Suſpicion of the real Truth, or that Jones and Lady Bellaſton were ac⯑quainted; [59] ſo ſhe was very little confounded: And the leſs, as the Lady had, in all their Converſations on the Subject, entirely taken her Side againſt her Father. With very little Heſitation, therefore, ſhe went through the whole Story of what had happened at the Playhouſe, and the Cauſe of her haſty Return.

The Length of this Narrative gave Lady Bellaſton an Opportunity of rallying her Spirits, and of conſi⯑dering in what Manner to act. And as the Behavi⯑our of Sophia gave her Hopes that Jones had not be⯑tray'd her, ſhe put on an Air of Good-Humour, and ſaid, ‘'I ſhould not have broke in ſo abruptly upon you, Miſs Weſtern, if I had known you had Com⯑pany.'’

Lady Bellaſton fixed her Eyes on Sophia whilſt ſhe ſpoke theſe Words. To which that poor young La⯑dy, having her Face overſpread with Bluſhes and Con⯑fuſion, anſwered, in a ſtammering Voice, ‘'I am ſure, Madam, I ſhall always think the Honour of your Ladyſhip's Company.’—‘'I hope, at leaſt,' cries Lady Bellaſton, 'I interrupt no Buſineſs.'’—‘'No, Madam, anſwered Sophia, our Buſineſs was at an End. Your Ladyſhip may be pleaſed to re⯑member, I have often mentioned the Loſs of my Pocket-Book, which this Gentleman having very luckily found, was ſo kind to return to me with the Bill in it.'’

Jones, ever ſince the Arrival of Lady Bellaſton, had been ready to ſink with Fear. He ſat kicking his Heels, playing with his Fingers, and looking more like a Fool, if it be poſſible, than a young boody Squire, when he is firſt introduced into a polite Aſ⯑ſembly. He began, however, now to recover him⯑ſelf; and taking a Hint from the Behaviour of Lady Bellaſton, who, he ſaw, did not intend to claim any Acquaintance with him, he reſolved as entirely to affect the Stranger on his Part. He ſaid, ‘'Ever ſince [60] he had had the Pocket-Book in his Poſſeſſion, he had uſed great Diligence in enquiring out the Lady whoſe Name was writ in it; but never till that Day could be ſo fortunate to diſcover her.'’

Sophia had, indeed, mentioned the Loſs of her Pocket-Book to Lady Bellaſton; but as Jones, for ſome Reaſon or other, had never once hinted to her that it was in his Poſſeſſion, ſhe believed not one Syl⯑lable of what Sophia now ſaid, and wonderfully ad⯑mired the extreme Quickneſs of the young Lady, in inventing ſuch an Excuſe. The Reaſon of Sophia's leaving the Play-houſe met with no better Credit; and though ſhe could not account for the Meeting between theſe two Lovers, ſhe was firmly perſwaded it was not accidental.

With an affected Smile, therefore, ſhe ſaid—‘'In⯑deed, Miſs Weſtern, you have had very good Luck in recovering your Money. Not only as it fell in⯑to the Hands of a Gentleman of Honour, but as he happened to diſcover to whom it belonged. I think you would not conſent to have it advertiſed.—It was great good Fortune, Sir, that you found out to whom the Note belonged.'’

‘'O Madam, cries Jones, it was incloſed in a Pocket-Book, in which the young Lady's Name was written.'’

‘'That was very fortunate indeed, cries the Lady;—And it was no leſs ſo, that you heard Miſs Weſtern was at my Houſe; for ſhe is very little known.'’

Jones had at length perfectly recovered his Spirits; and as he conceived he had now an Opportunity of ſatisfying Sophia, as to the Queſtion ſhe had aſked him juſt before Lady Bellaſton came in, he proceed⯑ed thus: Why, Madam, anſwered he, ‘'it was by the luckieſt Chance imaginable I made this Diſco⯑very. I was mentioning what I had found, and [61] the Name of the Owner, the other Night, to a Lady at the Maſquerade, who told me, ſhe believ⯑ed ſhe knew where I might ſee Miſs Weſtern; and if I would come to her Houſe the next Morning, ſhe would inform me. I went according to her Appointment, but ſhe was not at Home; nor could I ever meet with her till this Morning, when ſhe directed me to your Ladyſhip's Houſe. I came ac⯑cordingly, and did myſelf the Honour to aſk for your Ladyſhip; and upon my ſaying that I had very particular Buſineſs, a Servant ſhewed me into this Room; where I had not been long before the young Lady returned from the Play.'’

Upon his mentioning the Maſquerade, he look'd very ſlyly at Lady Bellaſton, without any Fear of be⯑ing remarked by Sophia; for ſhe was viſibly too much confounded to make any Obſervations. This Hint a little alarmed the Lady, and ſhe was ſilent; when Jones, who ſaw the Agitations of Sophia's Mind, re⯑ſolved to take the only Method of relieving her, which was by retiring: But before he did this, he ſaid, ‘'I believe, Madam, it is cuſtomary to give ſome Re⯑ward on theſe Occaſions;—I muſt inſiſt on a very high one for my Honeſty;—It is, Madam, no leſs than the Honour of being permitted to pay ano⯑ther Viſit here.'’

‘'Sir, replied the Lady, I make no Doubt that you are a Gentleman, and my Doors are never ſhut to People of Faſhion.'’

Jones then, after proper Ceremonials, departed, highly to his own Satisfaction, and no leſs to that of Sophia; who was terribly alarmed leſt Lady Bellaſton ſhould diſcover what ſhe knew already but too well.

Upon the Stairs Jones met his old Acquaintance Mrs. Honour, who, notwithſtanding all ſhe had ſaid againſt him, was now ſo well-bred to behave with great Civility. This Meeting proved indeed a lucky [62] Circumſtance, as he communicated to her the Houſe where he lodged, with which Sophia was unac⯑quainted.

CHAP. XII. In which the Thirteenth Book is concluded.

THE elegant Lord Shaftsbury ſomewhere objects to telling too much Truth: By which it may be fairly inferred, that, in ſome Caſes, to lie, is not only excuſable but commendable.

And ſurely there are no Perſons who may ſo pro⯑perly challenge a Right to this commendable Deviation from Truth, as young Women in the Affair of Love; for which they may plead Precept, Education, and above all, the Sanction, nay, I may ſay, the Neceſ⯑ſity of Cuſtom, by which they are reſtrained, not from ſubmitting to the honeſt Impulſes of Nature (for that would be a fooliſh Prohibition) but from owning them.

We are not, therefore, aſhamed to ſay, that our Heroine now purſued the Dictates of the abovemen⯑tioned Right Honourable Philoſopher. As ſhe was perfectly ſatisfied then, that Lady Bellaſton was igno⯑rant of the Perſon of Jones, ſo ſhe determined to keep her in that Ignorance, though at the Expence of a little Fibbing.

Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bel⯑laſton cry'd, ‘'Upon my Word, a good pretty young Fellow; I wonder who he is: For I don't remem⯑ber ever to have ſeen his Face before.'’

‘'Nor I neither, Madam, cries Sophia. I muſt ſay he behaved very handſomely in relation to my Note.'’

‘'Yes; and he is a very handſome Fellow, ſaid the Lady; don't you think ſo?'’

I did not take much Notice of him, anſwered [63] Sophia; ‘'but I thought he ſeemed rather awkward and ungenteel than otherwiſe.'’

‘'You are extremely right, cries Lady Bellaſton: You may ſee, by his Manner, that he hath not kept good Company. Nay, notwithſtanding his re⯑turning your Note, and refuſing the Reward, I al⯑moſt queſtion whether he is a Gentleman.—I have always obſerved there is a Something in Per⯑ſons well-born, which others can never acquire.—I think I will give Orders not to be at Home to him.'’

‘'Nay ſure, Madam, anſwered Sophia, one can't ſuſpect after what he hath done:—Beſides, if your Ladyſhip obſerved him, there was an Elegance in his Diſcourſe, a Delicacy, a Prettineſs of Ex⯑preſſion that, that—'’

‘'I confeſs, ſaid Lady Bellaſton, the Fellow hath Words—And indeed, Sophia, you muſt forgive me, indeed you muſt.'’

‘'I forgive your Ladyſhip! ſaid Sophia.'’

‘'Yes indeed you muſt, anſwered ſhe 'laughing; for I had a horrible Suſpicion when I firſt came in⯑to the Room—I vow you muſt forgive it; but I ſuſpected it was Mr. Jones himſelf.'’

‘'Did your Ladyſhip indeed? cries Sophia, bluſh⯑ing, and affecting a Laugh.'’

‘'Yes, I vow I did, anſwered ſhe, I can't ima⯑gine what put it into my Head: For, give the Fel⯑low his due, he was genteelly dreſt; which, I think, dear Sophy, is not commonly the Caſe with your Friend.'’

‘'This Raillery, cries Sophia, is a little cruel, Lady Bellaſton, after my Promiſe to your Lady⯑ſhip.'’

‘'Not at all, Child,' ſaid the Lady;—It would have been cruel before; but after you have pro⯑miſed me never to marry without your Father's [64] Conſent, in which you know is implied your giv⯑ing up Jones, ſure you can bear a little Raillery on a Paſſion which was pardonable enough in a young Girl in the Country, and of which you tell me you have ſo entirely got the better. What muſt I think, my dear Sophy if you cannot bear a little Ridicule even on his Dreſs? I ſhall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almoſt queſtion whether you have dealt ingenuouſly with me.'’

‘'Indeed, Madam, cries Sophia, your Ladyſhip miſtakes me, if you imagine I had any Concern on his Account.'’

'On his Account?' anſwered the Lady: ‘'You muſt have miſtaken me; I went no farther than his Dreſs;—for I would not injure your Taſte by any other Compariſon—I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if your Mr. Jones had been ſuch a Fellow as this—'’

'I thought,' ſays Sophia, ‘'your Ladyſhip had al⯑lowed him to be handſome.—'’

'Whom, pray?' cried the Lady, haſtily.

'Mr. Jones,' anſwered Sophia;—and immediately recollecting herſelf, ‘'Mr. Jones!—no, no; I aſk your Pardon;—I mean the Gentleman who was juſt now here.'’

'O Sophy! Sophy!' cries the Lady; ‘'this Mr. Jones, I am afraid, ſtill runs in your Head.'’

'Then upon my Honour, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, ‘'Mr. Jones is as entirely indifferent to me, as the Gentleman who juſt now left us.'’

'Upon my Honour,' ſaid Lady Bellaſton, ‘'I be⯑lieve it. Forgive me, therefore, a little innocent Raillery; but I promiſe you I will never mention his Name any more.'’

And now the two Ladies ſeparated, infinitely more to the Delight of Sophia, than of Lady Bellaſton, who would willingly have tormented her Rival a little lon⯑ger, had not Buſineſs of more Importance called her [65] away. As for Sophia, her Mind was not perfectly eaſy under this firſt Practice of Deceit; upon which, when ſhe retired to her Chamber, ſhe reflected with the higheſt Uneaſineſs and conſcious Shame. Nor could the peculiar Hardſhip of her Situation, and the Neceſſity of the Caſe, at all reconcile her Conduct to her Mind; the Frame of which was too delicate to bear the Thought of having been guilty of a Falſhood, however qualified by Circumſtances. Nor did this Thought once ſuffer her to cloſe her Eyes during the whole ſucceeding Night.

CHAP. I. An Eſſay to prove that an Author will write the bet⯑ter, for having ſome Knowledge of the Subject on which he writes.

AS ſeveral Gentlemen in theſe Times, by the wonderful Force of Genius only, without the leaſt Aſſiſtance of Learning, perhaps, without being well able to read, have made a con⯑ſiderable Figure in the Republic of Letters; the mo⯑dern Critics, I am told, have lately begun to aſſert, that all kind of Learning is entirely uſeleſs to a Wri⯑ter; and, indeed, no other than a kind of Fetters on the natural Spritelineſs and Activity on the Imagina⯑tions, which is thus weighed down, and prevented [67] from ſoaring to thoſe high Flights which otherwiſe it would be able to reach.

This Doctrine, I am afraid, is, at preſent, carried much too far: For why ſhould Writing differ ſo much from all other Arts? The Nimbleneſs of a Dancing-Maſter is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move; nor doth any Mechanic, I believe, exer⯑ciſe his Tools the worſe by knowing how to uſe them. For my own Part, I cannot conceive that Homer or Virgil would have writ with more Fire, if, inſtead of being Maſters of all the Learning of their Times, they had really been as ignorant as moſt of the Au⯑thors of the preſent Age. Nor do I believe that all the Imagination, Fire, and Judgment of Pitt could have produced thoſe Orations that have made the Se⯑nate of England in theſe our Times a Rival in Elo⯑quence to Greece and Rome, if he had not been ſo well read in the Writings of Demoſthenes and Ci⯑cero, as to have transfuſed their whole Spirit into his Speeches, and with their Spirit, their Knowledge too.

I would not here be underſtood to inſiſt on the ſame Fund of Learning in any of my Brethren, as Cicero perſwades us is neceſſary to the Compoſition of an Orator. On the contrary, very little Reading is, I conceive, neceſſary to the Poet, leſs to the Cri⯑tic, and the leaſt of all to the Politician. For the firſt, perhaps, Byſſe's Art of Poetry, and a few of our mo⯑dern Poets, may ſuffice; for the ſecond, a moderate Heap of Plays; and for the laſt, an indifferent Col⯑lection of political Journals.

To ſay the Truth, I require no more than that a Man ſhould have ſome little Knowledge of the Sub⯑ject on which he treats, according to the old Maxim of Law, Quam quiſque norit artem in eâ ſe exer⯑ceat. With this alone a Writer may ſometimes do tolerably well; and indeed without this, all the other Learning in the World will ſtand him in little ſtead.

[68] For Inſtance, let us ſuppoſe that Homer and Virgil, Ariſtotle and Cicero, Thucydides and Livy could have met all together, and have clubbed their ſeveral Ta⯑lents to have compoſed a Treatiſe on the Art of Danc⯑ing; I believe it will be readily agreed they could not have equalled the excellent Treatiſe which Mr. Eſſex hath given us on that Subject, entitled, The Rudi⯑ments of genteel Education. And, indeed, ſhould the excellent Mr. Broughton be prevailed on to ſet Fiſt to Paper, and to complete the aboveſaid Rudiments, by delivering down the true Principles of Athletics, I queſtion whether the World will have any Cauſe to lament, that none of the great Writers, either an⯑cient or modern, have ever treated about that noble and uſeful Art.

To avoid a Multiplicity of Examples in ſo plain a Caſe, and to come at once to my Point, I am apt to conceive, that one Reaſon why many Engliſh Wri⯑ters have totally failed in deſcribing the Manners of upper Life, may poſſibly be, that in Reality they know nothing of it.

This is a Knowledge unhappily not in the Power of many Authors to arrive at. Books will give us a very imperfect Idea of it; nor will the Stage a much better: The fine Gentleman formed upon reading the former will almoſt always turn out a Pedant, and he who forms himſelf upon the latter, a Coxcomb.

Nor are the Characters drawn from theſe Models better ſupported. Vanbrugh and Congreve copied Na⯑ture; but they who copy them draw as unlike the preſent Age, as Hogarth would do if he was to paint a Rout or a Drum in the Dreſſes of Titian and of Vandyke. In ſhort, Imitation here will not do the Buſineſs. The Picture muſt be after Nature herſelf. A true Knowledge of the World is gained only by Converſation, and the Manners of every Rank muſt be ſeen in order to be known.

[69] Now it happens that this higher Order of Mortals is not to be ſeen, like all the reſt of the Human Spe⯑cies, for nothing, in the Streets, Shops, and Coffee-houſes: Nor are they ſhewn, like the upper Rank of Animals, for ſo much apiece. In ſhort, this is a Sight to which no Perſons are admitted, without one or o⯑ther of theſe Qualifications, viz. either Birth or For⯑tune; or what is equivalent to both, the honourable Profeſſion of a Gameſter. And very unluckily for the World, Perſons ſo qualified, very ſeldom care to take upon themſelves the bad Trade of Writing; which is generally entered upon by the lower and poorer Sort, as it is a Trade which many think re⯑quires no Kind of Stock to ſet up with.

Hence thoſe ſtrange Monſters in Lace and Em⯑broidery, in Silks and Brocades, with vaſt Wigs and Hoops; which, under the Name of Lords and Ladies, ſtrut the Stage, to the great Delight of Attornies and their Clerks in the Pit, and of Citizens and their Ap⯑prentices in the Galleries; and which are no more to be found in real Life, than the Centaur, the Chimera, or any other Creature of mere Fiction. But to let my Reader into a Secret, this Knowledge of upper Life, though very neceſſary for the preventing Miſ⯑takes, is no very great Reſource to a Writer whoſe Province is Comedy, or that Kind of Novels, which like this I am writing, is of the comic Claſs.

What Mr. Pope ſays of Women is very applicable to moſt in this Station, who are indeed ſo entirely made up of Form and Affection, that they have no Character at all, at leaſt, none which appears. I will venture to ſay the higheſt Life is much the dulleſt, and affords very little Humour or Entertainment. The various Callings in lower Spheres produce the great Variety of humorous Characters; whereas here, ex⯑cept among the few who are engaged in the Purſuit of Ambition, and the fewer ſtill who have a Reliſh for [80] Pleaſure, all is Vanity and ſervile Imitation. Dreſſing and Cards, eating and drinking, bowing and curteſying, make up the Buſineſs of their Lives.

Some there are however of this Rank, upon whom Paſſion exerciſes its Tyranny, and hurries them far beyond the Bounds which Decorum pre⯑ſcribes; of theſe, the Ladies are as much diſtinguiſhed by their noble Intrepidity, and a certain ſuperior Con⯑tempt of Reputation, from the frail ones of meaner Degree, as a virtuous Woman of Quality is by the Elegance and Delicacy of her Sentiments from the ho⯑neſt Wife of a Yeoman or Shopkeeper. Lady Bel⯑laſton was of this intrepid Character; but let not my Country Readers conclude from her, that this is the general Conduct of Women of Faſhion, or that we mean to repreſent them as ſuch. They might as well ſuppoſe, that every Clergyman was repreſented by Thwackum, or every Soldier by Enſign Northerton.

There is not indeed a greater Error than that which univerſally prevails among the Vulgar, who borrow⯑ing their Opinion from ſome ignorant Satyriſts, have affixed the Character of Lewdneſs to theſe Times. On the contrary, I am convinced there never was leſs of Love Intrigue carried on among Perſons of Condi⯑tion, than now. Our preſent Women have been taught by their Mothers to fix their Thoughts only on Ambition and Vanity, and to deſpiſe the Pleaſures of Love as unworthy their Regard; and being afterwards, by the Care of ſuch Mothers, married without having Huſbands, they ſeem pretty well confirmed in the Juſt⯑neſs of thoſe Sentiments; whence they content them⯑ſelves for the dull Remainder of Life, with the Pur⯑ſuit of more innocent, but I am afraid more childiſh Amuſements, the bare Mention of which would ill ſuit with the Dignity of this Hiſtory. In my humble Opinion, the true Characteriſtick of the preſent Beau [81] Monde, is rather Folly than Vice, and the only Epithet which it deſerves is that of Frivolous.

CHAP. II. Containing Letters and other Matters which attend Amours.

JONES had not long been at Home, before he received the following Letter.

Jones had but little Time given him to reflect on his Letter, before a ſecond was brought him from [...]e ſame Hand; and this likewiſe, we ſhall ſet down [...]n the preciſe Words.

To the Men of Intrigue I refer the Determination whether the angry or the tender Letter gave th [...] greateſt Uneaſineſs to Jones. Certain it is, he ha [...] no violent Inclination to pay more Viſits that Even⯑ing, unleſs to one ſingle Perſon. However he though [...] his Honour engaged, and had not this been Moti [...] ſufficient, he would not have ventured to blow th [...] Temper of Lady Bellaſton into that Flame of which he had Reaſon to think it ſuſceptible, and of which he feared the Conſequence might be a Diſcovery [...] Sophia, which he dreaded. After ſome diſconten [...] Walks therefore about the Room, he was prepari [...] to depart, when the Lady kindly prevented him, n [...] by another Letter, but by her own Preſence. S [...] entered the Room very diſordered in her Dreſs, a [...] very diſcompoſed in her Looks, and threw herſelf i [...] to a Chair, where having recovered her Breath, ſ [...] ſaid,—‘'You ſee, Sir, when Women have go [...] one Length too far, they will ſtop at none. If a [...] Perſon would have ſworn this to me a Week ag [...] I would not have believed it of myſelf.'’ ‘'I hop [...] Madam, ſaid Jones, my charming Lady Bellaſton will be as difficult to believe any thing againſt o [...] who is ſo ſenſible of the many Obligations ſhe ha [...] [73] conferred upon him.'’—‘'Indeed! ſays ſhe, ſen⯑ſible of Obligations! Did I expect to hear ſuch cold Language from Mr. Jones?'’ ‘'Pardon me, my dear Angel, ſaid he, if after the Letters I have re⯑ceived, the Terrors of your Anger, though I know not how I have deſerved it'’—‘'And have I then, ſays ſhe with a Smile, ſo angry a Countenance?—Have I really brought a chiding Face with me?'’—‘'If there be Honour in Man, ſaid he, I have done nothing to merit your Anger.'—You re⯑member the Appointment you ſent me—I went in Purſuance'’—‘'I beſeech you, cry'd ſhe, do not run through the odious Recital—Anſwer me but one Queſtion, and I ſhall be eaſy—Have you not betrayed my Honour to her?'’ —Jones fell upon his Knees, and began to utter the moſt violent Pro⯑teſtations, when Partridge came dancing and caper⯑ing into the Room, like one drunk with Joy, cry⯑ing out, ‘'ſhe's found! ſhe's found!—Here, Sir, here, ſhe's here,—Mrs. Honour is upon the Stairs.'’ ‘'Stop her a Moment, cries Jones,—Here, Ma⯑dam, ſtep behind the Bed, I have no other Room nor Cloſet, nor Place on Earth to hide you in; ſure never was ſo damn'd an Accident.'’—‘'D—n'd indeed!'’ ſaid the Lady as ſhe went to her Place of Concealment; and preſently afterwards in came Mrs. Honour. ‘'Hey day! ſays ſhe, Mr. Jones, what's the Matter?—That impudent Raſcal, your Ser⯑vant, would ſcarce let me come up Stairs. I hope he hath not the ſame Reaſon now to keep me from you as he had at Upton.—I ſuppoſe you hardly expected to ſee me: but you have certainly be⯑witched my Lady. Poor dear young Lady! To be ſure, I loves her as tenderly as if ſhe was my own Siſter. Lord have Mercy upon you, if you don't make her a good Huſband; and to be ſure, if you do not, nothing can be bad enough for you.'’ Jones [74] ‘'begged her only to whiſper, for that there was a Lady dying in the next Room.'’ ‘'A Lady! cries ſhe; ay, I ſuppoſe one of your Ladies.—O Mr. Jones, there are too many of them in the World; I believe we are got into the Houſe of one, for my Lady Bella⯑ſton I darſt to ſay is no better than ſhe ſhould be.'’—‘'Huſh! huſh! cries Jones, every Word is overheard in the next Room.'’ ‘'I don't care a Far⯑thing, cries Honour, I ſpeaks no Scandal of any one; but to be ſure the Servants makes no Scruple of ſay⯑ing as how her Ladyſhip meets Men at another Place—where the Houſe goes under the Name of a poor Gentlewoman, but her Ladyſhip pays the Rent, and many's the good Thing beſides, they ſay, ſhe hath of her.'’—Here Jones, after expreſ⯑ſing the utmoſt Uneaſineſs, offered to ſtop her Mouth,—‘'Hey day! why ſure Mr. Jones you will let me ſpeak, I ſpeaks no Scandal, for I only ſays what I heard from others,—and thinks I to myſelf much good may it do the Gentlewoman with her Riches, if ſhe comes by it in ſuch a wicked Manner. To be ſure it is better to be poor and honeſt.'’ ‘'The Servants are Villains, cries Jones, and abuſe their Lady unjuſtly'’—‘'Ay to be ſure Servants are al⯑ways Villains, and ſo my Lady ſays, and won't hear a Word of it.'’—‘'No, I am convinced, ſays Jones, my Sophia is above liſtening to ſuch baſe Scandal.'’ ‘'Nay, I believe it is no Scandal neither, cries Ho⯑nour, for why ſhould ſhe meet Men at another Houſe?—It can never be for any Good: for if ſhe had a lawful Deſign of being courted, as to be ſure any Lady may lawfully give her Company to Men upon that Account; why where can be the Senſe'’—‘'I proteſt, cries Jones, I can't hear all 'this of a Lady of ſuch Honour, and a Relation of Sophia; beſides you will diſtract the poor Lady in the next Room.—Let me intreat you to walk [75] with me down Stairs.—Nay, Sir, you won't let me ſpeak, I have done—Here, Sir, is a Letter from my young Lady,—what would ſome Men give to have this? But, Mr. Jones, I think you are not over and above generous, and yet I have heard ſome Servants ſay; but I am ſure you will do me the Juſtice to own I never ſaw the Colour of your Money.'’ Here Jones haſtily took the Letter, and preſently after ſlip'd five Pieces into her Hand. He then returned a thouſand Thanks to his dear Sophia in a Whiſper, and begged her to leave him to read her Letter; ſhe preſently departed, not without ex⯑preſſing much grateful Senſe of his Generoſity.

Lady Bellaſton now came from behind the Curtain. How ſhall I deſcribe her Rage? Her Tongue was at firſt incapable of Utterance; but ſtreams of Fire dart⯑ed from her Eyes, and well indeed they might, for her Heart was all in a Flame. And now as ſoon as her Voice found Way, inſtead of expreſſing any In⯑dignation againſt Honour, or her own Servants, ſhe began to attack poor Jones. ‘'You ſee, ſaid ſhe, what I have ſacrificed to you, my Reputation, my Honour,—gone for ever! And what Return have I found? Neglected, ſlighted for a Country Girl, for an Idiot.'’—‘'What Neglect, Madam, or what Slight, cries Jones, have I been guilty of?—Mr. Jones, ſaid ſhe, it is in vain to diſſemble, if you will make me eaſy, you muſt entirely give her up; and as a Proof of your Intention, ſhew me the Let⯑ter.'’—‘'What Letter, Madam? ſaid Jones. Nay, ſurely, ſaid ſhe, you cannot have the Confidence to deny your having received a Letter by the Hands of that Trollop'. And can your Ladyſhip, cries he, aſk of me what I muſt part with my Honour before I grant? Have I acted in ſuch a Manner by your Ladyſhip? Could I be guilty of betraying this poor innocent Girl to you, what Security could you have, [76] that I ſhould not act the ſame Part by yourſelf? A Moment's Reflection will, I am ſure, convince you, that a Man with whom the Secrets of a Lady are not ſafe, muſt be the moſt contemptible of Wretches. Very well, ſaid ſhe—I need not inſiſt on your becoming this contemptible Wretch in your own Opinion; for the Inſide of the Letter could inform me of nothing more than I know already. I ſee the Footing you are upon.'’—Here enſued a long Converſation, which the Reader, who is not too cu⯑rious, will thank me for not inſerting at length. It ſhall ſuffice therefore to inform him, that Lady Bel⯑laſton grew more and more pacified, and at length believed, or affected to believe, his Proteſtations, that his meeting with Sophia that Evening was merely ac⯑cidental, and every other Matter which the Reader already knows, and which as Jones ſet before her in the ſtrongeſt Light, it is plain that ſhe had in Reali⯑ty no Reaſon to be angry with him.

She was not however in her Heart perfectly ſatisfi⯑ed with his Refuſal to ſhew her the Letter, ſo dea [...] are we to the cleareſt Reaſon, when it argues againſt our prevailing Paſſions. She was indeed well con⯑vinced that Sophia poſſeſſed the firſt Place in Jones [...] Affections; and yet, haughty and amorous as this La⯑dy was, ſhe ſubmitted at laſt to bear the ſecond Place or to expreſs it more properly in a legal Phraſe; wa [...] contented with the Poſſeſſion of that of which ano⯑ther Woman had the Reverſion.

It was at length agreed, that Jones ſhould for th [...] future viſit at the Houſe: for that Sophia, her Mai [...] and all the Servants would place theſe Viſits to th [...] Account of Sophia; and that ſhe herſelf would [...] conſidered as the Perſon impoſed upon.

This Scheme was contrived by the Lady, and high⯑ly reliſhed by Jones, who was indeed glad to have Proſpect of ſeeing his Sophia at any Rate; and th [...] [77] Lady herſelf was not a little pleaſed with the Impo⯑ſition on Sophia, which Jones, ſhe thought, could not poſſibly diſcover to her for his own Sake.

The next Day was appointed for the firſt Viſit, and then, after proper Ceremonials, the Lady Bella⯑ſton returned Home.

CHAP. III. Containing various Matters.

JONES was no ſooner alone, than he eagerly broke open his Letter, and read as follows,

This Letter adminiſtred the ſame Kind of Conſo⯑lation to poor Jones, which Job formerly received from his Friends. Beſides diſappointing all the Hopes which he promiſed to himſelf from ſeeing Sophia, he was reduced to an unhappy Dilemma, with Regard to Lady Bellaſton; for there are ſome certain En⯑gagements, which, as he well knew, do very diffi⯑cultly admit of any Excuſe for the Failure; and to go, after the ſtrict Prohibition from Sophia, he was not to be forced by any human Power. At length, after much Deliberation, which during that Night ſup⯑ply'd [78] the Place of Sleep, he determined to feign him⯑ſelf ſick: For this ſuggeſted itſelf as the only means of failing the appointed Viſit, without incenſing Lady Bellaſton, which he had more than one Reaſon of de⯑ſiring to avoid.

The firſt Thing however which he did in the Morn⯑ing was to write an Anſwer to Sophia, which he en⯑cloſed in one to Honour. He then diſpatched another to Lady Bellaſton, containing the abovementioned Excuſe; and to this he ſoon received the following Anſwer.

Mr. Jones now received a Viſit from Mrs. Miller, who, after ſome formal Introduction, began the fol⯑lowing Speech. ‘'I am very ſorry, Sir, to wait up⯑on you on ſuch an Occaſion; but I hope you will conſider the ill Conſequence which it muſt be to the Reputations of my poor Girls, if my Houſe ſhould once be talked of as a Houſe of ill Fame. I hope you won't think me therefore guilty of Impertinence if I beg you not to bring any more Ladies in at th [...] Time of Night. The Clock had ſtruck two before one of them went away.'’ ‘'I do aſſure you, Ma⯑dam, ſaid Jones, the Lady who was here laſt Night and who ſtaid the lateſt (for the other only brought me a Letter) is a Woman of very great Faſhion and my near Relation. I don't know what Faſhion ſhe is of, anſwered Mrs. Miller, but I am ſure [...] Woman of Virtue, unleſs a very near Relation in⯑deed, would viſit a young Gentleman at ten [79] Night, and ſtay four Hours in his Room with him alone; beſides, Sir, the Behaviour of her Chairmen ſhews what ſhe was; for they did nothing but make Jeſts all the Evening in the Entry, and aſked Mr. Partridge in the hearing of my own Maid, if Ma⯑dam intended to ſtay with his Maſter all Night; with a great deal of Stuff not proper to be repeated. I have really a great Reſpect for you, Mr. Jones, upon your own Account, nay I have a very high Obligation to you for your Generoſity to my Cou⯑ſin. Indeed I did not know how very good you had been till lately. Little did I imagine to what dread⯑ful Courſes the poor Man's Diſtreſs had driven him. Little did I think when you gave me the ten Guineas, that you had given them to a Highwayman! O Heavens! What Goodneſs have you ſhewn? How have you preſerved this Family.—The Cha⯑racter which Mr. Allworthy hath formerly given me of you, was, I find, ſtrictly true.—And indeed if I had no Obligation to you, my Obligations to him are ſuch, that, on his Account, I ſhould ſhew you the utmoſt Reſpect in my Power.—Nay, believe me, dear Mr. Jones, if my Daughters and my own Reputation were out of the Caſe, I ſhould, for your own Sake, be ſorry that ſo pretty a young Gentleman ſhould converſe with theſe Women; but if you are reſolved to do it, I muſt beg you to take another Lodging; for I do not myſelf like to have ſuch Things carried on under my Roof; but more eſpecially upon the Account of my Girls, who have little, Heaven knows, beſides their Characters to recommend them.'’ Jones ſtarted and changed Colour at the Name of Allworthy. ‘'Indeed, Mrs. Miller, anſwered he a little warmly, I do not take this at all kind. I will never bring any Slander on your Houſe; but I muſt inſiſt on ſeeing what Com⯑pany I pleaſe in my own Room; and if that gives [80] you any Offence, I ſhall, as ſoon as I am able, look for another Lodging.'’ ‘'I am ſorry we muſt part then, Sir, ſaid ſhe, but I am convinced Mr. Allworthy himſelf would never come within my Doors, if he had the leaſt Suſpicion of my keeping an ill Houſe.'’—‘'Very well, Madam,' ſaid Jones.—'I hope, Sir, ſaid ſhe, 'you are not angry; for I would not for the World offend any of Mr. Allworthy's Family. I have not ſlept a wink all Night about this Matter.'’—‘'I am ſorry, I have diſturbed your Reſt, Madam,' ſaid Jones, but I beg you will ſend Partridge up to me imme⯑diately;'’ which ſhe promiſed to do, and then with a very low Courteſy retired.

As ſoon as Partridge arrived, Jones fell upon him in the moſt outrageous manner.—‘'How often,' ſaid he, 'am I to ſuffer for your Folly, or rather for my own in keeping you? Is that Tongue of yours reſolved upon my Deſtruction?'’—‘'What have I done, Sir?'’ anſwered affrighted Partridge, ‘'Who was it gave you Authority to mention the Story of the Robbery, or that the Man you ſaw here was the Perſon?'—'I Sir?' cries Partridge. 'Now don't be guilty of a Falſhood in denying it, ſaid Jones.'’—‘'If I did mention ſuch a Matter, anſwers Partridge, 'I am ſure, I thought no Harm: For I ſhould not have opened my Lips, if it had not been to his own Friends and Relations, who, I ima⯑gined, would have let it go no farther.'’ ‘'But I have a much heavier Charge againſt you,' cries Jones, than this. How durſt you, after all the Precautions I give you, mention the Name of Mr. Allworthy in this Houſe?'’ Partridge denied that he ever had, with many Oaths. ‘'How elſe,' ſaid Jones, ſhould Mrs. Miller be acquainted that there was any Con⯑nection between him and me? And it is but this Moment ſhe told me, ſhe reſpected me on his Ac⯑count.'’ [81] —‘'O Lord, Sir,' ſaid Partridge, I deſire only to be heard out; and to be ſure, never was any thing ſo unfortunate; hear me but out, and you will own how wrongfully you have accuſed me. When Mrs. Honour came down Stairs laſt Night, ſhe met me in the Entry, and aſked me when my Maſter had heard from Mr. Allworthy; and to be ſure Mrs. Miller heard the very Words; and the Moment Madam Honour was gone, ſhe called me into the Parlour to her.'’ ‘'Mr. Partridge,' ſays ſhe, What Mr. Allworthy is that the Gentlewoman men⯑tioned? Is it the great Mr. Allworthy of Somerſet⯑ſhire?'’ ‘'Upon my Word, Madam,' ſays I, I know nothing of the Matter.'’—‘'Sure,' ſays ſhe, 'your Maſter is not the Mr. Jones I have heard Mr. All⯑worthy talk of?'’ ‘'Upon my Word, Madam,' ſays I, I know nothing of the Matter.'’—‘'Then,' ſays ſhe, turning to her Daughter Nancy,' ſays ſhe, as ſure as ten Pence this is the very young Gentle⯑man, and he agrees exactly with the Squire's Deſcrip⯑tion. 'The Lord above knows who it was told her, for I am the arranteſt Villain that ever walked up⯑on two Legs if ever it came out of my Mouth.’—‘'I promiſe you, Sir, I can keep a Secret when I am deſired.'’—‘'Nay, Sir, ſo far was I from telling her any thing about Mr. Allworthy, that I told her the very direct contrary: For though I did not con⯑tradict it at that Moment, yet as ſecond Thoughts, they ſay, are beſt; ſo when I came to conſider that ſome body muſt have informed her, thinks I to my⯑ſelf, I will put an End to the Story, and ſo I went back again into the Parlour ſome time afterwards, and ſays I, Upon my word, ſays I, whoever, ſays I, told you that this Gentleman was Mr. Jones, that is, ſays I, that this Mr. Jones was that Mr. Jones, told you a confounded Lie; and I beg, ſays I, you will never mention any ſuch Matter, ſays I: for [82] my Maſter, ſays I, will think I muſt have told you ſo, and I defy any body in the Houſe, ever to ſay, I mentioned any ſuch Word. To be certain, Sir, it is a wonderful Thing, and I have been thinking with myſelf ever ſince, how it was ſhe came to know it: not but I ſaw an old Woman here t'other Day a begging at the Door, who looked as like her we ſaw in Warwickſhire, that cauſed all that Miſ⯑chief to us. To be ſure it is never good to paſs by an old Woman without giving her ſomething, e⯑ſpecially if ſhe looks at you; for all the World ſhall never perſuade me but that they have a great Pow⯑er to do Miſchief, and to be ſure I ſhall never ſee at old Woman again, but I ſhall think to myſelf, In⯑fandum, Regina, jubes renovare Dolorem.'’

The Simplicity of Partridge ſet Jones a laughing and put a final end to his Anger, which had indeed ſeldom any long Duration in his Mind; and inſtead o [...] commenting on his Defence, he told him he intende [...] preſently to leave thoſe Lodgings, and ordered him t [...] go and endeavour to get him others.

CHAP. IV. Which we hope will be very attentively peruſed i [...] young People of both Sexes.

PARTRIDGE had no ſooner left Mr. Jones, tha [...] Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now con⯑tracted a great Intimacy, came to him, and after ſhort Salutation, ſaid, ‘'So Tom, I hear you had Com⯑pany very late laſt Night. Upon my Soul, you are a happy Fellow, who have not been in Town above a Fortnight, and can keep Chairs waiting at you [...] Door till two in the Morning.'’ He then ran on wit [...] much common-place Raillery of the ſame Kind, [...] Jones, at laſt interrupted him, ſaying, ‘'I ſuppoſ [...] you have received all this Information from M [...] [83] Miller, who hath been up here a little while ago to give me Warning. The good Woman is afraid, it ſeems, of the Reputation of her Daughters.'’ ‘'O ſhe is wonderfully nice,' ſays Nightingale, 'upon that Account; if you remember, ſhe would not let Nancy go with us to the Maſquerade.'’ ‘'Nay, upon my Honour, I think ſhe's in the Right of it,' ſays Jones; however I have taken her at her Word, and have ſent Partridge to look for another Lodg⯑ing.'’ ‘'If you will,' ſays Nightingale, we may, I believe, be again together; for to tell you a Secret, which I deſire you won't mention in the Family, I intend to quit the Houſe to-day.'’—‘'What, hath Mrs. Miller given you Warning too, my Friend?'’ cries Jones. ‘'No,' anſwered the other; but the Rooms are not convenient enough.—Be⯑ſides, I am grown weary of this part of the Town. I want to be nearer the Places of Diverſion; ſo I am going to Pallmall.’—‘'And do you intend to make a Secret of your going away?'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'I promiſe you,' anſwered Nightingale, 'I don't intend to bilk my Lodgings; but I have a private Reaſon for not taking a formal Leave.'’ ‘'Not ſo pri⯑vate,' anſwered Jones; 'I promiſe you, I have ſeen it ever ſince the ſecond Day of my coming to the Houſe.—Here will be ſome wet Eyes on your Departure.—Poor Nancy, I pity her, faith!’—‘'Indeed, Jack, you have play'd the Fool with that Girl—You have given her a Longing, which I am afraid nothing will ever cure her of.'’ —Night⯑ingale anſwered, ‘'What the Devil would you have me do? Would you have me marry her to cure her?'’—‘'No,' anſwered Jones, 'I would not have had you make Love to her, as you have often done in my Preſence. I have been aſtoniſhed at the Blind⯑neſs of her Mother in never ſeeing i [...].'’ ‘'Pugh, ſee it!' cries Nightingale, 'What the Devil ſhould ſhe [84] ſee?'’ ‘'Why ſee,' ſaid Jones, 'that you have made her Daughter diſtractedly in Love with you. The poor Girl cannot conceal it a Moment, her Eyes are never off from you, and ſhe always colours every time you come into the Room. Indeed, I pity her heartily; for ſhe ſeems to be one of the beſt natured, and honeſteſt of human Creatures.'’ ‘'And ſo anſwered Nightingale, according to your Doc⯑trine, one muſt not amuſe one's ſelf by any common Gallantries with Women, for fear they ſhould fall in love with us.'’ ‘'Indeed, Jack,' ſaid Jones, 'you wilfully miſunderſtand me; I do not fancy Women are ſo apt to fall in love; but you have gone far be⯑yond common Gallantries.'’—‘'What do you ſuppoſe,' ſays Nightingale, 'that we have been a bed together?'’ ‘'No, upon my Honour,' anſwered Jones, very ſeriouſly, 'I do not ſuppoſe ſo ill of you; nay, I will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a regular premeditated Scheme for the Deſtruc⯑tion of the Quiet of a poor little Creature, or have even foreſeen the Conſequence; for I am ſure thou art a very good-natured Fellow, and ſuch a one can never be guilty of a Cruelty of that Kind; but at the ſame time, you have pleaſed your own Vanity, without conſidering that this poor Girl was made a Sacrifice to it; and while you have had no Deſign but of amuſing an idle Hour, you have actually gi⯑ven her Reaſon to flatter herſelf, that you had the moſt ſerious Deſigns in her Favour. Prithee, Jack, anſwer me honeſtly: To what have tended all thoſe elegant and luſcious Deſcriptions of Happineſs ariſing from violent and mutual Fondneſs, all thoſe warm Profeſſions of Tenderneſs, and gene⯑rous, diſintereſted Love? did you imagine ſhe would not apply them? or ſpeak ingenuouſly, did not you intend ſhe ſhould?'’ ‘'Upon my Soul, Tom,' cries [85] Nightingale, 'I did not think this was in thee. Thou wilt make an admirable Parſon.’—‘'So, I ſuppoſe, you would not go to Bed to Nancy now, if ſhe would let you?'’—‘'No,' cries Jones, may I be d—n'd if I would.'’ ‘''Tom, Tom,' an⯑ſwered Nightingale, 'laſt Night, remember laſt Night.'’

‘'Lookee, Mr. Nightingale,' ſaid Jones, I am no 'canting Hypocrite, nor do I pretend to the Gift of Chaſtity, more than my Neighbours. I have been guilty with Women, I own it; but am not con⯑ſcious that I have ever injured any—nor would I to procure Pleaſure to myſelf, be knowingly the Cauſe of Miſery to any human Being.'’

‘'Well, well,' ſaid Nightingale, I believe you, and I am convinced you acquit me of any ſuch Thing.'’

‘'I do, from my Heart,' anſwered Jones, of hav⯑ing debauched the Girl, but not from having gained her Affections.'’

‘'If I have,' ſaid Nightingale, I am ſorry for it; but Time and Abſence will ſoon wear off ſuch Im⯑preſſions. It is a Receipt I muſt take myſelf: For to confeſs the Truth to you—I never liked any Girl half ſo much in my whole Life; but I muſt let you into the whole Secret Tom. My Father hath provided a Match for me, with a Woman I never ſaw, and ſhe is now coming to Town, in order for me to make my Addreſſes to her.'’

‘'At theſe Words Jones burſt into a loud Fit of Laughter; when Nightingale cried,—'Nay, prithee don't turn me into Ridicule. The Devil take me if I am not half mad about this Matter! [86] my poor Nanny! Oh Jones, Jones, I wiſh I had [...] Fortune in my own Poſſeſſion.'’

'I heartily wiſh you had,' cries Jones; ‘'for if th [...] be the Caſe, I ſincerely pity you both: But ſurely you don't intend to go away without taking you [...] Leave of her.'’

‘'I would not, anſwered Nightingale, undergo the Pain of taking Leave for ten thouſand Pound; be⯑ſides, I am convinced, inſtead of anſwering an [...] good Purpoſe, it would only ſerve to inflame m [...] poor Nancy the more. I beg therefore, you would not mention a Word of it to day, and in the Eve [...] ⯑ing or to-morrow morning I intend to deaprt.'’

Jones promiſed he would not, and ſaid, upon Re⯑flection he thought, as he had determined and w [...] obliged to leave her, he took the moſt prudent Metho [...] he then told Nightingale, he ſhould be very glad [...] lodge in the ſame Houſe with him; and it was accord⯑ingly agreed between them, that Nightingale ſhould procure him either the Ground Floor or the two P [...] of Stairs; for the young Gentleman himſelf was [...] occupy that which was between them.

This Nightingale, of whom we ſhall be preſent [...] obliged to ſay a little more, was in the ordina [...] Tranſactions of Life a Man of ſtrict Honour, an [...] what is more rare among young Gentlemen of t [...] Town, one of ſtrict Honeſty too; yet in Affairs [...] Love he was ſomewhat looſer in his Morals; not th [...] he was even here as void of Principle as Gentlem [...] ſometimes are, and oftner affect to be; but it is cer⯑tain he had been guilty of ſome indefenſible Trea⯑chery to Women, and had in a certain Myſtery call [...] making Love, practiced many Deceits, which if [...] had uſed in Trade he would have been counted [...] greateſt Villain upon Earth.

But as the World, I know not well for what Rea⯑ſon, agree to ſee this Treachery in a better Light, [...] [87] was ſo far from being aſhamed of his Iniquities of this Kind, that he gloried in them, and would often boaſt of his Skill in gaining of Women, and his Triumphs over their Hearts, for which he had before this Time received ſome Rebukes from Jones, who always ex⯑preſt great Bitterneſs againſt any Miſbehaviour to the fair Part of the Species, who, if conſidered, he ſaid, as they ought to be, in the Light of the deareſt Friends, were to be cultivated, honoured, and ca⯑reſſed with the utmoſt Love and Tenderneſs; but if regarded as Enemies, were a Conqueſt of which a Man ought rather to be aſhamed than to value him⯑ſelf upon it.

CHAP. V. A ſhort Account of the Hiſtory of Mrs. Miller.

JONES this Day eat a pretty good Dinner for a ſick Man, that is to ſay, the larger Half a Shoul⯑der of Mutton. In the Afternoon he received an In⯑vitation from Mrs. Miller to drink Tea: For that good Woman having learnt, either by Means of Par⯑tridge, or by ſome other Means natural or ſuper na⯑tural, that he had a Connection with Mr. Allworthy, could not endure the Thoughts of parting with him in an angry Manner.

Jones accepted the Invitation; and no ſooner was the Tea-kettle removed, and the Girls ſent out of the Room, than the Widow, without much Preface, be⯑gan as follows: ‘'Well, there are very ſurprizing Things happen in this World; but certainly it is a wonderful Buſineſs, that I ſhould have a Rela⯑tion of Mr. Allworthy in my Houſe, and never know any Thing of the Matter. Alas! Sir, you little imagine what a Friend that beſt of Gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, Sir, I am not aſhamed to own it; it is owing to his Goodneſs, [88] that I did not long ſince periſh for Want, and leave my poor little Wretches, two deſtitute helpleſs friendleſs Orphans, to the Care or rather to the Cruelty of the World.'’

‘'You muſt know, Sir, though I am now re⯑duced to get my Living by letting Lodgings, I was born and bred a Gentlewoman. My Father was an Officer of the Army, and died in a conſiderable Rank: But he lived up to his Pay; and as that ex⯑pired with him, his Family, at his Death, became Beggars. We were three Siſters. One of us had the good Luck to dies ſoon afterwards of the Small-pox. A Lady was ſo kind to take the ſecond out of Charity, as ſhe ſaid, to wait upon her. The Mother of this Lady had been a Servant to my Grandmother; and having inherited a vaſt Fortune from her Fa⯑ther, which he had got by Pawn-broking, was mar⯑ried to a Gentleman of great Eſtate and Faſhion. She uſed my Siſter ſo barbarouſly, often upraiding her with her Birth and Poverty, calling her in De⯑riſion a Gentlewoman, that I believe ſhe at length broke the Heart of the poor Girl. In ſhort, ſhe likewiſe died within a Twelvemonth after my Father. Fortune thought proper to provide better for me, and within a Month from his Deceaſe I was married to a Clergyman, who had been my Lover a long▪ Time before, and who had been very i [...] uſed by my Father upon that Account; for though my poor Father could not give any of us a Shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately, conſidered us, and would have had us conſider ourſelves as highly, as if we had been the richeſt Heireſſes. But my dear Huſband forgot all this Uſage, and the Moment we were become fatherleſs, he immediately renewed his Addreſſes to me ſo warmly, that I, who always liked, and now more than ever eſteemed him, ſoon comply'd. Five Years did I live in a State of per⯑fect [89] Happineſs with that beſt of Men, 'till at laſt—Oh! cruel, cruel Fortune that ever ſepa⯑rated us, that deprived me of the kindeſt of Huſ⯑bands, and my poor Girls of the tendereſt Parent.—O my poor Girls! you never knew the Bleſſing which ye loſt—I am aſhamed, Mr. Jones, of this womaniſh Weakneſs; but I ſhall never mention him without Tears.'—'I ought rather, Madam,' ſaid Jones, 'to be aſhamed that I do not accompany you.'—Well, Sir,' con⯑tinued ſhe, 'I was now left a ſecond Time in a much worſe Condition than before; beſides the terrible Affliction I was to encounter, I had now two Chil⯑dren to provide for; and was if poſſible more pen⯑nyleſs than ever, when that great, that good, that glorious Man, Mr. Allworthy, who had ſome little Acquaintance with my Huſband, accidentally heard of my Diſtreſs, and immediately writ this Letter to me. Here, Sir;—here it is; I put it into my Pocket to ſhew it you. This is the Letter, Sir; I muſt and will read it you.'’

[90] ‘'This Letter, Sir, I received within a Fortnight after the irreparable Loſs I have mentioned, and within a Fortnight afterwards, Mr. Allworthy,—the bleſſed Mr. Allworthy, came to pay me a Vi⯑ſit, when he placed me in the Houſe you now ſee me, gave me a large Sum of Money to furniſh it, and ſettled an Annuity of 50l. a Year upon me, which I have conſtantly received ever ſince. Judge then, Mr. Jones, in what Regard I muſt hold a Benefactor, to whom I owe the Preſervation of my Life, and of thoſe dear Children, for whoſe Sake alone my Life is valuable.—Do not, there⯑fore, think me impertinent, Mr. Jones, (ſince I muſt eſteem one for whom I know Mr. Allworthy hath ſo much Value) if I beg you not to converſe with theſe wicked Women. You are a young Gentleman, and do not know half their artful Wiles. Do not be angry with me, Sir, for what I ſaid upon account of my Houſe; you muſt be ſenſible i [...] would be the Ruin of my poor, dear Girls. Be⯑ſides, Sir, you cannot but be acquainted, that Mr. Allworthy himſelf would never forgive my conniving at ſuch Matters, and particularly with you.'’

‘'Upon my Word, Madam,' ſaid Jones, 'you need make no farther Apology; nor do I in the leaſt take any Thing ill you have ſaid; but give me Leave as no one can have more Value than myſelf for Mr. Allworthy, to deliver you from one Miſtake which, perhaps, would not be altogether for his Honour: I do aſſure you, I am no Relation of his'’

‘'Alas! Sir,' anſwered ſhe, 'I know you are not. I know very well who you are; for Mr. Allworthy hath told me all: But I do aſſure you, had you been twenty Times his Son, he could not have expreſſ [...] more Regard for you, than he hath often expreſſe [...] in my Preſence. You need not be aſhamed, Sir [91] of what you are; I promiſe you no good Perſon will eſteem you the leſs on that Account. No, Mr. Jones; the Words diſhonourable Birth are Non⯑ſenſe, as my dear, dear Huſband uſed to ſay, unleſs the Word diſhonourable be applied to the Parents; for the Children can derive no real Diſhonour from an Act of which they are entirely innocent.'’

Here Jones heaved a deep Sigh, and then ſaid, Since I perceive, Madam, you really do know me, and Mr. Allworthy hath thought proper to mention my Name to you; and ſince you have been ſo ex⯑plicit with me as to your own Affairs, I will ac⯑quaint you with ſome more Circumſtances concern⯑ing myſelf.' And theſe Mrs. Miller having expreſ⯑ſed great Deſire and Curioſity to hear, he began and related to her his whole Hiſtory, without once men⯑tioning the Name of Sophia.

There is a Kind of Sympathy in honeſt Minds, by Means of which they give an eaſy Credit to each o⯑ther. Mrs. Miller believed all which Jones told her to be true, and expreſt much pity and Concern for him. She was beginning to comment on the Story, but Jones interrupted her: For as the Hour of Aſſig⯑nation now drew nigh, he began to ſtipulate for a ſe⯑cond Interview with the Lady that Evening, which he promiſed ſhould be the laſt at her Houſe; ſwearing, at the ſame Time, that ſhe was one of great Diſtinc⯑tion, and that nothing but what was entirely innocent was to paſs between them; and I do firmly believe he intended to keep his Word.

Mrs. Miller was at length prevailed on, and Jones departed to his Chamber, where he ſat alone till Twelve o'Clock, but no Lady Bellaſton appeared.

As we have ſaid that this Lady had a great Affection for Jones, and as it muſt have appeared that ſhe really had ſo, the Reader may perhaps wonder at the firſt Failure of her Appointment, as ſhe apprehended him [92] to be confined by Sickneſs, a Seaſon when Friendſhip ſeems moſt to require ſuch Viſits. This Behaviour, there⯑fore, in the Lady, may, by ſome, be condemned as unnatural; but that is not our Fault; for our Buſineſs is only to record Truth.

CHAP. VI. Containing a Scene which we doubt not will affect all our Readers.

MR. Jones cloſed not his Eyes during all the for⯑mer Part of the Night; not owing to any Un⯑eaſineſs which he conceived at being diſappointed by Lady Bellaſton; nor was Sophia herſelf, though moſt of his waking Hours were juſtly to be charged to her Account, the preſent Cauſe of diſpelling his Slumber [...] In Fact, poor Jones was one of the beſt-natured fel⯑lows alive, and had all that Weakneſs which is called Compaſſion, and which diſtinguiſhes this imperfect Character from that noble Firmneſs of Mind, which rolls a Man as it were, within himſelf, and, like a poliſhed Bowl, enables him to run through the Work without being once ſtopped by the Calamities which happen to others. He could not help, therefore, com⯑paſſionating the Situation of poor Nancy, whoſe Lord for Mr. Nightingale ſeemed to him ſo apparent, th [...] he was aſtoniſhed at the Blindneſs of her Mother who had more than once, the preceding Evening remarked to him the great Change in the Temper o [...] her Daughter, ‘'who from being,' ſhe ſaid, one o [...] the livelieſt, merrieſt Girls in the World, was, o [...] a ſudden, become all Gloom and Melancholy.’

Sleep, however, at length got the better of all Re⯑ſiſtance; and now, as if he had really been a Deity as the Ancients imagined, and an offended one too, he ſeemed to enjoy his dear-bought Conqueſt.—To ſpeak ſimply, and without any Metaphor, Mr. [93] Jones ſlept till Eleven the next Morning, and would, perhaps, have continued in the ſame quiet Situation much longer, had not a violent Uproar awakened him.

Partridge was now ſummoned, who, being aſked what was the Matter, anſwered, ‘'That there was a dreadful Hurricane below Stairs; that Miſs Nancy was in Fits; and that the other Siſter and the Mo⯑ther were both crying and lamenting over her.'’ Jones expreſſed much Concern at this News, which Partridge endeavoured to relieve, by ſaying, with a Smile, ‘'He fancied the young Lady was in no Dan⯑ger of Death; for that Suſan (which was the Name of the Maid) had given him to underſtand, it was nothing more than a common Affair. In ſhort,' ſaid he, 'Miſs Nancy hath had a Mind to be as wiſe as her Mother, that's all. She was a little hungry, it ſeems, and ſo ſat down to Dinner before Grace was ſaid, and ſo there is a Child coming for the Foundling Hoſpital.'—'Prithee leave thy ſtupid jeſting,' cries Jones; 'is the Miſery of theſe poor Wretches a Subject of Mirth? Go immediately to Mrs. Miller, and tell her I beg Leave,—Stay, you will make ſome Blunder, I will go myſelf; for ſhe deſired me to breakfaſt with her.'’ He then roſe and dreſſed himſelf as faſt as he could; and while he was dreſſing, Partridge, notwithſtanding many ſevere Rebukes, could not avoid throwing forth certain Pieces of Brutality, commonly called Jeſts, on this Occaſion. Jones was no ſooner dreſſed than he walked down Stairs, and knocking at the Door was preſently admitted, by the Maid into the outward Parlour, which was as empty of Company as it was of any Apparatus for eating. Mrs. Miller was in the inner Room with her Daughter, whence the Maid preſently brought a Meſſage to Mr. Jones, ‘'that her Miſtreſs hoped he would excuſe the Diſappointment, [94] but an Accident had happened, which made it im⯑poſſible for her to have the Pleaſure of his Company at Breakfaſt that Day, and begged his Pardon for not ſending him up Notice ſooner.'’ Jones ‘'deſired ſhe would give herſelf no Trouble about any Thing ſo triffling as his Diſappointment; that he was hear⯑tily ſorry for the Occaſion; and that if he could be of any Service to her, ſhe might command him.'’ He had ſcarce ſpoke theſe Words, when Mrs. Miller, who heard them all, ſuddenly threw open the Door, and coming out to him in a Flood of Tears, ſaid ‘'O Mr. Jones, you are certainly one of the beſt young Men alive. I give you a thouſand Thanks for your kind Offer of your Service; but, alas! Sir, it is out of your Power to preſerve my poor Girl.—O my Child, my Child! She is undone, ſhe is ruined for ever!'’ ‘'I hope, Madam,' ſaid Jones no Villain'’—‘'O Mr. Jones,' ſaid ſhe, 'tha [...] Villain who Yeſterday left my Lodgings, hath be⯑trayed my poor Girl; hath deſtroyed her,—know you are a Man of Honour. You have good—a noble Heart, Mr. Jones. The Ac⯑tions to which I have been myſelf a Witneſs, could proceed from no other. I will tell you all: Nay indeed, it is impoſſible, after what hath happened to keep it a Secret. That Nightingale, that bar⯑barous Villain hath undone my Daughter. She is—ſhe is—oh! Mr. Jones, my Girl is with Child by him; and in that Condition he hath deſerted he [...] Here! here, Sir, is his cruel Letter; read it, Mr. Jones, and tell me if ſuch another Monſter lives'’ The Letter was as follows:

When Jones had read this Letter, they both ſtood ent during a Minute, looking at each other; at laſt began thus: ‘'I cannot expreſs, Madam, how much I am ſhocked at what I have read; yet let me beg you, in one Particular, to take the Writer's Advice. Conſider the Reputation of your Daugh⯑ter',’'—‘'It is gone, it is loſt, Mr. Jones,' cry'd ſhe, 'as well as her Innocence. She received the Letter [...]n a Room-full of Company, and immediately ſwooning away upon opening it, the Contents were known to every one preſent. But the loſs of her Reputation, bad as it is, is not the worſt; I ſhall [...]oſe my Child; ſhe hath attempted twice to deſtroy herſelf already: And though ſhe hath been hitherto prevented, vows ſhe will not out-live it; nor could [96] I myſelf out-live any Accident of that Nature.—What then will become of my little Betſy, a help⯑leſs, infant Orphan? And the poor, little Wret [...] will, I believe, break her Heart at the Miſeries wi [...] which ſhe ſees her Siſter and myſelf diſtracted, wh [...] ſhe is ignorant of the Cauſe.—O 'tis the moſt ſen⯑ſible, and the beſt-natured little Thing. The bar⯑barous cruel—hath deſtroyed us all. O my poo [...] Children! Is this the Reward of all my Cares? this the Fruit of all my Proſpects? Have I ſo cheer⯑fully undergone all the Labours and Duties of Mother? Have I been ſo tender of their Infancy ſo careful of their Education? Have I been to [...] ſo many Years, denying myſelf even the Conv [...] ⯑niencies of Life to provide ſome little Suſtena [...] for them, to loſe one or both in ſuch a Manner’ ‘'Indeed, Madam,' ſaid Jones, with Tears in b [...] Eyes, 'I pity you from my Soul.'’—‘'O Mr. Jones,' anſwered ſhe, 'even you, though I kno [...] the Goodneſs of your Heart, can have no Idea what I feel. The beſt, the kindeſt, the moſt d [...] ⯑tiful of Children. O my poor Nancy, the Darli [...] of my Soul; the Delight of my Eyes; the Pride my Heart: Too much, indeed, my Pride; for theſe fooliſh, ambitious Hopes, ariſing from [...] Beauty, I owe her Ruin. Alas! I ſaw with Plea⯑ſure the Liking which this young Man had for h [...] I thought it an honourable Affection; and flatter my fooliſh Vanity with the Thoughts of ſeeing [...] married to one ſo much her ſuperior. And a thou⯑ſand Times in my Preſence, nay, often in you [...] he hath endeavoured to ſooth and encourage th [...] Hopes by the moſt generous Expreſſions of diſin⯑reſted Love, which he hath always directed to [...] poor Girl, and which I, as well as ſhe, believed be real. Could I have believed that theſe were on⯑ly Snares laid to betray the Innocence of my Chi [...] [97] and for the Ruin of us all?'’—At theſe Words [...]ittle Betſy came running into the Room, crying, ‘'Dear Mamma, for Heaven's Sake come to my Siſter, for ſhe is in another Fit, and my Couſin can't hold her.'’ Mrs. Miller immediately obeyed the Sum⯑mons; but firſt ordered Betſy to ſtay with Mr. Jones, and begged him to entertain her a few Minutes, ſay⯑ing, in the moſt pathetic Voice, ‘'Good Heaven! let me preſerve one of my Children at leaſt.'’

Jones, in Compliance with this Requeſt, did all he could to comfort the little Girl, though he was, in Reality, himſelf very highly affected with Mrs. Mil⯑ler's Story. He told her, ‘'her Siſter would be very well again ſoon: That by taking on in that Manner, ſhe would not only make her Siſter worſe, but make her Mother ill too.'’ ‘'Indeed, Sir, ſays ſhe, I would not do any Thing to hurt them for the World. I would burſt my Heart, rather than they ſhould ſee me cry.—But my poor Siſter can't ſee me cry.—I am afraid ſhe will never be able to ſee me cry any more. Indeed, I can't part with her; indeed I can't.—And then poor Mamma too, what will become of her?—She ſays ſhe will die too, and leave me; but I am reſolved I won't be left behind.'’ ‘'And are you not afraid to die, my little Betſy?'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'Yes,' anſwered ſhe, 'I was always afraid to die; becauſe I muſt have left my Mamma, and my Siſter; but I am not afraid of going any where with thoſe I love.'’

Jones was ſo pleaſed with this Anſwer, that he [...]gerly kiſſed the Child; and ſoon after Mrs. Miller [...]urned, ſaying, ‘'She thanked Heaven Nancy was [...]ow come to herſelf. And now, Betſy,' ſays ſhe, you may go in, for your Siſter is better, and longs to ſee you.'’ She then turned to Jones, and began [...]renew her Apologies for having diſappointed him his Breakfaſt.

[98] ‘'I hope, Madam,' ſaid Jones, 'I ſhall have a more exquiſite Repaſt than any you could have provided for me. This, I aſſure you, will be the Caſe, if I can do any Service to this little Family of Love. Bu [...] whatever Succeſs may attend my Endeavours, I am reſolved to attempt it. I am very much deceived in Mr. Nightingale, if, notwithſtanding what hat [...] happened, he hath not much Goodneſs of Heart a [...] the Bottom, as well as a very violent Affection for your Daughter. If this be the Caſe, I think th [...] Picture which I ſhall lay before him, will affect him. Endeavour, Madam, to comfort yourſelf an [...] Miſs Nancy, as well as you can. I will go inſtant⯑ly in queſt of Mr. Nightingale; and I hope to brin [...] you good News.'’

Mrs. Miller fell upon her Knees, and invoked a [...] the Bleſſings of Heaven upon Mr. Jones; to which ſh [...] aftewards added the moſt paſſionate Expreſſions o [...] Gratitude. He then departed to find Mr. Nightin⯑gale, and the good Woman returned to comfort he Daughter, who was ſomewhat cheared at what he [...] Mother told her; and both joined in reſounding th [...] Praiſes of Mr. Jones.

CHAP. VII. The Interview between Mr. Jones and Mr. Nightingale

THE Good or Evil we confer on others, ve [...] often, I believe, recoils on ourſelves. For Men of a benign Diſpoſition enjoy their own Acts. Beneficence, equally with thoſe to whom they a [...] done, ſo there are ſcarce any Natures ſo entirely di [...] ⯑bolical, as to be capable of doing Injuries, with [...] paying themſelves ſome Pangs, for the Ruin wh [...] they bring on their Fellow-Creatures.

Mr. Nightingale, at leaſt, was not ſuch a Perſ [...] On the contrary, Jones found him in his new Lo [...] ⯑ings, ſitting melancholy by the Fire, and ſilently [99] menting the unhappy Situation in which he had placed poor Nancy. He no ſooner ſaw his Friend appear, than he roſe haſtily to meet him; and after much Congratulation ſaid, ‘'Nothing could have been more opportune than this kind Viſit; for I was never more in the Spleen in my Life.'’

‘'I am ſorry,' anſwered Jones, 'that I bring News very unlikely to relieve you; nay, what I am con⯑vinced muſt, of all other, ſhock you the moſt. However, it is neceſſary you ſhould know it. With⯑out further Preface then, I come to you, Mr. Nightingale, from a worthy Family, which you have involved in Miſery and Ruin.'’ Mr. Nightin⯑gale changed Colour at theſe Words; but Jones, with⯑out regarding it, proceeded, in the livelieſt Manner, to paint the tragical Story, with which the Reader was acquainted in the laſt Chapter.

Nightingale never once interrupted the Narration, though he diſcovered violent Emotions at many Parts of it. But when it was concluded, after fetching a [...]eep Sigh, he ſaid, ‘'What you tell me, my Friend, affects me in the tendereſt Manner. Sure there ne⯑ver was ſo curſed an Accident as the poor Girl's betraying my Letter. Her Reputation might other⯑wiſe have been ſafe, and the Affair might have re⯑mained a profound Secret; and then the Girl might have gone off never the worſe; for many ſuch Things happen in this Town; and if the Huſband ſhould ſuſpect a little, when it is too late, it will be his wiſer Conduct to conceal his Suſpicion both from his Wife and the World.'’

‘'Indeed, my Friend,' anſwered Jones, 'this could not have been the Caſe with your poor Nancy. You have ſo entirely gained her Affections, that it is the Loſs of you, and not of her Reputation, which af⯑flicts her, and will end in the Deſtruction of her and her Family.'’ ‘'Nay, for that Matter, I pro⯑miſe [100] you,' cries Nightingale, 'ſhe hath my Affecti⯑ons ſo abſolutely, that my Wife, whoever ſhe is to be, will have very little Share in them.' And is it poſſible then,' ſaid Jones, 'you can think of de⯑ſerting her?'’ ‘'Why what can I do?' anſwered the other.'’ ‘'Aſk Miſs Nancy;' replied Jones warmly. 'In the Condition to which you have reduced her, I ſincerely think ſhe ought to determine what Repa⯑ration you ſhall make her. Her Intereſt alone, and not yours, ought to be your ſole Conſideration. But if you aſk me what you ſhall do; what can you do leſs,' cries Jones, 'than to fulfil the Expec⯑tations of her Family, and her own. Nay, and I ſincerely tell you, they were mine too, ever ſince I firſt ſaw you together. You will pardon me, if I preſume on the Friendſhip you have favoured me with, moved as I am with Compaſſion for thoſe poor Creatures. But your own Heart will beſt ſuggeſt to you, whether you have never intended, by your Conduct, to perſuade the Mother, as well as the Daughter, into an Opinion, that you deſign⯑ed honourably: And if ſo, though there may have been no direct Promiſe of Marriage in the Caſe, I will leave to your own good Underſtanding, how far you are bound to proceed.'’

‘'Nay, I muſt not only confeſs what you have hinted,' ſaid Nightingale; 'but I am afraid even that very Promiſe you mention I have given.'’ ‘'And can you, after owning that,' ſaid Jones, 'heſitate a Moment?'’ ‘'Conſider, my Friend,' anſwered the other; 'I know you are a Man of Honour, and would adviſe no one to act contrary to its Rules; if there were no other Objection, can I, after this Publica⯑tion of her Diſgrace, think of ſuch an Alliance with Honour?'’ ‘'Undoubtedly,' replied Jones; 'and the very beſt and trueſt Honour, which is Good⯑neſs, requires it of you. As you mention a Scru⯑ple [101] of this Kind, you will give me leave to examine it. Can you, with Honour, be guilty of having, under falſe Pretences, deceived a young Woman and her Family, and of having, by theſe Means, treacherouſly robbed her of her Innocence? Can you, with Honour, be the knowing, the wilful, nay, I muſt add, the artful Contriver of the Ruin of a Human Being? Can you, with Honour, de⯑ſtroy the Fame, the Peace, nay, probably, both the Life and Soul too of this Creature? Can Ho⯑nour bear the Thought, that this Creature is a ten⯑der, helpleſs, defenceleſs young Woman? A young Woman who loves, who doats on you, who dies for you; who hath placed the utmoſt Confidence in your Promiſes; and to that Confidence hath ſacri⯑ficed every Thing which is dear to her? Can Honour ſupport ſuch Contemplations as theſe a Moment?'’

‘'Common Senſe, indeed,' ſaid Nightingale, 'war⯑rants all you ſay; but yet you well know the Opi⯑nion of the World is ſo much the contrary, that was I to marry a Whore, tho' my own, I ſhould be aſhamed of ever ſhowing my Face again.'’

‘'Fie upon it, Mr. Nightingale,' ſaid Jones, 'do not call her by ſo ungenerous a Name: When you promiſed to marry her, ſhe became your Wife, and ſhe hath ſinned more againſt Prudence than Virtue. And what is this World, which you would be aſhamed to face, but the Vile, the Fooliſh, and the Profligate? Forgive me, if I ſay ſuch a Shame muſt proceed from falſe Modeſty, which always attends falſe Honour as its Shadow.—But I am well aſ⯑ſured there is not a Man of real Senſe and Goodneſs in the World, who would not honour and applaud the Action. But admit no other would, would not your own Heart, my Friend, applaud it? And do not the warm, rapturous Senſations, which we feel from the Conſciouſneſs of an honeſt, noble, gene⯑rous, [102] benevolent Action, convey more Delight to the Mind, than the undeſerved Praiſe of Millions? Set the Alternative fairly before your Eyes. On the one Side, ſee this poor, unhappy, tender, believ⯑ing Girl, in the Arms of her wretched Mother, breathing her laſt. Hear her breaking Heart in Agonies ſighing out your Name; and lamenting, ra⯑ther than accuſing, the Cruelty which weighs her down to Deſtruction. Paint to your Imagination the Circumſtances of her fond, deſpairing Parent, driven to Madneſs, or, perhaps, to Death, by the Loſs of her lovely Daughter. View the poor, help⯑leſs, Orphan-Infant: And when your Mind hath dwelt a Moment only on ſuch Ideas, conſider your⯑ſelf as the Cauſe of all; the Ruin of this poor, lit⯑tle, worthy, defenceleſs Family. On the other Side, conſider yourſelf as relieving them from their tem⯑porary Sufferings. Think with what Joy, with what Tranſports, that lovely Creature will fly to your Arms. See her Blood returning to her pale Cheeks, her Fire to her languid Eyes, and Raptures to her tortured Breaſt. Conſider the Exultations of her Mother, the Happineſs of all. Think of this little Family made, by one Act of yours, complete⯑ly happy. Think of this Alternative, and ſure I am miſtaken in my Friend, if it requires any long Deli⯑beration, whether he will ſink theſe Wretches down for ever, or, by one generous, noble Reſolution, raiſe them all from the Brink of Miſery and De⯑ſpair, to the higheſt Pitch of human Happineſs. Add to this but one Conſideration more; the Conſidera⯑tion that it is your Duty ſo to do—That the Mi⯑ſery from which you will relieve theſe poor People, is the Miſery which you yourſelf have wilfully brought upon them.'’

‘'O my dear Friend,' cries Nightingale, 'I wanted not your Eloquence to rouſe me. I pity poor Nan⯑cy [103] from my Soul, and would willingly give any Thing in my Power, that no Familiarities had ever paſſed between us. Nay, believe me, I had many Struggles with my Paſſion, before I could prevail with myſelf to write that cruel Letter, which hath cauſed all the Miſery in that unhappy Family. If I had no Inclinations to conſult but my own, I would marry her Tomorrow Morning; I would, by Hea⯑ven; but you will eaſily imagine how impoſſible it would be to prevail on my Father to conſent to ſuch a Match; beſides, he hath provided another for me; and Tomorrow, by his expreſs Command, I am to wait on the Lady.'’

‘'I have not the Honour to know your Father,' ſaid Jones; 'but ſuppoſe he could be perſuaded, would you yourſelf conſent to the only Means of preſerv⯑ing theſe poor People?' 'As eagerly as I would purſue my Happineſs,' anſwered Nightingale; 'for I never ſhall find it in any other Woman.—O my dear Friend, could you imagine what I have felt within theſe twelve Hours for my poor Girl, I am convinced ſhe would not engroſs all your Pity. Paſſion leads me only to her; and if I had any fool⯑iſh Scruples of Honour, you have fully ſatisfied them: Could my Father be induced to comply with my Deſires, nothing would be wanting to compleat my own Happineſs, or that of my Nancy.'’

‘'Then I am reſolved to undertake it,' ſaid Jones, 'You muſt not be angry with me, in whatever Light it may be neceſſary to ſet this Affair, which, you may depend on it, could not otherwiſe be long hid from him; for Things of this Nature make a quick Progreſs, when once they get abroad, as this un⯑happily hath already. Beſides, ſhould any fatal Ac⯑cident follow, as upon my Soul I am afraid will, unleſs immediately prevented, the Public would ring of your Name, in a Manner which, if your Father [104] hath common Humanity, muſt offend him. If you will therefore tell me where I may find the old Gen⯑tleman, I will not looſe a Moment in the Buſineſs; which while I purſue, you cannot do a more gene⯑reous Action, than by paying a Viſit to the poor Girl. You will find I have not exaggerated in the Account I have given of the Wretchedneſs of the Family.'’

Nightingale immediately conſented to the Propoſal; and now having acquainted Jones with his Father's Lodging, and the Coffee-houſe where he would moſt probably find him, he heſitated a Moment, and then ſaid, ‘'My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an Impoſſibility. If you knew my Father, you would never think of obtaining his Conſent.—Stay, there is one Way—Suppoſe you told him I was already married, it might be eaſier to reconcile him to the Fact after it was done; and, upon my Honour, I am ſo affected with what you have ſaid, and I love my Nancy ſo paſſionately, I almoſt wiſh it was done, whatever might be the Conſequence.'’

Jones greatly approved the Hint, and promiſed to purſue it. They then ſeparated, Nightingale to vi⯑ſit his Nancy, and Jones in queſt of the old Gentleman.

CHAP. VIII. What paſſed between Jones and old Mr. Nightingale, with the Arrival of a Perſon not yet mentioned in this Hiſtory.

NOtwithſtanding the Sentiment of the Roman Sa⯑tyriſt, which denies the Divinity of Fortune; and the Opinion of Seneca to the ſame Purpoſe; Ci⯑cero, who was, I believe, a wiſer Man than either of them, expreſly holds the contrary; and certain it is there are ſome Incidents in Life ſo very ſtrange and unaccountable, that it ſeems to require more than hu⯑man Skill and Foreſight in producing them.

[105] Of this Kind was what now happened to Jones, who found Mr. Nightingale the elder in ſo critical a Minute, that Fortune, if ſhe was really worthy all the Worſhip ſhe received at Rome, could not have con⯑trived ſuch another. In ſhort the old Gentleman and the Father of the young Lady whom he intended for his Son, had been hard at it for many Hours; and the [...]atter was juſt now gone, and had left the former de⯑lighted with the Thoughts that he had ſucceeded in a long Contention which had been between the two Fa⯑thers of the future Bride and Bridegroom; in which both endeavoured to over-reach the other, and as not rarely happens in ſuch Caſes, both had retreated fully ſatisfied of having obtained the Victory.

This Gentleman whom Mr. Jones now viſited, was what they call a Man of the World, that is to ſay, a Man who directs his Conduct in this World, as one who being fully perſuaded there is no other, as reſolved to make the moſt of this. In his early Years he had been bred to Trade, but having acquired a very good Fortune, he had lately declined his Buſi⯑neſs; or to ſpeak more properly, had changed it from dealing in Goods to dealing only in Money, of which he had always a plentiful Fund at Command, and of which he knew very well how to make a very plentiful Advantage; ſometimes of the Neceſſities of private Men, and ſometimes thoſe of the Public. He had indeed converſed ſo entirely with Money, that it may be almoſt doubted, whether he imagined there was any other thing really exiſting in the World; this at leaſt may be certainly averred, that he firmly believed nothing elſe to have any real Value.

The Reader will, I fancy, allow, that Fortune could not have culled out a more improper Perſon for Mr. Jones to attack with any Probability of Succeſs, nor could the whimſical Lady have directed this At⯑tack at a more unſeaſonable Time.

[106] As Money then was always uppermoſt in this Gen⯑tleman's Thoughts, ſo the Moment he ſaw a Stranger within his Doors, it immediately occurred to his Ima⯑gination, that ſuch Stranger was either come to bring him Money, or to fetch it from him. And according as one or other of theſe Thoughts prevailed, he con⯑ceived a favourable or unfavourable Idea of the Perſon who approached him.

Unluckily for Jones, the latter of theſe was the Aſcendant at preſent; for as a young Gentleman had viſited him the Day before, with a Bill from his Son for a Play Debt, he apprehended at the firſt Sight of Jones, that he was come on ſuch another Errand. Jones therefore had no ſooner told him that he was come on his Son's Account, than the old Gentleman, being confirmed in his Suſpicion, burſt forth into an Exclamation, 'That he would loſe his Labour.' ‘'Is it then poſſible, Sir,' anſwered Jones, 'that you can gueſs my Buſineſs?' If I do gueſs it, replied the o⯑ther, I repeat again to you, you will loſe your La⯑bour. What, I ſuppoſe you are one of thoſe Sparks who lead my Son into all thoſe Scenes of Riot and Debauchery, which will be his Deſtruction; but I ſhall pay no more of his Bills I promiſe you. I ex⯑pect he will quit all ſuch Company for the future. If I had imagined otherwiſe I ſhould not have pro⯑vided a Wife for him; for I would be inſtrumental in the Ruin of no Body.' 'How, Sir, ſaid Jones, and was this Lady of your providing?'’ ‘'Pray Sir,' an⯑ſwered the old Gentleman, 'how comes it to be any Concern of yours?'’—‘'Nay, dear Sir,' replied Jones, 'be not offended that I intereſt myſelf in what regards your Son's Happineſs, for whom I have ſo great an Honour and Value. It was upon that very Account I came to wait upon you. I can't expreſs the Satisfaction you have given me by what you ſay for I do aſſure you your Son is a Perſon for whom [107] I have the higheſt Honour.—Nay, Sir, it is not eaſy to expreſs the Eſteem I have for you, who could be ſo generous, ſo good, ſo kind, ſo indulgent to provide ſuch a Match for your Son; a Woman who, I dare ſwear, will make him one of the hap⯑pieſt Men upon Earth.'’

There is ſcarce any thing which ſo happily introduces Men to our good Liking, as having conceived ſome Alarm at their firſt Appearance; when once thoſe Ap⯑prehenſions begin to vaniſh, we ſoon forget the Fears which they occaſion, and look on ourſelves as indebt⯑ed for our preſent Eaſe, to thoſe very Perſons who at firſt rais'd our Fears.

Thus it happened to Nightingale, who no ſooner found that Jones had no Demand on him, as he ſu⯑ſpected, than he began to be pleaſed with his Preſence. ‘'Pray, good Sir, ſaid he, be pleaſed to ſit down. I do not remember to have ever had the Pleaſure of ſeeing you before; but if you are a Friend of my Son, and have any thing to ſay concerning this young Lady, I ſhall be glad to hear you. As to her making him happy, it will be his own Fault if ſhe doth not. I have diſcharged my Duty, in taking Care of the main Article. She will bring him a Fortune capable of making any reaſonable, prudent, ſober Man happy.'’ ‘'Undoubtedly, cries Jones, for ſhe is in herſelf a Fortune; ſo beautiful, ſo genteel, ſo ſweet-tempered, and ſo well educated; ſhe is in⯑deed a moſt accompliſhed young Lady; ſings admi⯑rably well, and hath a moſt delicate Hand at the Harpſichord.' 'I did not know any of theſe Matters, anſwered the old Gentleman, for I never ſaw the the Lady; but I do not like her the worſe for what you tell me; and I am the better pleaſed with her Father for not laying any Streſs on theſe Qualificati⯑ons in our Bargain. I ſhall always think it a Proof of his Underſtanding. A ſilly Fellow would have [108] brought in theſe Articles as an Addition to her For⯑tune; but to give him his due, he never mentioned any ſuch Matter; though to be ſure they are no Di⯑ſparagements to a Woman.'’ ‘'I do aſſure you, Sir,' cries Jones, 'ſhe hath them all in the moſt eminent Degree: For my Part I own I was afraid you might have been a little backward, a little leſs inclined to the Match: For your Son told me you had never ſeen the Lady, therefore I came, Sir, in that Caſe, to entreat you, to conjure you, as you value the Happineſs of your Son, not to beaverſe to his Match with a Woman who hath not only all the good Qua⯑lities I have mentioned, but many more.'’—‘'If that was your Buſineſs, Sir, ſaid the old Gentleman, we are both obliged to you; and you may be per⯑fectly eaſy, for I give you my Word I was very well ſatisfied with her Fortune.'’ ‘'Sir,' anſwered Jones, I honour you every Moment more and more. To be ſo eaſily ſatisfied, ſo very moderate on that Ac⯑count, is a Proof of the Soundneſs of your Under⯑ſtanding, as well as the Nobleneſs of your Mind.'’—‘'Not ſo very moderate, young Gentleman, not ſo very moderate, anſwered the Father.—Still more and more noble, replied Jones, and give me Leave to add ſenſible: For ſure it is little leſs than Madneſs to conſider Money as the ſole Founda⯑tion of Happineſs. Such a Woman as this with her little, her nothing of a Fortune.'’—‘'I find, cries the old Gentleman, you have a pretty juſt Opinion of Money, my Friend, or elſe you are better ac⯑quainted with the Perſon of the Lady than with her Circumſtances. Why pray, what Fortune do you imagine this Lady to have?'’—‘'What Fortune? cries Jones, why too contemptible a one to be nam⯑ed for your Son. Well, well, well, ſaid the other, perhaps he might have done better.'—'That I deny, ſaid Jones, for ſhe is one of the beſt of Wo⯑men.'’ [109] ‘'Ay, ay, but in Point of Fortune I mean—anſwered the other.—And yet as to that now, how much do you imagine your Friend is to have?'’—‘'How much, cries Jones, how much!—Why at the utmoſt, perhaps, 200 l.'’ ‘'Do you mean to banter me, young Gentleman? ſaid the Father a little angry.'’—‘'No, upon my Soul, anſwered Jones, I am in Earneſt, nay I be⯑lieve I have gone to the utmoſt Farthing. If I do the Lady an Injury, I aſk her Pardon.'’ ‘'Indeed you do, cries the Father. I am certain ſhe hath fif⯑ty Times that Sum, and ſhe ſhall produce fifty to that before I conſent that ſhe ſhall marry my Son.'’ ‘'Nay, ſaid Jones, it is too late to talk of Conſent now—If ſhe hath not fifty Farthings your Son is married.'’—‘'My Son married! anſwered the old Gentleman with Surpriſe.'’ ‘'Nay, ſaid Jones, 'I thought you was unacquainted with it.'’—‘'My Son married to Miſs Harris!' anſwered he again'’—‘'To Miſs Harris! Said Jones, no Sir, to Miſs Nancy Miller, the Daughter of Mrs. Miller, at whoſe Houſe he lodged; a young Lady, who, though her Mother is reduced to let Lodgings'’—‘'Are you bantering, or are you in Earneſt?'’ cries the Father with a moſt ſolemn Voice. ‘'Indeed, Sir, anſwered Jones, 'I ſcorn the Character of a Banter⯑er. I came to you in moſt ſerious Earneſt, imagin⯑ing, as I find true, that your Son had never dared acquaint you with a Match ſo much inferior to him in Point of Fortune, tho' the Reputation of the La⯑dy will ſuffer it no longer to remain a Secret.'’

While the Father ſtood like one ſtruck ſuddenly [...]mb at this News, a Gentleman came into the [...]oom, and ſaluted him by the Name of Brother.

But though theſe two were in Conſanguinity ſo [...]arly related, they were in their Diſpoſitions almoſt [...]e oppoſites to each other. The Brother who now [110] arrived had likewiſe been bred to Trade, in which he no ſooner ſaw himſelf worth 6000 l. than he purchaſe [...] a ſmall Eſtate with the greateſt Part of it, and retired into the Country; where he married the Daughter o [...] an unbeneficed Clergyman; a young Lady who, though ſhe had neither Beauty nor Fortune, had re⯑commended herſelf to his Choice, entirely by her good Humour, of which ſhe poſſeſſed a very immoderate Share.

With this Woman he had, during twenty-five Years, lived a Life more reſembling the Model which certain Poets aſcribe to the Golden Age, than any o [...] thoſe Patterns which are furniſhed by the preſent Times. By her he had four Children, but none o [...] them arrived at Maturity except only one Daughter, whom in vulgar Language he and his Wife had ſpoil⯑ed; that is, had educated with the utmoſt Tenderneſs and Fondneſs; which ſhe returned to ſuch a Degree, that ſhe had actually refuſed a very extraordinary Match with a Gentleman a little turned of forty, be⯑cauſe ſhe could not bring herſelf to part with her Pa⯑rents.

The young Lady whom Mr. Nightingale had in⯑tended for his Son was a near Neighbour of his Bro⯑ther, and an Acquaintance of his Niece; and in reali⯑ty it was upon the Account of this projected Match, that he was now come to Town; not indeed to for⯑ward, but to diſſuade his Brother from a Purpoſe which he conceived would inevitably ruin his Nephew; for [...] foreſaw no other Event, from a Union with Miſs Har⯑ris, notwithſtanding the Largeneſs of her Fortune, [...] neither her Perſon nor Mind ſeemed to him to promi [...] any Kind of matrimonial Felicity; for ſhe was very tall, very thin, very ugly, very affected, very ſilly and very ill-natured.

His Brother therefore no ſooner mentioned the Mar⯑riage of his Nephew with Miſs Miller, than he ex⯑preſt [111] the utmoſt Satisfaction; and when the Father had very bitterly reviled his Son, and pronounced Sen⯑tence of Beggary upon him, the Uncle began in the following Manner.

‘'If you was a little cooler, Brother, I would aſk you whether you love your Son for his Sake, or for your own. You would anſwer, I ſuppoſe, and ſo I ſuppoſe you think, for his Sake; and doubtleſs it is his Happineſs which you intended in the Marriage you propoſed for him.'’

‘'Now, Brother, to preſcribe Rules of Happineſs to others, hath always appeared to me very abſurd, and to inſiſt on doing this very tyrannical. It is a vulgar Error I know; but it is nevertheleſs an Error. And if this be abſurd in other Things, it is moſtly ſo in the Affair of Marriage, the Happineſs of which depends entirely on the Affection which ſub⯑ſiſts between the Parties.'’

‘'I have therefore always thought it unreaſonable in Parents to deſire to chuſe for their Children on this Occaſion, ſince to force Affection is an impoſſible Attempt; nay, ſo much doth Love abhor Force, that I know not whether through an unfortunate but incureable Perverſeneſs in our Natures, it may not be even impatient of Perſuaſion.'’

‘'It is, however, true, that though a Parent will not, I think, wiſely preſcribe, he ought to be con⯑ſulted on this Occaſion, and in Strictneſs perhaps ſhould at leaſt have a negative Voice. My Nephew therefore, I own, in marrying without aſking your Advice, hath been guilty of a Fault. But honeſtly ſpeaking, Brother, have you not a little promoted this Fault? Have not your frequent Declarations on this Subject, given him a moral Certainty of your Refuſal, where there was any Deficiency in Point of Fortune? nay, doth not your preſent Anger a⯑riſe ſolely from that Deficiency? And if he hath [112] failed in his Duty here, did not you as much exceed that Authority, when you abſolutely bar⯑gained with him for a Woman without his Know⯑ledge, whom you yourſelf never ſaw, and whom if you had ſeen and known as well as I, it muſt have been Madneſs in you, to have ever thought of bring⯑ing her into your Family.'’

‘'Still I own my Nephew in a Fault; but ſurely it is not an unpardonable Fault. He hath acted indeed without your Conſent, in a Matter in which he ought to have aſked it; but it is in a Matter in which his Intereſt is principally concerned; you yourſelf muſt and will acknowledge, that you con⯑ſulted his Intereſt only, and if he unfortunately dif⯑fered from you, and hath been miſtaken in his No⯑tion of Happineſs, will you, Brother, if you love your Son, carry him ſtill wider from the Point? Will you encreaſe the ill Conſequences of his ſimple Choice? Will you endeavour to make an Event certain Miſery to him, which may accidentally prove ſo? In a Word, Brother, becauſe he hath put it out of your Power to make his Circumſtances as affluent as you would, will you diſtreſs them as much as you can?'’

By the Force of the true Catholic Faith, St. An⯑thony won upon the Fiſhes. Orpheus and Amphi [...] went a little farther, and by the Charms of Muſic en⯑chanted Things merely inanimate. Wonderful both [...] But neither Hiſtory nor Fable have ever yet ventured to record an Inſtance of any one, who by Force o [...] Argument and Reaſon had triumphed over habitu [...] Avarice.

Mr. Nightingale, the Father, inſtead of attempt⯑ing to anſwer his Brother, contented himſelf with only obſerving, that they had always differed in their Senti⯑ments concerning the Education of their Children. ‘'I wiſh, ſaid he, Brother, you would have conſined [113] your Care to your own Daughter, and never have troubled yourſelf with my Son, who hath, I believe, as little profited by your Precepts, as by your Ex⯑ample:'’ For young Nightingale was his Uncle's [...]odſon, and had lived more with him than with his [...]ather. So that the Uncle had often declared, he loved [...]is Nephew almoſt equally with his own Child.

Jones fell into Raptures with this good Gentleman; [...]nd when after much Perſwaſion, they found the Fa⯑ [...]er grew ſtill more and more irritated, inſtead of ap⯑ [...]eaſed, Jones conducted the Uncle to his Nephew at [...]e Houſe of Mrs. Miller.

CHAP. IX. Containing ſtrange Matters.

AT his Return to his Lodgings, Jones found the Situation of Affairs greatly altered from what [...]ey had been in at his Departure. The Mother, the [...]wo Daughters and young Mr. Nightingale were now [...]t down to Supper together, when the Uncle was, at [...]s own Deſire, introduced without any Ceremony to the Company, to all of whom he was well known; [...] he had ſeveral Times viſited his Nephew at that [...]ouſe.

The old Gentleman immediately walked up to Miſs Nancy, ſaluted and wiſhed her Joy, as he did after⯑wards the Mother and the other Siſter; and laſtly, [...] paid the proper Compliments to his Nephew, with [...]e ſame good Humour and Curteſy, as if his Nephew [...]d married his equal or ſuperior in Fortune, with all [...]e previous Requiſites firſt performed.

Miſs Nancy and her ſuppoſed Huſband both turned [...]e, and looked rather fooliſh than otherwiſe upon [...]e Occaſion; but Mrs. Miller took the firſt Oppor⯑ [...]nity of withdrawing; and having ſent for Jones into [...]e Dining Room, ſhe threw herſelf at his Feet, and in [114] a moſt paſſionate Flood of Tears, called him her good Angel, the preſerver of her poor little Family, with many other reſpectful and endearing Appella⯑tions, and made him every Acknowledgment which the higheſt Benefit can extract from the moſt grateful Hearts.

After the firſt Guſt of her Paſſion was a little over, which ſhe declared, if ſhe had not vented, would have burſt her, ſhe proceeded to inform Mr. Jones that all Matters were ſettled between Mr. Nightingale and her Daughter, and that they were to be married the next Morning: At which Mr. Jones having ex⯑preſt much Pleaſure, the poor Woman fell again into a Fit of Joy and Thankſgiving, which he at lengt [...] with Difficulty ſilenced, and prevailed on her t [...] return with him back to the Company, whom the [...] found in the ſame good Humour in which they ha [...] left them.

This little Society now paſt two or three very a⯑greeable Hours together, in which the Uncle, wh [...] was a very great Lover of his Bottle, had ſo w [...] ⯑ply'd his Nephew, that this latter, though not dru [...] began to be ſomewhat fluſtered; and now Mr. Night⯑ingale taking the old Gentleman with him up St [...] into the Apartment he had lately occupied, unb [...] ⯑ſomed himſelf as follows.

‘'As you have been always the beſt and kindeſt Uncles to me, and as you have ſhewn ſuch un [...] ⯑rallelled Goodneſs in forgiving this Match, which be ſure may be thought a little improvident; I ſho [...] never forgive myſelf if I attempted to deceive y [...] in any thing.'’ He then confeſſed the Truth, a [...] opened the whole Affair.

‘'How, Jack! ſaid the old Gentleman, and [...] you really then not married to this young Woman No, upon my Honour, anſwered Nightingale have told you the ſimple Truth. My dear B [...] [115] cries the Uncle, kiſſing him, I am heartily glad to hear it. I never was better pleaſed in my Life. If you had been married, I ſhould have aſſiſted you as much as was in my Power, to have made the beſt of a bad Matter; but there is a great Difference between conſidering a Thing which is already done and irrecoverable, and that which is yet to do. Let your Reaſon have fair Play, Jack, and you will ſee this Match in ſo fooliſh and prepoſterous a Light, that there will be no Need of any diſſuaſive Argu⯑guments.'’ ‘'How, Sir! replies young Nightingale, is there this Difference between having already done an Act, and being in Honour engaged to do it?'’ ‘'Pugh, ſaid the Uncle, Honour is a Creature of the World's making, and the World hath the Power of a Creator over it, and may govern and direct it as they pleaſe. Now you well know how trivial theſe Breaches of Contract are thought; even the groſſeſt make but the Wonder and Converſation of a Day. Is there a Man who will be afterwards more back⯑ward in giving you his Siſter or Daughter? Or is there any Siſter or Daughter who would be more back⯑ward to receive you? Honour is not concerned in theſe Engagements.'’ ‘'Pardon me, dear Sir, cries Nightingale, I can never think ſo; and not only Honour, but Conſcience and Humanity are con⯑cerned. I am well ſatisfied, that was I now to diſ⯑appoint the young Creature, her Death would be the Conſequence, and I ſhould look on myſelf as her Murderer; nay, as her Murderer by the cruel⯑ [...]eſt of all Methods, by breaking her Heart.'’ ‘'Break her Heart, indeed! no, no, Jack, cries the Uncle, the Hearts of Women are not ſo ſoon broke; they are tough, Boy, they are tough.'’ ‘'But, Sir, an⯑ſwered Nightingale, my own Affections are engaged, and I never could be happy with any other Wo⯑man.'’ ‘'How often have I heard you ſay, that [116] Children ſhould be always ſuffered to chuſe for themſelves, and that you would let my Couſin Har⯑riet do ſo!'’ ‘'Why ay, replied the old Gentleman, ſo I would have them, but then I would have them chuſe wiſely.'’—‘'Indeed, Jack, you muſt and ſhall leave this Girl.'’—‘'Indeed, Uncle, cries the other, I muſt and will have her.'’ ‘'You will, young Gentleman? ſaid the Uncle; I did not expect ſuch a Word from you. I ſhould not wonder if you had uſed ſuch Language to your Father, who had always treated you like a Dog, and kept you at the Diſtance which a Tyrant preſerves over his Subjects; but I who have lived with you upon an equal Footing might ſurely expect better Uſage: But I know how to account for it all; it is all owing to your pre⯑poſterous Education, in which I have had too little Share. There is my Daughter now, whom I have brought up as my Friend, never doth any thing without my Advice, nor ever refuſes to take it when I give it her.'’ ‘'You have never yet given her Ad⯑vice in an Affair of this Kind, ſaid Nightingale, for I am greatly miſtaken in my Couſin, if ſhe would be very ready to obey even your moſt poſitive Command in abandoning her Inclinations.'’ ‘'Don't abuſe my Girl, anſwered the old Gentleman with ſome E⯑motion; don't abuſe my Harriet. I have brought her up to have no Inclinations contrary to my own. By ſuffering her to do whatever ſhe pleaſes I have enured her to a Habit of being pleaſed to do whatever I like.'’ ‘'Pardon me, Sir, ſaid Nightingale, I have not the leaſt Deſign to reflect on my Couſin, for whom I have the greateſt Eſteem and indeed I am convinced you will never put he [...] to ſo ſevere a Trial, or lay ſuch hard Command on her as you would do on me.—But, dear Sir, le [...] us return to the Company; for they will begin to be uneaſy at our long Abſence. I muſt beg on [...] [117] Favour of my dear Uncle, which is that he would not ſay any thing to ſhock the poor Girl or her Mo⯑ther.'’ ‘'O you need not fear me, anſwered he, I underſtand myſelf too well to affront Women; ſo I will readily grant you that Favour; and in Return I muſt expect another of you.'’ ‘'There are but few of your Commands, Sir, ſaid Nightingale, which I ſhall not very chearfully obey.'’ ‘'Nay, Sir, I aſk nothing, ſaid the Uncle, but the Honour of your Company home to my Lodging, that I may reaſon the Caſe a little more fully with you: For I would if poſſible have the Satisfaction of preſerving my Family, notwithſtanding the headſtrong Folly of my Brother, who, in his own Opinion, is the wiſeſt Man in the World.'’

Nightingale, who well knew his Uncle to be as [...]adſtrong as his Father, ſubmitted to attend him [...]ome, and then they both returned back into the [...]om, where the old Gentleman promiſed to carry himſelf with the ſame Decorum which he had before [...]aintained.

CHAP. X. A ſhort Chapter which concludes the Book.

THE long Abſence of the Uncle and the Ne⯑phew occaſioned ſome Diſquiet in the Minds of whom they had left behind them; and the more, during the preceding Dialogue, the Uncle had [...]re than once elevated his Voice, ſo as to be heard [...]wn Stairs; which though they could not diſtin⯑ [...]ſh what he ſaid, had cauſed ſome evil foreboding Nancy and her Mother, and indeed even in Jones [...]ſelf.

When the good Company therefore again aſſembled, [...]e was a viſible Alteration in all their Faces; and good Humour which at their laſt Meeting, uni⯑verſally [118] ſhone forth in every Countenance, was now changed into a much leſs agreeable Aſpect. It was a Change indeed common enough to the Weather in this Climate, from Sunſhine to Clouds, from June to December.

This Alteration was not however greatly remarked by any preſent; for as every one was now endeavouring to conceal their own Thoughts, and to act a Part, they became all too buſily engaged in the Scene to be Specta⯑tors of it. Thus neither the Uncle nor Nephew ſaw any Symptoms of Suſpicion in the Mother or Daughter nor did the Mother or Daughter remark the over-act⯑ed Complaiſance of the old Man, nor the counter⯑feit Satisfaction which grinned in the Features of th [...] young one.

Something like this, I believe, frequently happens where the whole Attention of two Friends being en⯑gaged in the Part which each is to act, in order to impoſe on the other, neither ſees nor ſuſpects the A [...] practiſed againſt himſelf; and thus the Thruſt of bo [...] (to borrow no improper Metaphor on the Occaſion alike takes Place.

From the ſame Reaſon it is no unuſual Thing f [...] both Parties to be over-reached in a Bargain, thoug [...] the one muſt be always the greater Loſer; as was [...] who ſold a blind Horſe, and received a bad Note i [...] Payment.

Our Company in about half an Hour broke up and the Uncle carried off his Nephew; but not be⯑fore the latter had aſſured Miſs Nancy, in a Whiſper that he would attend her early in the Morning, an [...] fulfil all his Engagements.

Jones, who was the leaſt concerned in this Sce [...] ſaw the moſt. He did indeed ſuſpect the very Fact for beſides obſerving the great Alteration in the Beha⯑viour of the Uncle, the Diſtance he aſſumed, and [...] overſtrained Civility to Miſs Nancy; the carrying [...] [119] Bridegroom from his Bride at that Time of Night, was ſo extraordinary a Proceeding, that it could be only accounted for, by imagining that young Night⯑ingale had revealed the whole Truth, which the ap⯑ [...]arent Openneſs of his Temper, and his being fluſtered with Liquor, made too probable.

While he was reaſoning with himſelf, whether he could acquaint theſe poor People with his Suſpicion, [...]he Maid of the Houſe informed him, that a Gentle⯑woman deſired to ſpeak with him.—He went [...]mmediately out, and taking the Candle from the Maid, uſhered his Viſitant up Stairs, who in the Per⯑ſon of Mrs. Honour acquainted him with ſuch dread⯑ [...]ul News concerning his Sophia, that he immediately [...]oſt all Conſideration for every other Perſon; and his whole Stock of Compaſſion was entirely ſwallowed [...]p in Reflections on his own Miſery, and on that of [...]is unfortunate Angel.

What this dreadful Matter was, the Reader will be [...]formed, after we have firſt related the many preced⯑ing Steps which produced it, and thoſe will be the Sub⯑ject of the following Book.

CHAP. I. Too ſhort to need a Preface.

THERE are a Set of Religious, or rather Mo⯑ral Writers, who teach that Virtue is th [...] certain Road to Happineſs, and Vice to Mi⯑ſery in this World. A very wholſome and comfort⯑able Doctrine, and to which we have but one Objec⯑tion, namely, That it is not true.

Indeed if by Virtue theſe Writers mean, the Ex⯑erciſe of thoſe Cardinal Virtues, which like good Houſe-wives ſtay at home, and mind only the Buſi⯑neſs of their own Family, I ſhall very readily conced the Point: For ſo ſurely do all theſe contribute an lead to Happineſs, that I would almoſt wiſh, in Vio⯑lation of all the antient and modern Sages, to ca [...] them rather by the Name of Wiſdom, than by that o [...] [121] Virtue: For with regard to this Life, no Syſtem, I [...]onceive, was ever wiſer than that of the ancient [...]picureans, who held this Wiſdom to conſtitute the [...]hief Good; nor fooliſher than that of their Op⯑poſites, thoſe modern Epicures, who place all Fe⯑ [...]ity in the abundant Gratification of every ſenſual [...]ppetite.

But if by Virtue is meant (as I almoſt think it ought) certain relative Quality, which is always buſying ſelf without Doors, and ſeems as much intereſted purſuing the Good of others as its own; I cannot eaſily agree that this is the ſureſt way to human [...]appineſs; becauſe I am afraid we muſt then include [...]overty and Contempt, with all the Miſchiefs which [...]ckbiting, Envy, and Ingratitude can bring on Man⯑ [...]d, in our Idea of Happineſs; nay, ſometimes per⯑ [...]ps we ſhall be obliged to wait upon the ſaid Happi⯑ [...]ſs to a Goal, ſince many by the above Virtue have [...]ought themſelves thither.

I have not now Leiſure to enter upon ſo large a [...]eld of Speculation, as here ſeems opening upon [...]e; my Deſign was to wipe off a Doctrine that lay my Way; ſince while Mr. Jones was acting the [...]oſt virtuous Part imaginable in labouring to preſerve fellow Creatures from Deſtruction, the Devil, or [...]e other evil Spirit, one perhaps cloathed in human [...]ſh, was hard at Work to make him completely [...]ſerable in the Ruin of his Sophia.

This therefore would ſeem an Exception to the [...]ve Rule, if indeed it was a Rule; but as we have [...]our Voyage through Life ſeen ſo many other Ex⯑ [...]tions to it, we chuſe to diſpute the Doctrine on [...]ich it is founded, which we don't apprehend to be [...]riſtian, which we are convinced is not true, and [...]ich is indeed deſtructive of one of the nobleſt Ar⯑ [...]ents that Reaſon alone can furniſh for the Belief Immortality.

[122] But as the Reader's Curioſity (if he hath any) mu [...] be now awake, and hungry, we ſhall provide to feed it as faſt as we can.

CHAP. II. In which is opened a very black Deſign againſt Sophia.

I Remember a wiſe old Gentleman, who uſed to ſay, when Children are doing nothing, they are doing Miſchief. I will not enlarge this quaint Say⯑ing to the moſt beautiful Part of the Creation in ge⯑neral: but ſo far I may be allowed, that when the [...] Effects of female Jealouſy do not appear openly i [...] their proper Colours of Rage and Fury, we may ſuſ⯑pect that miſchievous Paſſion to be at work privately and attempting to undermine, what it doth not attack above-ground.

This was exemplified in the Conduct of the Lady Bellaſton, who under all the Smiles which ſhe wor [...] in her Countenance, concealed much Indignation a⯑gainſt Sophia; and as ſhe plainly ſaw that this young Lady ſtood between her and the full Indulgence o [...] her Deſires, ſhe reſolved to get rid of her by ſom [...] Means or other; nor was it long before a very favour⯑able Opportunity of accompliſhing this, preſented it⯑ſelf to her.

The Reader may be pleaſed to remember, that whe [...] Sophia was thrown into that Conſternation at the Play houſe, by the Wit and Humour of a Set of young Gentlemen, who call themſelves the Town, we inform⯑ed him, that ſhe had put herſelf under the Protectio [...] of a young Nobleman, who had very ſafely conduct⯑ed her to her Chair.

This Nobleman, who frequently viſited Lady Bel⯑laſton, had more than once ſeen Sophia there, ſin [...] her Arrival in Town, and had conceived a very grea [...] liking to her; which Liking, as Beauty never look [...] more amiable than in Diſtreſs, Sophia had in th [...] [123] Fright ſo encreaſed, that he might now without any great Impropriety be ſaid to be actually in love with her.

It may eaſily be believed that he would not ſuffer ſo handſome an Occaſion of improving his Acquain⯑tance with the beloved Object as now offered itſelf to elapſe, when good-breeding alone might have prompt⯑ed him to pay her a Viſit.

The next Morning therefore, after this Accident he waited on Sophia, with the uſual Compliments and Hopes that ſhe had received no Harm from her laſt Night's Adventure.

As Love like Fire when once thoroughly kindled, [...]s ſoon blown into a Flame; Sophia in a very ſhort Time completed her Conqueſt. Time now flew a⯑way unperceived, and the Noble Lord had been two Hours in Company with the Lady, before it entered [...]nto his Head that he had made too long a Viſit. Tho' [...]his Circumſtance alone would have alarmed Sophia, who was ſomewhat more a Miſtreſs of Computa⯑tion at preſent; ſhe had indeed much more preg⯑nant Evidence from the Eyes of her Lover of what [...]aſt within his Boſom; nay, though he did not make [...]ny open Declaration of his Paſſion, yet many of [...]is Expreſſions were rather too warm, and too tender [...]o have been imputed to Complaiſance, even in the Age when ſuch Complaiſance was in Faſhion; the very Reverſe of which is well known to be the reign⯑ [...]ng Mode at preſent.

Lady Bellaſton had been appriſed of his Lordſhip's Viſit at his firſt Arrival; and the Length of it very well ſatisfied her that Things went as ſhe wiſhed, and is indeed ſhe had ſuſpected the ſecond Time ſhe ſaw this young Couple together. This Buſineſs ſhe rightly, I think, concluded, that ſhe ſhould by no means for⯑ward by mixing in the Company while they were [...]ogether; ſhe therefore ordered her Servants that when my Lord was going, they ſhould tell him, ſhe [124] deſired to ſpeak with him, and employed the inter⯑mediate Time in meditating how beſt to accom⯑pliſh a Scheme which ſhe made no doubt but his Lord hip would very readily embrace the Execution of.

Lord Fellamar (for that was the Title of this young Nobleman) was no ſooner introduced to her Lady⯑ſhip, than ſhe attacked him in the following Strain: ‘'Bleſs me, my Lord, are you here yet? I thought my Servants had made a Miſtake and let you got away; and I wanted to ſee you about an Affair of ſome Importance.'’—‘'Indeed, Lady Bellaſton,' ſaid he, I don't wonder you are aſtoniſhed at the Length of my Viſit: For I have ſtaid above two Hours, and did not think I had ſtaid above half a one.'’—‘'What am I to conclude from thence, my Lord?' ſaid ſhe, 'The Company muſt be very agreeable which can make Time ſlide away ſo very deceitfully.'’—‘'Upon my Honour,' ſaid he, 'the moſt agreeable I ever ſaw. Pray tell me, La⯑dy Bellaſton, who is this blazing Star which you have produced among us all of a ſudden?'—What blazing Star, my Lord?'’ ſaid ſhe, affecting a Surprize. —‘'I mean,' ſaid he, 'the Lady I ſaw here the other Day, whom I had laſt Night in my Arms at the Play-houſe, and to whom I have been making that unreaſonable Viſit.'’—‘'O my Couſin Weſtern,' ſaid ſhe, 'why that blazing Star, my Lord, is the Daughter of a Country Booby Squire, and hath been in own about a fortnight, for the firſt Time.'’—‘'Upon my Soul,' ſaid he, 'I ſhould ſwear ſhe had been bred in a Court; for beſides her Beauty, I never ſaw any thing ſo genteel, ſo ſenſible, ſo polite.'’—‘'O brave!' cries the Lady, 'My Couſin hath you, I find.'’—‘'Upon my Honour,' anſwered he, 'I wiſh ſhe had: for I am in Love with her to Diſtraction.'’—‘'Nay, my Lord,' ſaid ſhe, 'it is not wiſhing yourſelf very ill neither, for ſhe is a very great Fortune, I [125] aſſure you ſhe is an only Child, and her Father's Eſtate is a good 3000l. a Year.'’ ‘'Then I can aſ⯑ſure you, Madam,' anſwered the Lord, 'I think her the beſt Match in England.'’ ‘'Indeed, my Lord,' replied ſhe, 'if you like her, I heartily wiſh you had her.'’ ‘'If you think ſo kindly of me, Ma⯑dam,' ſaid he, 'as ſhe is a Relation of yours, will you do me the Honour to propoſe it to her Fa⯑ther?'’ ‘'And are you really then in earneſt?'’ cries the Lady, with an affected Gravity. ‘'I hope, Ma⯑dam,' anſwered he, 'you have a better Opinion of me, than to imagine I would jeſt with your La⯑dyſhip in an Affair of this Kind.'’ ‘'Indeed then,' ſaid the Lady, 'I will moſt readily propoſe your Lordſhip to her Father, and I can, I believe, aſſure you of his joyful Acceptance of the Propoſal; but there is a Bar, which I am almoſt aſhamed to men⯑tion, and yet it is one you will never be able to conquer. You have a Rival my Lord, and a Ri⯑val who, though I bluſh to name him, neither you nor all the World will ever be able to conquer.'’ ‘'Upon my Word, Lady Bellaſton,' cries he, 'you have ſtruck a damp to my Heart which hath almoſt deprived me of Being.'’ ‘'Fie! my Lord,' ſaid ſhe, 'I ſhould rather hope I had ſtruck Fire into you. A Lover, and talk of Damps in your Heart! I rather imagined you would have aſked your Ri⯑vil's Name, that you might have immediately en⯑tered the Liſts with him.'’ ‘'I promiſe you, Madam,' anſwered he, 'there are very few Things I would not undertake for your charming Couſin; but pray who is this happy Man?'’—‘'Why he is,' ſaid ſhe, 'what I am ſorry to ſay moſt happy Men with us are, one of the loweſt Fellows in the World. He is a Beggar, a Baſtard, a Foundling, a Fellow in meaner Circumſtances than one of your Lord⯑ſhip's Footmen.'’ ‘'And is it poſſible,' cried he, [126] that a young Creature with ſuch Perfections, ſhould think of beſtowing herſelf ſo unworthily?'’ ‘'Alas! my Lord,' anſwered ſhe, 'conſider the Country—the Bane of all young Women is the Country. There they learn a Set of romantic Notions of Love and I know not what Folly, which this Town and good Company can ſcarce eradicate in a whole Winter.'’ ‘'Indeed, Madam,' replied my Lord, your Couſin is of too immenſe a Value to be thrown away: Such Ruin as this muſt be prevented.'’ ‘'Alas!' cries ſhe, 'my Lord, how can it be prevented?'’ The ‘'Family have already done all in their Power; but the Girl is, I think, intoxicated, and nothing leſs than Ruin will content her. And to deal more openly with you, I expect every Day to hear ſhe is run away with him.'’ ‘'What you tell me, Lady Bellaſton,' anſwered his Lordſhip, 'affects me moſt tenderly, and only raiſes my Compaſſion in⯑ſtead of leſſening my Adoration of your Couſin. Some Means muſt be found to preſerve ſo ineſti⯑mable a Jewel. Hath your Ladyſhip endeavoured to reaſon with her?'’ Here the Lady affected a Laugh. and cried, ‘'My dear Lord, ſure you know us better than to talk of reaſoning a young Woman out of her Inclinations. Theſe ineſtimable Jewels are as deaf as the Jewels they wear; Time, my Lord, Time is the only Medicine to cure their Folly; but this is a Medicine, which I am certain ſhe will not take; nay, I live in hourly Horrors on her Account. In ſhort nothing but violent Methods will do.'’ ‘'What is to be done?' cries my Lord, 'what Methods are to be taken?'’—‘'Is there any Method upon Earth?'’—‘'Oh! Lady Bellaſton! there is nothing which I would not undertake for ſuch a Reward.'’—‘'I really know not,'’ anſwered the Lady, after a Pauſe, and then pauſing again, ſhe cried out,—‘'Upon my Soul, I am at my Wit's End on this Girl's Ac⯑count.—If ſhe can be preſerved, ſomething muſt [127] be done immediately, and as I ſay, nothing but violent Methods will do.—If your Lordſhip hath really this Attachment to my Couſin, (and to do her Juſtice, except in this ſilly Inclination, of which ſhe will ſoon ſee her Folly, ſhe is every way deſerving,) I think there may be one Way, in⯑deed it is a very diſagreeable one, and what I am almoſt afraid to think of.—It requires great Spirit, I promiſe you.'’ ‘'I am not conſcions, Ma⯑dam,' ſaid he, 'of any Defect there, nor am I, I hope, ſuſpected of any ſuch. It muſt be an egre⯑gious Defect indeed, which could make me back⯑ward on this Occaſion.'’ ‘'Nay, my Lord,' an⯑ſwered ſhe, 'I am far from doubting you. I am much more inclined to doubt my own Courage: for I muſt run a monſtrous Riſque. In ſhort, I muſt place ſuch a Confidence in your Honour as a wiſe Woman will ſcarce ever place in a Man on any Conſideration.'’ In this Point likewiſe my Lord very well ſatisfied her; for his Reputation was ex⯑tremely clear, and common Fame did him no more than Juſtice, in ſpeaking well of him. ‘'Well then,' ſaid ſhe, my Lord,—I—I vow, I can't bear the Apprehenſion of it—No, it ſhall not be.—At leaſt every other Method muſt be tried. Can you get rid of your Engagements and dine here to⯑day? Your Lordſhip will have an Opportunity of ſeeing a little more of Miſs Weſtern.—I pro⯑miſe you we have no time to loſe. Here will be nobody but Lady Betty, and Miſs Eagle, and Co⯑lonel Hampſted, and Tom Edwards; they will all go ſoon—and I ſhall be at home to nobody. Then your Lordſhip may be a little more explicit. Nay' I will contrive ſome Method to convince you of her Attachment to this Fellow.'’ My Lord made proper Compliments, accepted the Invitation, and then they parted to dreſs, it being now paſt three in [128] the Morning, or to reckon by the old Style, in the Afternoon.

CHAP. III. A further Explanation of the foregoing Deſign.

THO' the Reader may have long ſince concluded Lady Bellaſton to be a Member (and no in⯑conſiderable one) of the Great World, ſhe was in reality a very conſiderable Member of the Little World; by which Appellation was diſtinguiſhed a very worthy and honourable Society which not long ſince flouriſhed in this Kingdom.

Among other good Principles upon which this So⯑ciety was founded, was one very remarkable; for as it was a Rule of an honourable Club of Heroes, who aſſembled at the cloſe of the late War, that all the Members ſhould every Day fight once at leaſt; ſo 'twas in this, that every Member ſhould, within the twenty four Hours, tell at leaſt one merry Fib, which was to be propagated by all the Brethren and Siſter⯑hood.

Many idle Stories were told about this Society, which from a certain Quality may be perhaps not unjuſtly ſuppoſed to have come from the Society them⯑ſelves. As, that the Devil was the Preſident, and that he ſat in Perſon in an elbow Chair at the upper End of the Table; but upon very ſtrict Enquiry, I find there is not the leaſt Truth in any of thoſe Tales, and that the Aſſembly conſiſted in reality of a Set of very good ſort of People, and the Fibs which they propagated were of a harmleſs Kind, and tended only to produce Mirth and good Humour.

Edwards was likewiſe a Member of this comical Society. To him therefore Lady Bellaſton applied as a proper Inſtrument for her Purpoſe, and furniſhed him with a Fib, which he was to vent whenever the Lady gave him her Cue; and this was not to be till [139] the Evening when all the Company but Lord Fellamar and himſelf were gone, and while they were engaged in a Rubbers at Whiſt.

To this Time then, which was between ſeven and eight in the Evening, we will convey our Reader; when Lady Bellaſton, Lord Fellamar, Miſs Weſtern, and Tom being engaged at Whiſt, and in the laſt Game of their Rubbers, Tom received his Cue from Lady Bellaſton, which was, I proteſt Tom, you are grown intolerable lately; you uſed to tell us all the News of the Town, and now you know no more of the World than if you lived out of it.

Mr. Edwards then began as follows: ‘'The Fault is not mine, Madam; It lies in the Dulneſs of the Age that doth nothing worth talking Of—O la! tho' now I think on't, there hath a terrible Accident be⯑fallen poor Col. Wilcox.—Poor Ned—You know him my Lord, every body knows him; faith! I am very much concerned for him.'’

‘'What is it, pray?'’ ſays Lady Bellaſton.

‘'Why, he hath killed a Man this Morning in a Duel, that's all.'’

His Lordſhip, who was not in the Secret, aſked gravely, whom he had killed; to which Edwards an⯑ſwered, ‘'A young Fellow we none of us know; a Somerſetſhire Lad juſt come to town, one Jones his Name is; a near Relation of one Mr. Allworthy, of whom your Lordſhip I believe hath heard. I ſaw the Lad lie dead in a Coffee-houſe.—Upon my Soul he is one of the fineſt Corpſes I ever ſaw in my Life.'’

Sophia, who juſt began to deal as Tom had menti⯑oned that a Man was killed, ſtopt her Hand, and liſ⯑tened with Attention, (for all Stories of that Kind affected her) but no ſooner had he arrived at the latter part of the Story, than ſhe began to deal again; and having dealt three Cards to one, and ſeven to another, [130] and ten to a third, at laſt dropt the reſt from her Hand, and fell back in her Chair.

The Company behaved as uſually on theſe Occa⯑ſions. The uſual Diſturbance enſued, the uſual Aſ⯑ſiſtance was ſummoned, and Sophia at laſt, as it is u⯑ſual, returned again to Life, and was ſoon after, at her earneſt Deſire, led to her own Apartment; where, at my Lord's Requeſt, Lady Bellaſton acquainted her with the Truth, attempted to carry it off as a Jeſt of her own, and comforted her with repeated Aſſurances, that neither his Lordſhip, nor Tom, though ſhe had taught him the Story, were in the true Secret of the Affair.

There was no farther Evidence neceſſary to con⯑vince Lord Fellamar how juſtly the Caſe had been re⯑preſented to him by Lady Bellaſton; and now at her Return into the Room, a Scheme was laid between thoſe two noble Perſons, which, though it appeared in no very heinous Light to his Lordſhip, (as he faithfully promiſed, and faithfully reſolved too, to make the Lady all the ſubſequent amends in his Power by Marriage;) yet many of our Readers, we doubt not, will ſee with juſt Deteſtation.

The next Evening at ſeven was appointed for the fatal Purpoſe, when Lady Bellaſton undertook that Sophia ſhould be alone, and his Lordſhip ſhould be in⯑troduced to her. The whole Family were to be regu⯑lated for the Purpoſe, moſt of the Servants diſpatched out of the Houſe, and for Mrs. Honour who, to pre⯑vent any ſuſpicion, was to be left with her Miſtreſs till his Lordſhip's Arrival, Lady Bellaſton herſelf was to engage her in an Apartment as diſtant as poſſible from the Scene of the intended Miſchief, and out of the Hearing of Sophia.

Matters being thus agreed on, his Lordſhip took his Leave, and her Ladyſhip retired to Reſt, highly pleaſed with a Project of which ſhe had no reaſon to doubt the Succeſs, and which promiſed ſo effectually [131] to remove Sophia from being any future Obſtruction to her Amour with Jones, by a Means of which ſhe ſhould never appear to be guilty, even if the Fact appeared to the World; but this ſhe made no doubt of prevent⯑ing by huddling up a Marriage, to which ſhe thought the raviſhed Sophia would eaſily be brought to conſent, and at which all the reſt of her Family would rejoice.

But Affairs were not in ſo quiet a Situation in the Boſom of the other Conſpirator. His Mind was toſt in all the diſtracting Anxiety ſo nobly deſcribed by Shakeſpear.

Though the Violence of his Paſſion had made him eagerly embrace the firſt Hint of this Deſign, eſpeci⯑ally as it came from a Relation of the Lady, yet when that Friend to Reflection, a Pillow, had placed the Action itſelf in all its natural black Colours before his Eyes, with all the Conſequences which muſt, and thoſe which might probably attend it; his Reſolution began to abate, or rather indeed to go over to the o⯑ther Side; and after a long Conflict which laſted a whole Night between Honour and Appetite, the former at length prevailed, and he determined to wait on Lady Bellaſton and to relinquiſh the Deſign.

Lady Bellaſton was in Bed, though very late in the Morning, and Sophia ſitting by her Bedſide, when the Servant acquainted her that Lord Fellamar was be⯑low in the Parlour, upon which her Ladyſhip deſired him to ſtay, and that ſhe would ſee him preſently; but the Servant was no ſooner departed than poor [132] Sophia began to intreat her Couſin not to encourage the Viſits of that odious Lord (ſo ſhe called him though a little unjuſtly) upon her Account. ‘'I ſee his De⯑ſign,' ſaid ſhe, 'for he made downright Love to me Yeſterday Morning; but as I am reſolved never to admit it, I beg your Ladyſhip not to leave us a⯑lone together any more, and to order the Servants that if he enquires for me I may be always denied to him.'’

'La! Child,' ſays Lady Bellaſton, ‘'you Country Girls have nothing but Sweet-Hearts in your Head; you fancy every Man who is civil to you is mak⯑ing Love. He is one of the moſt gallant young Fellows about Town, and I am convinced means no more than a little Gallantry. Make Love to you indeed! I wiſh with all my Heart he would, and you muſt be an arrant mad Woman to refuſe him.'’

‘'But as I ſhall certainly be that mad Woman,' cries Sophia, 'I hope his Viſits ſhall not be intruded on me.'’

'O Child,' ſaid Lady Bellaſton, ‘'you need not be ſo fearful, if you reſolve to run away with that Jones, I know no Perſon who can hinder you.'’

'Upon my Honour, Madam,' cries Sophia, ‘'your Ladyſhip injures me. I will never run away with any Man; nor will I ever marry contrary to my Fa⯑ther's Inclinations.'’

‘'Well Miſs Weſtern,' ſaid the Lady, 'if you are not in a Humour to ſee Company this Morning, you may retire to your own Apartment; for I am not frightned at his Lordſhip, and muſt ſend for him up into my Dreſſing-Room.'’

Sophia thanked her Ladyſhip and withdrew; and preſently afterwards Fellamar was admitted up Stairs.

CHAP. IV. By which it will appear how dangerous an Advocate a Lady is, when ſhe applies her Eloquence to an ill Purpoſe.

WHEN Lady Bellaſton heard the young Lord's Scruples, ſhe treated them with the ſame Diſ⯑dain with which one of thoſe Sages of the Law, called Newgate Solicitors, treats the Qualms of Con⯑ſcience in a young Witneſs. ‘'My dear Lord,' ſaid ſhe, 'you certainly want a Cordial. I muſt ſend to Lady Edgely for one of her beſt Drams. Fie up⯑on it! have more Reſolution. Are you frightned by the Word Rape? Or are you apprehenſive—? Well, if the Story of Helen was modern, I ſhould think it unnatural. I mean the Behaviour of Pa⯑ris, not the Fondneſs of the Lady; for all Women love a Man of Spirit. There is another Story of the Sabine Ladies,—and that too, I thank Heaven, is very ancient. Your Lordſhip, perhaps, will admire my Reading; but I think Mr. Hook tells us they made tolerable good Wives afterwards. I fancy few of my married Acquaintance were ra⯑viſhed by their Huſbands.' 'Nay, dear Lady Bel⯑laſton,' cried he, 'don't ridicule me in this Man⯑ner. 'Why, my good Lord,' anſwered ſhe, do you think any Woman in England would not laugh at you in her Heart whatever Prudery ſhe might wear in her Countenance?—You force me to uſe a ſtrange Kind of Language, and to be⯑tray my Sex moſt abominably: But I am content⯑ed with knowing my Intentions are good, and that I am endeavouring to ſerve my Couſin; for I think you will make her a Huſband notwithſtanding this; or, upon my Soul, I would not even perſuade her to fling herſelf away upon an empty Title. She ſhould not upbraid me hereafter with having loſt a Man [134] of Spirit? for that his Enemies allow this poor young Fellow to be.'’

Let thoſe who have had the Satisfaction of hear⯑ing Reflections of this Kind from a Wife or a Miſ⯑trſs, declare whether they are at all ſweetened by coming from a Female Tongue. Certain it is they ſunk deeper into his Lordſhip, than any Thing which Demoſthenes or Cicero could have ſaid on the Occaſi⯑on.

Lady Bellaſton perceiving ſhe had fired the young Lord's Pride, began now, like a true Orator, to rouſe other Paſſions to its Aſſiſtance. ‘'My Lord,' ſaid ſhe, in a graver Voice, 'you will be pleaſed to remember you mentioned this Matter to me firſt; for I would not appear to you in the Light of one who is endeavouring to put off my Couſin upon you. Fourſcore thouſand Pounds do not ſtand in Need of an Advocate to recommend them. Nor doth Miſs Weſtern,' ſaid he, 'require any Recommendation from her Fortune; for in my Opinion, no Woman ever had half her Charms.'’ ‘'Yes, yes, my Lord;' replied the Lady, looking in the Glaſs, 'there have been Women with more than half her Charms, I aſſure you; not that I need leſſen her on that Ac⯑count. She is a moſt delicious Girl, that's certain; and within theſe few Hours ſhe will be in the Arms of one, who ſurely doth not deſerve her, tho' I will give him his due, I believe he is truly a Man of Spirit.'’

‘'I hope ſo, Madam,' ſaid my Lord; 'though I muſt own he doth not deſerve her; for unleſs Hea⯑ven, or your Ladyſhip diſappoint me, ſhe ſhall within that Time be in mine.'’

‘'Well ſpoken, my Lord,' anſwered the Lady. 'I promiſe you no Diſappointment ſhall happen from my Side; and within this Week I am convinced I ſhall call your Lordſhip my Couſin in Public.'’

[135] The Remainder of this Scene conſiſted entirely of Raptures, Excuſes, and Compliments, very pleaſant to have heard from the Parties; but rather dull when related at ſecond Hand. Here, therefore, we ſhall put an End to this Dialogue, and haſten to the fatal Hour, when every Thing was prepared for the De⯑ſtruction of poor Sophia.

But this being the moſt tragical Matter in our whole Hiſtory, we ſhall treat it in a Chapter by itſelf.

CHAP. V. Containing ſome Matters which may affect, and others which may ſurprize the Reader.

THE Clock had now ſtruck Seven and poor So⯑phia, alone and melancholy, ſat reading a Tra⯑gedy. It was the Fatal Marriage, and ſhe was now come to that Part where the poor, diſtreſt Iſabella diſpoſes of her Wedding-Ring.

Here the Book dropt from her Hand, and a Show⯑er of Tears ran down into her Boſom. In this Si⯑tuation ſhe had continued a Minute, when the Door opened, and in came Lord Fellamar. Sophia ſtarted from her Chair at his Entrance; and his Lordſhip advancing forwards, and making a low Bow ſaid, ‘'I am afraid, Miſs Weſtern, I break in upon you abruptly.'’ ‘'Indeed my Lord,' ſays ſhe, 'I muſt own myſelf a little ſurprized at this unexpected Vi⯑ſit.'’ ‘'If this Viſit be unexpected, Madam,' an⯑ſwered Lord Fellamar, 'my Eyes muſt have been very faithleſs Interpreters of my Heart, when laſt I had the Honour of ſeeing you: For ſurely you could not otherwiſe have hoped to detain my Heart in your Poſſeſſion, without receiving a Viſit from its Owner.'’ Sophia, confus'd as ſhe was, anſwer⯑ed this Bombaſt (and very properly, I think,) with a Look of inconceivable Diſdain. My Lord then made another and a longer Speech of the ſame Sort. Upon [136] which Sophia, trembling, ſaid, ‘'Am I really to con⯑ceive your Lordſhip to be out of your Senſes? Sure, my Lord, there is no other Excuſe for ſuch Behaviour'’—‘'I am, indeed, Madam, in the Si⯑tuation you ſuppoſe,' cries his Lordſhip; 'and ſure you will pardon the Effects of a Frenzy which you yourſelf have occaſioned: For Love hath ſo totally deprived me of Reaſon, that I am ſcarce ac⯑countable for any of my Actions.'’ ‘'Upon my Word, my Lord,' ſaid Sophia, I neither under⯑ſtand your Words nor your Behaviour.'’—‘'Suf⯑fer me then, Madam,!' cries he, 'at your Feet to explain both, by laying open my Soul to you, and declaring that I doat on you to the higheſt Degree of Diſtraction. O moſt adorable, moſt divine Crea⯑ture! what Language can expreſs the Sentiments of my Heart?'’ ‘'I do aſſure you, my Lord,' ſaid Sophia, 'I ſhall not ſtay to hear any more of this.'’ ‘'Do not,' cries he, 'think of leaving me thus cruel⯑ly: could you know half the Torments which I feel, that tender Boſom muſt Pity what thoſe Eyes have cauſed.'’ Then fetching a deep Sigh, and lay⯑ing hold of her Hand, he ran on for ſome Minutes in a Strain which would be a little more pleaſing to the Reader, than it was to the Lady; and at laſt con⯑cluded with a Declaration, ‘'That if he was Maſter of the World, he would lay it at her Feet.'’ Sophia then forcibly pulling away her Hand from his, an⯑ſwered, with much Spirit, ‘'I promiſe you, Sir, your World and its Maſter, I ſhould ſpurn from me with equal Contempt.'’ She then offered to go, and Lord Fellamar again laying Hold of her Hand, ſaid, ‘'Par⯑don me, my beloved Angel, Freedoms which no⯑thing but Deſpair could have tempted me take.—Believe me, could I have had any Hope that my Title and Fortune, neither of them inconſiderable, unleſs when compared with your Worth, would [137] have been accepted, I had, in the humbleſt Man⯑ner, preſented them to your Acceptance.—But I cannot loſe you.—by Heaven, I will ſooner part with my Soul.—You are, you muſt, you ſhall be only mine.'’ ‘'My Lord,' ſaid ſhe, 'I intreat you to deſiſt from a vain Purſuit; for, upon my Honour, I will never hear you on this Subject. Let go my Hand, my Lord, for I am reſolved to go from you this Moment, nor will I ever ſee you more.'’ ‘'Then, Madam,' cries his Lordſhip, 'I muſt make the beſt Uſe of this Moment; for I can⯑not, nor will live without you.'’—‘'What do you mean, my Lord?' ſaid Sophia; 'I will raiſe the Family.'’ ‘'I have no Fear Madam,' anſwered he, 'but of loſing you, and that I am reſolved to prevent, the only Way which Deſpair points to me.'’—He then caught her in his Arms; upon which ſhe ſcreamed ſo loud, that ſhe muſt have alarmed ſome one to her Aſſiſtance, had not Lady Bellaſton taken Care to remove all Ears. But a more lucky Circumſtance happened for poor Sophia; ano⯑ther Noiſe now broke forth, which almoſt drowned her Cries: For now the whole Houſe rung with Where is ſhe? D—n me, I'll unkennel her this In⯑ſtant. Shew me her Chamber I ſay. Where is my Daughter, I know ſhe's in the Houſe, and I'll ſee her if ſhe's above Ground. Shew me where ſhe is.'—At which laſt Words the Door flew open, and in came Squire Weſtern with his Parſon, and a ſet of Myrmidons at his Heels.

How miſerable muſt have been the Condition of poor Sophia, when the enraged Voice of her Father was welcome to her Ears? Welcome indeed it was, and did he luckily come; for it was the only Accident [...]pon Earth, which could have preſerved the Peace of [...]er Mind from being for ever deſtroyed.

Sophia, notwithſtanding her Fright, preſently knew [...]er Father's Voice; and his Lordſhip notwithſtand⯑ing [138] his Paſſion, knew the Voice of Reaſon, which peremptorily aſſured him, it was not now a Time for the Perpetration of his Villainy. Hearing, there⯑fore, the Voice approach, and hearing likewiſe whoſe it was; (for as the Squire more than once roared forth the Word Daughter, ſo Sophia, in the Midſt of her Struggling, cried out upon her Father;) he thought proper to relinquiſh his Prey, having only diſordered her Handkerchief, and with his rude Lips committed Violence on her lovely Neck.

If the Reader's Imagination doth not aſſiſt me, I ſhall never be able to deſcribe the Situation of theſe two Perſons when Weſtern came into the Room. So⯑phia tottered into a Chair, where ſhe ſat diſordered, pale, breathleſs, burſting with Indignation at Lord Fellamar; affrighted, and yet more rejoiced at the Arrival of her Father.

His Lordſhip ſat down near her, with the Bag of his Wig hanging over one of his Shoulders, the reſt of his Dreſs being ſomewhat diſordered, and rather a greater Proportion of Linnen than is uſual appear⯑ing at his Boſom. As to the reſt, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, and aſhamed.

As to Squire Weſtern, he happened, at this Time, to be overtaken by an Enemy, which very frequent⯑ly purſues, and ſeldom fails to overtake moſt of the Country Gentlemen in this Kingdom. He was lite⯑rally ſpeaking drunk; which Circumſtance, together with his natural Impetuoſity, could produce no other Effect, than his running immediately up to hi [...] Daughter, upon whom he fell foul with his Tongue in the moſt inveterate Manner; nay, he had proba⯑bly committed Violence with his Hands, had not the Parſon interpoſed, ſaying, ‘'For Heaven's Sake, Si [...] animadvert that you are in the Houſe of a great Lady. Let me beg you to mitigate your Wrath [...] it ſhould miniſter a Fullneſs of Satisfaction that yo [...] [139] have found your Daughter; for as to Revenge, it belongeth not unto us. I diſcern great Contrition in the Countenance of the young Lady. I ſtand aſſured if you will forgive her, ſhe will repent her of all her paſt Offences, and return unto her Duty.'’ The Strength of the Parſon's Arms had at firſt [...]en of more Service than the Strength of his Rhe⯑ [...]ric. However, his laſt Words wrought ſome Ef⯑fect, and the Squire anſwered, ‘'I'll forgee her if ſhe wull ha un. If wot ha un, Sophy, I'll forgee thee all. Why doſt unt ſpeak? Shat ha un? D—n me, ſhat ha un? Why doſt unt anſwer? Was ever ſuch a ſtubborn Tuoad?'’

‘'Let me intreat you, Sir, to be a little more mo⯑derate ſaid the Parſon: you frighten the young La⯑dy ſo, that you deprive her of all Power of Ut⯑terance.'’

‘'Power of mine A—, anwered the Squire. You take her Part then, you do? A pretty Parſon, truly, to ſide with an undutiful Child. Yes, yes, I will gee you a Living with a Pox. I'll gee un to the Devil ſooner.'’

‘'I humbly crave your Pardon, ſaid the Parſon, I aſſure your Worſhip, I meant no ſuch Matter.'’

My Lady Bellaſton now entered the Room, and me up to the Squire, who no ſooner ſaw her, than ſolving to follow the Inſtructions of his Siſter, he [...]de her a very civil Bow in the rural Manner, and [...]d her ſome of his beſt Compliments. He then [...]mediately proceeded to his Complaints, and ſaid, ‘'There, my Lady Couſin, there ſtands the moſt un⯑dutiful Child in the World; ſhe hankers after a beggarly Raſcal, and won't marry one of the great⯑eſt Matches in all England, that we have provided for her.'’

‘'Indeed, Couſin Weſtern,' anſwered the Lady, I am perſuaded you wrong my Couſin. 'I am ſure [140] ſhe hath a better Underſtanding. I am convinced ſhe will not refuſe what ſhe muſt be ſenſible is ſo much to her Advantage.'’

This was a wilful Miſtake in Lady Bellaſton; for ſhe well knew whom Mr. Weſtern meant; tho' per⯑haps ſhe thought he would eaſily be reconciled to his Lordſhip's Propoſals.

‘'Do you hear there, quoth the Squire, what he Ladyſhip ſays? All your Family are for the Match Come, Sophy, be a good Girl, and be dutiful, an [...] make your Father happy.'’

‘'If my Death will make you happy, Sir, anſwer⯑ed Sophia, you will ſhortly be ſo.'’

‘'It's a Lie, Sophy, it's a d—nd Lie, and yo [...] know it, ſaid the Squire.'’

‘'Indeed, Miſs Weſtern, ſaid Lady Bellaſton, yo [...] injure your Father; he hath nothing in View bu [...] your Intereſt in this Match; and I and all you [...] Friends muſt acknowledge the higheſt Honour don [...] to your Family in the Propoſal.'’

‘'Ay, all of us, quoth the Squire; nay, it was n [...] Propoſal of mine. She knows it was her Aunt pro⯑poſed it to me firſt.—Come, Sophy, once mo [...] let me beg you to be a good Girl, and gee me you [...] Conſent before your Couſin.'’

‘'Let me give him your Hand, Couſin, ſaid th [...] Lady. It is the Faſhion now-a-days to diſpen [...] with Time and long Courtſhips.'’

‘'Pugh, ſaid the Squire, what ſignifies Tim [...] won't they have Time enough to court afterward [...] People may Court very well after they have be [...] a-bed together.'’

As Lord Fellamar was very well aſſured, that [...] was meant by Lady Bellaſton, ſo never having hea [...] nor ſuſpected a Word of Blifil, he made no doubt his being meant by the Father. Coming up therefo [...] to the Squire he ſaid, ‘'Though I have not the Hono [...] Sir, of being perſonally known to you; yet as [141] find, I have the Happineſs to have my Propoſals accepted, let me intercede, Sir, in Behalf of the young Lady, that ſhe may not be more ſolicited at this Time.'’

‘'You intercede, Sir! ſaid the Squire, why, who the Devil are you?'’

‘'Sir, I am Lord Fellamar, anſwered he, and am [...]he happy Man, whom I hope you have done the Honour of accepting for a Son-in-law.'’

‘'You are a Son of a B—, replied the Squire, for [...]ll your laced Coat. You my Son-in-Law, and be [...]—nd to you!'’

‘'I ſhall take more from you, Sir, than from any [...]lan, anſwered the Lord; but I muſt inform you, [...]hat I am not uſed to hear ſuch Language without Reſentment.'’

‘'Reſent my A—, quoth the Squire. Don't think [...] am afraid of ſuch a Fellow as thee art? Becauſe [...]aſt got a Spit there dangling at thy Side. Lay by [...]our Spit and I'll give thee enough of meddling with what doth not belong to thee.—I'll teach [...]ou to Father-in-law me. I'll lick thy Jacket.'’

‘'It's very well, Sir, ſaid my Lord, I ſhall make [...] Diſturbance before the Ladies. I am very well [...]tisfied. Your humble Servant, Sir; Lady Bel⯑laſton, your moſt obedient.'’

His Lordſhip was no ſooner gone, than Lady Bel⯑ [...]n coming up to Mr. Weſtern, ſaid, ‘'Bleſs me, [...]r, what have you done? You know not whom [...]ou have affronted; he is a Nobleman of the firſt [...]nk and Fortune, and Yeſterday made Propoſals [...] your Daughter; and ſuch as I am ſure you muſt [...]cept with the higheſt Pleaſure.'’

Anſwer for yourſelf, Lady Couſin, ſaid the Squire, [...] will have nothing to do with any of your Lords. [...]y Daughter ſhall have an honeſt Country Gen⯑ [...]man; ‘'I have pitched upon one for her,—and [...]e ſhall ha' un,—I am ſorry for the trouble ſhe [142] 'hath given your Ladyſhip with all my Heart.'’ La⯑dy Bellaſton made a civil Speech upon the Word Trouble, to which the Squire anſwered, ‘'Why that's kind,—and I would do as much for your Lady⯑ſhip. To be ſure Relations ſhould do for one ano⯑ther. So I wiſh your Ladyſhip a good Night.—Come, Madam, you muſt go along with me by fair Means, or I'll have you carried down to the Coach.'’

‘'Sophia ſaid ſhe would attend him without Force; but begged to go in a Chair, for ſhe ſaid ſhe ſhould not be able to ride any other Way.'’

‘'Prithee, cries the Squire, wout unt perſuade m [...] canſt not ride in a Coach, wouldſt? That's a pret⯑ty Thing ſurely, No, no, I'll never let thee ou [...] of my Sight any more till art married, that I pro⯑miſe thee.' Sophia told him ſhe ſaw he was reſolve to break her Heart.' 'O break thy Heart and b [...] d—nd, quoth he, if a good Huſband will break i [...] I don't value a Braſs Varden, not a Halfpenny o [...] any undutiful B—upon Earth.'’ He then took vio⯑lently hold of her Hand; upon which the Parſo [...] once more interfered, begging him to uſe gentle Me⯑thods. At that the Squire thundered out a Curſe, an [...] bid the Parſon hold his Tongue, ſaying, ‘'At'n't i [...] Pulpit now? when art a got up there I never mi [...] what doſt ſay; but I won't be Prieſt-ridde [...] nor taught how to behave myſelf by thee. I wi [...] your Ladyſhip a good Night. Come along, So⯑phy, be a good Girl, and all ſhall be well, Shat [...] un, d—n me, ſhat ha un.'’

Mrs. Honour appeared below Stairs, and with low Curteſy to the Squire, offered to attend her Mi [...] ⯑treſs; but he puſhed her away, ſaying, ‘'Hold, M [...] ⯑dam, hold, you come no more near my Houſe And will you take my Maid away from me,' ſa [...] Sophia? 'Yes, indeed, Madam, will I, cries t [...] Squire; you need not fear being without a Se [...]+ [143] vant, I will get you another Maid, and a better Maid than this, who, I'd lay five Pound to a Crown, is no more a Maid than my Grannum. No, no, Sophy, ſhe ſhall contrive no more Eſcapes I promiſe you.'’ He then, packed up his Daughter and the Parſon into the Hackney Coach, after which he [...]ounted himſelf, and ordered it to drive to his Lodg⯑ [...]ngs. In the Way thither he ſuffered Sophia to be [...]uiet, and entertained himſelf with reading a Lecture [...]o the Parſon on good Manners, and a proper Beha⯑ [...]iour to his Betters.

It is poſſible he might not ſo eaſily have carried [...]ff his Daughter from Lady Bellaſton, had that good Lady deſired to have detained her; but in reality ſhe was not a little pleaſed with the Confinement into which Sophia was going; and as her Project with Lord Fellamar had failed of Succeſs, ſhe was well [...]ontented that other violent Methods were now go⯑ [...]g to be uſed in Favour of another Man.

CHAP. VI. [...]y what Means the Squire came to diſcover his Daugh⯑ter.

THOUGH the Reader in many Hiſtories is o⯑bliged to digeſt much more unaccountable Ap⯑ [...]arances than this of Mr. Weſtern, without any Sa⯑ [...]sfaction at all; yet as we dearly love to oblige him [...]henever it is in our Power, we ſhall now proceed [...] ſhew by what Method the Squire diſcovered where [...]s Daughter was.

In the third Chapter then of the preceding Book, [...]e gave a Hint (for it is not our Cuſtom to unfold at [...]y Time more than is neceſſary for the Occaſion) [...]at Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was very deſirous of re⯑ [...]nciling herſelf to her Uncle and Aunt Weſtern, [...]ought ſhe had a probable Opportunity by the Service [...] preſerving Sophia from committing the ſame Crime [...]hich had drawn on herſelf the Anger of her Family. [144] After much Deliberation therefore ſhe reſolved to in⯑form her Aunt Weſtern where her Couſin was, and accordingly ſhe writ the following Letter, which we ſhall give the Reader at length for more Reaſons than one.

Mrs. Weſtern was now at her Brother's Houſe, where ſhe had reſided ever ſince the Flight of Sophia, [...] order to adminiſter Comfort to the poor Squire in [...]is Affliction. Of this Comfort which ſhe doled out [...] him in daily Portions, we have formerly given a [...]pecimen.

She was now ſtanding with her Back to the Fire, [...]ad with a Pinch of Snuff in her Hand was dealing [...]orth this daily Allowance of Comfort to the Squire while he ſmoaked his Afternoon Pipe, when ſhe re⯑ceived the above Letter; which ſhe had no ſooner [...]ad than ſhe delivered it to him, ſaying, ‘'There, Sir, there is an Account of your loſt Sheep. For⯑tune hath again reſtored her to you, and if you will be governed by my Advice, it is poſſible you may preſerve her yet.'’

The Squire had no ſooner read the Letter than he [...]aped from his Chair, threw his Pipe into the Fire; [...]d gave a loud Huzza for Joy. He then ſummoned [...] Servants, called for his Boots, and ordered the [...]evalier and ſeveral other Horſes to be ſaddled, and [...]at Parſon Supple ſhould be immediately ſent for.

[146] Having done this, he turned to his Siſter, caught her in his Arms, and gave her a cloſe Embrace, ſaying, ‘'Zounds! you don't ſeem pleaſed, one would ima⯑gine you was ſorry I have found the Girl.'’

‘'Brother, anſwered ſhe, the deepeſt Politicians who ſee to the Bottom diſcover often a very diffe⯑rent Aſpect of Affairs, from what ſwims on the Surface. It is true indeed, Things do look rather leſs deſperate than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the fourteenth was at the Gates of Amſterdam; but there is a Delicacy required in this Matter, which you will pardon me, Brother, if [...] ſuſpect you want. There is a Decorum to he uſed with a Woman of Figure, ſuch as Lady Bellaſton, Brother, which requires a Knowledge of the World ſuperior, I am afraid, to yours.'’

‘'Siſter, cries the Squire, I know you have no Opinion of my Parts; but I'll ſhew you on this Occaſion who is Fool. Knowledge quotha! I have not been in the Country ſo long without having ſome Knowledge of Warrants and the Law of the Land. I know I may take my own wherever can find it. Shew me my own Daughter, and if don't know how to come at her, I'll ſuffer you to call me Fool as long as I live. There be Juſtices o [...] Peace in London, as well as in other Places.'’

‘'I proteſt, cries ſhe, you make me tremble forth Event of this Matter, which if you will proceed b [...] my Advice, you may bring to ſo good an Iſſue [...] Do you really imagine, Brother, that the Houſe o [...] a Woman of Figure is to be attacked by Warran [...] and brutal Juſtices of the Peace? I will inform yo [...] how to proceed. As ſoon as you arrive in Tow [...] and have got yourſelf into a decent Dreſs (for in⯑deed, Brother, you have none at preſent ſit to ap⯑pear in) you muſt ſend your Compliments to Lad [...] Bellaſton, and deſire Leave to wait on her. Wh [...] [147] you are admitted to her Preſence, as you certainly will be, and have told her your Story, and have made proper Uſe of my Name, (for I think you only juſt know one another by Sight, though you are Relations,) I am confident ſhe will withdraw her Protection from my Niece, who hath certainly impoſed upon her. This is the only Method.—Juſtices of the Peace indeed! do you imagine any ſuch Event can arrive to a Woman of Figure in a civilized Nation?'’

‘'D—n their Figures, cries the Squire; a pretty ci⯑vilized Nation truly, where Women are above the Law. And what muſt I ſtand ſending a Parcel of Compliments to a confounded Whore, that keeps away a Daughter from her own natural Father? I tell you, Siſter, I am not ſo ignorant as you think me.—I know you would have Women above the Law, but it is all a Lie; I heard his Lordſhip ſay at 'Size, that no one is above the Law. But this of yours is Hannover Law, I ſuppoſe.'’

‘'Mr. Weſtern, ſaid ſhe, I think you daily im⯑prove in Ignorance.—I proteſt you are grown an errant Bear.'’

‘'No more a Bear than yourſelf, Siſter Weſtern, ſaid the Squire.—Pox! you may talk of your Civi⯑lity an you will, I am ſure you never ſhew any to me. I am no Bear, no, nor no Dog neither, though I know Somebody, that is ſomething that begins with a B—, but Pox! I will ſhew you I have a got more good Manners than ſome Folks.'’

‘'Mr. Weſtern, anſwered the Lady, you may ſay what you pleaſe, Je vous meſpriſe de tout mon Coeur. I ſhall not therefore be angry.—Beſides, as my Couſin with that odious Iriſh Name juſtly ſays, I have that Regard for the Honour and true Intereſt of my Family, and that concern for my Niece, who is a part of it, that I have reſolved to go to Town myſelf upon this Occaſion; for indeed, indeed, [148] Brother, you are not a fit Miniſter to be employed at a polite Court.—Greenland —Greenland ſhould always be the Scene of the Tramontane Negotia⯑tion.'’

‘'I thank Heaven, cries the Squire, I don't under⯑ſtand you, now. You are got to your Hannoverian Linguo. However, I'll ſhew you I ſcorn to be be⯑hind-hand in Civility with you; and as you are not angry for what I have ſaid, ſo I am not angry for what you have ſaid. Indeed I have always thought it a Folly for Relations to quarrel; and if they do now and then give a haſty Word, why People ſhould give and take; for my Part I never bear Malice▪ and I take it very kind of you to go up to London, for I never was there but twice in my Life, and then I did not ſtay above a Fortnight at a Time; and to be ſure I can't be expected to know much of the Streets and the Folks in that Time. I never de⯑nied that you known'd all theſe Matters better than I. For me to diſpute that would be all as one, as fo [...] you to diſpute the Management of a Pack of Dogs or the finding a Hare ſitting, with me.—Which promiſe you, ſays ſhe, I never will.—Well, and promiſe you, returned he, that I never will diſpute the t'other.'’

Here then a League was ſtruck (to borrow a Phraſ [...] from the Lady) between the contending Parties; an [...] now the Parſon arriving, and the Horſes being ready the Squire departed, having promiſed his Siſter to fol⯑low her Advice, and ſhe prepared to follow him th [...] next Day.

But having communicated theſe Matters to the Par⯑ſon on the Road, they both agreed that the preſcribe Formalities might very well be diſpenſed with; an [...] the Squire having changed his Mind, proceeded in th [...] Manner we have already ſeen.

CHAP. VII. In which various Misfortunes befal poor Jones.

AFFAIRS were in the aforeſaid Situation when Mrs. Honour arrrived at Mrs. Miller's, and call⯑ed Jones out from the Company, as we have before ſeen, with whom, when ſhe found herſelf alone, ſhe began as follows.

‘'O my dear Sir, how ſhall I get Spirits to tell you; you are undone, Sir, and my poor Lady's undone, and I am undone.'’ ‘'Hath any thing happened to Sophia?'’ cries Jones, ſtaring like a Madman. ‘'All that is bad, cries Honour, O I ſhall never get ſuch another Lady! O that I ſhould ever live to ſee this Day!'’ At theſe Words Jones turned pale as Aſhes, rembled and ſtammered; but Honour went on. ‘'O, Mr. Jones I have loſt my Lady for ever.'’ ‘'How! What! for Heaven's Sake tell me.—O my dear Sophia!’—‘'You may well call her ſo, ſaid Ho⯑nour, ſhe was the deareſt Lady to me.—I ſhall ne⯑ver have ſuch another Place.'’—‘'D—n your Place,' [...]ries Jones, 'where is? what! what is become of my Sophia?'’ ‘'Ay, to be ſure, cries ſhe, Servants may be d—n'd. It ſignifies nothing what becomes of them, tho' they are turned away, and ruined ever ſo much. To be ſure they are not Fleſh and Blood like other People. No to be ſure, it ſignifies nothing what becomes of them.’—‘'If you have any Pity, any Compaſſion, cries Jones, I beg you will inſtant⯑ly tell me what hath happened to Sophia?'’ ‘'To be ſure I have more Pity for you than you have for me, anſwered Honour; I don't d—n you becauſe you have loſt the ſweeteſt Lady in the World. To be ſure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied too: For to be ſure if ever there was a good Miſtreſs'’—‘'What hath happened,'’ cries Jones, in almoſt a raving Fit—‘'What?—What? ſaid Honour! 'why the worſt that could have happened [150] both for you and for me.—Her Father is come to. Town and hath carried her away from us both.'’ Here Jones fell on his Knees in Thankſgiving that it was no worſe.—‘'No worſe! repeated Honour, what could be worſe for either of us? He carried her off, ſwearing ſhe ſhould marry Mr. Blifil; that's for your Comfort? and for poor me, I am turned out of Doors.'’ ‘'Indeed Mrs. Honour, anſwered Jones you frightned me out of my Wits. I imagined ſome moſt dreadfuled ſudden Accident had happened to Sophia; ſomething, compared to which, even the ſeeing her married to Blifil would be a Trifle; but while there is Life, there are Hopes, my dear Honour. Women in this Land of Liberty cannot be married by actual brutal Force.'’ ‘'To be ſure, Sir, ſaid ſhe, 'that's true. There may be ſome Hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what Hopes are there for poor me? And to be ſure, Sir, you muſt be ſenſible I ſuffer all this upon your Account. All the Quarrel the Squire hath to me is for taking your Part, as I have done, againſt Mr. Blifil.'’ ‘'In⯑deed Mrs. Honour, anſwered he, 'I am ſenſible of my Obligations to you, and will leave nothing in my Power undone to make you amends.'’ ‘'Alas, Sir, ſaid ſhe, what can make a Servant amends. for the Loſs of one Place, but the getting ano⯑ther altogether as good!'’—‘'Do not deſpair, Mrs. Honour, ſaid Jones, 'I hope to reinſtate you again in the ſame.'’ ‘'Alack-a-day, Sir, ſaid ſhe, how can I flatter myſelf with ſuch Hopes, when I know it is a Thing impoſſible; for the Squire is ſo ſet againſt me: and yet if you ſhould ever have my Lady, as to be ſure I now hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous good natured Gentleman, and I am ſure you loves her, and to be ſure ſhe loves you as dearly as her own Soul; it is a Matter in vain to deny it; becauſe as why, every Body that is in the leaſt ac⯑quainted with my Lady, muſt ſee it; for, poor [151] dear Lady, ſhe can't diſſemble; and if two People who loves one another a'n't happy, why who ſhould be ſo? Happineſs don't always depend upon what People has; beſides, my Lady has enough for both. To be ſure therefore as one may ſay, it would be all the Pity in the World to keep two ſuch Loviers aſunder; nay, I am convinced for my Part, you will meet together at laſt; for if it is to be, there is no preventing it. If a Marriage is made in Heaven, all the Juſtices of Peace upon Earth can't break it off. To be ſure I wiſhes that Parſon Supple had but a little more Spirit to tell the Squire of his Wickedneſs in endeavouring to force his Daughter contrary to her Liking; but then his whole Depen⯑dance is on the Squire, and ſo the poor Gentleman, though he is a very religious good ſort of Man, and talks of the Badneſs of ſuch Doings behind the Squire's Back, yet he dares not ſay his Soul is his own to his Face. To be ſure I never ſaw him make ſo bold as juſt now, I was afeard the Squire would have ſtruck him.—I would not have your Honour be melancholy, Sir, nor diſpair; Things may go better, as long as you are ſure of my Lady, and that I am certain you may be, for ſhe never will be brought to conſent to marry any other Man. In⯑deed, I am terribly afeard the Squire will do her a Miſchief in his Paſſion: For he is a prodigious paſſionate Gentleman, and I am afeard too the poor Lady will be brought to break her Heart, for ſhe is as tender-hearted as a Chicken; it is pity methinks, ſhe had not a little of my Courage. If I was in Love with a young Man, and my Father offered to lock me up, I'd tear his Eyes out, but I'd come at him; but then there's a great Fortune in the Caſe, which it is in her Father's Power either to give her, or not; that, to be ſure, may make ſome Difference.'’

Whether Jones gave ſtrict Attention to all the fore⯑going Harangue, or whether it was for want of any [152] Vacancy in the Diſcourſe, I cannot determine; but he never once attempted to anſwer, nor did ſhe once ſtop, till Partridge came running into the Room, and informed him that the great Lady was upon the Stairs.

Nothing could equal the Dilemma to which Jones was now reduced. Honour knew nothing of any Ac⯑quaintance that ſubſiſted between him and Lady Bel⯑laſton, and ſhe was almoſt the laſt Perſon in the World to whom he would have communicated it. In this Hurry and Diſtreſs, he took (as is common enough) the worſt Courſe, and inſtead of expoſing her to the Lady, which would have been of little Conſequence, he choſe to expoſe the Lady to her; he therefore re⯑ſolved to hide Honour, whom he had but juſt time to convey behind the Bed, and to draw the Curtains.

The Hurry in which Jones had been all Day en⯑gaged on Account of his poor Landlady and her Fa⯑mily, the Terrors occaſioned by Mrs. Honour, and the Confuſion into which he was thrown by the ſud⯑den Arrival of Lady Bellaſton, had altogether driven former Thoughts out of his Head; ſo that it never once occurr'd to his Memory to act the Part of a ſick Man; which indeed, neither the Gayety of his Dreſs, nor the Freſhneſs of his Countenance would have at all ſupported.

He received her Ladyſhip therefore rather agreea⯑bly to her Deſires than to her Expectations, with all the good Humour he could muſter in his Countenance, and without any real or affected Appearance of the leaſt Diſorder.

Lady Bellaſton no ſooner entered the Room, than ſhe ſquatted herſelf down on the Bed: ‘'So, my dear Jones,' ſaid ſhe, you find nothing can detain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you, that I have neither ſeen nor heard from you all Day; for I perceive your Diſtemper would have ſuffered you to come abroad; Nay, I ſuppoſe you have not ſat in your Chamber all Day dreſt up [153] like a fine Lady to ſee Company after a Lying-in; but however, don't think I intend to ſcold you: For I never will give you an Excuſe for the cold Behaviour of a Huſband, by putting on the ill Hu⯑mour of a Wife.'’

‘'Nay, Lady Bellaſton,' ſaid Jones, 'I am ſure your Ladyſhip will not upbraid me with neglect of Duty, when I only waited for Orders. Who, my dear Creature, hath Reaſon to complain? Who miſſed an Appointment laſt Night, and left an un⯑happy Man to expect, and wiſh, and ſigh, and lan⯑guiſh?'’

‘'Do not mention it, my dear Mr. Jones,' cries ſhe. 'If you knew the Occaſion, you would pity me. In ſhort, it is impoſſible to conceive what Women of Condition are obliged to ſuffer from the Impertinence of Fools, in order to keep up the Farce of the World. I am glad however, all your languiſhing and wiſhing have done you no harm: for you never looked better in your Life. Upon my Faith! Jones, you might at this Inſtant ſit for the Picture of Adonis.'’

There are certain Words of Provocation which [...]en of Honour hold can only properly be anſwered [...]y a Blow. Among Lovers poſſibly there may be [...]ome Expreſſions which can only be anſwered by a Kiſs. The Compliment which Lady Bellaſton now made Jones ſeems to be of this Kind, eſpecially as [...]t was attended with a Look in which the Lady con⯑ [...]eyed more ſoft Ideas than it was poſſible to expreſs with her Tongue.

Jones was certainly at this Inſtant in one of the moſt diſagreeable and diſtreſt ſituations imaginable; [...]or to carry on the Compariſon we made uſe of be⯑ [...]ore, tho' the Provocation was given by the Lady, [...]ones could not receive Satisfaction, nor ſo much as [...]ffer to aſk it, in the Preſence of a third Perſon; Se⯑conds in this kind of Duels not being according to [154] the Law of Arms. As this Objection did not occur to Lady Bellaſton, who was ignorant of any other Woman being there but herſelf, ſhe waited ſome time in great Aſtoniſhment for an Anſwer from Jones, who conſcious of the ridiculous Figure he made, ſtood at a Diſtance, and not daring to give the pro⯑per Anſwer, gave none at all. Nothing can be ima⯑gined more comic, nor yet more tragical than this Scene would have been, if it had laſted much longer. The Lady had already changed Colour two or three times; had got up from the Bed and ſat down again, while Jones was wiſhing the Ground to ſink under him, or the Houſe to fall on his Head, when an odd Accident freed him from an Embaraſſment out of which neither the Eloquence of Cicero, nor the Po⯑liticks of a Machiavel could have delivered him, with⯑out utter Diſgrace.

This was no other than the Arrival of young Nightingale dead drunk; or rather in that State of Drunkenneſs which deprives Men of the Uſe of their Reaſon, without depriving them of the Uſe of their Limbs.

Mrs. Miller and her Daughters were in Bed, and Partridge was ſmoaking his Pipe by the Kitchen Fire; ſo that he arrived at Mr. Jones's Chamber Door with⯑out any Interruption. This he burſt open, and was entering without any Ceremony, when Jones ſtarted from his Seat, and ran to oppoſe him; which he did ſo effectually, that Nightingale never came far enough within the Door to ſee who was ſitting on the Bed.

Nightingale had in Reality miſtaken Jones's Apart⯑ment for that in which himſelf had lodged; he there⯑fore ſtrongly inſiſted on coming in, often ſwearing that he would not be kept from his own Bed. Jones however, prevailed over him, and delivered him in to the Hands of Partridge, whom the Noiſe on th [...] Stairs ſoon ſummoned to his Maſter's Aſſiſtance.

[155] And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own Apartment, where at the very Inſtant of his Entrance he heard Lady Bellaſton venting an Excla⯑mation, though not a very loud one; and at the ſame time, ſaw her flinging herſelf into a Chair in a vaſt Agitation, which in a Lady of a tender Conſtitution would have been an Hyſteric Fit.

In reality the Lady, frightened with the Struggle between the two Men, of which ſhe did not know what would be the Iſſue, as ſhe heard Nightingale ſwear many Oaths he would come to his own Bed, attempted to retire to her known Place of Hiding, which to her great Confuſion ſhe found already oc⯑cupied by another.

‘'Is this Uſage to be borne, Mr. Jones?' cries the Lady, '—baſeſt of Men!—What Wretch is this to whom you have expoſed me?'’ ‘'Wretch!' cries Honour, burſting in a violent Rage from her Place of Concealment—'marry come up!—'Wretch forſooth!—As poor a Wretch as I am, I am honeſt, that is more than ſome Folks who are richer can ſay.'’ Jones, inſtead of applying himſelf directly to take off the Edge of Mrs. Honour's Reſentment, as a more experienced Gallant would have done, fell to curſing his Stars, and lamenting himſelf as the moſt unfor⯑tunate Man in the World; and preſently after, addreſ⯑ing himſelf to Lady Bellaſton, he fell to ſome very abſurd Proteſtations of Innocence. By this time the Lady having recovered the Uſe of her Reaſon, which he had as ready as any Woman in the World, eſpe⯑cially on ſuch Occaſions, calmly replied; ‘'Sir, you need make no Apologies, I ſee now who the Per⯑ſon is; I did not at firſt know Mrs. Honour; but now I do, I can ſuſpect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am ſure ſhe is a Woman of too good Senſe to put any wrong Conſtructions up⯑on my Viſits to you; I have been always her Friend, [156] and it may be in my Power to be much more ſo hereafter.'’

Mrs. Honour was altogether as placable, as ſhe was paſſionate. Hearing therefore Lady Bellaſton aſſume the ſoft Tone, ſhe likewiſe ſoftened her's. —'I'm ſure, Madam,' ſaid ſhe, ‘'I have been always ready to acknowledge your Ladyſhip's Friendſhips to me; ſure I never had ſo good a Friend as your Ladyſhip—and to be ſure now I ſee it is your Ladyſhip that I ſpoke to, I could almoſt bite my Tongue off for very mad.—I Conſtructions upon your Ladyſhip—to be ſure it doth not be⯑come a Servant as I am to think about ſuch a great Lady—I mean I was a Servant: for indeed I am no Body's Servant now, the more miſerable Wretch is me.—I have loſt the beſt Miſtreſs.'’—Here Honour thought fit to produce a Shower of Tears. —'‘'Don't cry, Child.' ſays the good Lady, 'Ways perhaps my be found to make you amends. Come to me to-morrow Morning.'’ She then took up her Fan which lay on the Ground, and without even looking at Jones, walked very majeſtically out of the Room; there being a kind of Dignity in the Impu⯑dence of Women of Quality, which their Inferiors vainly aſpire to attain to in Circumſtances of this Na⯑ture.

Jones followed her down Stairs, often offering her his Hand, which ſhe abſolutely refuſed him, and go [...] into her Chair without taking any Notice of him as he ſtood bowing before her.

At his Return up Stairs, a long Dialogue paſt be⯑tween him and Mrs. Honour, while ſhe was adjuſting herſelf after the Diſcompoſure ſhe had undergone. The Subject of this was his Infidelity to her young Lady; on which ſhe enlarged with great Bitterneſs but Jones at laſt found means to reconcile her, and not only ſo, but to obtain a Promiſe of moſt inviolable Secrecy, and that ſhe would the next Morning en⯑deavour [157] to find out Sophia, and bring him a further Account of the Proceedings of the Squire.

Thus ended this unfortunate Adventure to the Sa⯑tisfaction only of Mrs. Honour; for a Secret (as ſome of my Readers will perhaps acknowledge from Experience) is often a very valuable Poſſeſſion; and [...]hat not only to thoſe who faithfully keep it, but ſome⯑times to ſuch as whiſper it about till it comes to [...]he Ears of every one, except the ignorant Perſon, who pays for the ſuppoſed concealing of what is pub⯑lickly known.

CHAP. VIII. Short and ſweet.

NOTWITHSTANDING all the Obligations ſhe had received from Jones, Mrs. Miller could [...]ot forbear in the Morning ſome gentle Remonſtrances for the Hurricain which had happened the preceding Night in his Chamber. Theſe were however ſo gen⯑ [...]le and ſo friendly; profeſſing, and indeed truly, to [...]im at nothing more than the real good of Mr. Jones himſelf, that he far from being offended, thankfully [...]eceived the Admonition of the good Woman, ex⯑ [...]reſſed much Concern for what had paſt, excuſed it [...]s well as he could, and promiſed never more to bring he ſame Diſturbances into the Houſe.

But though Mrs. Miller did not refrain from a [...]hort Expoſtulation in private at their firſt meeting, [...]et the Occaſion of his being ſummoned down Stairs [...]hat Morning was of a much more agreeable Kind; [...]eing indeed to perform the Office of a Father to Miſs Nancy, and to give her in Wedlock to Mr, Night⯑ingale, who was now ready dreſt, and full as ſober [...]s many of my Readers will think a Man ought to [...]e who receives a Wife in ſo imprudent a Man⯑ [...]er.

[158] And here perhaps it may be proper to account for the Eſcape which this young Gentleman had made from his Uncle, and for his Appearance in the Con⯑dition in which we have ſeen him the Night before.

Now when the Uncle had arrived at his Lodgings with his Nephew, partly to indulge his own Inclina⯑tions (for he dearly loved his Bottle) and partly to diſqualify his Nephew from the immediate Execu⯑tion of his Purpoſe, he ordered Wine to be ſet on the Table; with which he ſo briſkly ply'd the young Gentleman; that this latter, who though not much uſed to Drinking, did not deteſt it ſo as to be guilty of Diſobedience or of want of Complaiſance by re⯑fuſing, was ſoon completely finiſhed.

Juſt as the Uncle had obtained this Victory, and was preparing a Bed for his Nephew, a Meſſenger arrived with a Piece of News, which ſo entirely diſ⯑concerted and ſhocked him, that he in a Moment loſt all Conſideration for his Nephew, and his whole Mind became entirely taken up with his own Con⯑cerns.

This ſudden and afflicting News was no leſs than that his Daughter had taken the Opportunity of al⯑moſt the firſt Moment of his Abſence, and had gone off with a Neighbouring young Clergyman; againſt whom tho' her Father could have had but one Ob⯑jection, namely, that he was worth nothing, yet ſhe had never thought proper to communicate her Amoun [...] even to that Father; and ſo artfully ſhe managed, that it had never been once ſuſpected by any, till now that it was conſummated.

Old Mr. Nightingale no ſooner received this Ac⯑count, than in the utmoſt Confuſion he ordered a Poſt-Chaiſe to be inſtantly got ready, and having re⯑commended his Nephew to the Care of a Servant, he directly left the Houſe, ſcarce knowing what he did, nor whither he went.

[159] The Uncle being thus departed, when the Servant came to attend the Nephew to Bed, had waked him for that Purpoſe, and had at laſt made him ſenſible that his Uncle was gone, he, inſtead of accepting the kind Offices tendered him, inſiſted on a Chair be⯑ing called; with this the Servant, who had received no ſtrict Orders to the contrary, readily complied; and thus being conducted back to the Houſe of Mrs. Miller, he had ſtaggered up to Mr. Jones's Chamber, as hath been before recounted.

This Bar of the Uncle being now removed (though young Nightingale knew not as yet in what Manner) and all Parties being quickly ready, the Mother Mr. Jones, Mr. Nightingale, and his Love ſtept into a Hack⯑ney-Coach, which conveyed him to Doctor's Com⯑mons; where Miſs Nancy was, in vulgar Language, ſoon made an honeſt Woman, and the poor Mother be⯑came in the pureſt Senſe of the Word, one of the hap⯑pieſt of all human Beings.

And now Mr. Jones having ſeen his good Offices to that poor Woman and her Family brought to a happy Concluſion, began to apply himſelf to his own Concerns; but here leſt many of my Readers ſhould cenſure his Folly for thus troubling himſelf with the Affairs of others, and leſt ſome few ſhould think he acted more diſintereſtedly than indeed he did, we think proper to aſſure our Reader, that he was ſo far from being unconcerned in this Matter, that he had [...]ndeed a very conſiderable Intereſt in bringing it to that final Conſummation.

To explain this ſeeming Paradox at once, he was one who could truly ſay with him in Terence, Homo ſum: Nihil humani a me alienum puto. He was never an [...]ndifferent Spectator of the Miſery or Happineſs of [...]ny one; and he felt either the one or the other in greater Proportion as he himſelf contributed to ei⯑ther. He could not therefore be the Inſtrument of raiſing a whole Family from the loweſt State of [160] Wretchedneſs to the higheſt Pitch of Joy without conveying great Felicity to himſelf; more perhaps than worldly Men often purchaſe to themſelves by undergoing the moſt ſevere Labour, and often by wad⯑ing through the deepeſt Iniquity.

Thoſe Readers who are of the ſame Complexion with him will perhaps think this ſhort Chapter con⯑tains abundance of Matter; while others may pro⯑bably wiſh, ſhort as it is, that it had been totally ſpar⯑ed as impertinent to the main Deſign, which I ſup⯑poſe they conclude is to bring Mr. Jones to the Gal⯑lows, or if poſſible, to a more deplorable Cataſ⯑trophe.

CHAP. IX. Containing Love-Letters of ſeveral Sorts.

MR. Jones at his Return Home, found the fel⯑lowing Letters lying on his Table, which he luckily opened in the Order they were ſent.

Jones had juſt read over theſe three Billets when Mr. Nightingale came into the Room. ‘'Well, Tom,' ſaid he, 'any News from Lady Bellaſton, after laſt Night's Adventure?'’ (for it was now no Secret to any one in that Houſe who the Lady was.) ‘'The Lady Bellaſton?’ anſwered Jones very gravely.—‘'Nay, dear Tom,' cries Nightingale, 'don't be ſo reſerved to your Friends. Though I was too drunk to ſee her laſt Night, I ſaw her at the Maſquerade. Do you think I am ignorant who the Queen of the Fairies is?'’ ‘'And did you really then know the Lady at the Maſquerade?'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'Yes, upon my Soul, did I,' ſaid Nightingale, 'and have given you twenty Hints of it ſince, though you ſeemed always ſo tender on that Point, that I wou'd not ſpeak plainly. I fancy, my Friend, by your extreme Nicety in this Matter, you are not ſo well acquainted with the Character of the Lady as with her Perſon. Don't be angry Tom, but, upon my Honour, you are not the firſt young Fel⯑low ſhe hath debauched. Her Reputation is in no Danger, believe me.'’

Though Jones had no Reaſon to imagine the Lady [...]o have been of the veſtal Kind when his Amour be⯑gan, [162] yet as he was thoroughly ignorant of the Town and had very little Acquaintance in it, he had yet no Knowledge of that Character which is vulgarly called a Demirep; that is to ſay, a Woman that intrigues 'with every Man ſhe likes, under the Name and Ap⯑pearance of Virtue; and who, though ſome over-nice Ladies will not be ſeen with her, is viſited (as they term it) by the whole Town; in ſhort, whom every Body knows to be what no Body calls her.

When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was perfectly acquainted with his Intrigue, and began to ſuſpect that ſo ſcrupulous a Delicacy as he had hi⯑therto obſerved, was not quite neceſſary on the Oc⯑caſion, he gave a Latitude to his Friend's Tongue, and deſired him to ſpeak plainly what he knew, on had ever heard of the Lady.

Nightingale, who in many other Inſtances, wa [...] rather too effeminate in his Diſpoſition, had a pretty ſtrong Inclination to Tittle Tattle. He had no ſoon⯑er, therefore, received a full Liberty of ſpeaking from Jones, than he entered upon a long Narrative concerning the Lady: which, as it contained many Particulars highly to her Diſhonour, we have to [...] great a Tenderneſs for all Women of Condition to repeat; we would cautiouſly avoid giving an Oppor⯑tunity to the future Commentators on our Works of making any malicious Application; and of forc⯑ing us to be againſt our Will, the Author of Scandal which never entered into our Head.

Jones having very attentively heard all that Night⯑ingale had to ſay, fetched a deep Sigh, which th [...] other obſerving, cried, ‘'Heyday! Why thou a [...] not in Love I Hope! Had I imagined my Storie [...] would have affected you, I promiſe you ſhould ne⯑ver have heard them.'’ ‘'O my dear Friend,' crie [...] Jones, 'I am ſo entangled with this Woman, that know not how to extricate myſelf.' 'In Love in⯑deed? No, my Friend, but I am under Obliga+ [163] tions to her, and very great ones. Since you know ſo much, I will be very explicit with you. It is owing perhaps ſolely to her, that I have not, before this, wanted a Bit of Bread. How can I poſſibly deſert ſuch a Woman? And yet I muſt deſert her, or be guilty of the blackeſt Treachery to one, who deſerves infinitely better of me than ſhe can: A Wo⯑man, my Nightingale, for whom I have a Paſſion which few can have an Idea of. I am half diſtracted with doubts how to act.'’ ‘'And is this other, pray, an honourable Miſtreſs?'’ cries Nightingale. ‘'Ho⯑nourable?' anſwered Jones; 'No Breath ever yet durſt ſully her Reputation. The ſweeteſt Air is not purer, the limpid Stream not clearer than her Honour. She is all over, both in Mind and Body, conſummate Perfection. She is the moſt beautiful Creature in the Univerſe; and yet ſhe is Miſtreſs of ſuch noble, ele⯑vated Qualities, that though ſhe is never from my Thoughts, I ſcarce ever think of her Beauty, but when I ſee it.'’ ‘'And can you, my good Friend, cries Nightingale, 'with ſuch an Engagement as this upon your Hands, heſitate a Moment about quitting ſuch a—'’ ‘'Hold, ſaid Jones, 'no more A⯑buſe of her; I deteſt the Thoughts of Ingrati⯑tude.'’ ‘'Pooh! anſwered the other, 'you are not the firſt upon whom ſhe hath conferred Obligations of this Kind. She is remarkably liberal where ſhe likes; though, let me tell you, her Favours are ſo prudently beſtowed, that they ſhould rather raiſe a Man's Vanity, than his Gratitude.'’ In ſhort, Nightingale proceeded ſo far on this Head, and told his Friend ſo many Stories of the Lady, which he ſwore to the Truth of, that he entirely removed all Eſteem for her from the Breaſt of Jones; and his Gratitude was leſſened in Proportion. Indeed he began to look on all the Favours he had received, rather as Wages than Benefits, which not only de⯑preciated [164] her, but himſelf too in his own Conceit, and put him quite out of Humour with both. From this Diſguſt, his Mind, by a natural Tranſition, turned towards Sophia: Her Virtue, her Purity, her Love to him, her Sufferings on his Account, filled all his Thoughts, and made his Commerce with Lady Bel⯑laſton appear ſtill more odious. The Reſult of all was, that though his turning himſelf out of her Ser⯑vice, in which Light he now ſaw his Affair with her, would be the Loſs of his Bread, yet he determined to quit her; if he could but find a handſome Pretence; which having communicated to his Friend, Night⯑ingale conſidered a little, and then ſaid, ‘'I have it, my Boy; I have found out a ſure Method: Pro⯑poſe Marriage to her, and I would venture Hang⯑ing upon the Succeſs.'’ ‘'Marriage!' cries Jones. Ay, propoſe Marriage,' anſwered Nightingale, 'and ſhe will declare off in a Moment. I knew a young Fellow whom ſhe kept formerly, who made the Offer to her in earneſt, and was preſently turned off for his Pains.'’

Jones declared he could not venture the Experi⯑ment. ‘'Perhaps,' ſaid he, 'ſhe may be leſs ſhocked at this Propoſal from one Man than from another. And if ſhe ſhould take me at my Word, where am I then? Caught in my own Trap, and undone for ever.'’ ‘'No;' anſwered Nightingale, 'not if I can give you an Expedient, by which you may, at any Time, get out of the Trap.'’—‘'What Ex⯑pedient can that be?'’ replied Jones. ‘'This, an⯑ſwered Nightingale. 'The young Fellow I men⯑tioned, who is one of the moſt intimate Acquain⯑tances I have in the World, is ſo angry with her for ſome ill Offices ſhe hath ſince done him, that I am ſure he would, without any Difficulty, give you a Sight of her Letters; upon which you may decently break with her, and declare off before [165] the Knot is ty'd, if ſhe ſhould really be willing to tie it, which I am convinced ſhe will not.'’

After ſome Heſitation, Jones, upon the Strength of this Aſſurance, conſented; but as he ſwore he wanted the Confidence to propoſe the Matter to her Face; he wrote the following Letter, which Night⯑ingale dictated.

To this ſhe preſently returned the following An⯑ſwer.

Jones, by the Advice of his Privy-Council, re⯑ply'd:

The Lady anſwered as follows.

[167] Though Jones was well ſatisfied with his Delive⯑rance from a Thraldom which thoſe who have ever experienced it will, I apprehend, allow to be none of the lighteſt, he was not, however, perfectly eaſy in his Mind. There was in this Scheme, too much of Fallacy to ſatisfy one who utterly deteſted every Spe⯑cies of Falſhood or Diſhoneſty: Nor would he, in⯑deed, have ſubmitted to put it in Practice, had he not been involved in a diſtreſsful Situation, where he was obliged to be guilty of ſome Diſhonour, either to the one Lady or the other; and ſurely the Reader will allow, that every good Principle, as well as Love, pleaded ſtrongly in Favour of Sophia.

Nightingale, highly exulted in the Succeſs of his Stratagem, upon which he received many Thanks, and much Applauſe from his Friend. He anſwered, ‘'Dear Tom, we have conferred very different Obli⯑gations on each other. To me you owe the re⯑gaining your Liberty; to you I owe the Loſs of mine. But if you are as happy in the one Inſtance, as I am in the other, I promiſe you we are the two happieſt Fellows in England.'’

The two Gentlemen were now ſummoned down to Dinner, where Mrs. Miller, who performed her⯑ſelf the Office of Cook, had exerted her beſt Talents, to celebrate the Wedding of her Daughter. This joyful Circumſtance, ſhe aſcribed principally to the friendly behaviour of Jones, her whole Soul was fired with Gratitude towards him, and all her Looks, Words, and Actions were ſo buſied in expreſſing it, that her Daughter, and even her new Son-in-Law, were very little the Objects of her Conſideration.

Dinner was juſt ended when Mrs. Miller received a Letter, but as we had Letters enough in this Chapter, we ſhall communicate the Contents in our next.

CHAP. X. Conſiſting partly of Facts, and partly of Obſervations upon them.

THE Letter then which arrived at the End of the preceding Chapter was from Mr. Allworthy, and the Purport of it was his Intention to come im⯑mediately to Town, with his Nephew Blifil, and a Deſire to be accommodated with his uſual Lodg⯑ings, which were the firſt Floor for himſelf, and the ſecond for his Nephew.

The Chearfulneſs which had before diſplay'd itſelf in the Countenance of the poor Woman, was a little clouded on this Occaſion. This News did indeed a good deal diſconcert her. To requite ſo diſinte⯑reſted a Match with her Daughter, by preſently turn⯑ing her new Son-in-Law out of Doors, appeared to her very unjuſtifiable, on the one Hand; and on the other, ſhe could ſcarce bear the Thoughts of making any Excuſe to Mr. Allworthy, after all the Obligations received from him, for depriving him of Lodgings which were indeed ſtrictly his Due: For that Gentleman, in conferring all his numberleſs Be⯑nefits on others, acted by a Rule diametrically oppo⯑ſite to what is practiſed by moſt generous People. He contrived, on all Occaſions, to hide his Beneficence not only from the World, but even from the Object of it. He conſtantly uſed the Words Lend and Pay, inſtead of Give; and by every other Method he could invent, always leſſened the Favours he conferred with his Tongue, while he was heaping them with both his Hands. When he ſettled the Annuity of 50l. a Year, therefore, on Mrs. Miller, he told her, ‘'It was in Conſideration of always having her Firſt-Floor when he was in Town,'’ (which he ſcarce ever intended to be) ‘'but that ſhe might let it at any other Time, for that he would always ſend her a Month's [169] Warning.'’ He was now, however, hurried to Town ſo ſuddenly, that he had no Opportunity of giving ſuch Notice; and this Hurry probably pre⯑vented him, when he wrote for his Lodgings, ad⯑ding, if they were then empty: For he would moſt certainly have been well ſatisfied to have relinquiſhed them on a leſs ſufficient Excuſe than what Mrs. Mil⯑ler could now have made.

But there are a Sort of Perſons, who, as Prior ex⯑cellently well remarks, direct their Conduct by ſome⯑thing

To theſe it is ſo far from being ſufficient that their Defence would acquit them at the Old-Bailey, that they are not even contented, though Conſcience, the ſevereſt of all Judges, ſhould diſcharge them. No⯑thing ſhort of the Fair and Honourable will ſatisfy the Delicacy of their Minds; and if any of their Actions fall ſhort of this Mark, they mope and pine, are as uneaſy and reſtleſs as a Murderer, who is afraid of a Ghoſt, or of the Hangman.

Mrs. Miller was one of theſe. She could not con⯑ceal her Uneaſineſs at this Letter; with the Contents of which ſhe had no ſooner acquainted the Company, and given ſome Hints of her Diſtreſs, than Jones, her good Angel, preſently relieved her Anxiety. ‘'As for myſelf, Madam,' ſaid he, 'my Lodging is at your Service at a Moment's Warning; and Mr. Night⯑ingale, I am ſure, as he cannot yet prepare a Houſe fit to receive his Lady, will conſent to return to his new Lodging, whither Mrs. Nightingale will cer⯑tainly conſent to go.’ With which Propoſal both Huſband and Wife inſtantly agreed.

The Reader will eaſily believe, that the Cheeks of Mrs. Miller began again to glow with additional Gra⯑titude to Jones; but, perhaps, it may be more diffi⯑cult [170] to perſuade him that Mr. Jones having, in his laſt Speech, called her Daughter Mrs. Nightingale, (it being the firſt Time that agreeable Sound had ever reached her Ears) gave the fond Mother more Satis⯑faction, and warmed her Heart more towards Jones, than his having diſſipated her preſent Anxiety.

The next Day was then appointed for the Removal of the new-married Couple, and of Mr. Jones, who was likewiſe to be provided for in the ſame Houſe with his Friend. And now the Serenity of the Company was again reſtored, and they paſt the Day in the ut⯑moſt Chearfulneſs, all except Jones, who, though he outwardly accompanied the reſt in their Mirth, felt many a bitter Pang on the Account of his Sophia; which were not a little heightened by the News of Mr. Blifil's coming to Town, (for he clearly ſaw the Intention of his Journey:) And what greatly aggra⯑vated his Concern was, that Mrs. Honour, who had promiſed to enquire after Sophia, and to make her Re⯑port to him early the next Evening, had diſappointed him.

In the Situation that he and his Miſtreſs were a [...] this Time, there were ſcarce any Grounds for him to hope that he ſhould hear any good News; yet he was as impatient to ſee Mrs. Honour, as if he had ex⯑pected ſhe would bring him a Letter with an Aſſigna⯑tion in it from Sophia, and bore the Diſappointment a [...] ill. Whether this Impatience aroſe from that natura [...] Weakneſs of the Human Mind, which makes it deſi⯑rous to know the worſt, and renders Uncertainty th [...] moſt intolerable of Pains; or whether he ſtill flattered himſelf with ſome ſecret Hopes, we will not deter⯑mine. But that it might be the laſt, whoever ha [...] loved cannot but know. For of all the Powers exer⯑ciſed by this Paſſion over our Minds, one of the mo [...] wonderful is that of ſupporting Hope in the midſt o [...] Deſpair. Difficulties, Improbabilities, nay [171] Impoſſi⯑bilities are quite overlook'd by it; ſo that to any Man extremely in Love, may be applied what Addiſon ſays of Caeſar,

Yet it is equally true, that the ſame Paſſion will ſome⯑times make Mountans of Mole-hills, and produce De⯑ſpair in the midſt of Hope; but theſe cold Fits laſt not [...]ong in good Conſtitutions. Which Temper Jones was [...]ow in, we leave the Reader to gueſs, having no ex⯑ [...]act Information about it; but this is certain, that he had ſpent two Hours in Expectation, when being un⯑able any longer to conceal his Uneaſineſs, he retired to his Room; where his Anxiety had almoſt made him frantick, when the following Letter was brought him from Mrs. Honour, with which we ſhall preſent the Reader verbatim & literatim.

Various are the Conjectures which Jones entertain⯑ed on this Step of Lady Bellaſton; who in reality had little further Deſign than to ſecure within her own Houſe the Repoſitory of a Secret, which ſhe choſe ſhould make no farther Progreſs than it had made al⯑ready; but moſtly ſhe deſired to keep it from the Ears of Sophia; for tho' that young Lady was almoſt the only one who would never have repeated it again, her Ladyſhip could not perſuade herſelf of this; ſince as ſhe now hated poor Sophia with moſt implacable Hat⯑red, ſhe conceived a reciprocal Hatred to herſelf to be lodged in the tender Breaſt of our Heroine, where no ſuch Paſſion had ever yet found an Entrance.

While Jones was terrifying himſelf with the Appre⯑henſion of a thouſand dreadful Machinations, and deep political Deſigns, which he imagined to be at the [173] Bottom of the Promotion of Honour, Fortune, who hitherto ſeems to have been an utter Enemy to his Match with Sophia, try'd a new Method to put a final End to it, by throwing a Temptation in his Way, which in his preſent deſperate Situation it ſeemed un⯑likely he ſhould be able to reſiſt.

CHAP. XI. Containing curious, but not unprecedented Matter.

THERE was a Lady, one Mrs. Hunt, who had often ſeen Jones at the Houſe where he lodged, being intimately acquainted with the Women there, and indeed a very great Friend to Mrs. Miller. Her Age was about thirty, for ſhe owned ſix and twenty; her Face and Perſon very good, only inclining a lit⯑tle too much to be fat. She had been married young by her Relations to an old Turkey Merchant, who having got a great Fortune, had left off Trade. With him ſhe lived without Reproach, but not without Pain, in a State of great Self denial, for about twelve Years; and her Virtue was rewarded by his dying, and leav⯑ing her very rich. The firſt Year of her Widowhood was juſt at an End, and ſhe had paſt it in a good deal of Retirement, ſeeing only a few particular Friends, and dividing her Time between her Devotions and Novels, of which ſhe was always extremely fond. Very good Health, a very warm Conſtitution, and a great deal of Religion made it abſolutely neceſſary for her to marry again; and ſhe reſolved to pleaſe her⯑ſelf in her ſecond Huſband, as ſhe had done her Friends in the firſt. From her the following Billet was brought to Jones.

At the reading of this Jones was put into a violent Flutter. His Fortune was then at a very low Ebb, the Source being ſtopt from which hitherto he had been ſupplied. Of all he had received from Lady Bellaſ⯑ton not above five Guineas remained, and that very Morning he had been dunned by a Tradeſman for twice that Sum. His honourable Miſtreſs was in the Hands of her Father, and he had ſcarce any Hopes ever to get her out of them again. To be ſubſiſted at her Expence from that little Fortune ſhe had inde⯑pendent of her Father, went much againſt the Deli⯑cacy both of his Pride and his Love. This Lady's Fortune would have been exceeding convenient to him and he could have no Objection to her in any Reſpect On the contrary, he liked her as well as he did any Woman except Sophia. But to abandon Sophia, and marry another, that was impoſſible; he could no [...] think of it upon any Account. Yet why ſhould h [...] not, ſince it was plain ſhe could not be his? Would [175] it not be kinder to her, than to continue her longer engaged in a hopeleſs Paſſion for him? Ought he not to do ſo in Friendſhip to her? This Notion prevail⯑ed ſome Moments, and he had almoſt determined to be falſe to her from a high Point of Honour; but that Refinement was not able to ſtand very long a⯑gainſt the voice of Nature, which cried in his Heart, that ſuch Friendſhip was Treaſon to Love. At laſt he called for Pen, Ink and Paper, and writ as fol⯑lows to Mrs. Hunt.

When our Heroe had finiſhed and ſent this Let⯑ter, he went to his Scrutore, took out Miſs Weſtern's Muff, kiſſed it ſeveral Times, and then ſtrutted ſome Turns about his Room with more Satisfaction of [176] Mind than ever any Iriſhman felt in carrying off a Fortune of fifty Thouſand Pounds.

CHAP. XII. A Diſcovery made by Partridge.

WHILE Jones was exulting in the Conſciouſ⯑neſs of his Integrity, Partridge came caper⯑ing into the Room, as was his Cuſtom when he brought, or fancied he brought, any good Tidings. He had been diſpatched that Morning, by his Maſter, with Orders to endeavour, by the Servants of Lady Bellaſton, or by any other Means, to diſcover whi⯑ther Sophia had been conveyed; and he now returned, and with a joyful Countenance told our Heroe, that he had found the loſt Bird. ‘'I have ſeen, Sir, ſays he, black George, the Game-keeper, who is one of the Servants whom the Squire hath brought with him to Town. I knew him preſently, though I have not ſeen him theſe ſeveral Years; but you know, Sir, he is a very remarkable Man, or to uſe a purer Phraſe, he hath a moſt remarkable Beard, the largeſt and blackeſt I ever ſaw. It was ſome Time however before black George could recollect me.'’—‘'Well, but what is your good News? cries Jones, what do you know of my Sophia?'’—‘'You ſhall know preſently, Sir, anſwered Partridge, I am coming to it as faſt as I can.—You are ſo im⯑patient, Sir, you would come to the Infinitive Mood, before you can get to the Imperative. As I was ſaying, Sir, it was ſome Time before he re⯑collected my Face.'’—‘'Confound your Face, cries Jones, what of my Sophia?'’—‘'Nay, Sir, anſwered Partridge, I know nothing more of Madam Sophia, than what I am going to tell you; and I ſhould have told you all before this if you had not interrupted me; but if you look ſo angry at me, you will frighten all of out it of my Head, or to uſe a purer [177] Phraſe, out of my Memory. I never ſaw you look ſo angry ſince the Day we left Upton, which I ſhall remember if I was to live a thouſand Years.'’ ‘'Well, pray go on in your own Way', ſaid Jones, 'you are reſolved to make me mad I find.’ ‘'Not for the World, anſwered Partridge, I have ſuffered enough for that already; which as I ſaid, I ſhall bear in my Remembrance the longeſt Day I have to live,'’—‘'Well but black George?'’ cries Jones.— ‘'Well, Sir, as I was ſaying, it was a long Time before he could recollect me, for indeed I am very much altered ſince I ſaw him. Non ſum qualis eram. I have had Troubles in the World, and nothing al⯑ters a Man ſo much as Grief. I have heard it will change the Colour of a Man's Hair in a Night. However, at laſt, know me he did, that's ſure enough; for we were both of an Age, and were at the ſame Charity School. George was a great Dunce, but no Matter for that; all Men do not thrive in the World according to their Learning. I am ſure I have Reaſon to ſay ſo; but it will be all one a Thouſand Years hence. Well, Sir,—where was I?—O—well, we no ſooner knew each o⯑ther, than after many hearty Shakes by the Hand, we agreed to go to an Alehouſe and take a Pot, and by good Luck the Beer was ſome of the beſt I have met with ſince I have been in Town.—Now, Sir, I am coming to the Point; for no ſooner did I name you, and told him, that you and I came to Town together, and had lived together ever ſince, than he called for another Pot, and ſwore he would drink to your Health; and indeed he drank your Health ſo heartily, that I was overjoyed to ſee there was ſo much Gratitude left in the World; and af⯑ter we had emptied that Pot, I ſaid I would be my Pot too, and ſo we drank another to your Health; and then I made haſte Home to tell you the News.'’

[178] ‘'What News? cries Jones, you have not men⯑tioned a Word of my Sophia!'’—‘'Bleſs me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed we men⯑tioned a great deal about young Madam Weſtern, and George told me all; that Mr. Blifil is coming to Town in order to be married to her. He had beſt make haſte then, ſays I, or ſome Body will have her before he comes, and indeed, ſays I, Mr. Seagrim, it is a thouſand Pities ſome Body ſhould not have her; for he certainly loves her a⯑bove all the Women in the World. I would have both you and ſhe know, that it is not for her For⯑tune he follows her; for I can aſſure you as to Mat⯑ter of that, there is another Lady, of much greater Quality and Fortune than ſhe can pretend to, who is ſo fond of Somebody, that ſhe comes after him Day and Night.’ Here Jones fell into a Paſſion with Partridge, for having as he ſaid, betray'd him; but the poor Fellow anſwered, he had mentioned no Name; ‘'Beſides, Sir, ſaid he, I can aſſure you, George is ſincerely your Friend, and wiſhed Mr. Bilfil at the Devil more than once; nay, he ſaid he would do any Thing in his Power upon Earth to ſerve you; and ſo I am convinced he will.—Be⯑tray you indeed! why, I queſtion whether you have a better Friend than George upon Earth, except my⯑ſelf, or one that would go farther to ſerve you.’

‘'Well ſays Jones, a little pacified, you ſay this Fellow, who I believe indeed is enough inclined to be my Friend, lives in the ſame Houſe with Sophia?'’

‘'In the ſame Houſe! anſwered Partridge, why, Sir, he is one of the Servants of the Family, and very well dreſt I promiſe you he is; if it was not for his black Beard you would hardly know him.'’

‘'One Service then at leaſt he may do me, ſays Jones; ſure he can certainly convey a Letter to my Sophia.'’

[179] ‘'You have hit the Nail ad unguem, cries Par⯑tridge; how came I not to think of it? I will en⯑gage he will do it upon the very firſt mentioning.'’

‘'Well then, ſaid Jones, do you leave me at pre⯑ſent, and I will write a Letter which you ſhall de⯑liver to him To-morrow Morning; for I ſuppoſe you know where to find him.'’

‘'O yes, Sir, anſwered Partridge, I ſhall certainly find him again, there is no Fear of that. The Liquor is too good for him to ſtay away long. I make no doubt but he will be there every Day he ſtays in Town.'’

‘'So you don't know the Street then where my Sophia is lodged? cries Jones.''’

‘'Indeed, Sir, I do, ſays Partridge.''’

‘'What is the Name of the Street? cries Jones.''’

‘'The Name, Sir, why here, Sir, juſt by, anſwer⯑ed Partridge, not above a Street or two off. I don't indeed know the very Name; for as he never told me, if I had aſked, you know it might have put ſome Suſpicion into his Head. No, no, Sir, let me alone for that, I am too cunning for that, I promiſe you.'’

‘'Thou art moſt wonderfully cunning indeed, re⯑plied Jones; however I will write to my Charmer, ſince I believe you will be cunning enough to find him To-morrow at the Alehouſe.'’

And now having diſmiſſed the ſagacious Partridge, Mr. Jones ſat himſelf down to write, in which Em⯑ployment we ſhall leave him for a Time. And here [...]e put an End to the fifteenth Book.

CHAP. I. Of Prologues.

I Have heard of a Dramatic Writer who uſed to ſay he would rather write a Play than a Prologue; in like manner, I think, I can with leſs Pains write one of the Books of this Hiſtory, than the Prefatory Chapter to each of them.

To ſay the Truth, I believe many a hearty Curſe hath been devoted on the Head of that Author, who firſt inſtituted the Method of prefixing to his Play that Portion of Matter which is called the Prologue; and which at firſt was Part of the Piece itſelf, but of latter Years hath had uſually ſo little Connexion with the Drama before which it ſtands, that the Prologue to one Play might as well ſerve for any other. Thoſe [181] indeed of more modern Date, ſeem to be written [...]n the ſame three Topics, viz. an Abuſe of the Taſte [...]f the Town, a Condemnation of all Cotemporary Authors, and an Elogium on the Performance juſt [...]bout to be repreſented. The Sentiments in all theſe [...]re very little varied, nor is it poſſible they ſhould; [...]nd indeed I have often wondered at the great Inven⯑ [...]on of Authors, who have been capable of finding [...]ch various Phraſes to expreſs the ſame thing.

In like manner I apprehend, ſome future Hiſ⯑ [...]orian (if any one ſhall do me the Honour of imitat⯑ [...]g my Manner) will, after much ſcratching his Pate, [...]eſtow ſome good Wiſhes on my Memory, for hav⯑ [...]g firſt eſtabliſhed theſe ſeveral initial Chapters; moſt [...]f which, like Modern Prologues, may as proper⯑ [...] be prefixed to any other Book in this Hiſtory as [...] that which they introduce, or indeed to any other [...]iſtory as to this.

But however Authors may ſuffer by either of theſe [...]ventions, the Reader will find ſuffieient Emolument [...] the one, as the Spectator hath long found in the [...]er.

Firſt, it is well known, that the Prologue ſerves [...]e Critic for an Opportunity to try his Faculty of [...]iſſing, and to tune his Cat-call to the beſt Advan⯑ [...]ge; by which means, I have known thoſe Muſi⯑ [...]l Inſtruments ſo well prepared, that they have been [...]le to play in full Concert at the firſt riſing of the [...]rtain.

The ſame Advantages may be drawn from theſe [...]hapters, in which the Critic will be always ſure of [...]eeting with ſomething that may ſerve as a Whet⯑ [...]ne to his noble Spirit; ſo that he may fall with a [...]ore hungry Appetite for Cenſure on the Hiſtory [...]elf. And here his ſagacity muſt make it needleſs obſerve how artfully theſe Chapters are calculated that excellent Purpoſe; for in theſe we have al⯑ways [182] taken Care to interſperſe ſomewhat of the ſou [...] or acid Kind, in order to ſharpen and ſtimulate th [...] ſaid Spirit of Criticiſm.

Again, the indolent Reader, as well as Spectator, finds great Advantage from both theſe; for as they are not obliged either to ſee the one or read the o⯑thers, and both the Play and the Book are thus pro⯑tracted, by the former they have a Quarter of a [...] Hour longer to ſit at Dinner, and by the Latter the [...] have the Advantage of beginning to read at the fourt [...] or fifth Page inſtead of the firſt; a Matter by n [...] means of trivial Conſequence to Perſons who rea [...] Books with no other View than to ſay they have rea [...] them, a more general Motive to read than is com⯑monly imagined; and from which not only La [...] Books, and Good Books, but the Pages of Home [...] and Virgil, of Swift and Cervantes have been ofte [...] turned over.

Many other are the Emoluments which ariſe from both theſe, but they are for the moſt Part ſo obviou [...] that we ſhall not at preſent ſtay to enumerate them eſpecially ſince it occurs to us that the principal Me [...] of both the Prologue and Preface is that they [...] ſhort.

CHAP. II. A whimſical Adventure which befel the Squire, wi [...] the diſtreſſed Situation of Sophia.

WE muſt now convey the Reader to Mr. Weſtern Lodgings which were in Piccadilly, where was placed by the Recommendation of the Landlo [...] at the Hercules Pillars at Hide-Park-Corner; for that Inn, which was the firſt he ſaw on his Arrival Town he placed his Horſes, and in thoſe Lod⯑ings, which were the firſt he heard of, he depoſit himſelf.

[183] Here when Sophia alighted from the Hackney-Coach which brought her from the Houſe of Lady Bellaſton, ſhe deſired to return to the Apartment pro⯑vided for her, to which her Father very readily agreed, [...]nd whither he attended her himſelf. A ſhort Dia⯑logue, neither very material nor pleaſant to relate minutely, then paſſed between them, in which he [...]reſſed her vehemently to give her Conſent to the Marriage with Blifil, who, as he acquainted her, was [...]o be in Town in a few Days; but inſtead of com⯑ [...]lying, ſhe gave a more peremptory and reſolute Re⯑ [...]uſal than ſhe had ever done before. This ſo in⯑ [...]enſed her Father, that after many bitter Vows that [...]e would force her to have him whether ſhe would or [...]o, he departed from her with many hard Words and Curſes, locked the Door and put the Key into his Pocket.

While Sophia was left with no other Company than what attended the cloſeſt State Priſoner, namely, Fire [...]nd Candle, the Squire ſat down to regale himſelf [...]ver a Bottle of Wine, with his Parſon and the Land⯑ [...]ord of the Hercules Pillars, who, as the Squire [...]aid, would make an excellent third Man, and could [...]nform them of the News of the Town, and how affairs went; for to be ſure, ſays he, he knows a [...]reat deal, ſince the Horſes of a many of the Quality and at his Houſe.

In this agreeable Society, Mr. Weſtern paſt that [...]ening and great part of the ſucceeding Day, dur⯑ [...]g which Period nothing happened of ſufficient Con⯑ [...]equence to find a Place in this Hiſtory. All this [...]me Sophia paſt by herſelf; for her Father ſwore ſhe [...]hould never come out of her Chamber alive, unleſs [...]e firſt conſented to marry Blifil; nor did he ever [...]ffer the Door to be unlocked unleſs to convey her [...]od, on which Occaſions he always attended him⯑ [...]elf.

[184] The ſecond Morning after his Arrival, while he and the Parſon were at Breakfaſt together on a Toaſt and Tankard, he was informed that a Gentleman was below to wait on him.

‘'A Gentleman! quoth the Squire, who the Devil can he be? Do, Doctor, go down and ſee who 'tis. Mr. Blifil can hardly be come to Town yet.—Go down, do, and know what his Bu⯑ſineſs is.'’

The Doctor returned with an Account that it was a very well dreſt Man, and by the Ribbon in his Hat [...] he took him for an Officer of the Army; that he ſaid he had ſome particular Buſineſs, which he could deliver to none but Mr. Weſtern himſelf.

‘'An Officer!' cries the Squire, 'what can any ſuch Fellow have to do with me? If he wants an [...] Order for Baggage-Waggons, I am no Juſtice o [...] Peace here, nor can I grant a Warrant—Le⯑un come up then, if he muſt ſpeak to me.'’

A very genteel Man now entered the Room; who having made his Compliments to the Squire, and deſired the Favour of being alone with him, deliver⯑ed himſelf as follows.

‘'Sir, I come to wait upon you by the Comman [...] of my Lord Fellamar, but with a very differen [...] Meſſage from what I ſuppoſe you expect, after wha [...] paſt the other Night.'’

‘'My Lord who, cries the Squire, I never hear [...] the Name o' un.'’

‘'His Lordſhip,' ſaid the Gentleman, is willin [...] to impute every thing to the Effect of Liquor, an [...] the moſt trifling Acknowledgment of that Kin [...] will ſet every thing right; for as he hath the mo [...] violent Attachment to your Daughter, you, Sir, an [...] the laſt Perſon upon Earth, from whom he would reſent an Affront; and happy is it for you both tha [...] he hath given ſuch publick Demonſtrations of h [...] Courage, as to be able to put up an Affair of th [...] [185] Kind, without Danger of any Imputation on his Honour. All he deſires therefore, is, that you will before me make ſome Acknowledgment, the ſlighteſt in the World will be ſufficient, and he in⯑tends this Afternoon to pay his Reſpects to you, in order to obtain your Leave of Viſiting the young Lady on the Footing of a Lover.'’

‘'I don't underſtand much of what you ſay, Sir,' ſaid the Squire; 'but I ſuppoſe, by what you talk about my Daughter, that this is the Lord which my Lady Couſin Bellaſton mentioned to me, and ſaid ſomething about his courting my Daughter. If ſo be, that how, that be the Caſe—you may give my Service to his Lordſhip, and tell un the Girl is diſpoſed of already.'’

‘'Perhaps, Sir,' ſaid the Gentleman, 'you are not ſufficiently apprized of the Greatneſs of this Offer. I believe ſuch a Perſon, Title, and Fortune, would be no where refuſed.'’

‘'Lookee, Sir,' anſwered the Squire, 'to be very plain, my Daughter is beſpoke already; but if ſhe was not, I would not marry her to a Lord upon any Account; I hate all Lords; they are a Par⯑cel of Courtiers and Hannoverians, and I will have nothing to do with them.'—'’

‘'Well, Sir,' ſaid the Gentleman, 'if that is your' Reſolution, the Meſſage I am to deliver to you, is, that my Lord deſires the Favour of your Company this Morning in Hide-Park.''’

‘'You may tell my Lord,' anſwered the Squire, that I am buſy and cannot come. I have enough to look after at home, and can't ſtir abroad on any Account.'’

‘'I am ſure, Sir,' quoth the other, 'you are too much a Gentleman to ſend ſuch a Meſſage; you will not I am convinced, have it ſaid of you, that after having affronted a noble Peer, you refuſe him Satisfaction. His Lordſhip would have been [186] willing, from his great Regard to the young Lady, to have made up Matters in another Way; but unleſs he is to look on you as a Father, his Honour will not ſuffer his putting up ſuch an Indignity as you muſt be ſenſible you offered him.'’

‘'I offered him!' cries the Squire; 'it is a d—m'd Lie. I never offered him any Thing.'’

Upon theſe Words the Gentleman returned a very ſhort verbal Rebuke, and this he accompanied at the ſame Time with ſome manual Remonſtrances, which no ſooner reached the Ears of Mr. Weſtern, than that worthy Squire began to caper very briſkly about the Room, bellowing at the ſame Time with all his Might, as if deſirous to ſummon a greater Number of Spectators to behold his Agility.

The Parſon, who had left great Part of the Tan⯑kard unfiniſhed, was not retired far; he immediately attended therefore on the Squire's Vociferation, cry⯑ing, ‘'Bleſs me! Sir, what's the Matter?'’—‘'Mat⯑ter!' quoth the Squire, 'here's a High-way-Man, I believe, who wants to rob and murder me—for he hath fallen upon me with that Stick there in his Hand, when I wiſh I may be d—n'd if I gid un the leaſt Provocation.'’

‘'How, Sir.' ſaid the Captain, 'did you not tell me I ly'd.'’

‘'No, as hope to be ſaved, anſwered the Squire.—I believe I might ſay, "'Twas a Lie that I had offered any Affront to my Lord,"—'bu [...] I never ſaid the Word you lie.—I underſtand my ſelf better, and you might have underſtood your⯑ſelf better than to fall upon a naked Man. If I had had a Stick in my Hand, you would not hav [...] dared ſtrike me. I'd have knocked they Lantho [...] Jaws about thy Ears. Come down into Ya [...] this Minute, and I'll take a Bout with thee at ſin⯑gle Stick for a broken Head, that I will; or I wi [...] [187] go into naked Room and box thee for a Belly full. At unt half a Man, at unt I'm ſure.'’

The Captain, with ſome Indignation, replied, ‘'I ſee, Sir, you are below my Notice, and I ſhall in⯑form his Lordſhip you are below his.—I am ſorry I dirtied my Fingers with you.'’—At which [...] he withdrew, the Parſon interpoſing to prevent [...]e Squire from ſtopping him, in which he eaſily [...]evailed, as the other, though he made ſome Efforts [...] the Purpoſe, did not ſeem very violently bent on [...]ucceſs. However, when the Captain was departed, [...]e Squire ſent many Curſes and ſome Menaces after [...]m; but as theſe did not ſet out from his Lips till [...] Officer was at the Bottom of the Stairs, and [...]ew louder and louder as he was more and more re⯑ [...]ote, they did not reach his Ears, or at leaſt did not [...]ard his Departure.

Poor Sophia however, who, in her Priſon, heard [...] her Father's Outcries from firſt to laſt, began now [...]t to thunder with her Foot, and afterwards to ſcream [...]oudly as the old Gentleman himſelf had done before, [...]ough in a much ſweeter Voice. Theſe Screams [...]n ſilenced the Squire, and turned all his Conſide⯑ [...]ion towards his Daughter, whom he loved ſo ten⯑ [...]ly, that the leaſt Apprehenſion of any Harm hap⯑ [...]ing to her, threw him preſently into Agonies: For [...]cept in that ſingle Inſtance in which the whole fu⯑ [...]e Happineſs of her Life was concerned, ſhe was [...]ereign Miſtreſs of his Inclinations.

Having ended his Rage againſt the Captain, with [...]earing he would take the Law of him, the Squire [...] mounted up Stairs to Sophia, whom, as ſoon as [...] had unlocked and opened the Door, he found all [...]e and breathleſs. The Moment however that ſhe [...] her Father, ſhe collected all her Spirits, and catch⯑ [...] him hold by the Hand, ſhe cry'd paſſionately, ‘'O my dear Sir, I am almoſt frightned to Death; I [...]ope to Heaven no Harm hath happened to you.'’

[188]—‘'No, no, cries the Squire, no great Harm. The Raſcal hath not hurt me much, but rat me i [...] I don't ha the Laa o'un.' 'Pray, dear Sir, ſays ſhe, tell me what's the Matter, who is it that hath inſulted you?'’ ‘'I don't know the Name o'un,' an⯑ſwer'd Weſtern, 'ſome Officer Fellow I ſuppoſe tha [...] we are to pay for beating us, but I'll make him pay this Bout, if the Raſcal hath got any thing which I ſuppoſe he hath not. For thof he wa [...] dreſt out ſo vine, I queſtion whether he hath got a Voot of Land in the World.'’ ‘'But, dea [...]r Sir,' cries ſhe, 'what was the Occaſion of you [...] Quarrel?’ ‘'What ſhould it be, Sophy?' anſwered the Squire, 'but about you, Sophy? All my Misfor⯑tunes are about you; you will be the Death o [...] your poor Father at laſt. Here's a Varlet of Lord, the Lord knows who forſooth! who hath a taan a Liking to you, and becauſe I would no [...] gi [...]un my Conſent, he ſent me a Kallenge. Come [...] do be a good Girl, Sophy, and put an End to a [...] your Father's Troubles; come do, conſent to [...] ⯑un; he will be in Town within this Day or two do but promiſe me to marry un as ſoon as he come and you will make me the happieſt Man in th [...] World, and I will make you the happieſt Woman you ſhall have the fineſt Cloaths in London, an [...] the fineſt Jewels, and a Coach and Six at yo [...] Command. I promiſed Allworthy already to gi [...] ⯑up half my Eſtate,—Od rabbit it! I ſhould hard⯑ſtick at giving up the whole.'’ ‘'Will my Papa be kind, ſays ſhe, to hear me ſpeak?'’—‘'Why wo [...]t a [...] Sophy?' cries he, 'when doſt know that I had [...] ⯑ther hear thy Voice, than the Muſic of the b [...] Park of Dogs in England.—Hear thee, my d [...] little Girl! I hope I ſhall hear thee as long as live; for if I was ever to loſe that Pleaſure, [189] would not gee a Braſs Varden to live a Moment longer. Indeed Sophy, you do not know how I love you, indeed you don't, or you never could have run away, and left your poor Father, who hath no other Joy, no other Comfort upon Earth but his little Sophy.'’ At theſe Words the Tears ſtood in his Eyes; and Sophia, (with the Tears ſtreaming from hers) anſwered, ‘'Indeed, my dear Papa, I know you have loved me tender⯑ly, and Heaven is my Witneſs how ſincerely I have returned your Affection; nor could any thing but an Apprehenſion of being forced into the Arms of this Man, have driven me to run from a Fa⯑ther whom I love ſo paſſionately, that I would with Pleaſure, ſacrifice my Life to his Happineſs; nay, I have endeavoured to reaſon myſelf into doing more, and had almoſt worked up a Reſolution, to endure the moſt miſerable of all Lives, to comply with your Inclinations. It was that Reſolution alone to which I could not force my Mind; nor can I ever.'’ Here the Squire began to Look wild, and the Foam appeared at his Lips, which Sophia obſerving, begg⯑ed to be heard out, and then proceeded, ‘'If my Father's Life, his Health, or any real Happineſs of his was at Stake, here ſtands your reſolved Daughter, may Heaven blaſt me, if there is a Mi⯑ſery I would not ſuffer to preſerve you.—No, that moſt deteſted, moſt loathſome of all Lots would I embrace. I would give my Hand to Blifil for your Sake.'’—‘'I tell thee, it will preſerve me,' anſwers the Father; 'it will gee me Health, Happineſs, Life, every thing,—Upon my Soul I ſhall die if doſt refuſe me; I ſhall break my Hear, I ſhall upon my Soul.'’—‘'Is it poſſible,' ſays ſhe, 'you can have ſuch a Deſire to make me miſerable?'’ ‘'I tell thee noa', anſwered he loudly, 'my whole Deſire is to make thee happy; me! d—n me if there is a Thing upon Earth I would not do to ſee thee happy.'’—‘'And [190] will not my dear Papa allow me to have the lea [...] Knowledge of what will make me ſo? If it be tru [...] that Happineſs conſiſts in Opinion; what muſt b [...] my Condition, when I think myſelf the moſt mi⯑ſerable of all the Wretches upon Eearth.'’ ‘'Bet⯑ter think yourſelf ſo, ſaid he, than know it b [...] being married to a poor baſtardly Vagabond.'’ ‘'I [...] it will content you, Sir, ſaid Sophia, I will give yo [...] the moſt ſolemn Promiſe never to marry him no [...] any other one while my Papa lives, without hi [...] Conſent. Let me dedicate my whole Life to you [...] Service; let me be again your poor Sophy, and my whole Buſineſs and Pleaſure be, as it hath been, to pleaſe and divert you.'’ ‘'Lookey, Sophy,' anſwer⯑ed the Squire, 'I am not to be chouſed in this Man⯑ner. Your Aunt Weſtern would then have Reaſon to think me the Fool ſhe doth. No, no, Sophy, I' [...] have you to know I have a got more Wiſdom, and know more of the World than to take the Word of a Woman in a Matter where a Man is concern⯑ed.'’ ‘'How, Sir, have I deſerved this want o [...] Confidence? ſaid ſhe, 'have I ever broke a ſingle Promiſe to you? Or have I ever been found guilty of a Falſhood from my Cradle?'’ ‘'Lookee, Sophy cries he, that's neither here nor there. I am deter⯑min'd upon this Match, and have him you ſhall d—n me if ſhat unt. D—n me if ſhat unt, though doſt hang thyſelf the next Morning.'’ At repeating which Words he clinched his Fiſt, knit his Brows bit his Lips, and thundered ſo loud, that the poor afflicted, terrified Sophia ſunk trembling into her Chair, and had not a Flood of Tears come immedi⯑ately to her Relief, perhaps worſe had followed.

Weſtern beheld the deplorable Condition of his Daughter with no more Contrition or Remorſe, than the Turnkey of Newgate feels at viewing the Ago⯑nies of a tender Wife, when taking her laſt Farewel of her condemned Huſband; or rather he looked [191] down on her with the ſame Emotions which ariſe in an honeſt fair Tradeſman, who ſees his Debtor drag⯑ged to Priſon for 10l. which, though a juſt Debt, the Wretch is wickedly unable to pay. Or, to hit the Caſe ſtill more nearly, he felt the ſame Compunction with a Bawd when ſome poor Innocent whom ſhe hath enſnared into her Hands, falls into Fits at the firſt Propoſal of what is called ſeeing Company. In⯑deed this Reſemblance would be exact, was it not that the Bawd hath an Intereſt in what ſhe doth, and the Father, though perhaps he may blindly think other⯑wiſe, can in Reality have none in urging his Daugh⯑ter to almoſt an equal Proſtitution.

In this Condition he left his poor Sophia, and de⯑parted with a very vulgar Obſervation on the Effect of Tears, he locked the Room, and returned to the Parſon, who ſaid every Thing he durſt in Behalf of the young Lady, which though perhaps it was not quite ſo much as his Duty required, yet was it ſuffi⯑cient to throw the Squire into a violent Rage, and in⯑to many indecent Reflections on the whole Body of the Clergy, which we have too great an Honour for that ſacred Function to commit to Paper.

CHAP. III. What happened to Sophia during her Confinement.

THE Landlady of the houſe where the Squire lodged had begun very early to entertain a ſtrange Opinion of her Gueſts. However as ſhe was inform⯑ed that the Squire was a Man of a vaſt Fortune, and as ſhe had taken Care to exact a very extraordinary Price for her Rooms, ſhe did not think proper to give any Offence? for though ſhe was not without ſome Concern for the Confinement of poor Sophia, of whoſe great Sweetneſs of Temper and Affability, the Maid of the Houſe had made ſo favourable a Report, which was confirmed by all the Squire's Servants, yet ſhe [192] had much more Concern for her own Intereſt, than to provoke one, whom, as ſhe ſaid, ſhe perceived to be a very haſtiſh Kind of a Gentleman.

Though Sophia eat but little, yet ſhe was regular⯑ly ſerved with her Meals; indeed I believe if ſhe had liked any one Rarity, that the Squire, however an⯑gry, would have ſpared neither Pains nor Coſt to have procured it for her; ſince, however ſtrange it may appear to ſome of my Readers, he really doated on his Daughter, and to give her any Kind of Pleaſure was the higheſt Satisfaction of his Life.

The Dinner Hour being arrived, black George car⯑ried her up a Pullet, the Squire himſelf (for he had ſworn not to part with the Key) attending the Door. As George depoſited the Diſh, ſome Compliments paſſed between him and Sophia, (for he had not ſeen her ſince ſhe left the Country, and ſhe treated every Servant with more Reſpect than ſome Perſons ſhew to thoſe who are in a very ſlight Degree their Inferiors) Sophia would have had him take the Pullet back, ſay⯑ing, ſhe could not eat, but George begged her to try, and particularly recommended her to the Eggs, of which he ſaid it was full.

All this Time the Squire was waiting at the Door; but George was a great Favourite with his Maſter, as his Employment was in Concerns of the higheſt Na⯑ture, namely, about the Game, and was accuſtomed to take many Liberties. He had officiouſly carried up the Dinner, being, as he ſaid, very deſirous to ſee his young Lady; he made therefore no Scruple of keeping his Maſter ſtanding above ten Minutes, while Civilities were paſſing between him and Sophia, for which he received only a good-humoured Rebuke at the Door when he returned.

The Eggs of Pullets, Partridges, Pheaſants, &c. were, as George well knew, the moſt favourite Dain⯑ties of Sophia. It was therefore no Wonder, that he who was a very good-natured Fellow, ſhould take [193] Care to ſupply her with this Kind of Delicacy, at a Time when all the Servants in the Houſe were afraid ſhe would be ſtarved; for ſhe had ſcarce ſwallowed a ſingle Morſel in the laſt forty Hours.

Though Vexation hath not the ſame Effect on all Perſons, as it uſually hath on a Widow, whoſe Ap⯑petite it often renders ſharper than it can be rendered by the Air on Banſted Downs, or Saliſbury Plain, yet the ſublimeſt Grief, notwithſtanding what ſome Peo⯑ple may ſay to the contrary, will eat at laſt. And Sophia herſelf, after ſome little Conſideration, began to diſſect the Fowl, which ſhe found to be as full of Eggs as George had reported it.

But if ſhe was pleaſed with theſe, it contained ſomething which would have delighted the Royal So⯑ciety much more; for if a Fowl with three Legs be ſo invaluable a Curioſity, when perhaps Time hath produced a Thouſand ſuch, at what Price ſhall we eſteem a Bird which ſo totally contradicts all the Laws of Animal Oeconomy, as to contain a Letter in its Belly? Ovid tells us of a Flower into which Hya⯑cinthus was metamorphoſed, that bears Letters on its Leaves, which Virgil recommended as a Miracle to the Royal Society of his Day; but no Age nor Nation hath ever recorded a Bird with a Letter in its Maw.

But though a Miracle of this Kind might have en⯑gaged all the Academies des Sciences in Europe, and perhaps in a fruitleſs Enquiry, yet the Reader by bare⯑ly recollecting the laſt Dialogue which paſſed between Meſſieurs Jones and Partridge, will be very eaſily ſatisfied from whence this Letter came, and how it found its Paſſage into the Fowl.

Sophia, notwithſtanding her long Faſt, and notwith⯑ſtanding her favourite Diſh was there before her, no ſooner ſaw the Letter than ſhe immediately ſnatched it up, tore it open, and read as follows.

What Sophia ſaid, or did, or thought upon this Let⯑ter, how often ſhe read it, or whether more than once, ſhall all be left to our Reader's Imagination. The Anſwer to it he may perhaps ſee hereafter, but not at preſent; for this Reaſon, among others, that ſhe did not now write any, and that for ſeveral good Cauſes, one of which was this, ſhe had no Paper, Pen, nor Ink.

In the Evening while Sophia was meditating on the Letter ſhe had received, or ſomething elſe, a violent Noiſe from below diſturbed her Meditation. This Noiſe was no other than a round Bout at Alterca⯑tion between two Perſons. One of the Combatants, by his Voice, ſhe immediately diſtinguiſhed to be her Father; but ſhe did not ſo ſoon diſcover the ſhriller Pipes to belong to the Organ of her Aunt Weſtern, who was juſt arrived in Town, and having by means of one of her Servants, who ſtopt at the Hercules Pil⯑lars, learnt where her Brother lodged, ſhe drove di⯑rectly to his Lodgings.

We ſhall therefore take our Leave at preſent of Sophia, and with our uſual Good-Breeding, attend her Ladyſhip.

CHAP. IV. In which Sophia is delivered from her Confinement.

THE Squire and the Parſon (for the Landlord was now otherwiſe engaged) were ſmoaking their Pipes together, when the Arrival of the Lady was firſt ſignified. The Squire no ſooner heard her Name, than he immediately ran down to uſher her up Stairs; for he was a great Obſerver of ſuch Ceremo⯑nials, eſpecially to his Siſter, of whom he ſtood more in awe than of any other human Creature, though he ne⯑ver would own this, nor did he perhaps know it himſelf.

Mrs. Weſtern, on her Arrival in the Dining-Room, having flung herſelf into a Chair, begun thus to ha⯑rangue. ‘'Well, ſurely no one ever had ſuch an in⯑tolerable Journey. I think the Roads, ſince ſo ma⯑ny Turnpike Acts, are grown worſe than ever. La Brother, how could you get into this odious Place? No Perſon of Condition, I dare ſwear, ever ſet Foot here before. In every Senſe, and to every Purpoſe, Your devoted'’ ‘'I don't know, cries the Squire, I think they do well enough; it was Landlord recommended them. I thought as he knew moſt of the Quality, he could beſt ſhew me where to get among um.'’ ‘'Well, and where's my Niece? ſays the Lady, have you been to wait upon Lady Bellaſton yet?'’ ‘'Ay, ay, cries the Squire, your Neice is ſafe enough; ſhe is up Stairs in Chamber.'’ ‘'How,' anſwered the Lady, 'is my Neice in this Houſe, and doth ſhe not know of my being here?'’ ‘'No, nobody can well get to her, ſays the Squire, for ſhe is under Lock and Key. I have her ſafe; I vetched her from my Lady Couſin the firſt Night I came to Town, and I have taken Care o' her ever ſince; ſhe is as ſecure as a Fox in a Bag, I promiſe you.'’ ‘'Good Heaven! returned Mrs. Weſtern, what do I hear! I thought what a fine Piece of Work would be the Conſequence of [197] my Conſent to your coming to Town yourſelf; nay, it was indeed your own Headſtrong Will, nor can I charge myſelf with having ever conſented to it. Did not you promiſe me, Brother, that you would take none of theſe Headſtrong Meaſures. Was it not by thoſe Headſtrong Meaſures that you forced my Neice to run away from you in the Country? Have you Mind to oblige her to take ſuch another Step?'’ ‘'Z—ds and the Devil,' cries the Squire, daſhing his Pipe on the Ground, 'did ever Mortal hear the like? when I expected you would have commend⯑ed me for all I have done, to be fallen upon in this Manner!'’ ‘'How! Brother, ſaid the Lady, have I ever given you the leaſt Reaſon to imagine I ſhould commend you for locking up your Daughter? Have I not often told you, that Women in a free Coun⯑try are not to be treated with ſuch arbitrary Power? We are as free as the Men, and I heartily wiſh I could not ſay we deſerve that Freedom better. If you expect I ſhould ſtay a Moment longer in this wretched Houſe, or that I ſhould ever own you again as my Relation, or that I ſhould ever trou⯑ble myſelf again with the Affairs of your Family, I inſiſt upon it that my Neice be ſet at Liberty this Inſtant.'’ This ſhe ſpoke with ſo commanding an Air, ſtanding with her Back to the Fire, with one Hand behind her, and a Pinch of Snuff in the other, that I queſtion whether Thaleſtris at the Head of her Amazons, ever made a more tremendous Figure. It is no Wonder therefore that the poor Squire was not Proof againſt the Awe which ſhe inſpired. ‘'There, he cried,' throwing down the Key, 'There it is, do whatever you pleaſe. I intended only to have kept her up till Blifil came to Town, which can't be long; and now if any Harm happens in the mean Time, remember who is to be blamed for it.'’

‘'I will anſwer it with my Life, cry'd Mrs. Weſ⯑tern, but I ſhall not intermeddle at all, unleſs upon [198] one Condition, and that is, that you will commit the whole entirely to my Care, without taking any one Meaſure yourſelf, unleſs I ſhall eventually ap⯑point you to act. If you ratify theſe Preliminaries, Brother, I yet will endeavour to preſerve the Ho⯑nour of your Family; if not, I ſhall continue in a neutral State.'’

‘'I pray you, good Sir, ſaid the Parſon, permit your⯑ſelf this once to be admoniſhed by her Ladyſhip peradventure by communing with young Madam Sophia, ſhe will effect more than you have been able to perpetrate by more rigorous Meaſures.'’

‘'What doſt thee open upon me?' cries the Squire 'If thee doſt begin to babble, I ſhall whip thee in preſently.'’

‘'Fie, Brother,' anſwered the Lady, 'is this Lan⯑guage to a Clergyman? Mr. Supple is a Man o [...] Senſe, and gives you the beſt Advice, and the whole World, I believe, will concur in his Opinion; but I muſt tell you I expect an immediate Anſwer to my catagorical Propoſals. Either cede your Daugh⯑ter to my Diſpoſal, or take her wholly to your own Surprizing Diſcretion, and then I here, before Mr. Supple, evacuate the Garriſon, and renounce you and your Family for ever.'’

‘'I pray you let me be a Mediator,' cries the Par⯑ſon; 'let me ſupplicate you.'’

‘'Why there lies the Key on the Table,' cries th [...] Squire. 'She may take un up, if ſhe pleaſes; who hinders her?'’

‘'No, Brother,' anſwered the Lady, 'I inſiſt on th [...] Formality of its being delivered me, with a full Ra⯑tification of all the Conceſſions ſtipulated.'’

‘'Why then I will deliver it to you.—Ther [...] 'tis,' cries the Squire. 'I am ſure, Siſter, yo [...] can't accuſe me of ever denying to truſt my Daugh⯑ter to you. She hath a lived wi' you a whole Yea [...] and muore to a Time without my ever zeeing her.'’

[199] ‘'And it would have been happy for her,' anſwer⯑ed the Lady, if ſhe had always lived with me. Nothing of this Kind would have happened under my Eye.'’

‘'Ay, certainly,' cries he, 'I only am to blame.'’

‘'Why, you are to blame, Brother,' anſwered ſhe, I have been obliged to tell you ſo, and ſhall al⯑ways be obliged to tell you ſo. However, I hope you will now amend, and gather ſo much Experi⯑ence from paſt Errors, as not to defeat my wiſeſt Machinations by your Blunders. Indeed, Brother, you are not qualified for theſe Negotiations. All your whole Scheme of Politics is wrong. I once more, therefore, inſiſt, that you do not intermed⯑dle. Remember only what is paſt.—'’

‘'Z—ds and Bl—d, Siſter,' cries the Squire, 'What would you have me ſay? You are enough to provoke the Devil.'’

‘'There now,' ſaid ſhe, 'juſt according to the old Cuſtom. I ſee, Brother, there is no talking to you. I will appeal to Mr. Supple, who is a Man of Senſe, if I ſaid any Thing which could put any Human Creature into a Paſſion; but you are ſo wrong-headed every Way.'’

‘'Let me beg you Madam,' ſaid the Parſon, 'not to irritate his Worſhip.'’

‘'Irritate him?' ſaid the Lady;—'Sure you are as great a Fool as himſelf. Well, Brother, ſince you have promiſed not to interfere, I will once more undertake the Management of my Neice, Lord have Mercy upon all Affairs which are under the Di⯑rections of Men. The Head of one Woman is worth a thouſand of you.'’ And now having ſummoned Servant to ſhew her to Sophia, ſhe departed, bearing the Key with her. She was no ſooner gone, than the Squire (having firſt ſhut the Door) ejaculated twenty Bitches, and as many hearty Curſes againſt [200] her, not ſparing himſelf for having ever thought of her Eſtate; but added, ‘'Now one hath been a Slave ſo long, it would be Pity to loſe it at laſt, for want of holding out a little longer. The Bitch can't live for ever, and I know I am down for it upon the Will.'’

The Parſon greatly commended this Reſolution) and now the Squire having ordered in another Bot⯑tle, which was his uſual Method when any Thing either pleaſed or vexed him, did, by drinking plen⯑tifully of this medicinal Julap, ſo totally waſh away his Choler, that his Temper was become perfectly placid and ſerene, when Mrs. Weſtern returned with Sophia into the Room. The young Lady had on her Hat and Capuchin, and the Aunt acquainted Mr. Weſtern, ‘'that ſhe intended to take her Neice with her to her own Lodgings; for, indeed, Brother,' ſays ſhe, 'theſe Rooms are not fit to receive a Chriſtian Soul in.'’

‘'Very well, Madam,' quoth Weſtern, 'whatever you pleaſe. The Girl can never be in better Hands than yours; and the Parſon here can do me the Juſtice to ſay, that I have ſaid fifty Times behind your Back, that you was one of the moſt ſenſible Women in the World.'’

‘'To this,' cries the Parſon, 'I am ready to bear Teſtimony.'’

‘'Nay, Brother,' ſays Mrs. Weſtern, 'I have al⯑ways, I'm ſure, given you as favourable a Cha⯑racter. You muſt own you have a little too much Haſtineſs in your Temper; but when you will allow yourſelf Time to reflect, I never knew a Man more reaſonable.'’

'Why then, Siſter, if you think ſo,' ſaid the Squire, ‘'here's your good Health with all my Heart. I am a little paſſionate ſometimes, but I ſcorn to bear any Malice. Sophy, do you be a good Girl, and do every Thing your Aunt orders you.'’

[201] ‘'I have not the leaſt Doubt of her.' anſwered Mrs. Weſtern. 'She hath had already an Exam⯑ple before her Eyes, in the Behaviour of that Wretch her Couſin Harriet, who ruined herſelf by neglecting my Advice.—O Brother, what think you? You was hardly gone out of Hearing, when you ſet out for London, when who ſhould arrive but that impudent Fellow with the odious Iriſh Name—that Fitzpatrick. He broke in abruptly upon me without Notice, or I would not have ſeen him. He ran on a long, unintelligible Story about his Wife, to which he forced me to give him a Hearing; but I made him very little Anſwer, and delivered him the Letter from his Wife, which I bid him anſwer himſelf. I ſuppoſe the Wretch will endeavour to find us out; but I beg you will not ſee her, for I am determined I will not.'’

‘'I zee her?' anſwered the Squire; 'you need not fear me. I'll ge no Encouragement to ſuch undutiful Wenches. It is well for the Fellow her Huſband, I was not at Huome. Od rabbit it, he ſhould have taken a Dance thru the Horſe-pond, I promiſe un. You zee, Sophy, what Undutiful⯑neſs brings Volks to do. You have an Example in your own Family.' Brother,' cries the Aunt, you need not ſhock my Niece by ſuch odious Re⯑petitions. Why will you not leave every Thing entirely to me?'’ ‘'Well, well; I wull, I wull;' ſaid the Squire.'’ And now Mrs. Weſtern, luckily for Sophia, put an End to the Converſation, by order⯑ing Chairs to be called, I ſay luckily; for had it continued much longer, freſh Matter of Diſſention would, moſt probably, have ariſen between the Bro⯑ther and Siſter; between whom Education and Sex made the only Difference; for both were equally vio⯑lent and equally poſitive, they had both a vaſt Affec⯑tion for Sophia, and both a ſovereign Contempt for each other.

CHAP. V. In which Jones receives a Letter from Sophia, an [...] goes to a Play with Mrs. Miller and Partridge.

THE Arrival of Black George in Town, and th [...] good Offices which that grateful Fellow ha [...] promiſed to do for his old Benefactor, greatly com⯑forted Jones in the midſt of all the Anxiety and Une [...] ⯑ſineſs which he had ſuffered on the Account of Sophia from whom, by the Means of the ſaid George, received the following Anſwer to his Letter, whi [...] Sophia, to whom the Uſe of Pen, Ink, and Pape [...] was reſtored with her Liberty, wrote the very Even⯑ing when ſhe departed from her Confinement.

A Child who hath juſt learnt his Letters, would have ſpelt this Letter out in leſs Time than Jones took in reading it. The Senſations it occaſioned were a Mixture of Joy and Grief; ſomewhat like what di⯑vide the Mind of a good Man when he peruſes the Will of his deceaſed Friend, in which a large Legacy, which his Diſtreſſes make the more welcome, is be⯑queathed to him. Upon the whole, however, he was more pleaſed than diſpleaſed; and indeed the Reader may probably wonder that he was diſpleaſed at all; but the Reader is not quite ſo much in Love as [204] was poor Jones: And Love is a Diſeaſe, which, tho' it may in ſome Inſtances reſemble a Conſumption, (which it ſometimes cauſes) in others proceeds in di⯑rect Oppoſition to it, and particularly in this, that i [...] never flatters itſelf, or ſees any one Symptom in a fa⯑vourable Light.

One Thing gave him complete Satisfaction, which was, that his Miſtreſs had regained her Liberty, and was now with a Lady where ſhe might at leaſt aſſure herſelf of a decent Treatment. Another comforta⯑ble Circumſtance, was the Reference which ſhe made to her Promiſe of never marrying any other Man. For however diſintereſted he might imagine his Paſ⯑ſion, and notwithſtanding all the generous Overture made in his Letter, I very much queſtion whether he could have heard a more afflicting Piece of News, tha [...] that Sophia was married to another tho' the Matc [...] had been never ſo great, and never ſo likely to end in making her completely happy. That refined Degre [...] of Platonic Affection which is abſolutely detached from the Fleſh, and is indeed entirely and purely ſpi⯑ritual, is a Gift confined to the female Part of the Cre⯑ation: many of whom I have heard declare, (and doubtleſs with great Truth) that they would, wit [...] the utmoſt Readineſs, reſign a Lover to a Rival, whe [...] ſuch Reſignation was proved to be neceſſary for th [...] temporal Intereſt of ſuch Lover. Hence, therefore I conclude, that this Affection is in Nature, though I cannot pretend to ſay, I have ever ſeen an Inſtan [...] of it.

Mr. Jones having ſpent three Hours in reading an [...] kiſſing the aforeſaid Letter, and being, at laſt, in State of good Spirits, from the laſt mentioned Con⯑ſiderations, he agreed to carry an Appointment which he had before made into Execution. This was to at⯑tend Mrs. Miller and her youngeſt Daughter into th [...] Gallery at the Playhouſe, and to admit Mr. Partridge as one of the Company. For as Jones had really tha [...] [205] Taſte for Humour which many affect, he expected to enjoy much Entertainment in the Criticiſms of Par⯑tridge; from whom he expected the ſimple Dictates of Nature, unimproved indeed, but likewiſe unadul⯑terated by Art.

In the firſt Row then of the firſt Gallery did Mr. Jones, Mrs. Miller, her youngeſt Daughter, and Par⯑tridge take their Place: Partridge immediately de⯑clared, it was the fineſt Place he had ever been in. When the firſt Muſick was played, he ſaid, ‘'It was a Wonder how ſo many Fidlers could play at one Time, without putting one another out.'’ While the Fellow was lighting the upper Candles, he cry'd out to Mrs. Miller, ‘'Look, look, Madam, the very Picture of the Man in the End of the Common-Prayer Book, before the Gun-powder-Treaſon Ser⯑vice:'’ Nor could he help obſerving, with a Sigh when all the Candles were lighted, ‘'That here were Candles enough burnt in one Night, to keep an honeſt poor Family for a whole Twelvemonth.'’

As ſoon as the Play, which was Hamlet Prince of Denmark, began, Partridge was all Attention, nor did he break Silence till the Entrance of the Ghoſt; upon which he aſked Jones, ‘'what Man that was in the ſtrange Dreſs; ſomething,' ſaid he, 'like what I have ſeen in a Picture. Sure it is not Armour, is it?'’ Jones anſwered, ‘'That is the Ghoſt.'’ To which Partridge replied with a Smile, ‘'Perſwade me to that, Sir, if you can. Though I can't ſay I ever actually ſaw a Ghoſt in my Life, yet I am certain I ſhould know one, if I ſaw him, better than that comes to. No, no, Sir, Ghoſts don't appear in ſuch Dreſſes as that, neither.'’ In this Miſtake, which cauſed much Laughter in the Neighbourhood of Partridge, he was ſuffered to continue, 'till the Scene between the Ghoſt and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that Cre⯑dit to Mr. Garrick, which he had denied to Jones, and fell into ſo violent a Trembling, that his Knees [206] knocked againſt each other. Jones aſked him what was the Matter, and whether he was afraid of the Warrior upon the Stage? ‘'O la! Sir,' ſaid he, 'I perceive now it is what you told me. I am not afraid of any Thing; for I know it is but a Play: And if it was really a Ghoſt, it could do one no Harm at ſuch a Diſtance, and in ſo much Company; and yet if I was frightned, I am not the only Per⯑ſon.'’ ‘'Why, who,' cries Jones, 'doſt thou take to be ſuch a Coward here beſides thyſelf?'’ ‘'Nay, you may call me Coward if you will; but if that lit⯑tle Man there upon the Stage is not frightned, I never ſaw any Man frightned in my Life. Ay, ay; go along with you! Ay, to be ſure! Who's Fool then? Will you? Lud have Mercy upon ſuch Fool-Hardineſs!—Whatever happens, it is good enough for you.—Follow you? I'd follow the Devil as ſoon. Nay, perhaps, it is the Devil—for they ſay he can put on what likeneſs he pleaſes.—Oh! here he is again.—No farther! No, you have gone far enough already; farther than I'd have gone for all the King's Dominons.'’ Jones offered to ſpeak, but Partrisge cried, ‘'Huſh, huſh, dear Sir, don't you hear him!'’ And during the whole Speech of the Ghoſt, he ſat with his Eyes fixed partly on the Ghoſt, and partly on Hamlet, and with his Mouth open; the ſame Paſſions which ſucceeded each other in Hamlet, ſucceeding likewiſe in him.

When the Scene was over, Jones ſaid, ‘'Why, Partridge, you exceed my Expectations. You en⯑joy the Play more than I conceived poſſible.'’ ‘'Nay, Sir, anſwered Partridge, 'if you are not afraid of the Devil, I can't help it; but to be ſure it is natu⯑ral to be ſurprized at ſuch Things, though I know there is nothing in them: Not that it was the Ghoſt that ſurprized me neither; for I ſhould have known that to have been only a Man in a ſtrange Dreſs: But when I ſaw the little Man ſo frightned himſelf, [207] it was that which took Hold of me.'’ ‘'And doſt thou imagine then, Partridge,' cries Jones, that he was really frightned'’ ‘'Nay, Sir,' ſaid Partridge, 'did not you yourſelf obſerve afterwards, when he found out it was his own Father's Spirit, and how he was murder⯑ed in the Garden, how his Fear forſook him by De⯑grees, and he was ſtruck dumb with Sorrow, as it were, juſt as I ſhould have been, had it been my own Caſe.—But huſh' O la? What Noiſe is that? There he is again.—Well, to be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder where thoſe Men are.' Then turning his Eyes again upon Hamlet, 'Ay, you may draw your Sword; what ſignifies a Sword againſt the Power of the Devil?'’

During the ſecond Act, Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly admired the Fineneſs of the [...]reſſes; nor could he help obſerving upon the King's [...]ountenance. ‘'Well,' ſaid he, 'how People may be deceived by Faces? Nulla fides fronti is, I find, a true Saying. Who would think, by looking in the King's Face, that he had ever committed a Mur⯑ [...]er?'’ He then enquired after the Ghoſt; but Jones, [...]ho intended he ſhould be ſurprized, gave him no [...]ther Satisfaction, than ‘'that he might poſſibly ſee him again ſoon, and in a Flaſh of Fire.'’

Partridge ſat in fearful expectation of this; and [...]ow when the Ghoſt made his next Appearance, Par⯑tridge cried out, ‘'There, Sir, now; what ſay you now? Is he frightned now or no? As much frightned as you think me, and, to be ſure, no Bo⯑dy can help ſome Fears, I would not be in ſo bad a Condition as what's his Name, Squire Hamlet, is there, for all the World. Bleſs me! What's become of the Spirit? As I am a living Soul, I thought I ſaw him ſink into the Earth.'’ ‘'Indeed, you ſaw right,'’ anſwered Jones. ‘'Well, well,' cries Par⯑tridge, 'I know it is only a Play; and beſides, if [208] there was any Thing in all this, Madam Miller would not laugh ſo: For as to you, Sir, you would not be afraid, I believe, if the Devil was here i [...] Perſon.—There, there—Ay, no Wonde [...] you are in ſuch a Paſſion; ſhake the vile wicke [...] Wretch to Pieces, If ſhe was my own Mother I ſhould ſerve her ſo. To be ſure, all Duty to Mother is forfeited by ſuch wicked Doings.—Ay, go about your Buſineſs; I hate the Sight [...] you.'’

Our Critic was now pretty ſilent till the Play, whic [...] Hamlet introduces before the King. This he did n [...] at firſt underſtand, 'till Jones explained it to him but he no ſooner entered into the Spirit of it, than [...] began to bleſs himſelf that he had never committe [...] Murder.' Then turning to Mrs. Miller he aſked he [...] ‘'If ſhe did not imagine the King looked as if he w [...] touched; though he is,' ſaid he, 'a good Acto [...] and doth all he can to hide it. Well, I would n [...] have ſo much to anſwer for, as that wicked M [...] there hath, to ſit upon a much higher Chair than [...] ſits upon.—No wonder he run away; for yo [...] Sake I'll never truſt an innocent Face again.'’

The Grave-digging Scene next engaged the At⯑tention of Partridge, who expreſſed much Surpri [...] at the Number of Skulls thrown upon the Stag [...] To which Jones anſwered, ‘'That it was one of th [...] moſt famous Burial-Places about Town.'’ ‘'N [...] wonder then,' cries Partridge, 'that the Place haunted. But I never ſaw in my Life a worſe Grav [...] digger. I had a Sexton, when I was Clerk, th [...] ſhould have dug three Graves while he is diggi [...] one. The Fellow handles a Spade as if it was th [...] firſt Time he had ever had one in his Hand. A [...] ay, you may ſing. You had rather ſing than wo [...] I believe.'’—Upon Hamlet's taking up the Sku [...] he cry'd out, ‘'Well, it is ſtrange to ſee how fearl [...] ſome Men are: I never could bring myſelf to tou [...] [209] any Thing belonging to a dead Man on any Ac⯑count.—He ſeemed frightned enough too at the Ghoſt I thought. Nemo omnibus horis ſapit.'’

Little more worth remembring occurred during the [...]ay; at the End of which Jones aſked him, ‘'which of the Players he had liked beſt?'’ To this he an⯑ [...]wered, with ſome Appearance of Indignation at the [...]ueſtion, ‘'The King without Doubt.'’ ‘'Indeed, Mr. Partridge,' ſays Mrs. Miller, 'you are not of the ſame Opinion with the Town; for they all a⯑greed, that Hamlet is acted by the beſt Player who was ever on the Stage.'’ ‘'He the beſt Player!' [...]es Partridge with a contemptuous Sneer, 'why I could act as well as he myſelf. I am ſure if I had ſeen a Ghoſt, I ſhould have looked in the very ſame Manner, and done juſt as he did. And then, to be ſure, in that Scene, as you call it, between him and his Mother, where you told me he acted ſo fine, why, Lord help me, any Man, that is, any good Man, that had ſuch a Mother, would have done exactly the ſame. I know you are only jok⯑ing with me; but, indeed, Madam, though I was never at a Play in London, yet I have ſeen acting before in the Country; and the King for my Money; [...]he ſpeake all his Words diſtinctly, half as loud again as the other.—Any Body may ſee he is an Actor.'’

While Mrs. Miller was thus engaged in Converſa⯑tion with Partridge, a Lady came up to Mr. Jones, [...]hom he immediately knew to be Mrs. Fitzpatrick. [...]e ſaid, ſhe had ſeen him from the other Part of the [...]allery, and had taken that Opportunity of ſpeaking him, as ſhe had ſomething to ſay, which might be great Service to himſelf. She then acquainted [...] with her Lodgings, and made him an Appoint⯑ [...]ent the next Day in the Morning; which, upon [...]ecollection, ſhe preſently changed to the Afternoon; which Time Jones promiſed to attend her.

[210] Thus ended the Adventure at the Play-hou [...] where Partridge had afforded great Mirth, not o [...] to Jones and Mrs. Miller, but to all who ſat with hearing, who were more attentive to what he ſa [...] than to any Thing that paſſed on the Stage.

He durſt not go to Bed all that Night, for Fear the Ghoſt, and for many Nights after, ſweat two three Hours before he went to ſleep, with the ſa [...] Apprehenſions, and waked ſeveral Times in g [...] Horrors, crying out, ‘'Lord have Mercy upon [...] there it is.'’

CHAP. VI. In which the Hiſtory is obliged to look back.

IT is almoſt impoſſible for the beſt Parent to obſe [...] an exact Impartiality to his Children, even thou [...] no ſuperior Merit ſhould biaſs his Affection; but ſ [...] a Parent can hardly be blamed, when that Superior determines his Preference.

As I regard all the Perſonages of this Hiſtory the Light of my Children, ſo I muſt confeſs the ſa [...] Inclination of Partiality to Sophia; and for tha [...] hope the Reader will allow me the ſame Excu [...] from the Superiority of her Character.

This extraordinary Tenderneſs, which I have my Heroine, never ſuffers me to quit her any lo [...] Time without the utmoſt Reluctance. I could no [...] therefore, return impatiently to enquire what h [...] happened to this lovely Creature ſince her Depart [...] from her Father's, but that I am obliged firſt to p [...] a ſhort Viſit to Mr. Blifil.

Mr. Weſtern, in the firſt Confuſion into which Mind was caſt, upon the ſudden News he received his Daughter, and in his firſt Hurry to go after h [...] had not once thought of ſending any Account of [...] Diſcovery to Blifil. He had not gone far, howe⯑ver, before he recollected himſelf, and according [211] ſtopt at the very firſt Inn he came to, and diſpatched [...]way a Meſſenger to acquaint Blifil with his having [...]ound Sophia, and with his firm Reſolution to marry [...]er to him immediately, if he would come up after [...]im to Town.

As the Love which Blifil had for Sophia was of that [...]iolent Kind, which nothing but the Loſs of her For⯑ [...]une, or ſome ſuch Accident, could leſſen, his In⯑ [...]ination to the Match was not at all altered by her [...]aving run away, though he was obliged to lay this [...]o his own Account. He very readily, therefore, em⯑ [...]raced this Offer. Indeed, he now propoſed the Gra⯑ [...]fication of a very ſtrong Paſſion beſides Avarice, by marrying this young Lady, and this was Hatred: For [...]e concluded that Matrimony afforded an equal Op⯑portunity of ſatisfying either Hatred or Love; and his Opinion is very probably verified by much Expe⯑ [...]ience. To ſay the Truth, if we are to judge by [...]e ordinary Behaviour of married Perſons to each [...]ther, we ſhall, perhaps, be apt to conclude, that the Generality ſeek the Indulgence of the former Paſſion only in their Union of every Thing but of Hearts.

There was one Difficulty, however, in his Way, and this aroſe from Mr. Allworthy. That good Man, when he found by the Departure of Sophia, (for nei⯑ther that, nor the Cauſe of it, could be concealed from him) the great Averſion which ſhe had for his Ne⯑phew, began to be ſeriouſly concerned that he had been deceived into carrying Matters ſo far. He by [...]o Means concurred with the Opinions of thoſe Pa⯑rents, who think it as immaterial to conſult the Inclinations of their Children in the Affair of Mar⯑riage, as to ſolicit the good Pleaſure of their Servants when they intend to take a Journey; and who are [...]y Law or Decency at leaſt, withheld often from [...]ſing abſolute Force. On the contrary, as he eſ⯑teemed the Inſtitution to be of the moſt ſacred Kind, [...] thought every preparatory Caution neceſſary to [212] preſerve it holy and inviolate; and very wiſely con⯑cluded, that the ſureſt Way to effect this, was by lay⯑ing the Foundation in previous Affections.

Blifil indeed ſoon cured his Uncle of all Anger o [...] the Score of Deceit, by many Vows and Proteſtati⯑ons that he had been deceived himſelf, with which th [...] many Declarations of Weſtern very well tallied; bu [...] now to perſuade Allworthy to conſent to the renewing his Addreſſes, was a Matter of ſuch apparent Difficul⯑ty, that the very Appearance was ſufficient to hav [...] deterred a leſs enterprizing Genius: but this young Gentleman ſo well knew his own Talents, that no⯑thing within the Province of Cunning, ſeemed to him hard to be atchieved.

Here then he repreſented the Violence of his own Affection, and the Hopes of ſubduing Averſion i [...] the Lady by Perſeverance. He begged that in an Af⯑fair on which depended all his future Repoſe, h [...] might at leaſt be at Liberty to try all fair Means fo [...] Succeſs. Heaven forbid, he ſaid, that he ſhould e⯑ver think of prevailing by any other than the mo [...] gentle Methods. ‘'Beſides, Sir, ſaid he, if they fai [...] you may then (which will be ſurely time enough [...] deny your Conſent.'’ He urged the great and eage [...] Deſire which Mr. Weſtern had for the Match, an [...] laſtly, he made great Uſe of the Name of Jones, to whom he imputed all that had happened, and from whom, he ſaid, to preſerve ſo valuable a young Lady was even on Act of Charity.

All theſe Arguments were well ſeconded by Thwack⯑um, who dwelt a little ſtronger on the Authority o [...] Parents than Mr. Blifil himſelf had done. He aſcrib⯑ed the Meaſures which Mr. Blifil was deſirous to take to Chriſtian Motives; ‘'and though,' ſays he, 'the good young Gentleman hath mentioned Charity laſt I am almoſt convinced it is his firſt and principal Conſideration.'’

[213] Square, poſſibly, had he been preſent, would have [...]ng to the ſame Tune, though in a different Key, [...]d would have diſcovered much more Moral Fitneſs [...] the Proceeding; but he was now gone to Bath for [...]e Recovery of his Health.

Allworthy, though not without Reluctance, at laſt [...]ielded to the Deſires of his Nephew. He ſaid, he [...]ould accompany him to London, where he might [...]e at Liberty to uſe every honeſt Endeavour to gain [...]e Lady: ‘'But I declare,' ſaid he, 'I will never give my Conſent to any abſolute Force being put on her Inclinations, nor ſhall you ever have her, unleſs ſhe can be brought freely to Compliance.'’

Thus did the Affection of Allworthy for his Ne⯑phew, betray the ſuperior Underſtanding to be tri⯑ [...]mphed over by the inferiour; and thus is the Pru⯑ [...]ence of the beſt of Heads often defeated by the Ten⯑derneſs of the beſt of Hearts.

Blifil having obtained this unhoped for Acquieſcence [...]n his Uncle, reſted not till he carried his Purpoſe [...]nto Execution. And as no immediate Buſineſs re⯑ [...]uired Mr. Allworthy's Preſence in the Country, and [...]ittle Preparation is neceſſary to Men for a Journey, [...]hey ſet out the very next Day, and arrived in Town [...]hat Evening when Mr. Jones, as we have ſeen, was [...]iverting himſelf with Partridge at the Play.

The Morning after his Arrival, Mr. Blifil waited on Mr. Weſtern, by whom he was moſt kindly and graciouſly received, and from whom he had every poſſible Aſſurance (perhaps more than was poſſible) that he ſhould very ſhortly be as happy as Sophia could make him; nor would the Squire ſuffer the young Gentleman to return to his Uncle, till he had, almoſt againſt his Will, carried him to his Siſter.

CHAP. VII. In which Mr. Weſtern, pays a Viſit to his Siſter, i [...] company with Mr. Blifil.

MRS. Weſtern was reading a Lecture on Pru⯑dence, and Matrimonial Politics to her Niece when her Brother and Blifil broke in with leſs Ce⯑remony than the Laws of Viſiting require. Sophia no ſooner ſaw Blifil, than ſhe turned pale, and al⯑moſt loſt the Uſe of all her Faculties; but her Aun [...] on the contrary waxed red, and having all her Facul⯑ties at Command, began to exert her Tongue on th [...] Squire.

‘'Brother,' ſaid ſhe, 'I am aſtoniſhed at you [...] Behaviour, will you never learn any Regard to De⯑corum? Will you ſtill look upon every Apartment as your own, or as belonging to one of your Coun⯑try Tenants? Do you think yourſelf at Liberty [...] invade the Privacies of Women of Condition, with⯑out the leaſt Decency or Notice?'’—‘'Why what, the a Pox! is the Matter now, quoth, th [...] Squire, one would think, I had caught you at'’—‘'None of your Brutality, Sir, I beſeech you,'’ an⯑ſwered ſhe.—'You have ſurprized my poor Niece ‘'ſo, that ſhe can hardly, I ſee, ſupport herſelf.—Go, my dear, retire, and endeavour to recruit you [...] Spirits; for I ſee you have Occaſion.'’ At which Words, Sophia, who never received a more welcom [...] Command, haſtily withdrew.

‘'To be ſure, Siſter,' cries the Squire, 'you a [...] mad, when I have brought Mr. Blifil here to co [...] her, to force her away.'’

‘'Sure, Brother,' ſays ſhe, 'you are worſe tha [...] mad, when you know in what Situation Affairs ar [...] to—I am ſure, I aſk Mr. Blifil pardon, but h [...] knows very well to whom to impute ſo diſagreeable a Reception. For my own part, I am ſure, I ſha [...] [215] always be very glad to ſee Mr. Blifil; but his own good Senſe would not have ſuffered him to proceed ſo abruptly, had you not compelled him to it.'’

Blifil bowed and ſtammered and looked like a Fool; [...]t Weſtern without giving him time to form a Speech [...]r the Purpoſe, anſwered, ‘'Well, well, I am to blame if you will, I always am, certainly; but come, let the Girl be fetched back again, or let Mr. Blifil go to her—He's come on Purpoſe, and there is no time to be loſt.'’

‘'Brother,' cries Mrs. Weſtern, 'Mr. Blifil, I am confident, underſtands himſelf better than to think of ſeeing my Niece any more this Morning after what hath happened. Women are of a nice Contexture, and our Spirits when diſordered are not to be recompoſed in a Moment. Had you ſuffered Mr. Blifil to have ſent his Compliments to my Niece, and to have deſired the Favour of wait⯑ing on her in the Afternoon, I ſhould poſſibly have prevailed on her to have ſeen him; but now I de⯑ſpair of bringing about any ſuch Matter.'’

‘'I am very ſorry, Madam,' cried Blifil, 'that Mr. Weſtern's extraordinary Kindneſs to me, which I can never enough acknowledge, ſhould have oc⯑caſioned—'’ ‘'Inded, Sir,' ſaid ſhe interrupting [...]im, 'you need make no Apologies, we all know my Brother ſo well.'’

‘'I don't care what any Body knows of me,' an⯑ſwered the Squire,—'but when muſt he come to ſee her? for conſider, I tell you, he is come up on purpoſe, and ſo is Allworthy.''’ ‘'Brother,' ſaid [...]e, 'whatever Meſſage Mr. Blifil thinks proper to ſend to my Niece, ſhall be delivered to her, and I ſuppoſe ſhe will want no Inſtructions to make a proper Anſwer. I am convinced ſhe will not refuſe to ſee Mr. Blifil at a proper Time.'’—‘'The Devil ſhe won't,' anſwered the Squire.—'Odſbud!—Don't we know—I ſay nothing, but ſome [216] Volk are wiſer than all the World.—If I might have had my will, ſhe had not run away before. And now I expect to hear every Moment ſhe is guone again. For as great a Fool as ſome Volk think me, I know very well ſhe hates'’—‘'No Matter, Brother,' replied Mrs. Weſtern, 'I will not hear my Niece abuſed. It is a Reflection on my Family. She is an Honour to it, and ſhe will be an Honour to it, I promiſe you. I will pawn my whole Reputation in the World on her Conduct.—I ſhall be glad to ſee you, Brother, in the Af⯑ternoon; for I have ſomewhat of Importance to mention to you.—At preſent, Mr. Blifil, as well as you, muſt excuſe me, for I am in haſte to dreſs.'’—‘'Well but,' ſaid the Squire, 'do appoint a Time.'’—‘'Indeed,' ſaid ſhe, 'I can appoint no Time.—I tell you, I will ſee you in the Afternoon.'’—‘'What the Devil would you have me do,' cries the Squire, turning to Blifil, 'I can no muore turn her, than a Beagle can turn an old Hare. Perhaps, ſhe will be in a better Hu⯑mour in the Afternoon.'’—‘'I am condemned, I ſee, Sir, to Misfortune,' anſwered Blifil, 'but I ſhall always own my Obligations to you.'’—He then took a ceremonious Leave of Mrs. Weſtern, who was altogether as ceremonious on her Part, and them they departed, the Squire muttering to himſelf with an Oath, that Blifil ſhould ſee his Daughter in the Afternoon.

If Mr. Weſtern was little pleaſed with this Inter⯑view, Blifil was leſs. As to the former, he imputed the whole Behaviour of his Siſter to her Humour only, and to her Diſſatisfaction at the omiſſion of Ceremony in the Viſit; but Blifil ſaw a little deeper into Things. He ſuſpected ſomewhat of more Conſequence, from two or three Words which dropt from the Lady; and, to ſay the Truth, he ſuſpected right, as will ap⯑pear [217] when I have unfolded the ſeveral Matters which will be continued in the following Chapter.

CHAP. VIII. Schemes of Lady Bellaſton for the Ruin of Jones.

LOVE had taken too deep a Root in the Mind of Lord Fellamar to be plucked up by the rude Hands of Mr. Weſtern. In the Heat of Reſentment he had indeed given a Commiſſion to Captain Egglane, which the Captain had far exceeded in the Execution; [...]or had it been executed at all, had his Lordſhip been [...]ble to find the Captain after he had ſeen Lady Bel⯑laſton, which was in the Afternoon of the Day after he had received the Affront; but ſo induſtrious was the Captain in the Diſcharge of his Duty, that [...]aving, after long Enquiry, found out the Squire's Lodg⯑ [...]ngs very late in the Evening, he ſat up all Night at [...] Tavern, that he might not miſs the Squire in the Morning, and by that Means miſſed the Revocation which my Lord had ſent to his Lodgings.

In the Afternoon then next after the intended Rape [...]f Sophia, his Lordſhip, as we have ſaid, made a [...]iſit to Lady Bellaſton, who laid open ſo much of the [...]haracter of the Squire, that his Lordſhip plainly [...] the Abſurdity he had been guilty of in taking any [...]ffence at his Words, eſpecially as he had thoſe ho⯑nourable Deſigns on his Daughter. He then unbo⯑ [...]med the violence of his Paſſion to Lady Bellaſton, [...] readily undertook the Cauſe, and encouraged [...]n with certain Aſſurance of a moſt favourable Re⯑ [...]ption, from all the Elders of the Family, and from [...] Father himſelf when he ſhould be ſober, and [...]ould be made acquainted with the Nature of the Of⯑ [...] made to his Daughter. The only Danger, ſhe ſaid, [...] in the Fellow ſhe had formerly mentioned, who, [...]ough a Beggar and a Vagabond, had by ſome Means other, ſhe knew not what, procured himſelf to⯑lerable [218] Cloaths, and paſt for a Gentleman. ‘'Now ſays ſhe, 'as I have for the ſake of my Couſin, mad [...] it my Buſineſs to enquire after this Fellow, I have luckily found out his Lodging;'’ with which ſhe then acquainted his Lordſhip. ‘'I am thinking, m [...] Lord,' added ſhe, '(for this Fellow is too mea [...] for your perſonal Reſentment) whether it would not be poſible for your Lordſhip to contrive ſome Method of having him preſſed and ſent on board Ship. Neither Law nor Conſcience forbid th [...] Project: for the Fellow, I promiſe you, howev [...] well dreſt, is but a Vagabond, and as proper as an Fellow in the Streets to be preſſed into the Service and as for the conſcientious Part, ſurely the Pre⯑ſervation of a young Lady from ſuch Ruin is a m [...] ⯑meritorious Act; nay, with regard to the Fello [...] himſelf, unleſs he could ſucceed (which Heaven for⯑bid) with my Couſin, it may probably be the mea [...] of preſerving him from the Gallows, and perha [...] may make his Fortune in an honeſt Way.'’

Lord Fellamar very heartily thanked her Ladyſhi [...] for the Part which ſhe was pleaſed to take in the Af⯑fair, upon the Succeſs of which his whole futu [...] Happineſs entirely depended. He ſaid, he ſaw at pre⯑ſent no Objection to the preſſing Scheme, and wou [...] conſider of putting it in Execution. He then m [...] earneſtly recommended to her Ladyſhip, to do h [...] the Honour of immediately mentioning his Propo [...] to the Family; to whom he ſaid, he offered a Ca [...] Blanche, and would ſettle his Fortune in almoſt a manner they ſhould require. And after uttering [...] ⯑ny Extaſies and Raptures concerning Sophia, he to his leave and departed, but not before he had receiv [...] the ſtrongeſt Charge to beware of Jones, and to [...] no time in ſecuring his Perſon where he ſhould longer be in a Capacity of making any Attempts the Ruin of the young Lady.

[219] The Moment Mrs. Weſtern was arrived at her Lodgings, a Card was diſpatched with her Compli⯑ments to Lady Bellaſton; who no ſooner received it, [...]han with the Impatience of a Lover, ſhe flew to her Couſin, rejoiced at this fair Opportunity, which be⯑ [...]ond her Hopes offered itſelf: for ſhe was much bet⯑ter pleaſed with the Proſpect of making the Propoſals [...] a Woman of Senſe, and who knew the World, [...]an to a Gentleman whom ſhe honoured with the Appellation of Hottentot; though indeed from him [...]he apprehended no Danger of a Refuſal.

The two Ladies being met, after very ſhort pre⯑ [...]ous Ceremonials, fell to Buſineſs, which was in⯑ [...]eed almoſt as ſoon concluded as begun; for Mrs. Weſtern no ſooner heard the Name of Lord Fellamar [...]han her Cheeks glowed with Pleaſure; but when ſhe was acquainted with the Eagerneſs of his Paſſion, [...]he Earneſtneſs of his Propoſals, and the Generoſity of his Offer, ſhe declared her full Satisfaction in the moſt explicit Terms.

In the Progreſs of their Converſation their Diſ⯑courſe turned to Jones, and both Couſins very pathe⯑ [...]ically lamented the unfortunate Attachment, which both agreed, Sophia had to that young Fellow; and Mrs. Weſtern entirely attributed it to the Folly of her Brother's Management. She concluded however at [...]aſt, with declaring her Confidence in the good Un⯑derſtanding of her Niece, who though ſhe would not give up her Affection in Favour of Blifil, ‘'will, I doubt not', ſays ſhe, 'ſoon be prevailed upon to ſacrifice [...] ſimple Inclination to the Addreſſes of a fine Gen⯑tleman, who brings her both a Title and a large Eſ⯑tate: For indeed,' added ſhe, 'I muſt do Sophy the Juſtice to confeſs, this Blifil is but a hideous kind of Fellow, as you know, Bellaſton, all Country Gen⯑tlemen are, and hath nothing but his Fortune to re⯑commend him.'’

‘'[220] Nay,' ſaid Lady Bellaſton, 'I don't then ſo much wonder at my Couſin; for I promiſe you this Jones is a very agreeable Fellow, and hath one Virtue which the Men ſay is a great Recommendation to us. What do you think, Bel—I ſhall certainly make you laugh; nay, I can hardly tell you myſelf for laughing?—Will you believe that the Fellow hath had the Aſſurance to make Love to me? But i [...] you be inclined to diſbelieve it, here is Evidence enough, his own Hand-writing, I aſſure you. She then delivered her Couſin the Letter with the Propoſals of Marriage, which if the Reader hath a Deſire to ſee, he will find already on Record in the XVth Book of this Hiſtory.'’

‘'Upon my Word, I am aſtoniſhed,' ſaid Mrs. Weſtern, 'this is indeed a Maſter-piece of Aſſurance. With your leave, I may poſſibly make ſome uſe of this Letter;'’ ‘'You have my full Liberty', cris Lady Bellaſton,' 'to apply it to what Purpoſe you pleaſe. However, I would not have it ſhewn to any but Miſs Weſtern, nor to her unleſs you find Occaſion.'’ ‘'Well, and how did you uſe the Fellow?'’ returned Mrs. Weſtern. ‘'Not as a Huſ⯑band,' ſaid the Lady, 'I am not married, I pro⯑miſe you, my Dear. You know, Bell, I have try'd the Comforts once already, and once I think enough for any reaſonable Woman.'’

This Letter Lady Bellaſton thought would cer⯑tainly turn the Ballance againſt Jones in the Mind of Sophia, and ſhe was emboldened to give it up, partly by her Hopes of having him inſtantly diſpatched out of the way, and partly by having ſecured the Evi⯑dence of Honour, who, upon ſounding her, ſhe ſaw ſufficient Reaſon to imagine, was prepared to teſtify whatever ſhe pleaſed.

But perhaps the Reader may wonder why Lady Bellaſton, who in her Heart hated Sophia, ſhould be [221] ſo deſirous of promoting a Match, which was ſo much to the Intereſt of the young Lady. Now I would deſire ſuch Readers to look carefully into human Nature, Page almoſt the laſt, and there he will find, in ſcarce legible Characters, that Women, notwithſtanding the prepoſterous Behaviour of Mo⯑thers, Aunts, &c. in Matrimonial Matters, do in Reality think it ſo great a Misfortune to have their Inclinations in Love thwarted, that they imagine they ought never to carry Enmity higher than upon theſe Diſappointments; again he will find it written, much about the ſame Place, that a Woman who hath once been pleaſed with the Poſſeſſion of a Man, will go above half way to the Devil, to prevent any other Woman from enjoying the ſame.

If he will not be contented with theſe Reaſons, I freely confeſs I ſee no other Motive to the Actions of that Lady, unleſs we will conceive ſhe was bribed by Lord Fellamar, which for my own Part I ſee no Cauſe to ſuſpect.

Now this was the Affair which Mrs. Weſtern was preparing to introduce to Sophia, by ſome prefatory Diſcourſe on the Folly of Love, and on the Wiſdom of legal Proſtitution for Hire, when her Brother and Blifil broke abruptly upon her; and hence aroſe all that Coldneſs in her Behaviour to Blifil, which tho' the Squire, as was uſual with him, imputed to a wrong Cauſe, infuſed into Blifil himſelf, (he being a much more cunning Man,) a Suſpicion of the real Truth.

CHAP. IX. In which Jones pays a Viſit to Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

THE Reader may now perhaps be pleaſed to re⯑turn with us to Mr, Jones, who at the appoint⯑ed Hour attended on Mrs. Fitzpatrick; but before we relate the Converſation which now paſt, it may be [222] proper, according to our Method, to return a little back, and to account for ſo great an Alteration of Behaviour in this Lady, that from changing her Lodging principally to avoid Mr. Jones, ſhe had now induſtriouſly, as hath been ſeen, ſought this Inter⯑view.

And here we ſhall need only to reſort to what hap⯑pened the preceding Day, when hearing from Lady Bellaſton, that Mr. Weſtern was arrived in Town, ſhe went to pay her Duty to him, at his Lodgings a [...] Piccadilly, when ſhe was received with many ſcurvy Compellations too coarſe to be repeated, and was even threatned to be kicked out of Doors. From hence an old Servant of her Aunt Weſtern, with whom ſhe was well acquainted, conducted her to the Lodg⯑ings of that Lady, who treated her, not more kindly, but more politely; or, to ſay the Truth, with Rude⯑neſs in another Way. In ſhort, ſhe returned from both, plainly convinced not only that her Scheme o [...] Reconciliation had proved abortive, but that ſhe muſt for ever give over all Thoughts of bringing it about by any Means whatever. From this Moment De⯑ſire of Revenge only filled her Mind; and in thi [...] Temper meeting Jones at the Play, an Oppor⯑tunity ſeemed to her to occur of effecting this Pur⯑poſe.

The Reader muſt remember, that he was acquaint⯑ed by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, in the Account ſhe gave o [...] her own Story, with the Fondneſs Mrs. Weſtern had formerly ſhewn for Mr. Fitzpatrick at Bath, from the Diſappointment of which, Mrs. Fitzpatrick de⯑rived the great Bitterneſs her Aunt had expreſſed to⯑ward her. She had therefore no Doubt but that the good Lady would as eaſily liſten to the Addreſſes o [...] Mr. Jones, as ſhe had before done to the other, for the Superiority of Charms, was clearly on the ſide of Mr. Jones, and the Advance which her Aunt had [223] ſince made in Age, ſhe concluded (how juſtly I will not ſay) was an Argument rather in Favour of her Project than againſt it.

Therefore, when Jones attended after a previous Declaration of her Deſire of ſerving him, ariſing, as ſhe ſaid from a Firm Aſſurance how much ſhe ſhould by ſo doing oblige Sophia; and after ſome Excuſes for her former Diſappointment, and after acquainting Mr. Jones in whoſe Cuſtody his Miſtreſs was, of which ſhe thought him ignorant; ſhe very explicitly mentioned her Scheme to him, and adviſed him to make Sham Addreſſes to the older Lady, in order to procure an eaſy Acceſs to the Younger, inform⯑ing him at the ſame Time of the Succeſs which Mr. Fitzpatrick had formerly owed to the very ſame Stra⯑tagem.

Mr. Jones expreſt great Gratitude to the Lady for the kind Intentions towards him which ſhe had ex⯑preſſed, and indeed, teſtified by this Propoſal; but beſides intimating ſome Diffidence of Succeſs from the Lady's Knowledge of his Love to her Neice, which had not been her Caſe in regard to Mr. Fitz⯑patrick, he ſaid, he was afraid Miſs Weſtern would never agree to an Impoſition of this Kind, as well from her utter Deteſtation of all Fallacy, as from her avowed Duty to her Aunt.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick was a little nettled at this; and indeed if it may not be called a Lapſe of the Tongue, it was a ſmall Deviation from Politeneſs in Jones, and into which he would ſcarce have fallen, had not the Delight he felt in praiſing Sophia, hurried him out of all Reflection; for this Commendation of one Couſin was more than a tacit Rebuke on the other.

‘'Indeed, Sir,' anſwered the Lady, with ſome Warmth, 'I cannot think there is any thing eaſier than to cheat an old Woman with a Profeſſion of [224] Love, when her Complexion is amorous; and tho' ſhe is my Aunt, I muſt ſay, there never was a more liquoriſh one than her Ladyſhip. Can't you pretend that the Deſpair of poſſeſſing her Neice, from her being promiſed to Blifil, has made you turn your Thoughts towards her? As to my Couſin Sophia, I can't imagine her to be ſuch a Simpleton as to have the leaſt Scruple on ſuch an Account or to conceive any Harm in puniſhing one of theſe Haggs for the many Miſchiefs they bring upon Fa⯑milies, by their Tragi comic Paſſions; for which I think it is pity they were not puniſhable by Law. I had no ſuch Scruple myſelf, and yet I hope my Couſin Sophia will not think it an Affront when I ſay ſhe cannot deteſt every real Species of Falſhood more than her Couſin Fitzpatrick. To my Aunt indeed I pretend no Duty, nor doth ſhe deſerve any. However, Sir, I have given you my Advice, and if you decline purſuing it, I ſhall have the leſs Opinion of your Underſtanding, that's all.'’

Jones now clearly ſaw the Error he had committed, and exerted his utmoſt Power to rectify it; but he only faultered and fluttered into Nonſenſe and Con⯑tradiction. To ſay the Truth, it is often ſafer to abide by the Conſequences of the firſt Blunder, than to endeavour to rectify it; for by ſuch Endeavours, we generally plunge deeper inſtead of extricating our⯑ſelves; and few Perſons will on ſuch Occaſions, have the good Nature, which Mrs. Fitzpatrick diſ⯑play'd to Jones; by ſaying, with a Smile, ‘'You need attempt no more Excuſes; for I can eaſily forgive a real Lover, whatever is the Effect of Fondneſs for his Miſtreſs.'’

She then renewed her Propoſal, and very fervently recommended it, omitting no Argument which her Invention could ſuggeſt on the Subject; for ſhe was ſo violently incenſed againſt her Aunt, that ſcarce any Thing was capable of affording her equal Pleaſure [225] with expoſing her, and, like a true Woman, ſhe would ſee no Difficulties in the Execution of a favou⯑ [...]ite Scheme.

Jones however perſiſted in declining the Under⯑taking, which had not indeed the leaſt Probability of Succeſs. He eaſily perceived the Motives which in⯑ [...]uced Mrs. Fitzpatrick to be ſo eager in preſſing her Advice. He ſaid he would not deny the tender and [...]aſſionate Regard he had for Sophia; but was ſo con⯑ [...]tious of the Inequality of their Situations, that he [...]ould never flatter himſelf ſo far as to hope that ſo [...]ivine a young Lady would condeſcend to think on [...]ne ſo unworthy; nay he proteſted he could ſcarce [...]ring himſelf to wiſh ſhe ſhould. He concluded with [...] Profeſſion of generous Sentiments, which we have [...]ot at preſent Leiſure to inſert.

There are ſome fine Women (for I dare not here [...]peak in too general Terms) with whom Self is ſo [...]redominant, that they never detach it from any Sub⯑ [...]ect; and as Vanity is with them a ruling Principle, [...]hey are apt to lay hold of whatever Praiſe they meet with; and, though the Property of others, convey [...] to their own Uſe. In the Company of theſe La⯑ [...]ies it is impoſſible to ſay any thing handſome of ano⯑ther Woman, which they will not apply to them⯑ſelves; nay they often improve the Praiſe they ſeize; [...]s for Inſtance, if her Beauty, her Wit, her Gentili⯑ [...]y, her good Humour deſerve ſo much Commenda⯑ [...]ion, what do I deſerve who poſſeſs thoſe Qualities [...] ſo much more eminent a Degree?

To theſe Ladies a Man often recommends him⯑ſelf while he is commending another Woman; and while he is expreſſing Ardour and generous Senti⯑ments for his Miſtreſs, they are conſidering what a [...]harming Lover this Man would make to them, who [...]an feel all this Tenderneſs for an inferiour Degree of Merit. Of this, ſtrange as it may ſeem, I have [226] ſeen many Inſtances beſides Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to whom all this really happened, and who now began to feel a ſomewhat for Mr. Jones, the Symptoms of which ſhe much ſooner underſtood than poor Sophia had formerly done.

To ſay the Truth, perfect Beauty in both Sexes is a more irreſiſtible Object than it is generally thought; for notwithſtanding ſome of us are con⯑tented with more homely Lots, and learn by Rot [...] (as Children to repeat what gives them no Idea) to deſpiſe Outſide, and to value more ſolid Charms; yet I have always obſerved at the Approach of con⯑ſummate Beauty, that theſe more ſolid Charms only ſhine with that Kind of Luſtre which the Stars have after the riſing of the Sun.

When Jones had finiſhed his Exclamations, many of which would have become the Mouth of Oroondates himſelf, Mrs. Fitzpatrick heaved a deep Sigh, and taking her Eyes off from Jones, on whom they had been ſome time fixed, and dropping them on the Ground, ſhe cry'd, ‘'Indeed Mr. Jones, I pity you, but it is the Curſe of ſuch Tenderneſs to be thrown away on thoſe who are inſenſible of it. I know my Couſin better than you, Mr. Jones, and I muſt ſay, any Woman who makes no Return to ſuch a Paſſion and ſuch a Perſon, is unworthy of both.'’

‘'Sure, Madam,’ ſaid Jones, you can't mean.'—‘'Mean? cries Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I know not what [...] mean; there is ſomething, I think, in true Tender⯑neſs bewitching; few Women ever meet with it in Men, and fewer ſtill know how to value it when they do. I never heard ſuch truly noble Sentiments, and can't tell how it is, but you force one to believe you. Sure ſhe muſt be the moſt contemptible o [...] Women who can overlook ſuch Merit.'’

The Manner and Look with which all this wa [...] ſpoke infuſed a Suſpicion into Jones, which we don' [...] care to convey in direct Words to the Reader. In⯑ſtead [227] of making any Anſwer, he ſaid, ‘'I am afraid Madam, I have made too tireſome a Viſit,'’ and offered to take his Leave.

‘'Not at all, Sir,' anſwered Mrs. Fitzpatrick.—'Indeed I pity you, Mr. Jones, Indeed I do; but if you are going, conſider of the Scheme I have men⯑tioned, I am convinced you will approve of it, and let me ſee you again as ſoon as you can.—To-morrow Morning if you will, or at leaſt ſome time to-morrow. I ſhall be at Home all Day.'’

Jones then, after many Expreſſions of Thanks, ve⯑ry reſpectfully retired; nor could Mrs. Fitzpatrick forbear making a preſent of a Look at parting, by which if he had underſtood nothing, he muſt have had no Underſtanding in the Language of the Eyes. In Reality it confirmed his Reſolution of returning to her no more; for faulty as he hath appeared in this Hiſ⯑tory, his whole Thoughts were now ſo confined to his Sophia, that I believe no Woman upon Earth could have now drawn him into an Act of Incon⯑ſtancy.

Fortune however, who was not his Friend, reſolv⯑ed, as he intended to give her no ſecond Opportunity, to make the beſt of this; and accordingly produced the tragical Incident which we are now in ſorrowful Notes to record.

CHAP. X. The Conſequence of the preceding Viſit.

MR. Fitzpatrick having received the Letter before⯑mentioned, from Mrs. Weſtern, and being by that Means acquainted with the Place to which his Wife was retired, returned directly to Bath, and thence the Day afterwards ſet forward to London.

The Reader hath been already often informed of the jealous Temper of this Gentleman. He may [228] likewiſe be pleaſed to remember the Suſpicion which he had at Upton conceived of Jones, upon his finding him in the Room with Mrs. Waters; and though ſufficient Reaſons had afterwards appeared entirely to clear that Suſpicion, yet now reading ſo handſome a Character of Mr. Jones from his Wife cauſed him to reflect that ſhe likewiſe was in the Inn at the ſame Time, and jumbled together ſuch a Confuſion o [...] Circumſtances in a Head which was naturally none o [...] the cleareſt, that the whole produced that green-ey' [...] Monſter mentioned by Shakeſpear in his Tragedy o [...] Othello.

And now as he was enquiring in the Street after his Wife, and had juſt received Directions to the Door unfortunately Mr. Jones was iſſuing from it.

Fitzpatrick did not yet recollect the Face of Jones however ſeeing a young well-dreſſed Fellow comin [...] from his Wife, he made directly up to him, and aſk⯑ed him what he had been doing in that Houſe: ‘'Fo [...] I am ſure, ſaid he, you muſt have been in it, as ſaw you come out of it.'’

Jones anſwered very modeſtly, ‘'That he had been viſiting a Lady there.'’ To which Fitzpatrick re⯑plied, ‘'What Buſineſs have you with the Lady?'’ Upon which Jones, who now perfectly remembre [...] the Voice, Features, and indeed Coat, of the Gentle⯑man, cried out,—‘'Ha, my good Friend! give m [...] your Hand; I hope there is no ill Blood remaining between us upon a ſmall Miſtake which happene [...] ſo long ago.'’

‘'Upon my Soul, Sir, ſaid Fitzpatrick, I don [...] know your Name, nor your Face.' Indeed, Si [...] ſaid Jones, neither have I the Pleaſure of knowing your Name, but your Face I very well remember to have ſeen before, at Upton, where a fooliſh Quar⯑rel happened between us, which, if it is not mad [...] up yet, we will now makeup over a Bottle.'’

[229] ‘'At Upton! cried the other.’—‘'Ha! upon my Soul, I believe your Name is Jones.'’ ‘'Indeed' anſwered he, 'it is.'’—‘'O, upon my Soul, cries Fitzpatrick, you are the very Man I wanted to meet.—Upon my Soul I will drink a Bottle with you preſently; but firſt I will give you a great Knock over the Pate. There is for you, you Raſcal. Upon my Soul, if you do not give me Satisfaction for that Blow, I will give you another.'’ And then drawing his word, puts himſelf in a Poſture of Defence, which as the only Science he underſtood.

Jones was a little ſtaggered by the Blow which came me what unexpectedly; but preſently recovering himſelf he alſo drew, and tho' he underſtood nothing [...]f Fencing, preſt on ſo boldly upon Fitzpatrick that he [...]at down his Guard, and ſheathed one half of his word in the Body of the ſaid Gentleman, who had [...] ſooner received it than he ſtept backwards, dropt [...]e Point of his Sword, and leaning upon it, cried, ‘'I have Satisfaction enough; I am a dead Man.'’

I hope not, cries Jones, but whatever be the Con⯑ſequence you muſt be ſenſible you have drawn it up⯑on yourſelf. At this Inſtant a Number of Fellows ruſhed in and ſeized Jones, who told them he ſhould make no Reſiſtance, and begged ſome of them at leaſt would take Care of the wounded Gentleman.'

‘'Ay, cries one of the Fellows, the wounded Gen⯑tleman will be taken Care enough of; for I ſuppoſe he hath not many Hours to live. As for you, Sir, you have a Month at leaſt good yet.'’ ‘'D—n me, Jack, ſaid another, he hath prevented his Voyage; [...]he's bound to another Port now;'’ and many other [...] Jeſts was our poor Jones made the Subject of, by [...]eſe Fellows, who were indeed the Gang employed Lord Fellamar, and had dogged him into the Houſe Mrs. Fitzpatrick, waiting for him at the Corner of [...]e Street when this unfortunate Accident happened.

[230] The Officer who commanded this Gang very wiſe⯑ly concluded, that his Buſineſs was now to deliver his Priſoner into the Hands of the Civil Magiſtrate. H [...] ordered him therefore to be carried to a publick Houſe where having ſent for a Conſtable, he delivered him to his Cuſtody.

The Conſtable ſeeing Mr. Jones very well dreſ [...] and hearing that the Accident had happened in a Due [...] treated his Priſoner with great Civility, and at hi [...] Requeſt, diſpatched a Meſſenger to enquire after th [...] wounded Gentleman, who was now at a Tavern un⯑der the Surgeon's Hands. The Report brought bac [...] was that the Wound was certainly mortal, and the [...] were no Hopes of Life. Upon which the Conſtabl [...] informed Jones, that he muſt go before a Juſtice▪ He anſwered, Wherever you pleaſe; I am indifferen [...] as to what happens to me, for tho' I am convince [...] I am not guilty of Murder in the Eye of the Law yet the Weight of Blood I find intolerable upon m [...] Mind.

Jones was now conducted before the Juſtice, when the Surgeon who dreſt Mr. Fitzpatrick appeared, an depoſed that he believed the Wound to be mortal upon which the Priſoner was committed to the Gat [...] houſe. It was very late at Night, ſo that Jones would not ſend for Partridge till the next Morning and as he never ſhut his Eyes till ſeven, ſo it was ne [...] twelve before the poor Fellow, who was great frightned at not hearing from his Maſter ſo long, re⯑ceived a Meſſage which almoſt deprived him of [...] Being, when he heard it.

He went to the Gate-houſe with trembling Kne [...] and a beating Heart, and was no ſooner arrived in t [...] Preſence of Jones, than he lamented the Misfortune that had befallen him with many Tears, looking the while frequently about him in great Terror; f [...] as the News now arrived that Mr. Fitzpatrick w [...] [231] dead, the poor Fellow apprehended every Minute that [...]s Ghoſt would enter the Room. At laſt he deliver⯑ed him a Letter, which he had like to have forgot, [...]d which came from Sophia by the Hands of black [...]eorge.

Jones preſently diſpatched every one out of the [...]oom, and having eagerly broke open the Letter, [...]ad as follows.

Of the preſent Situation of Mr. Jones's Mind, and the Pangs with which he was now tormented, [...]e cannot give the Reader a better Idea, than by ſay⯑ [...]g his Miſery was ſuch, that even Thwackum would moſt have pitied him. But bad as it is, we ſhall at [...]eſent leave him in it, as his good genius (if he really [...]d any) ſeems to have done. And here we put an [...]d to the ſixteenth Book of our Hiſtory.

CHAP. I. Containing a Portion of introductory Writing.

WHEN a Comic Writer hath made his prin⯑cipal Characters as happy as he can; or whe [...] a Tragic Writer hath brought them to th [...] higheſt Pitch of human Miſery, they both conclud [...] their Buſineſs to be done, and that their Work i [...] come to a Period.

Had we been of the Tragic Complexion, the Reade [...] muſt allow we were now very nearly arrived at this Pe⯑riod, ſince it would be difficult for the Devil, or any of his Repreſentatives on earth, to have contrived much greater Torments for poor Jones, than thoſe to which we left him in the laſt Chapter; and as for Sophia, [233] good-natured Woman would hardly wiſh more Un⯑ [...]aſineſs to a Rival, than what ſhe muſt at preſent be [...]ppoſed to feel. What then remains to complete [...]e Tragedy but a Murder or two, and a few moral [...]entences.

But to bring our Favourites out of their preſent [...]nguiſh and Diſtreſs, and to land them at laſt on the [...]ore of Happineſs, ſeems a much harder Taſk; a [...]aſk indeed ſo hard that we do not undertake to exe⯑ [...]ute it. In Regard to Sophia it is more than proba⯑ [...]e, that we ſhall ſomewhere or other provide a good [...]uſband for her in the End, either Blifil, or my [...]ord, or Somebody elſe; but as to poor Jones, ſuch [...]e the Calamities in which he is at preſent involved, [...]wing to his Imprudence, by which if a Man doth [...]t become a Felon to the World, he is at leaſt a [...]h de ſe; ſo deſtitute is he now of Friends, and ſo [...]erſecuted by Enemies, that we almoſt deſpair of [...]inging him to any good; and if our Reader de⯑ [...]ghts in ſeeing Executions, I think he ought not to [...]e any time in taking a firſt Row at Tyburn.

This I faithfully promiſe, that notwithſtanding any [...]ffection which we may be ſuppoſed to have for this [...]ogue, whom we have unfortunately made our He⯑ [...]e, we will lend him none of that ſupernatural Aſſiſ⯑ [...]nce with which we are entruſted, upon Condition [...] we uſe it only on very important Occaſions. [...] he doth not therefore find ſome natural Means of [...] extricating himſelf from all his Diſtreſſes, we [...]ill do no Violence to the Truth and Dignity of Hiſ⯑ [...]y for his Sake; for we had rather relate that he [...]as hanged at Tyburn (which may very probably be [...]e Caſe) than forfeit our Integrity, or ſhock the Faith of our Reader.

In this the Antients had a great Advantage over [...] Moderns. Their Mythology, which was at that [...] more firmly believed by the Vulgar than any [...]eligion is at preſent, gave them always an Oppor⯑tunity [234] of delivering a favourite Heroe. Their Deitie [...] were always ready at the Writer's Elbow, to execut [...] any of his Purpoſes; and the more extraordinary th [...] Invention was, the greater was the Surprize and Deligh [...] of the Credulous Reader. Thoſe Writers could with greater Eaſe have conveyed a Friend from one Country to another, nay from one World to another, and have brought him back again, than a poor circumſcribe [...] Modern can deliver him from a Goal.

The Arabians and Perſians had an equal Advan⯑tage in Writing their Tales from the Genii and Fa [...] ⯑ries, which the believe in as an Article of their Faith upon the Authority of Koran itſelf. To natura [...] Means alone we are confined; let us try therefor [...] what by theſe Means may be done for poor Jones though to confeſs the Truth, ſomething whiſpers m [...] in the Ear, that he doth not yet know the worſt of hi [...] Fortune; and that a more ſhocking Piece of New than any he hath yet heard remains for him in the un opened Leaves of Fate.

CHAP. II. The generous and grateful Behaviour of Mrs. Miller

MR. Allworthy and Mrs. Miller were juſt ſat dow [...] to Breakfaſt, when Blifil, who had gone o [...] very early that Morning, returned to make one of th [...] Company.

He had not been long ſeated before he began [...] follows, ‘'Good Lord! my dear Uncle, what do yo [...] think hath happened? I vow I am afraid of telling you, for fear of ſhocking you with the Remem⯑brance of ever having ſhewn any Kindneſs to ſuc [...] a Villain.' 'What is the Matter, Child, ſaid th [...] Uncle, I fear I have ſhewn Kindneſs in my Li [...] to the Unworthy more than once. But Chari [...] doth not adopt the Vices of its Objects.'’ ‘'O, Si [...] returned Blifil, it is not without the ſecret Direct [...] [235] on of Providence that you mentioned the Word Adoption. Your adopted Son, Sir, that Jones, that Wretch whom you nouriſhed in your Boſom, hath proved one of the greateſt Villains upon Earth.'’ ‘'By all that's ſacred 'tis falſe, cries Mrs. Miller. Mr. Jones is no Villain. He is one of the wor⯑thieſt Creatures breathing; and if any other Perſon had called him Villain, I would have thrown all this boiling water in his Face.'’ Mr. Allworthy [...]ooked very much amazed at this Behaviour. But [...]e did not give him Leave to ſpeak, before turn⯑ [...]ng to him, ſhe cry'd, ‘'I hope you will not be angry with me; I would not offend you, Sir, for the World; but indeed I could not bear to hear him called ſo.'’ ‘'I muſt own, Madam,' ſaid All⯑worthy very gravely, 'I am a little ſurprized to hear you ſo warmly defend a Fellow you do not know.'’ ‘'O I do know him, Mr. Allworthy,' ſaid ſhe, 'in⯑deed I do; I ſhould be the moſt ungrateful of all Wretches if I denied it. O he hath preſerved me and my little Family; we have all Reaſon to bleſs him, and turn the Hearts of his malicious Enemies. I know, I find, I ſee he hath ſuch.'’ ‘'You ſur⯑prize me, Madam, ſtill more,' ſaid Allworthy, ſure you muſt mean ſome other. It is impoſſible you ſhould have any ſuch Obligations to the Man my Nephew mentions.'’ ‘'Too ſurely,' anſwered he, 'I have Obligations to him of the greateſt and tendereſt Kind. He hath been the Preſerver of me and mine.—Believe me, Sir, he hath been abuſed, groſly abuſed to you, I know he hath, or you, whom I know to be all Goodneſs and Ho⯑nour, would not, after the many kind and tender Things I have heard you ſay of this poor helpleſs Child, have ſo diſdainfully called him Fellow. In⯑deed, my beſt of Friends, he deſerves a kinder Appellation from you, had you heard the good, the kind, the grateful Things which I have heard him [236] utter of you; he never mentions your name but with a Sort of Adoration. In this very Room I have ſeen him on his Knees, imploring all the Bleſſings of Heaven upon your Head. I do not love that Child there better than he loves you.'’

‘'I ſee, Sir,' ſaid Blifil, with one of thoſe grinn⯑ing Sneers with which the Devil marks his beſ [...] Beloved, 'Mrs. Miller really doth know him. [...] ſuppoſe you will find ſhe is not the only one of you [...] Acquaintance to whom he hath expoſed you. A [...] for my Character, I perceive by ſome Hints ſhe hath thrown out, he hath been very free with it but I forgive him.' 'And the Lord forgive you Sir,' ſays Mrs. Miller, 'we have all Sins enough to ſtand in Need of his Forgiveneſs.'’

‘'Upon my Word, Mrs. Miller,' ſaid Allworthy 'I do not take this Behaviour of yours to my Ne⯑phew, kindly; and I do aſſure you as any Reflec⯑tions which you caſt upon him muſt come only from that wickedeſt of Men, they would only ſerve if that were poſſible, to heighten my Reſentment againſt him: For I muſt tell you, Mrs. Miller the young Man who now ſtands before you, hath ever been the warmeſt Advocate for the ungratefu [...] Wretch whoſe Cauſe you eſpouſe. This, I think when you hear it from my own Mouth, wil [...] make you wonder at ſo much Baſeneſs and Ingra⯑titude.'’

‘'You are deceived, Sir,' anſwered Mrs. Miller 'if they were the laſt Words which were to iſſue from my Lips, I would ſay you were deceived and I once more repeat it, the Lord forgive thoſe who have deceived you. I do not pretend to ſay the young Man is without Faults; but they are the Faults of Wildneſs and of Youth; Faults which he may, nay which I am certain he will relinquiſh [...] and if he ſhould not, they are vaſtly over-ballance [237] by one of the moſt humane tender honeſt Hearts that ever Man was bleſſed with.'’

‘'Indeed, Mrs. Miller, ſaid Allworthy, had this been related of you, I ſhould not have believed it.' Indeed, Sir, anſwered ſhe, you will believe every Thing I have ſaid, I am ſure you will: and when you have heard the Story which I ſhall tell you, (for I will tell you all) you will be ſo far from be⯑ing offended, that you will own (I know your Juſ⯑tice ſo well) that I muſt have been the moſt deſpi⯑cable and moſt ungrateful of Wretches, if I had acted any other Part than I have.'’

‘'Well, Madam, ſaid Allworthy, I ſhall be very glad to hear any good Excuſe for a Behaviour which I muſt confeſs, I think wants an Excuſe. And now, Madam, will you be pleaſed to let my Nephew pro⯑ceed in his Story without Interruption. He would not have introduced a Matter of ſlight Conſe⯑quence with ſuch a Preface. Perhaps even this Sto⯑ry will cure you of your Miſtake.'’

Mrs. Miller gave Tokens of Submiſſion, and then Mr. Blifil began thus. ‘'I am ſure, Sir, if you don't think proper to reſent the ill Uſage of Mrs. Miller, I ſhall eaſily forgive what affects me only. I think your Goodneſs hath not deſerved this In⯑dignity at her Hands.'’ ‘'Well, Child, ſaid All⯑worthy, but what is this new Inſtance? What hath he done of late?'’ ‘'What? cries Blifil, notwith⯑ſtanding all Mrs. Miller hath ſaid, I am very ſorry to relate, and what you ſhould never have heard from me, had it not been a Matter impoſſible to conceal from the whole World. In ſhort he hath killed a Man; I will not ſay murdered,—for per⯑haps it may not be ſo conſtrued in Law, and I hope the beſt for his Sake.'’

‘'Allworthy looked ſhocked, and bleſſed himſelf; and then turning to Mrs. Miller, he cried, 'Well, Ma⯑dam, what ſay you now?'’

[238] ‘'Why, I ſay, Sir, anſwered ſhe, that I neve [...] was more concerned at any Thing in my Life; but if the Fact be true, I am convinced the Man, wh [...] ever he is, was in Fault. Heaven knows there ar [...] many Villains in this Town, who make it thei [...] Buſineſs to provoke young Gentlemen. Nothing but the greateſt Provocation could have tempte [...] him; for of all the Geetlemen I ever had in my Houſe, I never ſaw one ſo gentle, or ſo ſweet-tem⯑pered. He was beloved by every one in the Houſe and every one who came near it.'’

While ſhe was thus running on, a violent Knock⯑ing at the Door interrupted the Converſation, and pre⯑vented her from proceeding any further, or from re⯑ceiving any Anſwer; for as ſhe concluded this wa [...] a Viſiter to Mr. Allworthy, ſhe haſtily retired, taking with her her little Girl, whoſe Eyes were all ove [...] blubbered at the melancholy News ſhe heard of Jones who uſed to call her his little Wife, and not only gave her many Playthings, but ſpent whole Hours in playing with her himſelf.

Some Readers may perhaps be pleaſed with theſe minute Circumſtances, in relating of which we fol⯑low the Example of Plutarch, one of the beſt of ou [...] Brother Hiſtorians; and others to whom they may appear trivial, will, we hope, at leaſt pardon them as we are never prolix on ſuch Occaſions.

CHAP. III. The Arrival of Mr. Weſtern, with ſome Matters concerning the Paternal Authority.

MRS. Miller had not long left the Room, when Mr. Weſtern entered; but not before a ſmall wrangling Bout had paſs'd between him and his Chair⯑men; for the Fellows who had taken up their Burden at the Hercules Pillars, had conceived no Hopes of having any future good Cuſtomer in the Squire; and [239] they were moreover farther encouraged by his Gene⯑roſity, (for he had given them of his own Accord Sixpence more than their Fare) they therefore very boldly demanded another Shilling, which ſo provok⯑ed the Squire, that he not only beſtowed many hear⯑ [...]y Curſes on them at the Door, but retained his Anger after he came into the Room; ſwearing, that all the Londoners were like the Court, and thought of no⯑thing but plundering Country Gentlemen. ‘'D—n me, ſays he, if I won't walk in the Rain rather than get into one of their Handbarrows again. They have jolted me more in a Mile than Brown Beſs would in a long Fox Chaſe.'’

When his Wrath on this Occaſion was a little ap⯑peaſed, he reſumed the ſame paſſionate Tone on ano⯑ther. ‘'There, ſays he, there is fine Buſineſs for⯑wards now. The Hounds have changed at laſt, and when we imagined we had a Fox to deal with, Od-rat-it, it turns out to be a Badger at laſt.'’

‘'Pray, my good Neighbour, ſaid Allworthy, drop your Metaphors, and ſpeak a little plainer.' 'Why then, ſays the Squire, to tell you plainly, we have been all this Time afraid of a Son of a Whore of a Baſtard of SomeBody's, I don't know who's not I—And now here is a confounded Son of a Whore of a Lord, who may be a Baſtard too for ought I know or care, for he ſhall never have a Daughter of mine by my Conſent. They have beggared the Nation, but they ſhall never beggar me. My Land ſhall never be ſent over to Hanno⯑ver.'’

‘'You ſurprize me much, my good Friend, ſaid Allworthy.' 'Why, zounds! I am ſurprized my⯑ſelf, anſwered the Squire, I went to zee Siſter Weſ⯑tern laſt Night, according to her own Appointment, and there I was a had into a whole Room-full of Women.—There was my Lady Couſin Bellaſton, and my Lady Betty, and my Lady Catharine, and [240] my Lady I don't know who; d—n me if ever yo [...] catch me among ſuch a Kennel of Hoop-pettico [...] B—s. D—n me, I'd rather be run by m [...] own Dogs, as one Acton was, that the Story Book ſays was turned into a Hare; and his own Dogs kill'd un, and eat un. Od-rabbet-it, no Morta [...] was ever run in ſuch a Manner; if I dodged on Way, one had me, if I offered to clap back, ano⯑ther ſnap'd me. O! certainly one of the greate Matches in England, ſays one Couſin (here he at⯑tempted to mimic them) A very advantagious Of⯑fer indeed, cries another Couſin. (for you mu [...] know they be all my Couſins, thof I never zee [...] half oum before.)'’ ‘'Surely, ſays that fat a—▪ B—, my Lady Bellaſton, Couſin, you muſt be ou [...] of your Wits to think of refuſing ſuch an Offer.'’

‘'Now I begin to underſtand, ſays Allworthy, ſom [...] Perſon hath made Propoſals to Miſs Weſtern, which the Ladies of the Family approve, but is not t [...] your Liking.'’

‘'My Liking! ſaid Weſtern, how the Devil ſhould it? I tell you it is a Lord, and thoſe are alway [...] Volks whom you know I always reſolved to have nothing to do with. Did unt I refuſe a matter [...] ⯑vorty Years Purchaſe now for a Bit of Land, which one oum had a Mind to put into a Park, only be⯑cauſe I would have no Dealing with Lords, and do think I would marry my Daughter zu? Beſides ben't I engaged to you, and did I ever go off an Bargain when I had promiſed?'’

‘'As to that Point, Neighbour, ſaid Allworthy, entirely releaſe you from any Engagement. N [...] Contract can be binding between Parties who have not a full Power to make it at that Time, nor eve [...] afterwards acquire the Power of fulfilling it.'’

‘'Slud! then, anſwered Weſtern, I tell you I have Power, and I will fulfil it. Come along with m [...] directly to Doctors Commons, I will get a Licence [241] and I will go to Siſter and take away the Wench by Force, and ſhe ſhall ha un, or I will lock her up and keep her upon Bread and Water as long as ſhe lives.'’

‘'Mr. Weſtern, ſaid Allworthy, ſhall I beg you will hear my full Sentiments on this Matter?'’ ‘'Hear thee! ay to be ſure, I will, anſwered he.'’ ‘'Why then, Sir, cries Allworthy, I can truly ſay, with⯑out a Compliment either to you or to the young Lady, that when this Match was propoſed, I em⯑braced it very readily and heartily, from my Re⯑gard to you both. An Alliance between two Fa⯑milies ſo nearly Neighbours, and between whom there had always exiſted ſo mutual an Intercourſe and good Harmony, I thought a moſt deſireable Event; and with Regard to the young Lady, not only the concurrent Opinion of all who knew her, but my own Obſervation aſſured me that ſhe would be an ineſtimable Treaſure to a good Huſband. I ſhall ſay nothing of her perſonal Qualifications, which certainly are admirable; her Good-nature, her cha⯑ritable Diſpoſition, her Modeſty are too well known to need any Panegyric: but ſhe hath one Quality which exiſted in a high Degree in that beſt of Wo⯑men, who is now one of the firſt Angels, which as it is not of a glaring Kind, more commonly eſ⯑capes Obſervation; ſo little indeed is it remarked, that I want a Word to expreſs it. I muſt uſe Ne⯑gatives on this Occaſion. I never heard any thing of Pertneſs, or what is called a Repartee out of her Mouth; no Pretence to Wit, much leſs to that Kind of Wiſdom, which is the Reſult only of great Learning and Experience; the Affectation of which, in a Woman, is as abſurd as any of the Affectations of an Ape. No dictatorial Sentiments, no judicial Opinions, no profound Criticiſms. Whenever I have ſeen her in the Company of Men, ſhe hath been all Attention, with the Modeſty of a Learn⯑er, [242] not the Forwardneſs of a Teacher. You' [...] pardon me for it, but I once, to try her only, de⯑ſired her Opinion on a Point which was controvert⯑ed between Mr. Thwackum and Square,'’ To which ſhe anſwered with much Sweetneſs, ‘'You will pardon me, good Mr. Allworthy, I am ſure yo [...] cannot in Earneſt think me capable of deciding any Point in which two ſuch Gentlemen diſagree.'’ Thwackum and Square, who both alike though themſelves ſure of a favourable Deciſion, ſeconded my Requeſt. She anſwered with the ſame good Humour, ‘'I muſt abſolutely be excuſed; for I will affront neither ſo much, as to give my Judgment on his Side.'’ ‘'Indeed, ſhe always ſhewed the high⯑eſt Deference to the Underſtanding of Men; a Quality, abſolutely eſſential to the making a good Wife, I ſhall only add, that as ſhe is moſt apparent⯑ly void of all Affectation, this Deference muſt be certainly real.'’

Here Blifil ſighed bitterly; upon which Weſtern whoſe Eyes were full of Tears at the Praiſe of So⯑phia, blubbered out, ‘'Don't be Chicken-hearted for ſhat ha her, d—n me, ſhat ha her, if ſhe was twenty Times as good.'’

‘'Remember your Promiſe, Sir, cried Allworthy, I was not to be interrupted.'’ ‘'Well, ſhat unt, anſwered the Squire, I won't ſpeak another Word.'’

‘'Now, my good Friend,' continued Allworthy I have dwelt ſo long on the Merit of this young Lady, partly as I really am in Love with her Cha⯑racter, and partly that Fortune (for the Match in that Light is really advantageous on my Nephew's Side) might not be imagined to be my principal View in having ſo eagerly embraced the Propoſal. In⯑deed I heartily wiſhed to receive ſo great a Jewel into my Family; but tho' I may wiſh for many good Things, I would not therefore ſteal them, o [...] be guilty of any Violence or Injuſtice to poſſeſs [243] myſelf of them. Now to force a Woman into a Marriage contrary to her conſent or Approbation, is an Act of ſuch Injuſtice and Oppreſſion, that I wiſh the Laws of our Country could reſtrain it; but a good Conſcience is never lawleſs in the worſt regu⯑lated State, and will provide thoſe Laws for itſelf, which the Neglect of Legiſlators hath forgotten to ſupply. This is ſurely a Caſe of that Kind; for is it not cruel, nay impious, to force a Woman into that State againſt her Will; for her Behaviour in which ſhe is to be accountable to the higheſt and moſt dreadful Court of Judicature, and to anſwer at the Peril of her Soul. To diſcharge the Matrimo⯑nial Duties in an adequate Manner is no eaſy Taſk, and ſhall we lay this Burthen upon a Woman while we at the ſame Time deprive her of all that Aſſiſt⯑ance which may enable her to undergo it? Shall we tear her very Heart from her, while we enjoin her Duties to which a whole Heart is ſcarce equal. I muſt ſpeak very plainly here, I think Parents who act in this Manner are Acceſſaries to all the Guilt which their Children afterwards incur, and of Courſe muſt, before a juſt Judge, expect to partake of their Puniſhment; but if they could avoid this, good Heaven! is there a Soul who can bear the Thought of having contributed to the Damnation of his Child?'’

‘'For theſe Reaſons, my beſt Neighbour, as I ſee the Inclinations of this young Lady are moſt unhap⯑pily averſe to my Nephew, I muſt decline any fur⯑ther Thoughts of the Honour you intended him, tho' I aſſure you I ſhall always retain the moſt grateful Senſe of it.'’

‘'Well, Sir, ſaid Weſtern, (the Froth burſting forth from his Lips the Moment they were uncorked) you cannot ſay but I have heard you out, and now I expect you'll hear me; and if I don't anſwer eve⯑ry Word o't, why then I'll conſent to gee the Mat⯑ter [244] up. Firſt then I deſire you to anſwer me one Queſtion, Did not I beget her? Did not I beget her? anſwer me that. They ſay indeed it is a wiſe Father that knows his own Child; but I am ſure I have the beſt Title to her, for I bred her up. But I believe you will allow me to be her Father, and if I be, am not I to govern my own Child? I aſk you that, am I not to govern my own Child? And if I am to govern her in other Matters, ſurely I am to govern her in this which concerns her moſt. And what am I deſiring all this while? Am I de⯑ſiring her to do any Thing for me? To give me any⯑thing?'’—‘'Zu much on t'other Side, that I am only deſiring her to take half my Eſtate now, and t'other half when I die. Well, and what is it all vor? Why is unt it to make her happy? It's enough to make one mad to hear Volks talk; if I was going to marry myſelf, then ſhe would ha Reaſon to cry and to blubber; but on the contrary, han't I offer⯑ed to bind down my Land in zuch a Manner, that I could not marry if I would, ſeeing as narro' Wo⯑man upon Earth would ha me. What the Devil in Hell can I do more? I contribute to her Dam⯑nation!—Zounds! I'd zee all the World d—d bevore her little Vinger ſhould be hurt. Indeed, Mr. Allworthy, you muſt excuſe me, but I am ſur⯑prized to hear you talk in zuch a Manner, and I muſt ſay, take it how you will, that I thought you had more Senſe.'’

Allworthy reſented this Reflection only with a Smile; nor could he, if he would have endeavoured it, have conveyed into that Smile any Mixture of Malice or Contempt. His Smiles at Folly were indeed ſuch as we may ſuppoſe the Angels beſtow on the Abſurdities of Mankind.

Blifil now deſired to be permitted to ſpeak a few Words. ‘'As to uſing any Violence on the young [245] Lady, I am ſure I ſhall never conſent to it. My Conſcience will not permit me to uſe Violence on any one, much leſs on a Lady for whom, however cruel ſhe is to me, I ſhall always preſerve the pureſt and ſincereſt Affection; but yet I have read, that Women are ſeldom Proof againſt Perſeverance. Why may I not hope then by ſuch Perſeverance at laſt to gain thoſe Inclinations, in which for the fu⯑ture I ſhall, perhaps, have no Rival; for as for this Lord, Mr. Weſtern is ſo kind to prefer me to him; and ſure, Sir, you will not deny but that a Parent hath at leaſt a negative Voice in theſe Matters; nay I have heard this very young Lady herſelf ſay ſo more than once, and declare, that ſhe thought Children inexcuſable who married in direct Oppoſi⯑tion to the Will of their Parents. Beſides, though the other Ladies of the Family ſeem to favour the Pretenſions of my Lord, I do not find the Lady herſelf is inclined to give him any Countenance; alas, I am too ſenſible that wickedeſt of Men re⯑mains uppermoſt in her Heart.'’

‘'Ay, ay, ſo he does, cries Weſtern.'’

‘'But ſurely, ſays Blifil, when ſhe hears of this Murder which he hath committed, if the Law ſhould ſpare his Life.—'’

‘'What's that, cries Weſtern, Murder, hath he committed a Murder, and is there any Hopes of ſeeing him hanged?—Tol de rol, tol lol de rol.’ Here he fell a ſinging and capering about the Room.

‘'Child, ſays Allworthy, this unhappy Paſſion of yours diſtreſſes me beyond Meaſure. I heartily pity you, and would do every fair Thing to pro⯑mote your Succeſs.'’

‘'I deſire no more,' cries Blifil. 'I am convinced my dear Uncle hath a better Opinion of me than to think that I myſelf wou'd accept of more.'’

‘'Lookee,' ſays Allworthy, 'you have my Leave [246] to write, to viſit, if ſhe will permit it,—but I inſiſt on no Thoughts of Violence. I will have no Con⯑finement, nothing of that Kind attempted.'’

‘'Well, well, cries the Squire, 'nothing of that ſhall be attempted; we will try a little longer what fair Means will effect; and if this Fellow be but hanged out of the—Tol lol de rol. I never heard better News in my Life; I warrant every Thing goes to my Mind.—Do, prithee, dear Allworthy, come and dine with me at the Hercules Pillars: I have beſpoke a Shoulder of Mutton roaſted, and a Spare-rib of Pork, and a Fowl and Egg-Sauce. There will be Nobody but ourſelves, unleſs we have a Mind to have the Landlord; for I have ſent Parſon Supple down to Baſingſtoke after my Tobacco Box, which I left at an Inn there, and I would not loſe it for the World; for it's an old Acquaintance of above Twenty Years ſtanding. I can tell you Landlord is a vaſt comical Bitch, you will like un hugely.'’

Mr. Allworthy at laſt agreed to this Invitation, and ſoon after the Squire went off, ſinging and capering at the Hopes of ſeeing the ſpeedy tragical End of poor Jones.

When he was gone, Mr. Allworthy reſumed the aforeſaid Subject with much Gravity. He told his Nephew, ‘'he wiſhed with all his Heart he would en⯑deavour to conquer a Paſſion, in which I cannot,;' ſays he, 'flatter you with the Hopes of ſucceeding. It is certainly a vulgar Error, that Averſion in a Woman may be conquered by Perſeverance. In⯑difference may, Perhaps, ſometimes yield to it; but the uſual Triumphs gained by Perſeverance in a Lover, are over Caprice, Prudence, Affectation, and often an exorbitant Degree of Levity, which excites Women not overwarm, in their Conſtitu⯑tions, to indulge their Vanity by prolonging the Time of Courtſhip, even when they are well e⯑nough pleaſed with the Object, and reſolve (if they [247] ever reſolve at all) to make him a very pitiful A⯑mends in the End. But a fixed Diſlike, as I am afraid this is, will rather gather Strength, than be conquered by Time. Beſides, my dear, I have a⯑nother Apprehenſion which you muſt excuſe. I am afraid this Paſſion which you have for this fine young Creature, hath her beautiful Perſon too much for its Object, and is unworthy of the Name of that Love, which is the only Foundation of matrimonial Felicity. To admire, to like, and to long for the Poſſeſſion of a beautiful Woman, without any Re⯑gard to her Sentiments towards us, is, I am afraid, too natural: But Love, I believe, is the Child of Love only; at leaſt, I am pretty confident, that to love the Creature who we are aſſured hates us, is not in Human Nature. Examine your Heart, there⯑fore, thoroughly, my good Boy, and if, upon Examination, you have but the leaſt Suſpicion of this Kind, I am ſure your own Virtue and Religion will impel you to drive ſo vicious a Paſſion from your Heart, and your good Senſe will ſoon enable you to do it without Pain.'’

The Reader may pretty well gueſs Blifil's Anſwer; but if he ſhould be at a Loſs, we are not, at preſent, at Leiſure to ſatisfy him, as our Hiſtory now haſtens on to Matters of higher Importance, and we cannot longer bear to be abſent from Sophia.

CHAP. IV. An extraordinary Scene betwen Sophia and her Aunt.

THE lowing Heifer, and the bleating Ewe in Herds and Flocks, may ramble ſafe and un⯑regarded through the Paſtures. Theſe are, indeed, hereafter doomed to be the Prey of Man; yet many Years are they ſuffered to enjoy their Liberty undiſ⯑turbed. But if a plump Doe be diſcovered to have eſ⯑caped [248] from the Foreſt, and to repoſe herſelf in ſome Field or Grove, the whole Pariſh is preſently alarm⯑ed, every Man is ready to ſet his Dogs after her; and if ſhe is preſerved from the reſt by the good Squire, it is only that he may ſecure her for his own eating.

I have conſidered a very fine young Woman of Fortune and Faſhion, when firſt found ſtrayed from the Pale of her Nurſery, to be in pretty much the ſame Situation with this Doe. The Town is immediately in an Uproar, ſhe is hunted from Park to Play, from Court to Aſſembly, from Aſſembly to her own Chamber, and rarely eſcapes a ſingle Seaſon from the Jaws of ſome Devourer or other: For if her Friends protect her from ſome, it is only to deliver her over to one of their own chuſing, often more diſagreeable to her than any of the reſt: While whole Herds on Flocks of other Women ſecurely, and ſcarce regard⯑ed, traverſe the Park, the Play, the Opera, and the Aſſembly; and though, for the moſt Part at leaſt, they are at laſt devoured, yet for a long Time do they wanton in Liberty, without Diſturbance or Controul.

Of all theſe Paragons, none ever taſted more of this Perſecution than poor Sophia. Her ill Stars were not contented with all that ſhe had ſuffered on Account of Blifil, they now raiſed her another Purſuer, who ſeemed likely to torment her no leſs than the other had done. For though her Aunt was leſs violent, ſhe was no leſs aſſiduous in teazing her, than her Father had been before.

The Servants were no ſooner departed after Dinner than Mrs. Weſtern, who had opened the Matter to Sophia, informed her, ‘'That ſhe expected his Lord⯑ſhip that very afternoon, and intended to take the firſt Opportunity of leaving her alone with him.'’ ‘'If you do, Madam,' anſwered Sophia, with ſome Spirit, 'I ſhall take the firſt Opportunity of leaving him by himſelf.'’ ‘' 'How! Madam!' cries the Aunt; [249] is this the Return you make me for my Kindneſs, in relieving you from your Confinement at your Fa⯑ther's?'’ ‘'You know, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, 'the Cauſe of that Confinement was a Refuſal to com⯑ply with my Father, in accepting a Man I deteſted; and will my dear Aunt who hath relieved me from that Diſtreſs, involve me in another equally bad?'’ ‘'And do you think then, Madam,' anſwered Mrs. Weſtern, 'that there is no Difference between my Lord Fellamar and Mr. Blifil?'’ ‘'Very little, in my Opinion,' cries Sophia; 'and if I muſt be con⯑demned to one, I would certainly have the Merit of ſacrificing myſelf to my Father's Pleaſure.'’ ‘'Then my Pleaſure I find,' ſaid the Aunt, 'hath very little Weight with you; but that conſideration ſhall not move me. I act from nobler Motives. The View of aggrandizing my Family, of ennobling yourſelf is what I proceed upon. Have you no Senſe of Ambition? Are there no Charms in the Thoughts of having a Coronet on your Coach?'’ ‘'None, up⯑on my Honour,' ſaid Sophia. 'A Pincuſhion upon my Coach would pleaſe me juſt as well.'’ ‘'Never mention Honour,' cries the Aunt. 'It becomes not the Mouth of ſuch a Wretch. I am ſorry, Neice, you force me to uſe theſe Words; but I cannot bear your groveling Temper; you have none of the Blood of the Weſterns in you. But however mean and baſe your own Ideas are, you ſhall bring no Imputation on mine. I will never ſuffer the World to ſay of me, that I encouraged you in refuſing one of the beſt Matches in England; a Match which, beſides its Advantage in Fotrune, would do Honour to almoſt any Family, and hath indeed, in Title, the Advan⯑tage of ours.'’ ‘'Surely,' ſays Sophia, 'I am born deficient, and have not the Senſes with which o⯑ther People are bleſſed: There muſt be certainly ſome Senſe which can reliſh the Delights of Sound and Show, which I have not: For ſurely Mankind [250] would not labour ſo much, nor ſacrifice ſo much for obtaining; nor would they be ſo elate and proud with poſſeſſing what appeared to them as it doth to me, the moſt inſignificant of all Trifles.'’

‘'No, no, Miſs;' cries the Aunt; 'you are born with as many Senſes as other People; but I aſſure you, you are not born with a ſufficient Underſtand⯑ing to make a Fool of me, or to expoſe my Con⯑duct to the World. So I declare this to you upon my Word, and you know, I believe, how fixed my Reſolutions are, unleſs you agree to ſee his Lord⯑ſhip this Afternoon, I will, with my own Hands, deliver you To-morrow Morning to my Brother, and will never henceforth interfere with you, no [...] ſee your Face again.'’ Sophia ſtood a few Moments ſilent after this Speech, which was uttered in a moſt angry and Peremptory Tone; and then burſting in⯑to Tears, ſhe cry'd, ‘'Do with me, Madam, what⯑ever you pleaſe; I am the moſt miſerable, undone Wretch upon Earth; and if my dear Aunt forſakes me, where ſhall I look for a Protector?—My dear Neice,' cries ſhe, 'you will have a very good Protector in his Lordſhip; a Protector, whom no⯑thing but a Hankering after that vile Fellow Jones can make you decline.'’ ‘'Indeed, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, 'you wrong me. How can you imagine after what you have ſhewn me, if I had ever any ſuch Thoughts, that I ſhould not baniſh them for⯑ever. If it will ſatisfy you, I will receive the Sa⯑crament upon it, never to ſee his Face again.'’—‘'But Child, dear Child,' ſaid the Aunt, 'be reaſonable [...] Can you invent a ſingle Objection?'’—‘'I have alrea⯑dy, I think, told you a ſufficient Objection, anſwered Sophia.'’—‘'What?' cries the Aunt; 'I remember none.'’ ‘'Sure, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, 'I told you he had uſed me in the rudeſt and vileſt Manner.'’ ‘'In⯑deed Child,' anſwered ſhe, 'I never heard you, or did not underſtand you:—But what do you mean by [251] this rude and vile Manner?'’ ‘'Indeed, Madam,' ſays Sophia, 'I am almoſt aſhamed to tell you. He caught me in his Arms, and pulled me down on the Settee, and thruſt his Hand into my Boſom, and kiſſed it with ſuch Violence, that I have the Mark upon my left Breaſt at this Moment.'’—‘'Indeed!'’ ſaid Mrs. Weſtern. ‘'Yes indeed, Ma⯑dam,' anſwered Sophia; 'my Father luckily came in at that Inſtant, or Heaven knows what Rude⯑neſs he intended to have proceeded to.'’ ‘'I am aſtoniſhed and confounded,' cries the Aunt. 'No Woman of the Name of Weſtern hath been ever treated ſo, ſince we were a Family. I would have torn the Eyes of a Prince out, if he had attempted ſuch Freedoms with me. It is impoſſible: Sure, Sophia, you muſt invent this to raiſe my Indigna⯑tion againſt him.'’ ‘'I hope, Madam,' ſaid So⯑phia, 'you have too good an Opinion of me, to imagine me capable of telling an Untruth. Upon my Soul it is true.'’ ‘'I ſhould have ſtabbed him to the Heart had I been preſent,' returned the Aunt. Yet ſurely he could have no diſhonourable Deſign: It is impoſſible; he durſt not: Beſides his Propo⯑ſals ſhew he had not; for they are not only honour⯑able but generous. I don't know; the Age al⯑lows too great Freedoms. A diſtant Salute is all I would have allowed before the Ceremony. I have had Lovers formerly, not ſo long ago nei⯑ther; ſeveral Lovers, tho' I never would conſent to Marriage, and I never encouraged the leaſt Freedom. It is a fooliſh Cuſtom, and what I never would agree to. No Man kiſſed more of me than my Cheek. It is as much as one can bring one's ſelf to give Lips up to a Huſband; and, indeed, could I ever have been perſuaded to marry, I believe I ſhould not have been brought to endure ſo much.'’ ‘'You will pardon me, dear Madam,' ſaid Sophia, 'if I make one Obſervation: You own you had many Lovers, [252] and the World knows it, even if you ſhould deny i [...] You refuſed them all, and I am convinced one Co⯑ronet at leaſt among them.'’ ‘'You ſay true dea [...] Sophy,' anſwered ſhe; 'I had once the Offer of [...] Title.'’ ‘'Why then,' ſaid Sophia, 'will you no [...] ſuffer me to refuſe this once?'’ ‘'It is true, Child, ſaid ſhe, 'I have refuſed the Offer of a Title; bu [...] it was not ſo good an Offer; that is, not ſo very very good an Offer.'’—‘'Yes, Madam,' ſaid Sophia; 'but you have had very great Propoſal from Men of vaſt Fortunes. It was not the firſt nor the ſecond, nor the third advantageous Match that offered itſelf.'’ ‘'I own it was not,'’ ſaid ſhe ‘'Well, Madam,' continued Sophia, 'and why may not I expect to have a ſecond perhaps better than this? You are now but a young Women, and I am convinced would not promiſe to yield to the firſt Lover of Fortune, nay, or of Title too. I am [...] very young Woman, and ſure I need not deſpair.'’ ‘'Well, my dear Sophy,' cries the Aunr, 'what would you have me ſay?'’ ‘'Why I beg that I may not be left alone this Evening: Grant me that, and I will ſubmit, if you think, after what is paſt, I ought to ſee him in your Company.'’ ‘'Well, I will grant it,' cries the Aunt. 'Sophy, you know I love you, and can deny you nothing. You know the Eaſineſs of my Nature; I have not always been ſo eaſy. I have been formerly thought cruel; by the Men I mean. I was called the cruel Parthe⯑niſſa. I have broke many a Window that has had Verſes to the cruel Partheniſſa in it. Sophy, I was never ſo handſome as you, and yet I had ſomething of you formerly. I am a little altered. King⯑doms and States, as Tully Cicero ſays in his Epiſtles undergo Alterations, and ſo muſt the human Form.'’ Thus run ſhe on for near half an Hour upon herſelf, and her Conqueſts and Cruelty, 'till the [252] Arrival of my Lord, who, after a moſt tedious Viſit, [...]uring which Mrs. Weſtern never once offered to leave [...]he Room, retired, not much more ſatisfied with the Aunt than with the Neice. For Sophia had brought [...]er Aunt into ſo excellent a Temper, that ſhe con⯑ [...]ented to almoſt every Thing the Neice ſaid; and [...]greed, that a little diſtant Behaviour might not be [...]mproper to ſo forward a Lover.

Thus Sophia by a little well directed Flattery, for which ſurely none will blame her, obtained a little Eaſe for herſelf, and, at leaſt, put off the evil Day. And now we have ſeen our Heroine in a better Situa⯑tion than ſhe hath been for a long Time before, we will look a little after Mr. Jones, whom we left in [...]he moſt deplorable Situation that can well be ima⯑gined.

CHAP. V. Mrs. Miller and Mr. Nightingale viſit Jones in the Priſon.

WHEN Mr. Allworthy and his Nephew went to meet Mr. Weſtern, Mrs. Miller ſet fowards [...]o her Son-in-Law's Lodgings, in order to acquaint [...]im with the Accident which had befallen his Friend Jones; but he had known it long before from Par [...] ⯑ridge, (for Jones, when he left Mrs. Miller, had been furniſhed with a Room in the ſame Houſe with Mr. Nightingale.) The good Woman found her Daugh⯑ter under great Affliction on Account of Mr. Jones, whom having comforted as well as ſhe could, ſhe ſet forwards to the Gatehouſe where he was, and where Mr. Nightingale was arrived before her.

The Firmneſs and Conſtancy of a true Friend is Circumſtance ſo extremely delightful to Perſons in [...]ny Kind of Diſtreſs, that the Diſtreſs itſelf, if it be only temporary and admits of Relief, is more than compenſated by bringing this Comfort with it. Nor [254] are Inſtances of this Kind ſo rare, as ſome ſuperficial and inaccurate Obſervers have reported. To ſay the Truth, Want of Compaſſion is not to be numbered among our general Faults. The black Ingredien [...] which fouls our Diſpoſition is Envy. Hence our Eye is ſeldom, I am afraid, turned upward to thoſe who are manifeſtly greater, better, wiſer, or happie [...] than ourſelves, without ſome Degree of Malignity; while we commonly look down on the Mean and Miſerable, with ſufficient Benevolence and Pity. In Fact, I have remarked, that moſt of the Defects which have diſcovered themſelves within my Obſer⯑vation have ariſen from Envy only; a helliſh Vice; and yet one from which I have known very few ab⯑ſolutely exempt. But enough of a Subject which, if purſued, would lead me too far.

Whether it was that Fortune was apprehenſive leſt Jones ſhould ſink under the Weight of his Adverſity, and that ſhe might thus loſe the Opportunity of tor⯑menting him; or whether ſhe really abated ſomewhat of her Severity towards him, ſhe ſeemed a little to relax her Perſecution, by ſending him the Company of two ſuch faithful Friends, and what is perhaps more rare, a faithful Servant. For Partridge, tho' he had many Imperfections, wanted not Fidelity; and tho' Fear would not ſuffer him to be hanged for his Maſter, yet the World, I believe, could not have bribed him to deſert his Cauſe.

While Jones was expreſſing great Satsfaction in the Preſence of his Friends, Partridge brought an [...] Account that Mr. Fitzpatrick was ſtill alive, tho' the Surgeon declared that he had very little Hopes. Upon which Jones fetching a deep Sigh, Nightingale ſaid to him; ‘'My dear Tom, why ſhould you afflict yourſelf ſo upon an Accident, which, whatever be the Con⯑ſequence, can be attended with no Danger to you, and in which your Conſcience cannot accuſe you of [255] having been in the leaſt to blame. If the Fellow ſhould die, what have you done more than taken away the Life of a Ruffian in your own Defence? So will the Coroner's Inqueſt find it; and then you will be eaſily admitted to Bail: And though you muſt undergo the Form of a Trial, yet it is a Trial which many Men would ſtand for you for a Shilling.'’ ‘'Come, come, Mr. Jones,' ſays Mrs. Miller, 'cheer yourſelf up. I knew you could not be the Aggreſ⯑ſor, and ſo I told Mr. Allworthy, and ſo he ſhall acknowledge too before I have done with him.'’

Jones gravely anſwered, ‘'That whatever might be his Fate, he ſhould always lament the having ſhed the Blood of one of his Fellow-Creatures, as one the higheſt Misfortunes which could have befallen him. But I have another Misfortune of the ten⯑dereſt Kind—O! Mrs. Miller, I have loſt what I held moſt dear upon Earth.'’ ‘'That muſt be a Miſtreſs,' ſaid Mrs. Miller. 'But come, come; I know more than you imagine;' (for indeed Par⯑ridge had blabbed all) 'and I have heard more than you know. Matters go better, I promiſe you, than you think; and I would not give Blifil Six⯑pence for all the Chance which he hath of the Lady.'’

‘'Indeed, my dear Friend, indeed,' anſwered Jones, you are an entire Stranger to the Cauſe of my Grief. If you was acquainted with the Story, you wou'd allow my Caſe admitted of no Comfort. I apprehend no Danger from Blifil. I have un⯑done myſelf.'’ ‘'Don't Deſpair,' replied Mrs. Mil⯑r; 'you know what a Woman can do, and if any Thing be in my Power, I promiſe you I will do it to ſerve you. It is my Duty. My Son, my dear Mr. Nightingale, who is ſo kind to tell me he hath Obligations to you on the ſame Account, knows it is my Duty.'’ ‘'Shall I go to the Lady my⯑ſelf? [256] I will ſay any Thing to her you would have me ſay.'’

‘'Thou beſt of Women,' cries Jones, taking her by the Hand; 'talk not of Obligations to me;—but as you have been ſo kind to mention it, there is a Favour which, perhaps, may be in your Pow⯑er. I ſee you are acquainted with the Lady (how you came by your Information I know not) who ſits indeed very near my Heart. If you could contrive to deliver this, (giving her a Paper from his Pocket) I ſhall for ever acknowledge your Goodneſs.'’

‘'Give it me,' ſaid Mrs. Miller. 'If I ſee it not in her own Poſſeſſion before I ſleep may my next Sleep be my laſt. Comfort yourſelf, my good young Man; be wiſe enough to take warning from paſt Follies, and I warrant all ſhall be well, and I ſhall yet ſee you happy with the moſt charming young Lady in the World; for ſo I hear from every one ſhe is.'’

‘'Believe me, Madam,' ſaid he, 'I do not ſpeak the common Cant of one in my unhappy Situati⯑on. Before this dreadful Accident happened, P [...] had reſolved to quit a Life of which I was become ſenſible of the Wickedneſs as well as Folly. I do aſſure you notwithſtanding the Diſturbances I have unfortunately occaſioned in your Houſe, for which I heartily aſk your Pardon, I am not an abandoned Profligate. Though I have been hurried into Vi⯑ces, I do not approve a vicious Character; not will I ever, from this Moment, deſerve it.'’

Mrs. Miller expreſſed great Satisfaction in theſe Declarations, in the Sincerity of which ſhe averred ſhe had an entire Faith; and now, the Remainder of the Converſation paſt in the joint Attempts of that good Woman and Mr. Nightingale, to cheer the dejected Spirits of Mr. Jones, in which they ſo well ſucceed⯑ed, as to leave him much better comforted and ſa⯑tisfied than they found him; to which happy Alte⯑ration [257] nothing ſo much contributed as the kind Un⯑dertaking of Mrs. Miller, to deliver his Letter to So⯑phia, which he deſpaired of finding any Means to ac⯑compliſh: For when Black George produced the laſt from Sophia, he informed Partridge, that ſhe had ſtrictly charged him, on pain of having it communicated to her Father, not to bring her any Anſwer. He was moreover not a little pleaſed, to find he had ſo warm an Advocate to Mr. Allworthy himſelf in this good Woman, who was in Reality one of the wor⯑thieſt Creatures in the World.

After about an Hour's Viſit from the Lady, (for Nightingale had been with him much longer,) they both took their leave, promiſing to return to him ſoon; during which Mrs. Miller ſaid, ſhe hoped to bring him ſome good News from his Miſtreſs, and Mr. Nightingale promiſed to enquire into the State of Mr. Fitzpatrick's Wound, and likewiſe to find out ſome of the Perſons who were preſent at the Rencounter.

The former of theſe went directly in queſt of So⯑phia, whither we likewiſe ſhall now attend her.

CHAP. VI. In which Mrs. Miller pays a Viſit to Sophia.

ACCESS to the young Lady was by no means difficult; for as ſhe lived now on a perfect friendly footing with her Aunt, ſhe was at full Liberty [...]o receive what Viſitants ſhe pleaſed.

Sophia was dreſſing, when ſhe was acquainted that here was a Gentlewoman below to wait on her. As ſhe was neither afraid, nor aſhamed, to ſee any [...]f her own Sex, Mrs. Miller was immediately ad⯑mitted.

Curt'ſies, and the uſual Ceremonials between Wo⯑men who are Strangers to each other being paſt, Sophia [...]d, ‘'I have not the Pleaſure to know you, Madam.'’ ‘'No Madam,' anſwered Mrs. Miller, 'and I muſt [258] beg Pardon for intruding upon you. But when you know what has induced me to give you this Trouble, I hope'’—‘'Pray, what is your Buſi⯑neſs, Madam?' ſaid Sophia, with a little Emotion.’ ‘'Madam, we are not alone,'’ replied Mrs. Miller, in a low Voice. ‘'Go out, Betty,'’ ſaid Sophia.

When Betty was departed, Mrs. Miller ſaid, ‘'I was deſired, Madam, by a very unhappy young Gentleman to deliver you this Letter.'’ Sophia changed Colour when ſhe ſaw the Direction, well knowing the Hand, and after ſome Heſitation, ſaid—‘'I could not conceive, Madam, from your Appearance, that your Buſineſs had been of ſuch a Nature.—Whomever you brought this Letter from I ſhall not open it. I ſhould be ſorry to en⯑tertain an unjuſt Suſpicion of any one; but you are an utter Stranger to me.'’

‘'If you will have Patience, Madam,' anſwered Mrs. Miller, 'I will acquaint you who I am, and how I came by that Letter.'’ ‘'I have no Curio⯑ſity, Madam, to know any thing, cries Sophia, but I muſt inſiſt on your delivering that Letter back to the Perſon who gave it you.'’

Mrs. Miller then fell upon her Knees, and in the moſt paſſionate Terms, implored her Compaſſion [...] to which Sophia, anſwered: ‘'Sure, Madam, it is ſurprizing you ſhould be ſo very ſtrongly intereſted in the Behalf of this Perſon. I would not think Madam'—'No, Madam,' ſays Mrs. Miller you ſhall not think any thing but the Truth. I will tell you all, and you will not wonder that I am intereſted. He is the beſt natured Creature tha [...] ever was born.'’—She then began and related the Story of Mr. Henderſon—After this ſhe cried ‘'This, Madam, this is his Goodneſs; but I have much more tender Obligations to him. He hath pre⯑ſerved my Child.'’—Here after ſhedding ſome Tears, ſhe related every thing concerning that Fact [...] [259] ſuppreſſing only thoſe Circumſtances which would have moſt reflected on her Daughter, and concluded with ſaying, ‘'Now, Madam, you ſhall judge whether I can ever do enough for ſo kind, ſo good, ſo generous a young Man, and ſure he is the beſt and worthieſt of all Human Beings.'’

The Alteration in the Countenance of Sophia had hitherto been chiefly to her Diſadvantage, and had inclined her Complexion to too great Paleneſs; but ſhe now waxed redder if poſſible, than Vermilion, ‘'and cry'd, I know not what to ſay, certainly what ariſes from Gratitude cannot be blamed.—But what Service can my reading his Letter do your Friend, ſince I am reſolved never—'’ Mrs. Miller fell again to her Entreaties, and begged to be forgiven, but ſhe could not, ſhe ſaid, carry it back. ‘'Well, Madam,' ſays Sophia, 'I cannot help it, if you will force it upon me—Certainly you may leave it whether I will or no.'’ What Sophia meant, or whether ſhe meant any thing, I will not preſume to determine; but Mrs. Miller actually underſtood this as a Hint, and preſently laying the Letter down on the Table took her Leave, having firſt begged Per⯑miſſion to wait again on Sophia, which Requeſt had neither Aſſent nor Denial.

The Letter lay upon the Table no longer than till Mrs. Miller was out of Sight; for then Sophia opened and read it.

This Letter did very little Service to his Cauſe; for it conſiſted of little more than Confeſſions of his own Unworthineſs, and bitter Lamentations of Deſpair, together with the moſt ſolemn Proteſtations of his un⯑alterable Fideilty to Sophia, of which he ſaid, he hoped to convince her if he had ever more the Honour of be⯑ing admitted to her Preſence; and that he could ac⯑count for the Letter to Lady Bellaſton, in ſuch a Man⯑ner, that though it would not intitle him to her For⯑giveneſs, he hoped at leaſt to obtain it from her Mercy. [260] And concluded with vowing that nothing was ever leſs in his Thoughts than to marry Lady Bellaſton.

Though Sophia read the Letter twice over with great Attention, his Meaning ſtill remained a Riddle to her, nor could her Invention ſuggeſt to her any Means to Excuſe Jones. She certainly remained very angry with him, though indeed Lady Bellaſton took up ſo much of her Reſentment that her gentle Mind had but little left to beſtow on any other Perſon.

That Lady was moſt unluckily to dine this very Day with her Aunt Weſtern, and in the Afternoon, they were all three by Appointment to go together to the Opera, and thence to Lady Thomas Hatchet's Drum. Sophia would have gladly been excuſed from all, but ſhe would not diſoblige her Aunt; and as to the Arts of counterfeiting Illneſs, ſhe was ſo entirely a Stranger to them, that it never once entered into her Head. When ſhe was dreſt, therefore, down ſhe went, reſolved to encounter all the Horrours of the Day, and a moſt diſagreeable one it proved; for La⯑dy Bellaſton took every Opportunity very civilly and ſlily to inſult her; to all which her Dejection of Spi⯑rits diſabled her from making any Return; and indeed, to confeſs the Truth, ſhe was at the very beſt but an different Miſtreſs of Repartee.

Another Misfortune which befel Sophia, was the Company of Lord Fellamar, whom ſhe met at the Opera, and who attended her to the Drum. And though both Places were too publick to admit of any Particularities, and ſhe was farther relieved by the Mu⯑ſick at the one Place and by the Cards at the other, ſhe could not however enjoy herſelf in his Company: for there is ſomething of Delicacy in Women, which will not ſuffer them to be even eaſy in the Preſence of a Man whom they know to have Pretenſions to them, which they are diſinclined to favour.

Having in this Chapter twice mentioned a Drum, a Word which our Poſterity, it is hoped, will not [261] underſtand in the Senſe it is here applied, we ſhall, notwithſtanding our preſent Haſte, ſtop a Moment to deſcribe the Entertainment here meant, and the rather as we can in a Moment deſcribe it.

A Drum then is an Aſſembly of well dreſſed Per⯑ſons of both Sexes, moſt of whom play at Cards, and the reſt do nothing at all; while the Miſtreſs of the Houſe performs the Part of a Landlady at an Inn, and like the Landlady of an Inn prides herſelf in the Number of her Gueſts, though ſhe doth not always, like her, get any thing by it.

No wonder then as ſo much Spirits muſt be re⯑quired to ſupport any Vivacity in theſe Scenes of Dul⯑neſs, that we hear Perſons of Faſhion eternally com⯑plaining of the Want of them; a Complaint con⯑fined entirely to upper Life. How inſupportable muſt we imagine this Round of Impertinence to have been to Sophia, at this time; how difficult muſt ſhe have found it to force the Appearance of Gaiety in⯑to her Looks, when her Mind dictated nothing but the tendereſt Sorrow, and when every Thought was charged with tormenting Ideas.

Night, however at laſt, reſtored her to her Pillow, where we will leave her to ſoothe her Melancholy at⯑leaſt, though incapable we are afraid of Reſt, and ſhall purſue our Hiſtory, which ſomething whiſpers us is now arrived at the Eve of ſome great Event.

CHAP. VII. A pathetic Scene between Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Miller.

MRS. Miller had a long Diſcourſe with Mr. All⯑worthy at his Return from his Dinner, in which ſhe accquainted him with Jones's having unfortunately loſt all which he was pleaſed to beſtow on him at their Separation; and with the Diſtreſſes to which that Loſs had ſubjected him; of all which ſhe had received [263] a full Account from the faithful Retailer Partridge. She then explained the Obligations ſhe had to Jones; not that ſhe was entirely explicite with regard to her Daughter; for though ſhe had the utmoſt. Confidence in Mr. Allworthy, and though there could be no Hopes of keeping an Affair ſecret, which was un⯑happily known to more than half a Dozen; yet ſhe could not prevail with herſelf to mention thoſe Cir⯑cumſtances which reflected moſt on the Chaſtity of poor Nancy; but ſmothered that Part of her Evidence as cautiouſly as if ſhe had been before a Judge, and the Girl was now on her Trial for the Murder of a Baſtard.

Allworthy ſaid, there were few Characters ſo ab⯑ſolutely vicious as not to have the leaſt Mixture of Good in them. ‘'However,' ſays he, 'I cannot deny but that you had ſome Obligations to the Fel⯑low, bad as he is, and I ſhall therefore Excuſe what has paſt already, but muſt inſiſt you never mention his Name to me more; for I promiſe you it was upon the fulleſt and plaineſt Evidence that I reſolved to take the Meaſures I have taken.'’ ‘'Well, Sir, ſays ſhe, I make not the leaſt doubt, but Time will ſhew all Matters in their true and natural Colours, and that you will be convinced this poor young Man deſerves better of you than ſome other Folks that ſhall be nameleſs.'’

‘'Madam,' cries Allworthy, a little ruffled, 'I will not hear any Reflections on my Nephew, and if you ever ſay a Word more of that Kind, I will de⯑part from your Houſe that Inſtant. He is the wor⯑thieſt and beſt of Men; and I once more repeat it to you, he hath carried his Friendſhip to this Man to a blameable Length, by too long concealing Facts of the blackeſt Die. The Ingratitude of the Wretch to this good young Man is what I moſt re⯑ſent; for, Madam, I have the greateſt Reaſon to [262] imagine he had laid a Plot to ſupplant my Nephew in my Favour, and to have diſinherited him.'’

‘'I am ſure, Sir,' anſwered Mrs. Miller a little frightened (for though Mr. Allworthy had the utmoſt Sweetneſs and Benevolence in his Smiles, he had great Terror in his Frowns) 'I ſhall never ſpeak a⯑gainſt any Gentlemen you are pleaſed to think well of. I am ſure, Sir, ſuch Behaviour would very little become me, eſpecially when the Gentleman is your neareſt Relation; but, Sir, you muſt not be angry with me, you muſt not indeed, for my good Wiſhes to this poor Wretch. Sure, I may call him ſo now, though once you would have been angry with me, if I had ſpoke of him with the leaſt Diſreſpect. How often have I heard you call him your Son? How often have you prattled to me of him with all the Fondneſs of a Parent? Nay, Sir, I cannot forget the many tender Expreſſions, the many good Things you have told me of his Beauty, and his Parts, and his Virtues: of his Good-nature and Ge⯑neroſity.—I am ſure, Sir, I cannot forget them: For I find them all true. I have experienced them in my own Cauſe. They have preſerved my Fa⯑mily. You muſt pardon my Tears, Sir, indeed you muſt, when I conſider the cruel Reverſe of Fortune which this poor Youth, to whom I am ſo much obliged, hath ſuffered; when I conſider the Loſs of your Favour, which I know he valued more than his Life, I muſt, I muſt lament him. If you had a Dagger in your Hand, ready to plunge into my Heart, I muſt lament the Miſery of one whom you have loved, and I ſhall ever love.'’

Allworthy was pretty much moved with this Speech, but it ſeemed not to be with Anger: For after a ſhort Silence, taking Mrs. Miller by the Hand, he ſaid very affectionately to her; ‘'Come, Madam, let us conſider a little about your Daughter. I cannot blame you, for rejoicing in a Match which pro⯑miſes [264] to be advantageous to her; but you know this Advantage, in a great Meaſure, depends on the Father's Reconciliation. I know Mr. Nightingale very well, and have formerly had Concerns with him; I will make him a Viſit, and endeavour to ſerve you in this Matter. I believe he is a worldly Man; but as this is an only Son, and the Thing is now irretrievable, perhaps he may in Time be brought to Reaſon. I promiſe you I will do all I can for you.'’

Many were the Acknowledgments which the poor Woman made to Allworthy, for this Kind and gene⯑rous Offer, nor could ſhe refrain from taking this Occaſion again to expreſs her Gratitude towards Jones, ‘'to whom ſaid ſhe, I owe the Opportunity of giving you, Sir, this preſent Trouble.'’ Allworthy gently ſtop⯑ped her; but he was too good a Man to be really of⯑fended with the Effects of ſo noble a Principle as now actuated Mrs. Miller; and indeed had not this new Affair inflamed his former Anger againſt Jones, it is poſſible he might have been a little ſoftened towards him by the Report of an Action which Malice itſelf could not have derived from an evil Motive.

Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Miller had been above an Hour together, when their Converſation was put an End to by the Arrival of Blifil, and another Perſon, which other Perſon was no leſs than Mr. Dowling, the Attorney, who was now become a great Favourite with Mr. Blifil, and whom Mr. Allworthy, at the Deſire of his Nephew, had made his Steward, and had likewiſe recommended him to Mr. Weſtern, from whom the Attorney received a Promiſe of being pro⯑moted to the ſame Office upon the firſt Vacancy; and in the mean Time was employed in tranſacting ſome Affairs which the Squire then had in London, in Re⯑lation to a Mortgage.

This was the principal Affair which then brought Mr. Dowling to Town, therefore he took the ſame [265] Opportunity to charge himſelf with ſome Money for Mr. Allworthy, and to make a Report to him of ſome other Buſineſs; in all which as it was of much too dull a Nature to find any Place in this Hiſtory, we will leave the Uncle, Nephew, and their Lawyer concerned, and reſort to other Matters.

CHAP. VIII. Containing various Matters.

BEFORE we return to Mr. Jones we will take one more View of Sophia.

Though that young Lady had brought her Aunt in⯑to great good Humour by thoſe ſoothing Methods, which we have before related, ſhe had not brought her in the leaſt to abate of her Zeal for the Match with Lord Fellamar; this Zeal was now inflamed by Lady Bellaſton, who had told her the preceding Evening, that ſhe was well ſatisfied from the Conduct of Sophia, and from her Carriage to his Lordſhip, that all Delays would be dangerous, and that the only Way to ſucceed, was to preſs the Match forward with ſuch Rapidity, that the young Lady ſhould have no Time to reflect, and be obliged to conſent, while ſhe ſearce knew what ſhe did. In which Manner, ſhe ſaid, one half of the Marriages among People of Con⯑dition were brought about. A Fact very probably true, and to which I ſuppoſe is owing the mutual Tenderneſs which afterwards exiſts among ſo many happy Couples.

A Hint of the ſame Kind was given by the ſame Lady to Lord Fellamar; and both theſe ſo readily embraced the Advice, that the very next Day was, at his Lordſhip's Requeſt, appointed by Mrs. Weſtern for a private Interview between the young Parties. This was communicated to Sophia by her Aunt, and aſiſted upon in ſuch high Terms, that, after having ur⯑ged every Thing ſhe poſſibly could invent againſt it, [266] without the leaſt Effect, ſhe at laſt agreed to give the higheſt Inſtance of Complaiſance which any young Lady can give, and conſented to ſee his Lordſhip.

As Converſations of this Kind afford no great En⯑tertainment, we ſhall be excuſed from reeiting the whole that paſt at-this Interview; in which, after, his Lordſhip had made many Declarations of the moſt pure and ardent Paſſions, to the ſilent, bluſhing So⯑phia; ſhe at laſt collected all the Spirits ſhe could raiſe, and with a trembling low Voice, ſaid, ‘'My Lord, you muſt be yourſelf conſcious whether your former Behaviour to me hath been conſiſtent with the Profeſſions you now make.'’ ‘'Is there, an⯑ſwered he, no Way by which I can attone for Madneſs? What I did, I am afraid muſt have too plainly convinced you, that the Violence of Love had deprived me of my Senſes.'’ ‘' 'Indeed my Lord, ſaid ſhe, it is in your Power to give me a Proof of an Affection which I much rather wiſh to encourage, and to which I ſhould think myſelf more beholden.'’ ‘'Name it, Madam, ſaid my Lord, very warmly.'’—‘'My Lord, ſays ſhe, looking down upon her Fan, I know you muſt be ſenſible how uneaſy this pretended Paſſion of yours hath made me.'’—‘'Can you be ſo cruel to call it pretended? ſays he.'’ ‘'Yes, my Lord, anſwer⯑ed Sophia, all Profeſſions of Love to thoſe whom we perſecute, are moſt inſulting Pretences. This Purſuit of yours is to me a moſt cruel Perſe⯑cution; nay, it is taking a moſt ungenerous Ad⯑vantage of my unhappy Situation.'’ ‘'Moſt love⯑ly, moſt adoreable Charmer, do not accuſe me cries he, of taking an ungenerous Advantage, while I have no Thoughts but what are directed to your Honour and Intereſt, and while I have no View, no Hope, no Ambition but to throw myſelf, Ho⯑nour, [267] Fortune, every Thing at your Feet.’ ‘' My Lord, ſays ſhe, it is that Fortune and thoſe Ho⯑nours which give you the Advantage of which I complain. Theſe are the Charms which have ſe⯑duced my Relations, but to me they are things in⯑different. If your Lordſhip will merit my Gra⯑titude, there is but one Way.'’—‘'Pardon me, divine Creature, ſaid he, there can be none. All I can do for you is ſo much your due, and will give me ſo much Pleaſure, that there is no room for your Gratitude.'’—‘'Indeed, my Lord, an⯑ſwered ſhe, you may obtain my Gratitude, my good Opinion, every kind Thought and Wiſh which it is in my Power to beſtow, nay you may obtain them with Eaſe; for ſure to a generous Mind it muſt be eaſy to grant my Requeſt. Let me be⯑ſeech you then to ceaſe a Purſuit, in which you can never have any Succeſs. For your own Sake as well as mine, I entreat this Favour; for ſure you are too noble to have any Pleaſure in torment⯑ing an unhappy Creature. What can your Lord⯑ſhip propoſe but Uneaſineſs to yourſelf, by a Per⯑ſeverance, which, upon my Honour, upon my Soul, cannot, ſhall not prevail with me, whatever Diſ⯑treſſes you may drive me to.'’ Here my Lord fetched a deep Sigh, and then ſaid,—‘'Is it then, Madam, that I am ſo unhappy to be the Object of your Diſlike and Scorn; or will you pardon me if I ſuſpect there is ſome other?'’—Here he heſitated, and Sophia anſwered with ſome Spirit, ‘'My Lord, I ſhall not be accountable to you for the Reaſons of my Conduct. I am obliged to your Lordſhip for the generous Offer you have made; I own it is beyond either my Deſerts or Expectations; yet I hope my Lord, you will not inſiſt on my Reaſons, when I declare I cannot accept it.'’ Lord Fellamar returned much to this, which we do not perfectly un⯑derſtand, [268] and perhaps it could not all be ſtrictly reconcil⯑ed either to Senſe or Grammar; but he concluded his ranting Speech with ſaying, ‘'That if ſhe has pre⯑engaged herſelf to any Gentleman, however unhap⯑py it would make him, he ſhould think himſelf bound in Honour to deſiſt.'’ Perhaps my Lord laid too much Emphaſis on the Word Gentleman; for we cannot elſe well account for the Indignation with which he inſpired Sophia, who, in her Anſwer, ſeemed greatly to reſent ſome Affront he had given her.

While ſhe was ſpeaking, with her Voice more raiſed than uſual, Mrs. Weſtern came into the Room, the Fire glaring in her Cheeks, and the Flames burſt⯑ing from her Eyes. ‘'I am aſhamed, ſays ſhe, my Lord, of the Reception which you have met with. I aſſure your Lordſhip we are all ſenſible of the Honour done us; and I muſt tell you, Miſs Weſtern, the Family expect a different Behaviour from you.'’ Here my Lord interfered on Behalf of the young Lady, but to no Purpoſe; the Aunt proceeded till Sophia pulled out her Handkerchief, threw herſelf into a Chair, and burſt into a violent Fit of Tears.

The Remainder of the Converſation between Mrs. Weſtern and his Lordſhip, till the latter withdrew, conſiſted of bitter Lamentations on his Side, and on hers of the ſtrongeſt Aſſurances that her Neice ſhould and would conſent to all he wiſhed. ‘'Indeed, my Lord, ſays ſhe, the Girl hath had a fooliſh Educa⯑tion, neither adapted to her Fortune nor her Fami⯑ly. Her Father, I am ſorry to ſay it, is to blame for every Thing. The Girl hath ſilly Country Notions of Baſhfulneſs. Nothing elſe, my Lord, upon my Honour; I am convinced ſhe hath a good Underſtanding at the Bottom, and will be brought to Reaſon.'’

This laſt Speech was made in the Abſence of Sophia, for ſhe had ſometime before left the Room with more [269] Appearance of Paſſion than ſhe had ever ſhewn on any Occaſion; and now his Lordſhip, after many Expreſſions of Thanks to Mrs. Weſtern, many ardent Profeſſions of Paſſion which nothing could conquer, and many Aſſurances of Perſeverance which Mrs. Weſtern highly encouraged, took his Leave for this Time.

Before we relate what now paſſed between Mrs. Weſtern and Sophia, it may be proper to mention an unfortunate Accident which had happened, and which had occaſioned the Return of Mrs. Weſtern with ſo much Fury as we have ſeen.

The Reader then muſt know, that the Maid who at preſent attended on Sophia, was recommended by Lady Bellaſton, with whom ſhe had lived for ſome Time in the Capacity of a Comb-bruſh; ſhe was a very ſenſible Girl, and had received the ſtricteſt In⯑ſtructions to watch her young Lady very carefully. Theſe Inſtructions, we are ſorry to ſay, were com⯑municated to her by Mrs. Honour, into whoſe Fa⯑vour Lady Bellaſton had now ſo ingratiated herſelf, that the violent Affection which the good Waiting-Woman had formerly borne to Sophia, was entirely obliterated by that great Attachment which ſhe had to her new Miſtreſs.

Now when Mrs. Miller was departed, Betty (for that was the Name of the Girl) returning to her young Lady, found her very attentively engaged in reading a long Letter, and the viſible Emotions which ſhe betrayed on that Occaſion, might have well account⯑ed for ſome Suſpicions which the Girl entertained; but indeed they had yet a ſtronger Foundation, for ſhe had overheard the whole Scene which paſſed between Sophia and Mrs. Miller.

Mrs. Weſtern was acquainted with all this Matter by Betty, who, after receiving many Commendati⯑ons, and ſome Rewards for her Fidelity, was order⯑ed, that if the Woman who brought the Letter, came [270] again, ſhe ſhould introduce her to Mrs. Weſtern her⯑ſelf.

Unluckily Mrs. Miller returned at the very time when Sophia was engaged with his Lordſhip. Betty, according to Order, ſent her directly to the Aunt; who being Miſtreſs of ſo many Circumſtances relating to what had paſt the Day before, eaſily impoſed up⯑on the poor Woman to believe that Sophia had com⯑municated the whole Affair; and ſo pumped every⯑thing out of her which ſhe knew, relating to the Let⯑ter, and relating to Jones.

This poor Creature might indeed be called Sim⯑plicity itſelf. She was one of that Order of Mor⯑tals, who are apt to believe every thing which is ſaid to them; to whom Nature hath neither indulged the offenſive nor defenſive Weapons of Deceit, and who are conſequently liable to be impoſed upon by any one, who will only be at the Expence of a little Fal⯑ſhood for that Purpoſe. Mrs. Weſtern having drain⯑ed Mrs. Miller of all ſhe knew, which indeed was but little, but which was ſufficient to make the Aunt ſuſpect a great deal, diſmiſſed her, with Aſſurances that Sophia would not ſee her, that ſhe would ſend no Anſwer to the Letter, nor ever receive another [...] nor did ſhe ſuffer her to depart, without a handſome Lecture on the Merits of an Office, to which ſhe could afford no better Name than that of Procu⯑reſs.—

This diſcovery had greatly diſcompoſed her Tem⯑per, when coming into the Apartment, next to tha [...] in which the Lovers were, ſhe overheard Sophia very warmly proteſting againſt his Lordſhip's Addreſſes. At which the Rage already kindled, burſt forth, and ſhe ruſhed in upon her Niece in a furious Manner, as we have already deſcribed, together with what paſt a [...] that time till his Lordſhip's Departure.

No ſooner was Lord Fellamar gone, than Mrs. Weſtern returned to Sophia, whom ſhe upbraided i [...] [271] the moſt bitter Terms, for the ill Uſe ſhe had made of the Confidence repoſed in her; and for her Trea⯑chery in Converſing with a Man, with whom ſhe had offered but the Day before to bind herſelf in the moſt ſolemn Oath, never more to have any Converſation. Sophia proteſted ſhe had maintained no ſuch Conver⯑ſation. ‘'How! Miſs Weſtern,' ſaid the Aunt, 'will you deny your receiving a Letter from him yeſter⯑day?'’ ‘'A Letter, Madam,'’ anſwered Sophia, ſome⯑what ſurprized. ‘'It is not very well bred, Miſs, replies the Aunt, to repeat my Words. I ſay a Letter, and I inſiſt upon your ſhewing it me im⯑mediately.'’ ‘'I ſcorn a Lie, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, I did receive a Letter, but it was without my De⯑ſire, and indeed I may ſay againſt my Conſent.'’ ‘'Indeed, indeed, Miſs,' cries the Aunt, 'you ought to be aſhamed of owning you had received it at all; but where is the Letter? for I will ſee it.'’

To this peremptory Demand Sophia pauſed ſome Time before ſhe returned an Anſwer; and at laſt on⯑ly excuſed herſelf by declaring ſhe had not the Letter in her Pocket, which was indeed true; upon which her Aunt loſing all manner of Patience, aſked her Neice this ſhort Queſtion, whether ſhe would reſolve to marry Lord Fellamar or no? to which ſhe receiv⯑ed the ſtrongeſt Negative. Mrs. Weſtern then replied with an Oath, or ſomething very like one, that ſhe would early the next Morning deliver her back into her Father's Hands.

Sophia then began to reaſon with her Aunt in the following manner; ‘'Why, Madam, muſt I of Ne⯑ceſſity be forced to marry at all? conſider how cruel you would have thought it in your own Caſe, and how much kinder your Parents were in leaving you to your Liberty. What have I done to forfeit this Liberty? I will never marry contrary to my Father's Conſent, nor without aſking yours,—And when I aſk the Conſent of either improperly [272] it will be then time enough to force ſome other marriage upon me.'’ ‘'Can I bear to hear this,' cries Mrs. Weſtern, 'from a Girl, who hath now a Letter from a Murderer in her Pocket?'’ ‘'I have no ſuch Letter, I promiſe you,' anſwered Sophia; 'and if he be a Murderer, he will ſoon be in no Con⯑dition to give you any further Diſturbance.'’ ‘' 'How Miſs Weſtern,' ſaid the Aunt, 'have you the Aſ⯑ſurance to ſpeak of him in this Manner, to own your Affection for ſuch a Villain to my Face!'’ ‘'Sure, Madam,' ſaid Sophia, 'you put a very ſtrange Conſtruction on my Words.'’ ‘'Indeed, Miſs Weſtern,' cries the Lady, 'I ſhall not bear this Uſage; you have learnt of your Father this Manner of treating me; he hath taught you to give me the Lie. He hath totally ruined you by his falſe Sy⯑ſtem of Education; and pleaſe Heaven he ſhall have the Comfort of its Fruits: For once more I declare to you, that to-morrow Morning I will car⯑ry you back. I will withdraw all my Forces from the Field, and remain henceforth, like the wiſe King of Pruſſia, in a State of perfect Neutrality. You are both too wiſe to be regulated by my Meaſures; ſo prepare yourſelf, for to-morrow Morning you ſhall evacuate this Houſe.'’

Sophia remonſtrated all ſhe could; but her Aunt was deaf to all ſhe ſaid. In this Reſolution there⯑fore we muſt at preſent leave her, as there ſeems to be no Hopes of bringing her to change it.

CHAP. IX. What happened to Mr. Jones in the Priſon.

MR. Jones paſt above twenty-four melancholy Hours by himſelf, unleſs when relieved by the Company of Partridge, before Mr. Nightingale re⯑turned; not that this worthy young Man had deſerted [273] or forgot his Friend; for indeed, he had been much the greateſt part of the time employed in his Service.

He had heard upon Enquiry that the only Perſons who had ſeen the Beginning of the unfortunate Ren⯑counter, were a Crew belonging to a Man of War, which then lay at Deptford. To Deptford therefore he went, in ſearch of this Crew, where he was inform⯑ed that the Men he ſought after were all gone aſhore. He then traced them from Place to Place, till at laſt he found two of them drinking together, with a third Perſon, at a Hedge-Tavern, near Alderſgate.

Nightingale deſired to ſpeak with Jones by himſelf (for Partridge was in the Room when he came in.) As ſoon as they were alone, Nightingale taking Jones by the Hand, cried, ‘'Come, my brave Friend, be not too much dejected at what I am going to tell you, I am ſorry I am the Meſſenger of bad News.'’ ‘'I gueſs already what that News is,' cries Jones. 'The poor Gentleman then is dead.'’—‘'I hope not,' anſwered Nightingale. 'He was alive this Morning; though I will not flatter you; I fear from the Accounts I could get, that his Wound is mortal. But if the Affair be exactly as you told it, your own Remorſe would be all you would have reaſon to apprehend, let what would hap⯑pen; but forgive me, my dear Tom, if I entreat you to make the worſt of your Story to your Friends. If you diſguiſe any thing to us, you will only be an an Enemy to yourſelf.'’

‘'What Reaſon, my dear Jack, have I ever given you,' ſaid Jones, 'to ſtab me with ſo cruel a Su⯑ſpicion?'’ ‘'Have Patience,' cries Nightingale, and I will tell you all. After the moſt diligent En⯑quiry, I could make, I at laſt met with two of the Fellows who were preſent at this unhappy Accident, and I am ſorry to ſay, they do not relate the Story ſo much in your Favour, as you yourſelf have told it.'’ ‘'Why, what do they ſay?' cries Jones. 'In⯑deed, [274] what I am ſorry to repeat, as I am afraid o [...] the Conſequence of it to you. They ſay that they were at too great a Diſtance to overhear any Word [...] that paſſed between you; but they both agree tha [...] the firſt Blow was given by you.'’ ‘'Then upon my Soul,' anſwered Jones, 'they injure me. He no [...] only ſtruck me firſt, but ſtruck me without the leaſ [...] Provocation. What ſhould induce thoſe Villains to accuſe me falſely?'’ ‘'Nay, that I cannot gueſs,' ſaid Nightingale, 'and if you yourſelf, and I who am ſo heartily your Friend, cannot conceive a Reaſon why they ſhould beli [...] you, what Reaſon will an in different Court of Juſtice be able to aſſign why they ſhould not believe them? I repeated the Queſtion to them ſeveral times, and ſo did another Gentleman who was preſent, who, I believe, is a ſea-farin [...] Man, and who really acted a very friendly part b [...] you; for he begged them often to conſider, tha [...] there was the Life of a Man in the Caſe; and aſke [...] them over and over if they were certain; to which they both anſwered, that they were, and would abid [...] by their Evidence upon Oath. For Heaven's Sake my dear Friend, recollect yourſelf; for if this ſhould appear to be the Fact, it will be your Buſineſs to think in time of making the beſt of your Intereſt. [...] would not ſhock you; but you know, I believe the Severity of the Law, whatever verbal Provocati⯑ons may have been given you.'’ ‘'Alas! my Friend, cries Jones, 'what Intereſt hath ſuch a Wretch as I Beſides, do you think I would even wiſh to liv [...] with the Reputation of a Murderer? If I had an [...] Friends, (as alas! I have none) could I have the Confidence to ſolicit them to ſpeak in the Behalf o [...] a Man condemned for the blackeſt Crime in Human Nature? Believe me I have no ſuch Hope; but have ſome Reliance on a Throne ſtill greatly ſuperi⯑or; which will, I am certain, afford me all the Pro+ [275] tection I merit.'’ He then concluded with many [...]lemn and vehement Proteſtations of the Truth of what he had at firſt aſſerted.

The Faith of Nightingale was now again ſtaggered, [...]nd began to incline to credit his Friend, when Mrs. Miller appeared, and made a ſorrowful Report of the [...]ucceſs of her Embaſſy; which when Jones had heard, [...]e cried out moſt heroically, 'Well, my Friend, I am now indifferent as to what ſhall happen, at leaſt with Regard to my Life; and if it be the Will of Heaven that I ſhall make an Atonement with that for the Blood I have ſpilt, I hope the Divine Good⯑neſs will one Day ſuffer my Honour to be cleared, and that the Words of a dying Man, at leaſt, will be believed, ſo far as to juſtify his Character.'

A very mournful Scene now paſt between the Pri⯑ [...]ner and his Friends, at which, as few Readers would [...]ave been pleaſed to be preſent, ſo few, I believe, will [...]eſire to hear it particularly related. We will, there⯑ [...]re, paſs on to the Entrance of the Turnkey, who ac⯑ [...]uainted Jones, that there was a Lady without who [...]eſired to ſpeak with him, when he was at Leiſure.

Jones declared his Surprize at this Meſſage. He ſaid, he knew no Lady in the World whom he could poſſibly expect to ſee there. However, as he ſaw [...]o Reaſon to decline ſeeing any Perſon, Mrs. Mil⯑ler and Mr. Nightingale preſently took their Leave, [...]nd he gave Orders to have the Lady admitted.

If Jones was ſurprized at the News of a Viſit from Lady, how greatly was he aſtoniſhed when he diſ⯑covered this Lady to be no other than Mrs. Waters. [...] this Aſtoniſhment then we ſhall leave him awhile, [...] order to cure the Surprize of the Reader, who will [...]kewiſe, probably, not a little wonder at the Arrival [...]f this Lady.

Who this Mr. Waters was, the Reader pretty well [...]ows; what ſhe was he muſt be perfectly ſatisfied. [276] He will therefore be pleaſed to remember, that thi [...] Lady departed from Upton in the ſame Coach with Mr. Fitzpatrick and the other Iriſh Gentleman, an [...] in their Company travelled to the Bath.

Now there was a certain Office in the Gift of M [...] Fitzpatrick at that Time vacant, namely, that of Wife; for the Lady who had lately filled that Offic [...] had reſigned, or at leaſt deſerted her Duty. Mr. Fitz⯑patrick therefore having thoroughly examined Mrs. Waters on the Road, found her extremely fit for thi [...] Place, which, on their Arrival at Bath, he preſentl [...] conferred upon her, and ſhe, without any Scruple accepted. As Huſband and Wife this Gentleman and Lady continued together all the Time they ſtayed a Bath, and as Huſband and Wife they arrived together in Town.

Whether Mr. Fitzpatrick was ſo wiſe a Man a not to part with one good Thing till he had ſecure another, which he had at preſent only a Proſpect of re⯑gaining; or whether Mrs. Waters had ſo well diſ⯑charged her Office, that he intended ſtill to retain he as Principal, and to make his Wife (as is often the Caſe) only her Deputy, I will not ſay; but certain is he never mentioned his Wife to her, never commu⯑nicated to her the Letter given him by Mrs. Weſtern nor ever once hinted his Purpoſe of re-poſſeſſing h [...] Wife; much leſs did he ever mention the Name o [...] Jones. For though he intended to fight with him wherever he met him, he did not imitate thoſe pru⯑dent Perſons who think a Wife, a Mother, a Siſte [...] or ſometimes a whole Family, the ſafeſt Seconds o [...] theſe Occaſions. The firſt Account therefore which ſhe had of all this, was delivered to her from his Lip [...] after he was brought hime from the Tavern where h [...] Wound had been dreſt.

As Mr. Fitzpatrick however had not the cleare [...] Way of telling a Story at any Time, and was now [277] perhaps a little more confuſed than uſual, it was ſome Time before ſhe diſcovered, that the Gentleman who [...]ad given him this Wound was the very ſame Perſon from whom her Heart had received a Wound, which, [...]hough not of a mortal Kind, was yet ſo deep that it [...]ad left a conſiderable Scar behind it. But no ſooner was ſhe acquainted that Mr. Jones himſelf was the Man who had been committed to the Gatehouſe for [...]his ſuppoſed Murder, than ſhe took the firſt Oppor⯑tunity of committing Mr. Fitzpatrick to the Care of [...]is Nurſe, and haſtened away to viſit the Conqueror.

She now entered the Room with an Air of Gayety, which received an immediate Check from the melan⯑choly Aſpect of poor Jones, who ſtarted and bleſſed himſelf when he ſaw her. Upon which ſhe ſaid, ‘'Nay, I do not wonder at your Surprize; I believe you did not expect to ſee me; for few Gentlemen are troubled here with Viſits from any Lady, unleſs a Wife. You ſee the Power you have over me, Mr. Jones. Indeed I little thought when we part⯑ed at Upton, that our next Meeting would have been in ſuch a Place.'’ ‘'Indeed, Madam,' ſays Jones, 'I muſt look upon this Viſit as kind; few will fol⯑low the Miſerable, eſpecially to ſuch diſmal Habi⯑tations.'’ ‘'I proteſt Mr. Jones, 'ſays ſhe, I can hardly perſuade myſelf you are the ſame agree⯑able Fellow I ſaw at Upton. Why, your Face is more miſerable than any Dungeon in the Univerſe. What can be the Matter with you?'’ ‘'I thought, Madam,' ſaid Jones, as you knew of my being here, you knew the unhappy Reaſon.'’ ‘'Pugh,' ſays ſhe, you have pinked a Man in a Duel, that's all.'’ Jones expreſt ſome Indignation at this Levity, and ſpoke with the utmoſt Contrition for what had happened. To which ſhe anſwered, ‘'Well then, Sir, if you take it ſo much to Heart, I will relieve you; the Gentleman is not dead: and, I am pretty confident, is in no Danger of dying. The Surgeon indeed who [277] firſt dreſſed him was a young Fellow, and ſeeme [...] deſirous of repreſenting his Caſe to be as bad as poſ⯑ſible, that he might have the more Honour from curing him; but the King's Surgeon hath ſeen him ſince, and ſays, unleſs from a Fever, of which ther [...] are at preſent no Symptoms, he apprehends not th [...] leaſt Danger of Life.'’ Jones ſhewed great Satisfac⯑tion in his Countenance at this Report; upon which ſhe affirmed the Truth of it, adding, ‘'By the mo [...] extraordinary Accident in the World I lodge at th [...] ſame Houſe, and have ſeen the Gentleman; and promiſe you he doth you Juſtice, and ſays, What ever be the Conſequence, that he was entirely th [...] Aggreſſor, and that you was not in the leaſt t [...] blame.'’

Jones expreſſed the utmoſt Satisfaction at the Ac⯑count which Mrs. Waters brought him. He the informed her of many Things which ſhe well knew before, as who Mr. Fitzpatrick was, the Occaſion o [...] his Reſentment, &c. He likewiſe told her ſever [...] Facts of which ſhe was ignorant, as the Adventure [...] the Muff, and other Particulars, concealing only th [...] Name of Sophia. He then lamented the Follies an [...] Vices of which he had been guilty; every one of which he ſaid, had been attended with ſuch ill Conſequence [...] that he ſhould be unpardonoble if he did not take Wan [...] ⯑ing, and quit thoſe vicious Courſes for the future. H [...] laſtly concluded with aſſuring her of his Reſolution [...] ſin no more, leſt a worſe Thing ſhould happen to him.

Mrs. Waters with great Pleaſantry ridiculed all thi [...] as the Effects of low Spirits and confinement. Sh [...] repeated ſome Witticiſms about the Devil when [...] was ſick, and told him, ‘'She doubted not but ſhortl [...] to ſee him at Liberty, and as lively a Fellow as eve [...] and then,' ſays ſhe, 'I don't queſtion but your Co [...] ⯑ſcience will be ſafely delivered of all theſe Qual [...] that it is now ſo ſick in breeding.'’

[278] Many more Things of this Kind ſhe uttered, ſome of which it would do her no great Honour, in the Opinion of ſome Readers, to remember; nor are we quite certain but that the Anſwers made by Jones would be treated with Ridicule by others. We ſhall there⯑fore ſuppreſs the reſt of this Converſation, and only obſerve, that it ended at laſt with perfect Inno⯑cence, and much more to the Satisfaction of Jones than of the Lady: For the former was greatly tran⯑ſported with the News ſhe had brought him; but the [...]atter was not altogether ſo pleaſed with the penitential Behaviour of a Man whom ſhe had at firſt Interview conceived a very different Opinion of from what ſhe [...]ow entertained of him.

Thus the Melancholy occaſioned by the Report of Mr. Nightingale was pretty well effaced; but the De⯑ [...]ection into which Mrs. Miller had thrown him ſtill continued. The Account ſhe gave, ſo well tallied with the Words of Sophia herſelf in her Letter, that he made not the leaſt Doubt but that ſhe had diſcloſed his Letter to her Aunt, and had taken a fixed Reſolution to abandon him. The Torments this Thought gave [...]im were to be equalled only by a Piece of News which Fortune yet had in Store for him, and which we ſhall communicate in the ſecond Chapter of the enſuing Book.

CHAP. I. A Farewel to the Reader.

WE are now, Reader, arrived at the laſt Stage of our long Journey. As we have there⯑fore travelled together through ſo many Pages let us behave to one another like Fellow Traveller in a Stage-Coach, who have paſſed ſeveral Day [...] in the Company of each other; and who, not⯑withſtanding any Bickerings or litttle Animoſitie [...] which may have occurred on the Road, generally make all up at laſt, and mount, for the laſt Time, in to their Vehicle with Chearfulneſs and Good-Humour [281] ſince, after this one Stage, it may poſſibly happen to us, as it commonly happens to them, never to meet more.

As I have here taken up this Simile, give me Leave to carry it a little farther. I intend then in this laſt Book to imitate the good Company I have mentioned in their laſt Journey. Now it is well known, that all Jokes and Raillery are at this Time laid aſide; what⯑ever Characters any of the Paſſengers have for the leſt ſake perſonated on the Road, are now thrown off, and the Converſation is uſually plain and ſerious.

In the ſame Manner, if I have now and then, in the Courſe of this Work, indulged any Pleaſantry for [...]y entertainment, I ſhall here lay it down. The Va⯑riety of Matter, indeed, which I ſhall be obliged to [...]am into this Book, will afford no room for any of thoſe ludicrous Obſervations which I have elſewhere made, and which may ſometimes, perhaps, have pre⯑vented thee from taking a Nap when it was beginning to ſteal upon thee. In this laſt Book thou wilt find [...]thing (or at moſt very little) of that Nature. All will be plain Narrative only; and, indeed, when thou [...]ſt peruſed the many great Events which this Book will produce, thou wilt think the Number of Pages contained in it ſcarce ſufficient to tell the Story.

And now, my Friend, I take this Opportunity (as I ſhall have no other) of heartily wiſhing thee well. If I have been an entertaining Companion to thee, I promiſe thee it is what I have deſired. If in any Thing I have offended, it was really without any In⯑ [...]ention. Some Things perhaps here ſaid, may have [...]t thee or thy Friends; but I do moſt ſolemnly de⯑clare they were not pointed at them. I queſtion not [...]ut thou haſt been told, among other Stories of me, [...]hat thou waſt to travel with a very ſcurrilous Fellow: But whoever told thee ſo, did me an Injury. No Plan deteſts and deſpiſes Scurrility more than myſelf; [...]or hath any Man more Reaſon; for none has ever [282] been treated with more: And what is a very ſeven Fate, I have had ſome of the abuſive Writings of thoſe very Men fathered upon me, who in other of their Works have abuſed me themſelves with the utmoſt Virulence.

All theſe Works, however, I am well convinced will be dead long before this Page ſhall offer itſelf to thy Peruſal: For however ſhort the Period may be o [...] my own Performances, they will moſt probably out live their own infirm Author, and the weakly Pro⯑ductions of his abuſive Cotemporaries.

CHAP. II. Containing a very tragical Incident.

WHILE Jones was employed in theſe unplea⯑ſant Meditations, with which we left him tor⯑menting himſelf, Partridge came ſtumbling into th [...] Room with his Face paler than Aſhes, his Eyes fixe [...] in his Head, his Hair ſtanding an End, and ever [...] Limb trembling. In ſhort, he looked as he would have done had he ſeen a Spectre, or had he indeed been a Spectre himſelf.

Jones, who was little ſubject to Fear, could not a⯑void being ſomewhat ſhocked at this ſudden Appear⯑ance. He did indeed himſelf change Colour, and h [...] Voice a little faultered, while he aſked him what w [...] the Matter.

‘'I hope, Sir,' ſaid Partridge, 'you will not [...] angry with me. Indeed I did not liſten, but I w [...] obliged to ſtay in the outward Room. I am ſure wiſh I had been a hundred Miles off, rather tha [...] have heard what I have heard.'’ ‘'Why what is th [...] Matter?'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'The Matter, Sir? O god Heaven!' anſwered Partridge, 'was that Wom [...] who is juſt gone out, the Woman who was wi [...] you at Upton?'’ ‘'She was, Partridge,'’ cries Jones ‘'And did you really, Sir, go to bed with that W [...] [283] man?'’ ſaid he trembling.—‘'I am afraid what paſt between us is no Secret,'’ ſaid Jones.— ‘'Nay, but pray, Sir, for Heaven's Sake, Sir, anſwer me,'’ cries Partridge, ‘'You know I did,'’ cries Jones.— ‘'Why then the Lord have Mercy upon your Soul, and forgive you,' cries Partridge; 'but as ſure as I ſtand here alive, you have been a-Bed with your own Mother.'’

Upon theſe Words, Jones became in a Moment a greater Picture of Horror than Partridge himſelf. He was indeed, for ſome Time, ſtruck dumb with Amaze⯑ment, and both ſtood ſtaring wildly at each other. At laſt his Words found Way, and in an interrupted Voice he ſaid—‘'How! how! What's this you tell me?'’ ‘'Nay, Sir,' cries Partridge, 'I have not Breath enough left to tell you now—but what I have ſaid is moſt certainly true—That Woman who now went out is your own Mother. How un⯑lucky was it for you, Sir, that I did not happen to ſee her at that Time, to have prevented it? Sure the Devil himſelf muſt have contrived to bring a⯑bout this Wickedneſs.'’

‘'Sure,' cries Jones, 'Fortune will never have done with me, 'till ſhe hath driven me to Diſtraction. But why do I blame Fortune? I am myſelf the Cauſe of all my Miſery. All the dreadful Miſchiefs which have befallen me, are the Conſequences only of my own Folly and Vice. What thou haſt told me, Partridge, hath almoſt deprived me of my Sen⯑ſes. And was Mrs. Waters then—But why do I aſk? for thou muſt certainly know her.—If thou haſt any Affection for me; nay, if thou haſt any Pity, let me beſeech thee to fetch this miſerable Wo⯑man back again to me. O good Heavens! Inceſt—with a Mother! To what am I reſerved?'’ He then ſell into the moſt violent and frantic Agonies of Grief and Deſpair, in which Partridge declared he would [284] not leave him: But at laſt having vented the firſt Tor⯑rent of Paſſion, he came a little to himſelf; and then having acquainted Partridge that he would find this wretched Woman in the ſame Houſe where the wound⯑ed Gentleman was lodged, he diſpatched him in queſ [...] of her.

If the Reader will pleaſe to refreſh his Memory by turning to the Scene at Upton in the ninth Book, he will be apt to admire the many ſtrange Accident which unfortunately prevented any Interview between Partridge and Mrs. Waters, when ſhe ſpent a whol [...] Day there with Mr. Jones. Inſtances of this Kin [...] we may frequently obſerve in Life, where the great⯑eſt Events are produced by a nice Train of little Cir⯑cumſtances; and more than one Example of this may be diſcovered by the accurate Eye, in this our Hiſ⯑tory.

After a fruitleſs Search of two or three Hours Partridge returned back to his Maſter, without hav⯑ing ſeen Mrs. Waters. Jones, who was in a Stat [...] of Deſperation at his Delay, was almoſt raving ma [...] when he brought him this Account. He was no [...] long however in this Condition before he receive the following Letter.

Jones having received the Letter, let it drop (for he was unable to hold it, and indeed had ſcarce the Uſe of any one of his Faculties) Partridge took it up, and having received Conſent by Silence, read it likewiſe; nor had it upon him a leſs ſenſible Effect. The Pencil, and not the Pen, ſhould deſcribe the Hor⯑rors which appeared in both their Countenances. While they both remained ſpeechleſs, the Turnkey entered the Room, and without taking any Notice of what ſufficiently diſcovered itſelf in the Faces of them both, acquainted Jones that a Man without deſired to ſpeak with him. This Perſon was preſently introdu⯑ced, and was no other than Black George.

As Sights of Horror were not ſo uſual to George as they were to the Turnkey, he inſtantly ſaw the great Diſorder which appeared in the Face of Jones. This he imputed to the Accident that happened, which was reported in the very worſt Light in Mr. Weſtern's Family; he concluded therefore that the Gentleman was dead, and that Mr. Jones was in a fair Way of coming to a ſhameful End. A Thought which gave him much Uneaſineſs; for George was of a compaſ⯑ſionate Diſpoſition, and notwithſtanding a ſmall Breach of Friendſhip which he had been over-tempted to commit, was, in the main, not inſenſible of the Obligations he had formerly received from Mr. Jones.

The poor Fellow therefore ſcarce refrained from a Tear at the preſent Sight. He told Jones he was heartily ſorry for his Misfortunes, and begged him to [286] conſider if he could be of any manner of Service ‘'Perhaps, Sir, ſaid he, you may want a little Matter of Money upon this Occaſion; if you do, Sir what little I have is heartily at your Service.'’

Jones ſhook him very heartily by the Hand, and gave him many Thanks for the Kind Offer he had made; but anſwered, ‘'He had not the leaſt Wan [...] of that Kind.'’ Upon which George began to preſs his Services more eagerly than before. Jones again thanked him, with Aſſurances that he wanted no⯑thing which was in the Power of any Man living to give. ‘'Come, come, my good Maſter, anſwered George, do not take the Matter ſo much to Heart Things may end better than you imagine; to be ſure you ant the firſt Gentleman who hath killed a Man, and yet come off.'’ ‘'You are wide of the Matter, George, ſaid Partridge, the Gentleman is not dead, nor like to die. Don't diſturb my Maſ⯑ter at preſent, for he is troubled about a Matter in which it is not in your Power to do him any good.'’ ‘'You don't know what I may be able to do, Mr. Partridge, anſwered George; if his Concern is about my young Lady, I have ſome News to tell my Maſ⯑ter.'’—‘'What do you ſay, Mr. George?' cry'd Jones, hath any thing lately happened in which my Sophia is concerned? My Sophia! How dares ſuch a Wretch as I mention her ſo prophanely.'’—‘'I hope ſhe will be yours yet, 'anſwered George.—'Why, yes, Sir, I have ſomething to tell you about her. Madam Weſtern hath juſt brought Madam Sophia home, and there hath been a terrible to do. I could not poſſibly learn the very Right of it; but my Maſter he hath been in a vaſt big Paſſion, and ſo was Madam Weſtern, and I heard her ſay as ſhe went out of Doors into her Chair, that ſhe would never ſet her Foot in Maſter's Houſe again. I don't know what's the Matter, not I, but every thing was very quiet when I came out; but Robin, who waited at [287] Supper, ſaid he had never ſeen the Squire for a long while in ſuch good Humour with young Ma⯑dam; that he kiſſed her ſeveral Times, and ſwore ſhe ſhould be her own Miſtreſs, and he never would think of confining her any more. I thought this News would pleaſe you, and ſo I ſlipp'd out, though it was ſo late, to inform you of it.'’ Mr. Jones aſſured George that it did greatly pleaſe him; for though he ſhould never more preſume to lift his Eyes towards that incomparable Creature, nothing could ſo much relieve his Miſery as the Satisfaction he ſhould always have in hearing of her Welfare.

The reſt of the Converſation which paſſed at the Viſit is not important enough to be here related. The Reader will therefore forgive us this abrupt breaking off, and be pleaſed to hear how this great good Will of the Squire towards his Daughter was brought about.

Mrs. Weſtern, on her firſt Arrival at her Brother's Lodging, began to ſet forth the great Honours and Advantages which would accrue to the Family by the Match with Lord Fellamar, which her Neice had ab⯑ſolutely refuſed; in which Refuſal, when the Squire took the Part of his Daughter, ſhe fell immediately into the moſt violent Paſſion, and ſo irritated and pro⯑voked the Squire, that neither his Patience nor his Prudence could bear any longer; upon which there enſued between them both ſo warm a Bout at Alter⯑cation, that perhaps the Regions of Billingſgate ne⯑ver equalled it. In the Heat of this Scolding Mrs. Weſtern departed, and had conſequently no Leiſure to acquaint the Brother with the Letter which Sophia re⯑ceived, which might have poſſibly produced ill Ef⯑fects; but to ſay the Truth I believe it never once occurred to her Memory at this Time.

When Mrs. Weſtern was gone, Sophia, who had been hitherto ſilent, as well indeed from Neceſſity as Inclination, began to return the Compliment which [288] her Father had made her, in taking her part againſt her Aunt, by taking his likewiſe againſt the Lady. This was the firſt Time of her ſo doing, and it was in the higheſt Degree acceptable to the Squire. Again he remembered that Mr. Allworthy had inſiſted on an en⯑tire Relinquiſhment of all violent Means; and indeed as he made no doubt but that Jones would be hanged he did not in the leaſt queſtion ſucceeding with his Daughter by fair Means; he now therefore once more gave a Looſe to his natural Fondneſs for her, which had ſuch an Effect on the Dutiful, grateful, tender and Affectionate Heart of Sophia, that had her Honour given to Jones, and ſomething elſe perhaps in which he was concerned, been removed, I much doubt whether ſhe would not have ſacrificed herſelf to a Man ſhe did not like, to have obliged her Father. She promiſed him ſhe would make it the whole Bu⯑ſineſs of her Life to oblige him, and would never marry any Man againſt his Conſent; which brought the old Man ſo near to his higheſt Happineſs, that he was reſolved to take the other Step, and went to Bed completely drunk.

CHAP. III. Allworthy viſits old Nightingale; with a ſtrange Diſ⯑covery that he made on that Occaſion.

THE Morning after theſe Things had happened, Mr. Allworthy went according to his Promiſe to viſit old Nightingale, with whom his Authority was ſo great, that after having ſat with him three Hours, he at laſt prevailed with him to conſent to ſee his Son.

Here an Accident happened of a very extraordina⯑ry Kind; one indeed of thoſe ſtrange Chances, whence very good and grave Men have concluded that Providence often interpoſes in the Diſcovery of [289] the moſt ſecret Villainy, in order to caution Men from quitting the Paths of Honeſty, however warily they tread in thoſe of Vice.

Mr. Allworthy, at his Entrance into Mr. Night⯑ingale's, ſaw black George; he took no Notice of him, nor did Black George imagine he had perceived him. However, when their Converſation on the principal Point was over, Allworthy aſked Nightingale whether he knew one George Seagrim, and upon what Buſineſs he came to his Houſe. ‘'Yes, anſwer⯑ed Nightingale, I know him very well, and a moſt extraordinary Fellow he is, who in theſe Days, hath been able to hoard up 500l. from renting a very ſmall Eſtate of 30l. a Year.'’ ‘'And is this the Story he hath told you? cries Allworthy.'’ ‘'Nay, it is true, I promiſe you,' ſaid Nightingale, 'for I have the Money now in my Hands, in five Bank Bills, which I am to lay out either in a Mortgage, or in ſome Purchaſe in the North of England.'’ The Bank Bills were no ſooner produced at Allworthy's Deſire, than he bleſſed himſelf at the Strangeneſs of the Diſcovery. He preſently told Nightingale that theſe Bank Bills were formerly his, and then acquaint⯑ed him with the whole Affair. As there are no Men who complain more of the Frauds of Buſineſs than Highwaymen, Gameſters, and other Thieves of that Kind; ſo there are none who ſo bitterly exclaim a⯑gainſt the Frauds of Gameſters, &c. as Uſurers, Bro⯑kers, and other Thieves of this Kind; whether it be that the one Way of cheating is a Diſcountenance or Reflection upon the other, or that Money, which is the common Miſtreſs of all Cheats, makes them re⯑gard each other in the Light of Rivals; but Nightin⯑gale no ſooner heard the Story, than he exclaimed againſt the Fellow in Terms much ſeverer than the Juſtice and Honeſty of Allworthy had beſtowed on him.

[290] Allworthy deſired Nightingale to retain both the Money and the Secret till he ſhould hear farther from him; and if he ſhould in the mean Time ſee the Fel⯑low, that he would not take the leaſt Notice to him of the Diſcovery which he had made. He then re⯑turned to his Lodgings, where he found Mrs. Miller in a very dejected Condition, on Account of the In⯑formation ſhe had received from her Son-in-law. Mr. Allworthy, with great Chearfulneſs, told her that he had much good News to communicate; and with little further Preface, acquainted her, that he had brought Mr. Nightingale to conſent to ſee his Son, and did not in the leaſt doubt to effect a perfect Re⯑conciliation between them; though he found the Fa⯑ther more ſowered by another Accident of the ſame Kind, which had happened in his Family. He then mentioned the running away of the Uncle's Daugh⯑ter, which he had been told by the old Gentleman, and which Mrs. Miller, and her Son-in-law, did not yet know.

The Reader may ſuppoſe Mrs. Miller received this Account with great Thankfulneſs and no leſs Plea⯑ſure; but ſo uncommon was her Friendſhip to Jones, that I am not certain whether the Uneaſineſs ſhe ſuf⯑fered for his Sake, did not over-ballance her Satis⯑faction at hearing a Piece of News tending ſo much to the Happineſs of her own Family; nor whether even this very News, as it reminded her of the Ob⯑ligations ſhe had to Jones, did not hurt as well as pleaſe her; when her grateful Heart ſaid to her, ‘'While my own Family is happy, how miſerable is the poor Creature, to whoſe Generoſity we owe the Beginning of all this Happineſs.'’

Allworthy having left her a little while to chew the Cud (if I may uſe that Expreſſion) on theſe firſt Tid⯑ings, told her, he had ſtill ſomething more to impart, which he believed would give her Pleaſure. ‘'I think ſaid he, I have diſcovered a pretty conſiderable Trea⯑ſure [291] belonging to the young Gentleman, your Friend; but perhaps indeed, his preſent Situation may be ſuch, that it will be of no Service to him.'’ The latter Part of the Speech gave Mrs. Miller to underſtand who was meant, and ſhe anſwered with a Sigh, ‘'I hope not, Sir.'’ ‘'I hope ſo too' cries Allworthy, 'with all my Heart, but my Nephew told me this Morning, he had heard a very bad Ac⯑count of the Affair.'’—‘'Good Heaven! Sir,' ſaid ſhe—Well, I muſt not ſpeak, and yet it is certainly very hard to be obliged to hold one's Tongue when one hears'’—‘'Madam, ſaid Allworthy, you may ſay whatever you pleaſe, you know me too well to think I have a Prejudice againſt any one; and as for that young Man, I aſſure you I ſhould be hear⯑tily pleaſed to find he could acquit himſelf of every thing, and particularly of this ſad Affair. You can teſtify the Affection I have formerly borne him. The World, I know, cenſured me for loving him ſo much. I did not withdraw that Affection from him without thinking I had the juſteſt Cauſe. Be⯑lieve me, Mrs. Miller, I ſhould be glad to find I have been miſtaken.'’ Mrs. Miller was going ea⯑gerly to reply, when a Servant acquainted her, that a Gentleman without deſired to ſpeak with her imme⯑diately. Allworthy then enquired for his Nephew, and was told, that he had been for ſome Time in his Room with the Gentleman who uſed to come to him, and whom Mr. Allworthy, gueſſing rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he deſired preſently to ſpeak with him.

When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the Caſe of the Bank-Notes to him, without mentioning any Name, and aſked in what manner ſuch a Perſon might be pu⯑niſhed. To which Dowling anſwered, he thought he might be indicted on the Black Act; but ſaid, as it was a Matter of ſome Nicety, it would be proper to go to Council. He ſaid he was to attend Council preſently upon an Affair of Mr. Weſtern's, and if [292] Mr. Allworthy pleaſed he would lay the Caſe before them. This was agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller opening the Door, cry'd, ‘'I aſk pardon, I did not know you had Company;'’ but Allworthy deſired her to come in, ſaying, he had finiſhed his Buſineſs. Upon which Mr. Dowling withdrew, and Mrs. Mil⯑ler introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to re⯑turn thanks for the great Kindneſs done him by All⯑worthy; but ſhe had ſcarce Patience to let the young Gentleman finiſh his Speech before ſhe interrupted him, ſaying, ‘'O Sir, Mr. Nightingale, brings great News about poor Mr. Jones, he hath been to ſee the wounded Gentleman, who is out of all Danger of Death, and what is more, declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himſelf, and beat him. I am ſure, Sir, you would not have Mr. Jones be a Coward. If I was a Man myſelf, I am ſure if any Man was to ſtrike me, I ſhould draw my Sword. Do pray, my Dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all yourſelf.'’ Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had ſaid; and concluded with many handſome Things of Jones, who was, he ſaid, one of the beſt-natured Fellows in the World, and not in the leaſt inclined to be quarrelſome. Here Nightingale was going to ceaſe, when Mrs. Miller again begged him to related all the many dutiful Expreſſions he had heard him make uſe of towards Mr. Allworthy. ‘'To ſay the utmoſt Good of Mr. Allworthy, cries Nightingale, is doing no more than ſtrict Juſtice, and can have no Merits in it; but indeed I muſt ſay, no Man can be more ſenſible of the Obligations he hath to ſo good a [...] Man, than is poor Jones. Indeed, Sir, I am con⯑vinced the Weight of your Diſpleaſure is the hea⯑vieſt Burthen he lies under. He hath often lament⯑ed it to me, and hath as often proteſted in the moſt ſolemn Manner he had never been intentionally guil⯑ty of any Offence towards you; nay, he hath ſworn he would rather die a Thouſand Deaths than [293] he would have his Conſcience upbraid him with one diſreſpectful, ungrateful, or undutiful Thought to⯑wards you. But I aſk pardon, Sir, I am afraid I preſume to intermeddle too far in ſo tender a Point.'’ ‘'You have ſpoke no more than what a Chriſtian ought, cries Mrs. Miller.'’ ‘'Indeed, Mr. Nightingale, anſwered Allworthy, 'I applaud your generous Friend⯑ſhip, and I wiſh he may merit it of you. I con⯑feſs I am glad to hear the Report you bring from this unfortunate Gentleman; and if that Matter ſhould turn out to be as you repreſent it (and indeed I doubt nothing of what you ſay) I may perhaps, in Time, be brought to think better than lately I have of this young Man: For this good Gentle wo⯑man here, nay all who know me, can witneſs that I loved him as dearly as if he had been my own Son. Indeed I have conſidered him as a Child ſent by Fortune to my Care. I ſtill remember the in⯑nocent, the helpleſs Situation in which I found him. I feel the tender Preſſure of his little Hands at this Moment.—He was my Darling, indeed he was.'’ At which Words he ceaſed, and the Tears ſtood in his Eyes.

As the Anſwer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into freſh Matters, we will here ſtop to account for the viſible Alteration in Mr. Allworthy's Mind, and the Abatement of his Anger to Jones. Revolu⯑tions of this Kind, it is true, do frequently occur in Hiſtories and dramatic Writers, for no other Reaſon than becauſe the Hiſtory or Play draws to a Conclu⯑ſion, and are juſtified by Authority of Authors; yet though we inſiſt upon as much Authority as any Au⯑thor whatever, we ſhall uſe this Power very ſparing⯑ly, and never but when we are driven to it by Neceſ⯑ſity, which we do not at preſent foreſee will happen in this Work.

This Alteration then in the Mind of Mr. All⯑worthy, was occaſioned by a Letter he had juſt re⯑ceived [294] from Mr. Square, and which we ſhall give the Reader in the Beginning of the next Chapter.

CHAP. IV. Containing two Letters in very different Stiles.

The Reader will, after this, ſcarce wonder at the Revolution ſo viſibly appearing in Mr. Allworthy, not⯑withſtanding he received from Thwackum, by the ſame Poſt, another Letter of a very different Kind, which we ſhall here add, as it may poſſibly be the laſt Time we ſhall have occaſion to mention the Name of that Gentleman.

This was the firſt Time that Thwackum eve [...] wrote in this authoritative Stile to Allworthy, and of this he had afterwards ſufficient Reaſon to re⯑pent, as in the Caſe of thoſe who miſtake the high⯑eſt Degree of Goodneſs for the loweſt Degree o [...] Weakneſs. Allworthy had indeed never liked thi [...] Man. He knew him to be proud and ill-natured he alſo knew that his Divinity itſelf was tincture with his Temper, and ſuch as in many Reſpects h [...] himſelf did by no means approve: But he was at th [...] ſame Time an excellent Scholar, and moſt indefati⯑gable in teaching the two Lads. Add to this th [...] ſtrict Severity of his Life and Manners, an unim⯑peached Honeſty, and a moſt devout Attachment to Religion. So that upon the whole, though Allworthy did not eſteem nor love the Man, yet he could never bring himſelf to part with a Tutor to the Boys, wh [...] was both by Learning and Induſtry, extremely we [...] qualified for his Office; and he hoped, that as they were bred up in his own Houſe, and under his own Eye, he ſhould be able to correct whatever was wrong in Thwackum's Inſtructions.

CHAP. V. In which the Hiſtory is continued.

MR. Allworthy, in his laſt Speech, had recollecte [...] ſome tender Ideas concerning Jones, which had brought Tears into the good Man's Eyes. Thi [...] Mrs. Miller obſerving, ſaid, ‘'Yes, yes, Sir, your Goodneſs to this poor young Man is known not⯑withſtanding all your Care to conceal it; but there [299] is not a ſingle Syllable of Truth in what thoſe Vil⯑lains ſaid. Mr. Nightingale hath now diſcovered the whole Matter. It ſeems theſe Fellows were employed by a Lord, who is a Rival of poor Mr. Jones, to have preſſed him on board a Ship.—I aſſure them I don't know who they will preſs next. Mr. Nightingale here hath ſeen the Officer himſelf, who is a very pretty Gentleman, and hath told him all, and is very ſorry for what he undertook, which he would never have done had he known Mr. Jones to have been a Gentleman; but he was told that he was a common ſtrolling Vagabond.'’

Allworthy ſtared at all this, and declared he was a Stranger to every Word ſhe ſaid. ‘'Yes, Sir,' an⯑ſwered ſhe, 'I believe you are.—It is a very different Story, I believe, from what thoſe Fellows told the Lawyer.'’

‘'What Lawyer, Madam? what is it you mean?'’ ſaid Allworthy. ‘'Nay, nay,' ſaid ſhe, 'this is ſo like you to deny your own Goodneſs; but Mr. Nightingale here ſaw him,'’ ‘'Saw whom, Ma⯑dam?'’ anſwered he. ‘'Why your Lawyer, Sir,' ſaid ſhe, 'that you ſo kindly ſent to enquire into the Affair.'’ ‘'I am ſtill in the Dark, upon my Ho⯑nour,'’ ſaid Allworthy. ‘'Why then do you tell him, my dear Sir,'’ cries ſhe. ‘'Indeed, Sir,' ſaid Nightingale, 'I did ſee that very Lawyer who went from you when I came into the Room, at an Ale⯑houſe in Alderſgate, in Company with two of the Fellows who were employed by Lord Fellamar to preſs Mr. Jones, and who were by that Means pre⯑ſent at the unhappy Rencounter between him and Mr. Fitzpatrick.'’ ‘'I own, Sir,' ſaid Mrs. Mil⯑ler, 'when I ſaw this Gentleman come into the Room to you, I told Mr. Nightingale that I apprehended you had ſent him thither to enquire in⯑to the Affair.'’ Allworthy ſhewed Marks of Aſto⯑niſhment [300] in his Countenance at this News, and was indeed for two or three Minutes ſtruck dumb by it. At laſt, addreſſing himſelf to Mr. Nightingale, he ſaid, ‘'I muſt confeſs myſelf, Sir, more ſurprized at what you tell me, than I have ever been before at any Thing in my whole Life. Are you certain this was the Gentleman?'’ ‘'I am moſt certain,'’ anſwered Nightingale. ‘'At Alderſgate?'’ cries All⯑worthy. ‘'And was you in Company with this Law⯑yer and the two Fellows?'’—‘'I was, Sir,' ſaid the other, 'very near half an Hour.'’—‘'Well, Sir,' ſaid Allworthy, 'and in what Manner did the Law⯑yer behave? Did you hear all that paſt between him and the Fellows?'’ ‘'No, Sir, anſwered Night⯑ingale, 'they had been together before I came—In my Preſence the Lawyer ſaid little; but after I had ſeveral Times examined the Fellows, who per⯑ſiſted in a Story directly contrary to what I had heard from Mr. Jones, and what I find by Mr. Fitzpatrick was a rank Falſhood, the Lawyer then deſired the Fellows to ſay nothing but what was the Truth, and ſeemed to ſpeak ſo much in Favour of Mr. Jones, that when I ſaw the ſame Perſon with you, I concluded your Goodneſs had promp⯑ted you to ſend him thither.’—‘'And did you not ſend him thither?'’ ſays Mrs Miller.—' ‘'Indeed I did not,' anſwered Allworthy; 'nor did I know he had gone on ſuch an Errand 'till this Moment.'’—‘'I ſee it all!' ſaid Mrs. Miller: 'Upon my Soul, I ſee it all! No wonder they have been cloſet⯑ted ſo cloſe lately. Son Nightingale, let me beg you run for theſe Fellows immediately—find them out if they are above Ground. I will go myſelf.'’—‘'Dear Madam,' ſaid Allworthy, 'be patient, and do me the Favour to ſend a Servant up Stairs to call Mr. Dowling hither, if he be in the Houſe, or if not, Mr. Blifil.'’ Mrs. Miller went out mut⯑tering [301] ſomething to herſelf, and preſently returned with an Anſwer. ‘'That Mr. Dowling was gone; but that the t'other, as ſhe called him, was coming.'’

Allworthy was of a cooler Diſpoſition than the good Woman, whoſe Spirits were all up in Arms in the Cauſe of her Friend. He was not however with⯑out ſome Suſpicions which were near a-kin to hers. When Blifil came into the Room, he aſked him with a very ſerious Countenance, and with a leſs friendly Look than he had ever before given him, ‘'Whether he knew any Thing of Mr. Dowling's having ſeen any of the Perſons who were preſent at the Duel between Jones and another Gentleman?'’

There is nothing ſo dangerous as a Queſtion which comes by Surprize on a Man, whoſe Buſineſs it is to conceal Truth, or defend Falſhood. For which Rea⯑ſon thoſe worthy Perſonages, whoſe noble Office it is to ſave the Lives of their Fellow-Creatures at the Old-Baily, take the utmoſt Care, by frequent previ⯑ous Examination, to divine every Queſtion which may be aſked their Clients on the Day of Trial, that they may be ſupply'd with proper and ready Anſwers, which the moſt fertile Invention cannot ſupply in an Inſtant. Beſides, the ſudden and violent Impulſe on the Blood, occaſioned by theſe Surprizes, occaſions frequently ſuch an Alteration in the Countenance, that the Man is obliged to give Evidence againſt himſelf. And ſuch indeed were the Alterations which the Countenance of Blifil underwent from this ſudden Queſtion, that we can ſcarce blame the Eagerneſs of Mrs. Miller, who immediately cry'd out, ‘'Guilty, upon my Honour! Guilty, upon my Soul!'’

Mr. Allworthy ſharply rebuked her for this Impe⯑tuoſity; and then turning to Blifil, who ſeemed ſink⯑ing into the Earth, he ſaid, ‘'Why do you heſitate, Sir, at giving me an Anſwer? You certainly muſt have employed him, for he would not, of his own [302] Accord, I believe, have undertaken ſuch an Er⯑rand, and eſpecially without acquainting me.'’