CHAP. I. A Compariſon between the World and the Stage.

THE World hath been often compared to the Theatre; and many grave Writers, as well as the Poets, have conſidered human Life as a great Drama, reſembling, in almoſt every Particular, thoſe ſcenical Repreſen⯑tations, which Theſpis is firſt reported to have invented, and which have been ſince received with ſo much Approbation and Delight in all polite Countries.

This Thought hath been carried ſo far, and be⯑come ſo general, that ſome Words proper to the Theatre, and which were, at firſt, metaphorically applied to the World, are now indiſcriminately and literally ſpoken of both: Thus Stage and Scene are by common Uſe grown as familiar to us, when we [2] ſpeak of Life in general, as when we confine our⯑ſelves to dramatic Performances; and when we men⯑tion Tranſactions behind the Curtain, St. James's is more likely to occur to our Thoughts than Drury-Lane.

It may ſeem eaſy enough to account for all this, by reflecting that the theatrical Stage is nothing more than a Repreſentation, or, as Ariſtotle calls it, an Imitation of what really exiſts; and hence, perhaps, we might fairly pay a very high Compliment to thoſe, who by their Writings or Actions have been ſo ca⯑pable of imitating Life, as to have their Pictures, in a Manner confounded with, or miſtaken for the Ori⯑ginals.

But, in Reality, we are not ſo fond of paying Compliments to theſe People, whom we uſe as Chil⯑dren frequently do the Inſtruments of their Amuſe⯑ments; and have much more Pleaſure in hiſſing and buffeting them, than in admiring their Excellence. There are many other Reaſons which have induced us to ſee this Analogy between the World and the Stage.

Some have conſidered the larger Part of Mankind in the light of Actors, as perſonating Characters no more their own, and to which, in Fact, they have no better Title, than the Player hath to be in Earneſt thought the King or Emperor whom he repreſents. Thus the Hypocrite may be ſaid to be a Player; and indeed the Greeks called them both by one and the ſame Name.

The Brevity of Life hath likewiſe given Occaſion to this Compariſon. So the immortal Shakeſpear.

For which hackneyed Quotation, I will make the Reader Amends by a very noble one, which few, I [3] believe, have read. It is taken from a Poem called the DEITY, publiſhed about nine Years ago, and long ſince buried in Oblivion. A Proof that good Books no more than good Men do always ſurvive the bad.

In all theſe, however, and in every other Similitude of Life to the Theatre, the Reſemblance hath been always taken from the Stage only. None, as I re⯑member, have at all conſidered the Audience at this great Drama.

But as nature often exhibits ſome of her beſt Per⯑formances to a very full Houſe; ſo will the Beha⯑viour of our Spectators no leſs admit the above men⯑tioned Compariſon than that of her Actors. In this vaſt Theatre of Time are ſeated the Friend and the Critic; here are Claps and Shouts, Hiſſes and Groans; in ſhort, every Thing which was ever ſeen or heard at the Theatre Royal.

Let us examine this in one Example: For In⯑ſtance, in the Behaviour of the great Audience on that Scene which Nature was pleaſed to exhibit in the 12th Chapter of the preceding Book, where ſhe [4] introduced Black George running away with the 500l. from his Friend and Benefactor.

Thoſe who ſat in the World's upper Gallery, treat⯑ed that Incident, I am well convinced, with their uſual Vociferation; and every Term of ſcurrilous Reproach was moſt probably vented on that Oc⯑caſion.

If we had deſcended to the next Order of Specta⯑tors, we ſhould have found an equal Degree of Ab⯑horrence, tho' leſs of Noiſe and Scurrility; yet here the good Women gave Black George to the Devil, and many of them expected every Minute that the cloven-footed Gentleman would fetch his own.

The Pit, as uſual, was no doubt divided: Thoſe who delight in heroic Virtue and perfect Character, objected to the producing ſuch Inſtances of Villainy, without puniſhing them very ſeverely for the Sake of Example. Some of the Author's Friends, cry'd—‘'Look'e, Gentlemen, the Man is a Villain; but it is Nature for all that.'’ And all the young Critics of the Age, the Clerks, Apprentices, &c. called it Low, and fell a Groaning.

As for the Boxes, they behaved with their ac⯑cuſtomed Politeneſs. Moſt of them were attending to ſomething elſe. Some of thoſe few who regarded the Scene at all, declared he was a bad Kind of Man; while others refuſed to give their opinion 'till they had heard the beſt Judges.

Now we, who are admitted behind the Scenes of this great Theatre of Nature, (and no Author ought to write any Thing beſides Dictionaries and Spelling-Books who hath not this Privilege) can cenſure the Action, without conceiving any abſolute Deteſtation of the Perſon, whom perhaps Nature may not have deſigned to act an ill Part in all her Dramas: For in this Inſtance, Life moſt exactly reſembles the Stage, ſince it is often the ſame Perſon who repreſents the Villain and the Heroe; and he who engages your [5] Admiration To-day, will probably attract your Con⯑tempt To-Morrow. As Garrick, whom I regard in Tragedy to be the greateſt Genius the World hath ever produced, ſometimes condeſcends to play the Fool; ſo did Scipio the Great and Laelius the Wiſe, according to Horace, many Years ago: nay, Cicero reports them to have been 'incredibly childiſh.'—Theſe, it is true play'd the Fool, like my Friend Garrick, in Jeſt only; but ſeveral eminent Characters have, in numberleſs Inſtances of their Lives, played the Fool egregiouſly in Earneſt; ſo far as to render it a Matter of ſome Doubt, whether their Wiſdom or Folly was predominant; or whether they were better intitled to the Applauſe or Cenſure, the Ad⯑miration or Contempt, the Love or Hatred of Man⯑kind.

Thoſe Perſons, indeed, who have paſſed any Time behind the Scenes of this great Theatre, and are thoroughly acquainted not only with the ſeveral Diſ⯑guiſes which are there put on, but alſo with the fan⯑taſtic and capricious Behaviour of the Paſſions who are the Managers and Directors of this Theatre, (for as to Reaſon the Patentee, he is known to be a very idle Fellow, and ſeldom to exert himſelf) may moſt probably have learned to conſtrue the famous Nil admirari of Horace, or in the Engliſh Phraſe, To ſtare at nothing.

A ſingle bad Act no more conſtitutes a Villain in Life, than a ſingle bad Part on the Stage. The Paſ⯑ſions, like the Managers of a Playhouſe, often force Men upon Parts, without conſulting their Judgment, and ſometimes without any Regard to their Talents. Thus the Man, as well as the Player, may condemn what he himſelf acts; nay, it is common to ſee Vice ſit as awkwardly on ſome Men, as the Character of Iago would on the honeſt Face of Mr. William Mills.

[6] Upon the whole then, the Man of Candour and of true Underſtanding, is never haſty to condemn. He can cenſure an Imperfection, or even a Vice, without Rage againſt the guilty Party. In a Word, they are the ſame Folly, the ſame Childiſhneſs, the ſame Ill-breeding, and the ſame Ill-nature, which raiſe all the Clamours and Uproars both in Life and on the Stage. The worſt of Men generally have the Words Rogue and Villain moſt in their Mouths, as the low⯑eſt of all Wretches are the apteſt to cry out low in the Pit.

CHAP. II. Containing a Converſation which Mr. Jones had with himſelf.

JONES received his Effects from Mr. Allworthy's early in the Morning, with the following Anſwer to his Letter.

Many contending Paſſions were raiſed in our He⯑roe's Mind by this Letter; but the Tender prevailed at laſt over the Indignant and Iraſcible, and a Flood of Tears came ſeaſonably to his Aſſiſtance, and poſ⯑ſibly prevented his Misfortunes from either turning his Head, or burſting his Heart.

He grew, however ſoon aſhamed of indulging this Remedy; and ſtarting up, he cried, ‘'Well then, I will give Mr. Allworthy the only Inſtance he re⯑quires of my Obedience. I will go this Moment—but whither?—why let Fortune direct; ſince there is no other who thinks it of any Conſequence what becomes of this wretched Perſon, it ſhall be a Matter of equal Indifference to myſelf. Shall I alone regard what no other?—Ha! have I not Reaſon to think there is another?—One whoſe Value is above that of the whole World!—I may, I muſt imagine my Sophia is not indifferent to what becomes of me. Shall I then leave this only Friend—and ſuch a Friend? Shall I not ſtay with her?—Where? How can I ſtay with her? Have I any Hopes of even ſeeing her, tho' ſhe was as deſirous as myſelf, without ex⯑poſing her to the Wrath of her Father? And to what Purpoſe? Can I think of ſoliciting ſuch a Crea⯑ture to Conſent to her own Ruin? Shall I indulge any Paſſion of mine at ſuch a Price?—Shall I lurk about this Country like a Thief, with ſuch In⯑tentions?—No, I diſdain, I deteſt the Thought. Farewel, Sophia; farewel moſt lovely, moſt be⯑loved—'’ Here Paſſion ſtopped his Mouth, and found a Vent at his Eyes.

[8] And now, having taken a Reſolution to leave the Country, he began to debate with himſelf whither he ſhould go. The World, as Milton phraſes it, lay all before him; and Jones no more than Adam, had any Man to whom he might reſort for Comfort or Aſſiſtance. All his Acquaintance were the Acquain⯑tance of Mr. Allworthy, and he had no Reaſon to expect any Countenance from them, as that Gentle⯑man had withdrawn his Favour from him. Men of great and good Characters ſhould indeed be very cau⯑tious how they diſcard their Dependents; for the Con⯑ſequence to the unhappy Sufferer is being diſcarded by all others.

What Courſe of Life to purſue, or to what Bu⯑ſineſs to apply himſelf, was a ſecond Conſideration; and here the Proſpect was all a melancholy Void. Every profeſſion, and every Trade, required Length of Time, and what was worſe, Money; for Matters are ſo Conſtituted that 'Nothing out of Nothing' is not a truer Maxim in Phyſics than in Politics; and e⯑very Man who is greatly deſtitute of Money is on that Account entirely excluded from all Means of ac⯑quiring it.

At laſt the Ocean, that hoſpitable Friend to the Wretched, opened her capacious Arms to receive him; and he inſtantly reſolved to accept her kind In⯑vitation. To expreſs myſelf leſs figuratively, he de⯑termined to go to Sea.

This Thought indeed no ſooner ſuggeſted itſelf, than he eagerly embraced it; and having preſently hired Horſes, he ſet out for Briſtol to put it in Ex⯑ecution.

But before we attend him on his Expedition, we ſhall reſort a while to Mr. Weſtern's, and ſee what farther happened to the charming Sophia.

CHAP. III. Containing ſeveral Dialogues.

THE Morning in which Mr. Jones departed, Mrs. Weſtern ſummoned Sophia into her A⯑partment, and having firſt accquainted her that ſhe had obtained her Liberty of her Father, ſhe proceeded to read her a long Lecture on the Subject of Matri⯑mony; which ſhe treated not as a romantic Scheme of Happineſs ariſing from Love, as it hath been de⯑ſcribed by the Poets; nor did ſhe mention any of thoſe Purpoſes for which we are taught by Divines to re⯑gard it as inſtituted by ſacred Authority; ſhe con⯑ſidered it rather as a Fund in which prudent Women depoſited their Fortunes to the beſt Advantage, in order to receive a larger Intereſt for them, than they could have elſewhere.

When Mrs. Weſtern had finiſhed, Sophia anſwered, ‘'that ſhe was very incapable of arguing with a Lady of her Aunt's ſuperior Knowledge and Experience, eſpecially on a Subject which ſhe had ſo very little conſidered, as this of Matrimony.'’

‘'Argue with me, Child!' replied the other, 'I did not indeed expect it. I ſhould have ſeen the World to very little Purpoſe truly, if I am to ar⯑gue with one of your Years. I have taken this Trouble, in order to inſtruct you. The ancient Philosophers, ſuch as Socrates, Alcibiades, and o⯑thers, did not uſe to argue with their Scholars. You are to conſider me, Child, as Socrates, not aſking your Opinion, but only informing you of mine.'’ From which laſt Words the Reader may poſſibly imagine, that this Lady had read no more of the Philoſophy of Socrates, than ſhe had of that of Alcibiades; and indeed we cannot reſolve his Curioſity as to this Point.

‘[10] 'Madam,' cries Sophia, 'I have never preſumed to controvert any Opinion of yours, and this Sub⯑ject, as I ſaid, I have never yet thought of, and perhaps never may.’

‘'Indeed Sophy,' replied the Aunt, 'this Diſſimu⯑lation with me is very fooliſh. The French ſhall as ſoon perſuade me, that they take foreign Towns in Defence only of their own Country, as you can impoſe on me to believe you have never yet thought ſeriouſly of Matrimony. How can you, Child, affect to deny that you have conſidered of contract⯑ing an Alliance, when you ſo well know I am ac⯑quainted with the Party with whom you deſire to contract it. An Alliance as unnatural, and con⯑trary to your Intereſt, as a ſeparate League with the French would be to the Intereſt of the Dutch! But however, if you have not hitherto conſidered of this Matter, I promiſe you it is now high Time; for my Brother is reſolved immediately to conclude the Treaty with Mr. Blifil; and indeed I am a ſort of Guarantee in the Affair, and have promiſed your Concurrence.’

‘'Indeed, Madam,' cries Sophia, 'this is the only Inſtance in which I muſt diſobey both yourſelf and my Father. For this is a Match which requires very little Conſideration in me to refuſe.'’

‘'If I was not as great a Philoſopher as Socrates himſelf,' returned Mrs. Weſtern, 'you would over⯑come my Patience. What Objection can you have to the young Gentleman?’

‘'A very ſolid Objection, in my Opinion,' ſays Sophia,—'I hate him.'’

‘'Will you never learn a proper Uſe of Words?' anſwered the Aunt. 'Indeed Child, you ſhould con⯑ſult Bailey's Dictionary. It is impoſſible you ſhould hate a Man from whom you have received no In⯑jury. By Hatred, therefore, you mean no more than Diſlike, which is no ſufficient Objection againſt [11] marrying of him. I have known many Couples, who have entirely diſliked each other, lead very comfortable, genteel lives. Believe me, Child, I know theſe Things better than you. You will al⯑low me, I think, to have ſeen the World, in which I have not an Acquaintance who would not rather be thought to diſlike her Huſband, than to like him. The contrary is ſuch out-of-Faſhion romantic Non⯑ſenſe, that the very imagination of it is ſhocking.’

‘'Indeed, Madam,' replied Sophia, 'I ſhall never marry a Man I diſlike. If I promiſe my Father ne⯑ver to conſent to any Marriage contrary to his In⯑clinations, I think I may hope he will never force me into that State contrary to my own.’

‘'Inclinations!' cries the Aunt with ſome Warmth. 'Inclinations! I am aſtoniſhed at your aſſurance. A young Woman of your Age, and unmarried, to talk of Inclinations! But whatever your Inclina⯑tions may be, my Brothar is reſolved; nay, ſince you talk of Inclinations, I ſhall adviſe him to haſten the Treaty. Inclinations!’

Sophia then flung herſelf upon her Knees, and Tears began to trickle from her ſhining Eyes. She entreated her Aunt, ‘'to have Mercy upon her, and not to reſent ſo cruelly her Unwillingneſs to make herſelf miſerable; often urging that ſhe alone was concerned, and that her Happineſs only was at Stake.'’

As a Bailiff, when well authoriſed by his Writ, having poſſeſſed himſelf of the Perſon of ſome unhap⯑py Debtor, views all his Tears without concern: In vain the wretched Captive attempts to raiſe Com⯑paſſion; in vain the tender Wife bereft of her Com⯑panion, the little prattling Boy, or frighted Girl, are mentioned as inducements to Reluctance. The no⯑ble Bumtrap, blind and deaf, to every Circumſtance of Diſtreſs, greatly riſes above all the Motives to Hu⯑manity, [12] and into the Hands of the Goaler reſolves to deliver his miſerable Prey.

Not leſs blind to the Tears, or leſs deaf to every Entreaty of Sophia was the politic Aunt, nor leſs de⯑termined was ſhe to deliver over the trembling Maid into the Arms of the Goaler Blifil. She anſwered with great Impetuoſity, ‘'So far, Madam, from your being concerned alone, your concern is the leaſt, or ſurely the leaſt important. It is the Honour of your Family which is concerned in this Alliance; you are only the Inſtrument. Do you conceive, Miſtreſs, that in an Intermarriage between King⯑doms, as when a Daughter of France is married into Spain, that the Princeſs herſelf is alone con⯑ſidered in the Match? No, it is a match between two Kingdoms, rather than between two Perſons. The ſame happens in great Families, ſuch as ours. The Alliance between the Families is the Principal Matter. You ought to have a greater Regard for the Honour of your Family, than for your own Perſon; and if the Example of a Princeſs cannot inſpire you with theſe noble Thoughts, you cannot ſurely complain at being uſed no worſe than all Princeſſes are uſed.’

‘'I hope, Madam,' cries Sophia, with a little Ele⯑vation of Voice, 'I ſhall never do any Thing to diſhonour my Family; but as for Mr. Blifil, what⯑ever may be the Conſequence, I am reſolved againſt him, and no Force ſhall prevail in his Favour.’

Weſtern, who had been within hearing during the greater Part of the preceding Dialogue, had now ex⯑hauſted all his Patience; he therefore entered the Room in a violent Paſſion, crying, ‘'D—n me then if ſhatunt ha' un, d—n me if ſhatunt, that's all—that's all—D—n me if ſhatunt.’

Mrs. Weſtern had collected a ſufficient Quantity of Wrath for the Uſe of Sophia; but ſhe now transfer⯑ed it all to the Squire. ‘'Brother,' ſaid ſhe, 'it is [13] aſtoniſhing that you will interfere in a Matter which you had totally left to my Negotiation. Regard to my Family hath made me take upon myſelf to be the mediating Power, in order to rectify thoſe miſtakes in Policy which you have committed in your Daughter's Education. For, Brother, it is you; it is your prepoſterous Conduct which hath eradicated all the Seeds that I had formerly ſown in her tender Mind.—It is yourſelf who have taught her Diſ⯑obedience.'’—‘'Blood!' cries the Squire, foaming at the Mouth, 'you are enough to conquer the Patience of the Devil! Have I ever taught my Daughter Diſobedience?—Here ſhe ſtands; Speak honeſtly, Girl, did ever I bid you be diſobedient to me? Have I not done every thing to humour and to gratify you, and to make you obedient to me? And very obedient to me ſhe was when a little Child, before you took her in Hand and ſpoiled her, by fill⯑ing her Head with a Pack of Court Notions.—Why—why—why—did not I over-hear you telling her ſhe muſt behave like a Princeſs? You have made a Whig of the Girl; and how ſhould her Father, or any body elſe, expect any Obedience from her?'’ ‘'Brother,' anſwered Mrs. Weſtern, with an Air of great diſdain, 'I cannot expreſs the Contempt I have for your Politics of all Kinds; but I will appeal like⯑wiſe to the young Lady herſelf, whether I have ever taught her any Principles of Diſobedience. On the contrary, Niece, have I not endeavoured to inſpire you with a true Idea of the ſeveral Relations in which a human Creature ſtands in Society? Have I not taken infinite Pains to ſhew you, that the Law of Nature hath enjoined a Duty on Children to their Parents? Have I not told you what Plato ſays on that Subject?—A Subject on which you was ſo notoriouſly ignorant when you came firſt under my Care, that I verily believe you did not know the Relation between a Daughter and a Father.'’ ‘' 'Tis [14] Lie,' anſwered Weſtern. 'The Girl is no ſuch Fool, as to live to eleven Years old without know⯑ing that ſhe was her Father's Relation.'’ ‘'O more than Gothic Ignorance,' anſwered the Lady.— 'And as for your Manners, Brother, I muſt tell you, they deſerve a Cane.'’ ‘'Why then you may gi' it me, if you think you are able,' cries the Squire; 'nay, I ſuppoſe your Niece there will be ready enough to help you.'’ ‘'Brother,' ſaid Mrs. Weſtern, 'tho' I diſpiſe you beyond Expreſſion, yet I ſhall endure your Inſolence no longer; ſo I deſire my Coach may be got ready immediately, for I am reſolved to leave your Houſe this very Morning.'’ ‘'And a good Riddance too,' anſwered he; 'I can bear your Inſolence no longer, an you come to that. Blood! it is almoſt enough of itſelf, to make my Daughter undervalue my Senſe, when ſhe hears you telling me every Minute you deſpiſe me.'’ ‘'It is impoſſible, it is impoſſible,' cries the Aunt, 'no one can undervalue ſuch a Boor.’ ‘Boar,' anſwered the Squire, 'I am no Boar; no, nor Aſs; no, nor Rat neither, Madam. Remember that—I am no Rat. I am a ture Engliſhman, and not of your Hanover Breed, that have eat up the Nation.’ ‘Thou art one of thoſe wiſe Men,' cries ſhe, 'whoſe nonſenſical Principles have undone the Nation; by weakening the Hands of our Government at home, and by diſcouraging our Friends, and encouraging our Enemies abroad.'’ ‘'Ho! are you come back to your Politics,' cries the Squire, 'as for thoſe I deſpiſe them as much as I do a F—t.’ Which laſt Words he accompanied and graced with the very Ac⯑tion, which of all others was the moſt proper to it. And whether it was this Word, or the Contempt expreſt for her Politics, which moſt affected Mrs. Weſtern, I will not determine; but ſhe flew into the moſt violent Rage, uttered Phraſes improper to be here related, and inſtantly burſt out of the Houſe. [15] Nor did her Brother or her Niece think proper either to ſtop or to follow her: For the one was ſo much poſſeſſed by Concern, and the other by Anger, that they were rendered almoſt motionleſs.

The Squire, however, ſent after his Siſter the ſame Holla which attends the Departure of a Hare, when ſhe is firſt ſtarted before the Hounds. He was indeed a great Maſter of this Kind of Vociferation, and had a Holla proper for moſt Occaſions in Life.

Women who, like Mrs. Weſtern, know the World, and have applied themſelves to Philoſophy and Poli⯑tics, would have immediately availed themſelves of the preſent Diſpoſition of Mr. Weſtern's Mind; by throwing in a few artful Compliments to his Under⯑ſtanding at the Expence of his abſent Adverſary; but poor Sophia was all Simplicity. By which Word we do not intend to inſinuate to the Reader, that ſhe was ſilly, which is generally underſtood as a ſynonimous Term with ſimple: For ſhe was indeed a moſt ſenſi⯑ble Girl, and her Underſtanding was of the firſt Rate; but ſhe wanted all that uſeful Art which Females con⯑vert to ſo many good Purpoſes in Life, and which, as it rather ariſes from the Heart, than from the Head, is often the Property of the ſillieſt of Women.

CHAP. IV. A Picture of a Country Gentlewoman taken from th [...] Life.

MR. Weſtern having finiſhed his Holla, and taken a little Breath, began to lament, in very pa⯑thetic Terms, the unfortunate Condition of Men, who are, ſays he, always whipt in by the Humours of ſome d—nd B—or other. I think I was hard run enough by your Mother for one Man; but after giving her a Dodge, here's another B—follows me upon the Foil; but curſe my Jacket if I will be run down in this Manner by any o'um.

[16] Sophia never had a ſingle Diſpute with her Father, till this unlucky Affair of Blifil, on any Account, except in Defence of her Mother, whom ſhe had loved moſt tenderly, though ſhe loſt her in the ele⯑venth Year of her Age. The Squire, to whom that poor Woman had been a faithful upper Servant all the Time of their Marriage, had returned that Beha⯑viour, by making what the World calls a good Huſ⯑band. He very ſeldom ſwore at her (perhaps not a⯑bove once a Week) and never beat her: She had not the leaſt Occaſion for Jealouſy, and was perfect Mi⯑ſtreſs of her Time: for ſhe was never interrupted by her Huſband, who was engaged all the Morning in his Field Exerciſes, and all the Evening with Bottle-Com⯑panions. She ſcarce indeed ever ſaw him but at Meals; where ſhe had the Pleaſure of carving thoſe Diſhes which ſhe had before attended at the Dreſſing. From theſe Meals ſhe retired about five Minutes after the other Servants, having only ſtayed to drink the King over the Water. Such were, it ſeems, Mr. Weſtern's Orders: For it was a Maxim with him, that Women ſhould come in with the firſt Diſh, and go out after the firſt Glaſs. Obedience to theſe Or⯑ders was perhaps no difficult Taſk: For the Conver⯑ſation (if it may be called ſo) was ſeldom ſuch as could entertain a Lady. It conſiſted chiefly of Hol⯑lowing, Singing, Relations of ſporting Adventures, B—d—y, and Abuſe of Women and of the Go⯑vernment.

Theſe, however, were the only Seaſons when Mr. Weſtern ſaw his Wife: For when he repaired to her Bed, he was generally ſo drunk that he could not ſee; and in the ſporting Seaſon he always roſe from her before it was light. Thus was ſhe perfect Miſtreſs of her Time; and had beſides a Coach and four uſually at her Command; tho' unhappily indeed the Badneſs of the Neighbourhood, and of the Roads, made this of little Uſe: For none who had ſet much Value on [17] their Necks would have paſſed through the one, or who had ſet any Value on their Hours, would have viſited the other. Now to deal honeſtly with the Rea⯑der, ſhe did not make all the Return expected to ſo much Indulgence: For ſhe had been married againſt her Will, by a fond Father, the Match having been rather advantageous on her Side: For the Squire's Eſtate was upwards of 3000 l. a Year, and her For⯑tune no more than a bare 8000 l. Hence perhaps ſhe had contracted a little Gloomineſs of Temper: For ſhe was rather a good Servant than a good Wife; nor had ſhe always the Gratitude to return the ex⯑traordinary Degree of roaring Mirth, with which the Squire received her, even with a good humoured Smile. She would, moreover, ſometimes interfere with Matters which did not concern her, as the vio⯑lent Drinking of her Huſband, which in the gentleſt Terms ſhe would take ſome of the few Opportuni⯑ties he gave her of remonſtrating againſt. And once in her Life ſhe very earneſtly entreated him to carry her for two Months to London, which he perempto⯑rily denied; nay, was angry with his Wife for the Requeſt ever after, being well aſſured, that all the Huſ⯑bands in London are Cuckolds.

For this laſt, and many other good Reaſons, We⯑ſtern at length heartily hated his Wife; and this Ha⯑tred as he never concealed before her Death, ſo he ne⯑ver forgot it afterwards; but when any Thing in the leaſt ſoured him, as a bad ſcenting Day, or a Diſtem⯑per among his Hounds, or any other ſuch Misfor⯑tune, he conſtantly vented his Spleen by Invectives againſt the Deceaſed; ſaying,—‘'If my Wife was alive now, ſhe would be glad of this.'’

Theſe Invectives he was eſpecially deſirous of throwing forth before Sophia: For as he loved her more than he did any other, ſo he was really jea⯑lous that ſhe had loved her Mother better than him. And this Jealouſy Sophia ſeldom failed of heightening [18] on theſe Occaſions: For he was not contented with violating her Ears with the Abuſe of her Mother; but endeavoured to force an explicit Approbation of all this Abuſe, with which Deſire he never could prevail upon her by any Promiſe or Threats to comply.

Hence ſome of my Readers will, perhaps, won⯑der that the Squire had not hated Sophia as much as he had hated her Mother; but I muſt inform them, that Hatred is not the Effect of Love, even through the Medium of Jealouſy. It is, indeed, very poſ⯑ſible for jealous Perſons to kill the Objects of their Jealouſy, but not to hate them. Which Sentiment being a pretty hard Morſel, and bearing ſomething of the Air of a Paradox, we ſhall leave the Reader to chew the Cud upon it to the End of the Chapter.

CHAP. V. The generous Behaviour of Sophia towards her Aunt.

SOPHIA kept Silence during the foregoing Speech of her Father, nor did ſhe once anſwer otherwiſe than with a Sigh; but as he underſtood none of the Language, or as he called it, Lingo of the Eyes, ſo he was not ſatisfied without ſome further Approbation of his Sentiments; which he now demanded in the uſual Way of his Daughter; telling her, ‘'he ex⯑pected ſhe was ready to take the Part of every Body againſt him, as ſhe had always done that of the B—her Mother.'’ Sophia remaining ſtill ſilent, he cry'd out, ‘'What art dumb? why doſt unt ſpeak. Was not thy Mother a d—d B—to me? Anſwer me that. What, I ſuppoſe, you deſpiſe your Fa⯑ther too, and don't think him good enough to ſpeak to?'’

‘'For Heavn's Sake, Sir,' anſwered Sophia, 'do not give ſo cruel a Turn to my Silence. I am ſure I would ſooner die than be guilty of any Diſreſpect [19] towards you; but how can I venture to ſpeak, when every Word muſt either offend my dear Papa, or convict me of the blackeſt Ingratitude as well as Impiety to the Memory of the beſt of Mo⯑thers: For ſuch, I am certain my Mamma was al⯑ways to me?'’

‘'And your Aunt, I ſuppoſe, is the beſt of Siſters too!' replied the Squire. 'Will you be ſo kind as to allow that ſhe is a B—? I may fairly inſiſt upon that, I think.'’

‘'Indeed, Sir,' ſays Sophia, 'I have great Obliga⯑tions to my Aunt. She hath been a ſecond Mother to me.'’

‘'And a ſecond Wife to me too,' returned We⯑ſtern; 'ſo you will take her Part too! You won't confeſs that ſhe hath acted the Part of the vileſt Siſ⯑ter in the World?'’

‘'Upon my Word, Sir,' cries Sophia, 'I muſt belie my Heart wickedly if I did. I know my Aunt and you differ very much in your Ways of thinking; but I have heard her a thouſand Times expreſs the greateſt Affection for you; and I am convinced ſo far from her being the worſt Siſter in the World, there are very few who love a Bro⯑ther better.'’

‘'The Engliſh of all which is,' anſwered the Squire, 'that I am in the wrong. Ay, certainly. Ay, to be ſure the Woman is in the Right, and the Man in the Wrong always.'’

‘'Pardon me, Sir,' cries Sophia, 'I do not ſay ſo.'’

‘'What don't you ſay,' anſwered the Father? 'you have the Impudence to ſay ſhe's in the Right; doth it not follow then of Courſe that I'm in the wrong? And perhaps I am in the wrong to ſuffer ſuch a Preſbyterian Hanoverian B—to come into my Houſe. She may 'dite me of a Plot for any Thing I know, and give my Eſtate to the Go⯑vernment.'’

‘[20] 'So far, Sir, from injuring you or your Eſtate,' ſays Sophia, 'if my Aunt had died Yeſterday, I am convinced ſhe would have left you her whole Fortune.'’

Whether Sophia intended it or no, I ſhall not pre⯑ſume to aſſert; but certain it is, theſe laſt Words pe⯑netrated very deep into the Ears of her Father, and produced a much more ſenſible Effect than all ſhe had ſaid before. He received the Sound with much the ſame Action as a Man receives a Bullet in his Head. He ſtarted, ſtaggered and turned pale. After which he remained ſilent above a Minute, and then began in the following heſitating Manner. ‘'Yeſter⯑day! ſhe would have left me her Eſteate Yeſterday! would ſhe? Why Yeſterday of all the Days in the Year? I ſuppoſe if ſhe dies To-morrow ſhe will leave it to ſomebody elſe, and perhaps out of the Vamily:'’ ‘'My Aunt, Sir,' cries Sophia, 'hath very violent Paſſions, and I can't anſwer what ſhe may do under their Influence.'’

‘'You can't! returned the Father, 'and pray who hath been the Occaſion of putting her into thoſe violent Paſſions? Nay, who hath actually put her into them? Was not you and ſhe hard at it before I came into the Room? Beſides, was not all our Quarrel about you? I have not quarreled with Siſter theſe many Years but upon your Ac⯑count; and now you would throw the whole Blame upon me, as thof I ſhould be the Occaſion of her leaving her Eſteate out o' the Vamily. I could have expected no better indeed, this is like the Return you make to all the reſt of my Fondneſs.'’

‘'I beſeech you then,' cries Sophia, 'upon my Knees I beſeech you, if I have been the unhappy Occaſion of this Difference, that you will endea⯑vour to make it up with my Aunt, and not ſuffer her to leave your Houſe in this violent Rage of Anger: She is a very good-natured Woman, and [21] a few civil Words will ſatisfy her—Let me in⯑treat you, Sir.'’

‘'So I muſt go and aſk Pardon for your Fault, muſt I?' anſwered Weſtern. 'You have loſt the Hare, and I muſt draw every Way to find her again? In⯑deed if I was certain'’—Here he ſtopt, and So⯑phia throwing in more Entreaties, at length prevailed upon him; and after venting two or three bitter ſarcaſtical Expreſſions againſt his Daughter, he depart⯑ed as faſt as he could to recover his Siſter, before her Equipage could be gotten ready.

Sophia then retired to her Chamber of Mourning, where ſhe indulged herſelf (if the Phraſe may be al⯑lowed me) in all the Luxury of tender Grief. She read over the Letter which ſhe had received from Jones more than once; her Muff too was uſed on this Oc⯑caſion; and ſhe bathed both theſe, as well as herſelf, with her Tears. In this Situation, the friendly Mrs. Honour exerted her utmoſt Abilities to comfort her afflicted Miſtreſs. She ran over the Names of many young Gentlemen; and having greatly commended their Parts and Perſons, aſſured Sophia that ſhe might take her choice of any. Theſe Methods muſt have certainly been uſed with ſome Succeſs in Diſorders of the like Kind, or ſo ſkilful a Practitioner as Mrs. Ho⯑nour would never have ventured to apply them; nay, I have heard that the College of Chambermaids hold them to be as ſovereign Remedies as any in the female Diſpenſary; but whether it was that Sophia's Diſeaſe differed inwardly, from thoſe Caſes with which it a⯑greed in external Symptoms, I will not aſſert; but, in Fact, the good Waiting-woman did more Harm than Good, and at laſt ſo incenſed her Miſtreſs (which was no eaſy Matter) that with an angry Voice ſhe diſmiſſed her from her Preſence.

CHAP. VI. Containing great Variety of Matter.

THE Squire overtook his Siſter juſt as ſhe was ſtepping into the Coach, and partly by Force, and partly by Solicitations, prevailed upon her to or⯑der her Horſes back into their Quarters. He ſuc⯑ceeded in this Attempt without much Difficulty: For the Lady was, as we have already hinted, of a moſt placable Diſpoſition, and greatly loved her Bro⯑ther, tho' ſhe deſpiſed his Parts, or rather his little Knowledge of the World.

Poor Sophia, who had firſt ſet on Foot this Re⯑conciliation, was now made the Sacrifice to it. They both concurred in their Cenſures on her Conduct; jointly declared War againſt her; and directly pro⯑ceeded to Council, how to carry it on in the moſt vi⯑gorous Manner. For this Purpoſe, Mrs. Weſtern propoſed not only an immediate Concluſion of the Treaty with Allworthy; but as immediately to carry it into Execution; ſaying, ‘'That there was no o⯑ther Way to ſucceed with her Niece but by violent Methods, which ſhe was convinced Sophia had not ſufficient Reſolution to reſiſt. 'By violent, ſays ſhe, 'I mean rather, haſty Meaſures: For as to Con⯑finement or abſolute Force, no ſuch Things muſt or can be attempted. Our Plan muſt be concerted for a Surprize, and not for a Storm.'’

Theſe Matters were reſolved on, when Mr. Blifil came to pay a Viſit to his Miſtreſs. The Squire no ſooner heard of his Arrival, than he ſtept aſide, by his Siſter's Advice, to give his Daughter Orders for the proper Reception of her Lover; which he did with the moſt bitter Execrations and Denunciations of of Judgment on her Refuſal.

The Impetuoſity of the Squire bore down all be⯑fore him; and Sophia, as her Aunt very wiſely fore⯑ſaw, [23] was not able to reſiſt him. She agreed, therefore, to ſee Blifil, tho' ſhe had ſcarce Spirits or Strength ſufficient to utter her Aſſent. Indeed to give a per⯑emtory Denial to a Father whom ſhe ſo tenderly loved, was no eaſy Taſk. Had this Circumſtance been out of the Caſe, much leſs Reſolution than what ſhe was really Miſtreſs of, would, perhaps, have ſerved her; but it is no unuſual Thing to aſcribe thoſe Actions entirely to Fear, which are in a great Mea⯑ſure produced by Love.

In Purſuance, therefore, of her Father's peremp⯑tory Command, Sophia now admitted Mr. Blifil's Viſit. Scenes, like this, when painted at large, af⯑ford, as we have obſerved, very little Entertainment to the Reader. Here, therefore, we ſhall ſtrictly adhere to a Rule of Horace; by which Writers are directed to paſs over all thoſe Matters, which they deſpair of placing in a ſhining Light. A Rule, we conceive, of excellent Uſe as well to the Hiſtorian as to the Poet; and which, if followed, muſt, at leaſt, have this good Effect, that many a great Evil (for ſo all great Books are called) would thus be reduced to a ſmall one.

It is poſſible the great Art uſed by Blifil at this In⯑terview, would have prevailed on Sophia to have made another Man in his Circumſtances her Confident, and to have revealed the whole Secret of her Heart to him; but ſhe had contracted ſo ill an Opinion of this young Gentleman, that ſhe was reſolved to place no Confidence in him: For Simplicity, when ſet on it's Guard, is often a Match for Cunning. Her Beha⯑viour to him, therefore, was entirely forced, and in⯑deed ſuch as is generally preſcribed to Virgins upon the ſecond formal Viſit from one who is appointed for their Huſband.

But tho' Blifil declared himſelf perfectly ſatisfied with his Reception to the Squire, yet that Gentleman, who in Company with his Siſter had overheard all, [24] was not ſo well pleaſed. He reſolved, in Purſuance of the Advice of the ſage Lady, to puſh Matters as forward as poſſible; and addreſſing himſelf to his in⯑tended Son-in-Law in the hunting Phraſe, he cry'd after a loud Holla, ‘'Follow her, Boy, follow her; run in, run in, that's it, Honeys. Dead, dead, dead.—Never be baſhful, nor ſtand ſhall I, ſhall I?—Allworthy and I can finiſh all Matters be⯑tween us this Afternoon, and let us ha' the Wed⯑ding To-morrow.’

Blifil having conveyed the utmoſt Satisfaction into his Countenance, anſwered; ‘'As there is nothing, Sir, in this World, which I ſo eagerly deſire as an Alliance with your Family, except my Union with the moſt amiable and deſerving Sophia, you may eaſily imagine how impatient I muſt be to ſee my⯑ſelf in Poſſeſſion of my two higheſt Wiſhes. If I have not therefore importuned you on this Head, you will impute it only to my Fear of offending the Lady, by endeavouring to hurry on ſo bleſſed an Event, faſter than a ſtrict Compliance with all the Rules of Decency and Decorum will permit. But if by your Intereſt, Sir, ſhe might be induced to diſpence with any Formalities.'—’

‘'Formalities! with a Pox!' anſwered the Squire, 'Pooh, all Stuff and Nonſenſe. I tell thee, ſhe ſhall ha' thee To-morrow; you will know the World better hereafter, when you come to my Age. Wo⯑men never gi' their Conſent, Man, if they can help it, 'tis not the Faſhion. If I had ſtaid for her Mo⯑mother's Conſent, I might have been a Batchelor to this Day.—To her, to her, to her, that's it, you jolly Dog. I tell thee ſhat ha' her To-morrow Morning.'’

Blifil ſuffered himſelf to be overpowered by the forcible Rhetoric of the Squire; and it being agreed that Weſtern ſhould cloſe with Allworthy that very Afternoon, the Lover departed home, having firſt [25] earneſtly begged that no Violence might be offered to the Lady by this Haſte, in the ſame Manner as a Popiſh Inquiſitor begs the Lay Power to do no Vio⯑lence to the Heretic, delivered over to it, and againſt whom the Church hath paſſed Sentence.

And to ſay the Truth, Blifil had paſſed Sentence againſt Sophia; for however pleaſed he had declared himſelf to Weſtern, with his Reception, he was by no means ſatisfied, unleſs it was that he was ſatisfied of the Hatred and Scorn of his Miſtreſs; and this had produced no leſs reciprocal Hatred and Scorn in him. It may, perhaps, be aſked, Why then did he not put an immediate End to all further Courtſhip? I anſwer, for that very Reaſon, as well as for ſeveral others equally good, which we ſhall now proceed to open to the Reader.

Tho' Mr. Blifil was not of the Complexion of Jones, nor ready to eat every Woman he ſaw, yet he was far from being deſtitute of that Appetite which is ſaid to be the common Property of Animals. With this, he had the diſtinguiſhing Taſte, which ſerves to direct Men in their Choice of the Objects, or Food of their ſeveral Appetites; and this taught him to conſider Sophia as a moſt delicious Morſel, indeed to regard her with the ſame Deſires which an Ortolan in⯑ſpires into the Soul on Epicure. Now the Agonies which affected the Mind of Sophia rather augment⯑ed than impaired her Beauty; for her Tears added Brightneſs to her Eyes, and her Breaſts roſe higher with her Sighs. Indeed no one hath ſeen Beauty in its higheſt Luſtre, who hath never ſeen it in Diſtreſs. Blifil therefore looked on this human Ortolan with greater Deſire than when he had viewed her laſt; nor was his Deſire at all leſſened by the Averſion which he diſcovered in her to himſelf. On the contrary, this ſerved rather to heighten the Pleaſure he propoſed in rifling her Charms, as it added Triumph to Luſt; nay, he had ſome further Views, from obtaining the abſolute Poſſeſſion of her Perſon, which we deteſt too [26] much even to mention; and Revenge itſelf was not without its Share in the Gratifications which he pro⯑miſed himſelf. the rivalling poor Jones, and ſupplant⯑ing him in her Affections, added another Spur to his Purſuit, and promiſed another additional Rapture to his Enjoyment.

Beſides all theſe Views, which to ſome ſcrupulous Perſons may ſeem to ſavour too much of Malevolence, he had one Proſpect, which few Readers will regard with any great Abhorrence. And this was the Eſtate of Mr. Weſtern; which was all to be ſettled on his Daughter and her Iſſue; for ſo extravagant was the Affection of that fond Parent, that provided his Child would but conſent to be miſerable with the Huſband he choſe, he cared not at what Price he purchaſed him.

For theſe Reaſons Mr. Blifil was ſo deſirous of the Match, that he intended to deceive Sophia, by pre⯑tending Love to her; and to deceive her Father and his own Uncle, by pretending he was beloved by her. In doing this, he availed himſelf of the Piety of Thwackum, who held, that if the End propoſed was religious (as ſurely Matrimony is) it mattered not how wicked were the Means. As, to other Occaſions he uſed to apply the Philoſophy of Square, which taught, that the End was immaterial, ſo that the Means were fair and conſiſtent with moral Rectitude. To ſay Truth, there were few Occurrences in Life on which he could not draw Advantantage from the Precepts of one or other of thoſe great Maſters.

Little Deceit was indeed neceſſary to be practiſed on Mr. Weſtern; who thought the Inclinations of his Daughter of as little Conſequence, as Blifil himſelf conceived them to be; but as the Sentiments of Mr. Allworthy were of a very different Kind, ſo it was abſolutely neceſſary to impoſe on him. In this, how⯑ever, Blifil was ſo well aſſiſted by Weſtern, that he ſucceeded without Difficulty: For as Mr. Allworthy had been aſſured by her Father that Sophia had a [27] proper Affection for Blifil, and that all which he had ſuſ⯑pected concerning Jones, was entirely falſe, Blifil had nothing more to do, than to confirm theſe Aſſertions; which he did with ſuch Equivocations, that he pre⯑ſerved a Salvo for his Conſcience; and had the Sa⯑tisfaction of conveying a Lie to his Uncle, without the Guilt of telling one. When he was examined touching the Inclinations of Sophia, by Allworthy, who ſaid, ‘'he would, on no Account, be acceſſary to the forcing a young Lady into a Marriage con⯑trary to her own Will,'’ he anſwered, ‘'That the real Sentiments of young Ladies were very difficult to be underſtood; that her Behaviour to him was full as forward as he wiſhed it, and that if he could believe her Father, ſhe had all the Affection for him which any Lover could deſire. As for Jones,' ſaid he, 'whom I am loth to call Villain, tho' his Behaviour to you, Sir, ſufficiently juſtifies the Appel⯑lation, his own Vanity, or perhaps ſome wicked Views, might make him boaſt of a Falſhood; for if there had been any Reality in Miſs Weſtern's Love to him, the Greatneſs of her Fortune would never have ſuffered him to deſert her, as you are well in⯑formed he hath. Laſtly, Sir, I promiſe you I would not myſelf, for any Conſideration, no not for the whole World, conſent to marry this young Lady, if I was not perſuaded ſhe had all the Paſſi⯑on for me which I deſire ſhe ſhould have.’

This excellent Method of conveying a Falſhood with the Heart only, without making the Tongue guilty of an Untruth, by the Means of Equivocation and Impoſture, hath quieted the Conſcience of many a notable Deceiver; and yet when we conſider that it is Omniſcience on which theſe endeavour to im⯑poſe, it may poſſibly ſeem capable only of affording a very ſuperficial Comfort; and that this artful and refined Diſtinction between communicating a Lie, [28] and telling one, is hardly worth the Pains it coſts them.

Allworthy was pretty well ſatisfied with what Mr. Weſtern and Mr. Blifil told him; and the Treaty was now at the End of two Days, concluded. Nothing then remained previous to the Office of the Prieſt, but the Office of the Lawyers, which threatened to take up ſo much Time, that Weſtern offered to bind himſelf by all Manner of Covenants, rather than to defer the Hap⯑pineſs of the young Couple. Indeed he was ſo very ear⯑neſt and preſſing, that an indifferent Perſon might have concluded he was more a Principal in this Match than he really was: But this Eagerneſs was natural to him on all Occaſions; and he conducted every Scheme he un⯑dertook in ſuch a Manner, as if the Succeſs of that alone was ſufficient to conſtitute the whole Happineſs of his Life.

The joint Importunities of both Father and Son-in-law would probably have prevailed on Mr. All⯑worthy, who brooked but ill any Delay of giving Happineſs to others, had not Sophia herſelf prevented it, and taken Meaſures to put a final End to the whole Treaty, and to rob both Church and Law of thoſe Taxes which theſe wiſe Bodies have thought proper to receive from the Propagation of the human Spe⯑cies, in a lawful Manner. Of which in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII. A ſtrange Reſolution of Sophia, and a more ſtrange Stratagem of Mrs. Honour.

THO' Mrs. Honour was principally attached to her Intereſt, ſhe was not without ſome little Attachment to Sophia. To ſay Truth, it was very difficult for any one to know that young Lady with⯑out loving her. She no ſooner, therefore, heard a [29] Piece of News, which ſhe imagined to be of great Importance to her Miſtreſs, than quite forgetting the Anger which ſhe had conceived two Days before, at her unpleaſant Diſmiſſion from Sophia's Preſence, ſhe ran haſtily to inform her of this News.

The Beginning of her Diſcourſe was as abrupt as her Entrance into the Room. ‘'O dear Ma'am,' ſays ſhe, 'what doth your La'ſhip think? To be ſure, I am frightened out of my Wits; and yet I thought it my Duty to tell your La'ſhip, tho' per⯑haps it may make you angry, for we Servants don't always know what will make our Ladies angry; for to be ſure, every thing is always laid to the Charge of a Servant. When our Ladies are out of Humour, to be ſure we muſt be ſcolded, and to be ſure I ſhould not wonder if your La'ſhip ſhould be out of Humour; nay, it muſt ſurprize you certainly, ay, and ſhock you too.'’—‘'Good Honour! let me know it without any longer Preface,' ſays Sophia; 'there are few Things, I promiſe you, which will ſurprize, and fewer which will ſhock me.'’ ‘Dear Ma'am, anſwered ed Honour, 'to be ſure, I overheard my Maſter talking to Parſon Supple about getting a Licence this very Af⯑ternoon; and to be ſure I heard him ſay your La'ſhip ſhould be married To-marrow Morning.'’ Sophia turned pale at theſe Words, and repeated eagerly, ‘'To⯑morrow Morning⯑’—‘Yes, Madam,' replied the truſty Waiting-woman, 'I will take my Oath. I heard my Maſter ſay ſo.'’ ‘Honour,' ſays Sophia, 'you have both ſurprized and ſhocked me to ſuch a De⯑gree, that I have ſcarce any Breath or Spirit left. What is to be done in my dreadful Situation?'’ ‘I wiſh I was able to adviſe your La'ſhip,' ſays ſhe.’ ‘'Do, adviſe me,' cries Sophia, 'pray dear Honour adviſe me. Think what you would attempt if it was your own Caſe.’ ‘Indeed, Ma'am,' cries Ho⯑nour, 'I wiſh your La'ſhip and I could change Situa⯑tions; that is, I mean, without hurting your La'ſhip, [30] for to be ſure, I don't wiſh you ſo bad as to be a Ser⯑vant; but becauſe that if ſo be it was my Caſe, I ſhould find no Manner of Difficulty in it; for in my poor Opinion, young Squire Blifil is a charm⯑ing, ſweet, handſome Man.'’—‘'Don't mention ſuch Stuff,'’ cries Sophia.'—‘Such Stuff,' repeated Honour, 'why there—Well, to be ſure, what's one Man's Meat is another Man's Poiſon, and the ſame is altogether as true of Women.'’ ‘Honour,' ſays Sophia, 'rather than Submit to be the Wife of that contemptible Wretch, I would plunge a Dagger into my Heart.'’ ‘'O lud, Ma'am,' anſwered the other, 'I am ſure you frighten me out of my Wits now. Let me beſeech your La'ſhip not to ſuffer ſuch wicked Thoughts to come into your Head. O lud to be ſure I tremble every Inch of me. Dear Ma'am conſider—that to be denied Chriſtian Burial, and to have your Corpſe buried in the Highway, and a Stake drove through you, as Farmer Halfpenny was ſerved at Ox-Croſs, and, to be ſure, his Ghoſt hath walked there ever ſince; for ſeveral People have ſeen him. To be ſure it can be nothing but the Devil which can put ſuch wicked Thoughts into the Head of any body; for certainly it is leſs wicked to hurt all the World than one's own dear Self, and ſo I have heard ſaid by more Parſons than one. If your La'ſhip hath ſuch a violent Averſion, and hates the young Gentleman ſo very bad, that you can't bear to think of going into Bed to him; for to be ſure there may be ſuch Antipathies in Nature, and one had lieverer touch a Toad than the Fleſh of ſome People.—’

Sophia had been too much wraped in Contempla⯑tion to pay any great Attention to the foregoing ex⯑cellent Diſcourſe of her Maid; interrupting her there⯑fore, without making any anſwer to it, ſhe ſaid, ‘'Honour, I am come to a Reſolution. I am deter⯑mined to leave my Father's Houſe this very Night; [31] and if you have the Friendſhip for me which you have often profeſſed, you will keep me Company.'’ ‘'That I will, Ma'am, to the World's End,' an⯑ſwered Honour; 'but I beg your La'ſhip to conſider the Conſequence before you undertake any raſh Action. Where can your La'ſhip poſſibly go?'’ ‘'There is,' replied Sophia, 'a Lady of Quality in London, a Relation of mine, who ſpent ſeveral Months with my Aunt in the Country; during all which Time ſhe treated me with great Kindneſs, and expreſſed ſo much Pleaſure in my Company, that ſhe earneſtly deſired my Aunt to ſuffer me to go with her to London. As ſhe is a Woman of very great Note, I ſhall eaſily find her out, and I make no Doubt of being very well and kindly received by her.'’ ‘'I would not have your La'ſhip too con⯑fident of that,' cries Honour; 'for the firſt Lady I lived with uſed to invite People very earneſtly to her Houſe; but if ſhe heard afterwards they were coming, ſhe uſed to get out of the Way. Beſides, tho' this Lady would be very glad to ſee your La'⯑ſhip, as to be ſure any body would be glad to ſee your La'ſhip, yet when ſhe hears your La'ſhip is run away from my Maſter'’—‘'You are miſtaken, Honour' ſays Sophia, 'ſhe looks upon the Autho⯑rity of a Father in a much lower Light than I do; for ſhe preſſed me violently to go to London with her, and when I refuſed to go without my Father's Con⯑ſent, ſhe laughed me to Scorn, called me ſilly Coun⯑try Girl, and ſaid I ſhould make a pure loving Wife, ſince I could be ſo dutiful a Daughter. So I have no Doubt but ſhe will both receive me, and protect me too, till my Father, finding me out of his Pow⯑er, can be brought to ſome Reaſon.'’

‘'Well but, Ma'am,' anſwered Honour, 'how doth your La'ſhip think of making your Eſcape? Where will you get any Horſes or Conveyance? for as for your own Horſe, as all the Servants know a little [32] how Matters ſtand between my Maſter and your La'ſhip, Robin will be hanged before he will ſuffer it to go out of the Stable without my Maſter's ex⯑preſs Orders.'’ ‘'I intend to eſcape,' ſaid Sophia, by walking out of the Doors when they are open. I thank Heaven my Legs are very able to carry me. They have ſupported me many a long Evening, af⯑ter a Fiddle, with no very agreeable Partner; and ſurely they will aſſiſt me in running from ſo deteſta⯑ble a Partner for Life,'’ ‘'O Heavens, Ma'am, doth your La'ſhip know what you are ſaying?' cries Honour, 'would you think of walking about the Country by Night and alone?'’ ‘'Not alone,' an⯑ſwered the Lady, 'you have promiſed to bear me Company.'’ ‘'Yes, to be ſure,' cries Honour, 'I will follow your La'ſhip through the World; but your La'ſhip had almoſt as good be alone; for I ſhall not be able to defend you, if any Robbers, or other Villians, ſhould meet with you. Nay, I ſhould be in as horrible a Fright as your La'ſhip; for to be certain, they would raviſh us both. Beſides, Ma'am, conſider how cold the Nights are now, we ſhall be frozen to Death.'’ ‘'A good briſk Pace,' anſwered Sophia, 'will preſerve us from the Cold; and if you cannot defend me from a Villain, Honour, I will defend you; for I will take a Piſtol with me. There are two always charged in the Hall.'’ ‘'Dear Ma'am, you frighten me more and more,' cries Honour, 'ſure your La'⯑ſhip would not venture to fire it off! I had rather run any Chance, than your La'ſhip ſhould do that.'’ ‘'Why ſo?' ſays Sophia, 'ſmiling; would not you, Honour, fire a Piſtol at any one who ſhould attack your Virtue?'’ ‘To be ſure, Ma'am,' cries Honour, 'one's Virtue is a dear Thing, eſpecially to us poor Servants; for it is our Livelihoood, as a Body may ſay, yet I mortally hate Fire-arms; for ſo many Accidents happen by them.'’ ‘'Well, well,' [33] ſays Sophia, 'I believe I may enſure your Virtue at a very cheap Rate, without carrying any Arms with us; for I intend to take Horſes at the very firſt Town we come to, and we ſhall hardly be attacked in our Way thither. Look'ee, Honour, I am re⯑ſolved to go, and if you will attend me, I promiſe you I will reward you to the very utmoſt of my Power.'’

This laſt Argument had a ſtronger Effect on Honour than all the preceding. And ſince ſhe ſaw her Miſ⯑treſs ſo determined, ſhe deſiſted from any further Diſſuaſions. They then entered into a Debate on Ways and Means of executing their Project. Here a very ſtubborn Difficulty occurred, and this was the Removal of their Effects, which was much more ea⯑ſily got over by the Miſtreſs than by the Maid: For when a Lady hath once taken a Reſolution to run to a Lover, or to run from him, all Obſtacles are conſi⯑dered as Trifles. But Honour was inſpired by no ſuch Motive: ſhe had no Raptures to expect, nor any Ter⯑rors to ſhun, and beſides the real Value of her Clothes, i [...] which conſiſted great Part of her Fortune, ſhe had a capricious Fondneſs for ſeveral Gowns, and other Things; either becauſe they became her, or becauſe they were given her by ſuch a particular Perſon; be⯑cauſe ſhe had brought them lately, or becauſe ſhe had had them long; or for ſome other Reaſons equally good; ſo that ſhe could not endure the Thought of leaving the poor Things behind her expoſed to the Mercy of Weſtern, who, ſhe doubted not, would make them ſuffer Martyrdom in his Rage.

The ingenious Mrs. Honour having applied all her Oratory to diſſuade her Miſtreſs from her Purpoſe, when the found her poſitively determined, at laſt ſtart⯑ed the following Expedient to remove her Clothes, viz. to get herſelf turned out of Doors that very Even⯑ing. Sophia highly approved this Method, but doubt⯑ed how it might be brought about. ‘'Oh! Ma'am,' [34] cries Honour, 'your La'ſhip may truſt that to me; we Servants very well know how to obtain this Fa⯑vour of our Maſters and Miſtreſſes; tho' ſometimes indeed where they owe us more Wages than they can readily pay, they will put up with all our Af⯑fronts, and will hardly take any Warning we can give them; but the Squire is none of thoſe; and ſince your La'ſhip is reſolved upon ſetting out to Night, I warrant I get diſcharged this Afternoon.'’ It was then reſolved that ſhe ſhould pack up ſome Linnen, and a Night-gown for Sophia, with her own Things; and as for all her other Clothes, the young Lady abandoned them with no more Remorſe than the Sailor feels when he throws over the Goods of o⯑thers in order to ſave his own Life.

CHAP. VIII. Containing Scenes of Altercation, of no very uncommon Kind.

MRS. Honour had ſcarce ſooner parted from her young Lady, than ſomething (for I would not, like the old Woman in Quivedo, injure the Devil by any falſe Accuſation, and poſſibly he might have no Hand in it) but ſomething, I ſay, ſuggeſted to her, that by ſacrificing Sophia and all her Secrets to Mr. Weſtern, ſhe might probably make her Fortune. Ma⯑ny Conſiderations urged this Diſcovery. The fair Proſpect of a handſome Reward for ſo great and ac⯑ceptable a Service to the Squire, tempted her Avarice; and again, the Danger of the Enterprize ſhe had un⯑dertaken; the Incertainty of its Succeſs; Night, Cold, Robbers, Raviſhers, all alarmed her Fears. So for⯑cibly did all theſe operate upon her, that ſhe was al⯑moſt determined to go directly to the Squire, and to lay open the whole Affair. She was, however, too upright a Judge to decree on one Side before ſhe had heard the other. And here, firſt, a Journey to Lon⯑don appeared very ſtrongly in Support of Sophia. She [35] eagerly longed to ſee a Place in which ſhe fancied Charms ſhort only of thoſe which a raptured Saint imagines in Heaven. In the next Place, as ſhe knew Sophia to have much more Generoſity than her Maſ⯑ter, ſo her Fidelity promiſed her a greater Reward than ſhe could gain by Treachery. She then croſs⯑examined all the Articles which had raiſed her Fears on the other Side, and found, on fairly ſifting the Matter, that there was very little in them. And now both Scales being reduced to a pretty even Ballance, her Love to her Miſtreſs being thrown into the Scale of her Integrity, made that rather preponderate, when a Circumſtance ſtruck upon her Imagination, which might have had a dangerous Effect, had its whole Weight been fairly put into the other Scale. This was the Length of Time which muſt intervene before Sophia would be able to fulfil her Promiſe; for tho' ſhe was intitled to her Mother's Fortune, at the Death of her Father, and to the Sum of 3000l. left her by an Uncle when ſhe came of Age; yet theſe were diſtant Days, and many Accidents might prevent the intended Generoſity of the young Lady, whereas the Rewards ſhe might expect from Mr. Weſtern were im⯑mediate. But while ſhe was purſuing this Thought, the good Genius of Sophia, or that which preſided over the Integrity of Mrs. Honour, or perhaps mere Chance, ſent an Accident in her Way, which at once preſerved her Fidelity, and even facilitated their intended Buſineſs.

Mrs. Weſtern's Maid claimed great Superiority over Mrs. Honour, on ſeveral Accounts. Firſt, her Birth was higher: For her great Grand-mother by the Mo⯑ther's Side was a Couſin, not far removed, to an Iriſh Peer. Secondly, her Wages were greater. And laſt⯑ly, ſhe had been at London, and had of Conſequence ſeen more of the World. She had always behaved, therefore, to Mrs. Honour with that Reſerve, and had always exacted of her thoſe Marks of Diſtinction, which every Order of Females preſerve and require in [36] Converſation with thoſe of an inferior Order. Now as Honour did not at all Times agree with this Doc⯑trine; but would frequently break in upon the Reſpect which the other demanded, Mrs Weſtern's Maid was not at all pleaſed with her Company: Indeed, ſhe ear⯑neſtly longed to return home to the Houſe of her Miſ⯑treſs, where ſhe domineered at Will over all the o⯑ther Servants. She had been greatly, therefore, diſ⯑appointed in the Morning when Mrs. Weſtern had changed her Mind on the very Point of Departure, and had been in what is vulgarly called, a glouting Humour ever ſince.

In this Humour, which was none of the ſweeteſt, ſhe came into the Room where Honour was debating with herſelf, in the Manner we have above related. Honour no ſooner ſaw her, than ſhe addreſſed her in the following obliging Phraſe. ‘'Soh! Madam, I find we are to have the Pleaſure of your Company longer, which I was afraid the Quarrel between my Maſter and your Lady would have robbed us of.'’ ‘'I don't know, Madam,' anſwered the other, 'who you mean by We and Us. I aſſure you I do not look on any of the Servants in this Houſe to be pro⯑per Company for me. I am Company, I hope, for their Betters every Day in the Week. I do not ſpeak on your Account, Mrs. Honour; for you are a civilized young Woman; and when you have ſeen a little more of the World, I ſhould not be aſham⯑ed to walk with you in St. James's Park.'’ ‘'Hoity! toity!' cries Honour, Madam is in her Airs, I pro⯑teſt. Mrs. Honour forſooth! ſure, Madam, you might call me by my Sir-name; for tho' my Lady calls me Honour, I have a Sir-name as well as other Folks. Aſhamed to walk with me, quotha! Mar⯑ry, as good as yourſelf I hope.'’ ‘'Since you make ſuch a Return to my Civility,' ſaid the other, I muſt acquaint you, Mrs. Honour, that you are not ſo good as me. In the Country one is indeed oblig⯑ed [37] to take up with all kind of Trumpery, but in Town I viſit none but the Women of Women of Quality. Indeed, Mrs. Honour, there is ſome Dif⯑ference, I hope, between you and me.'’ ‘'I hope ſo too,' anſwered Honour, 'there is ſome Diffe⯑rence in our Ages, and—I think in our Perſons.'’ Upon ſpeaking which laſt Words, ſhe ſtrutted by Mrs. Weſtern's Maid with the moſt provoking Air of Contempt; turning up her Noſe, toſſing her Head, and violently bruſhing the Hoop of her Competitor with her own. The other Lady put on one of her moſt malicious Sneers, and ſaid, ‘'Creature! you are below my Anger; and it is beneath me to give ill Words to ſuch an audacious ſaucy Trollop; but, Huſſy, I muſt tell you, your Breeding ſhews the Mean⯑neſs of your Birth as well as of your Education; and both very properly qualify you to be the mean ſerving Woman of a Country Girl.'’ ‘'Don't a⯑buſe my Lady,' cries Honour, 'I won't take that of you; ſhe's as much better than yours as ſhe is younger, and ten thouſand Times more handſomer.’

Here rather ill Luck, or rather good Luck ſent Mrs. Weſtern to ſee her Maid in Tears, which be⯑gan to flow plentifully at her Approach; and of which being aſked the Reaſon by her Miſtreſs, ſhe preſently acquainted her, that her Tears were oc⯑caſioned by the rude Treatment of that Creature there, meaning Honour. ‘'And, Madam,' conti⯑nued ſhe, 'I could have deſpiſed all ſhe ſaid to me; but ſhe had the Audacity to affront your Ladyſhip, and to call you ugly—Yes, Madam, ſhe called you ug⯑ly old Cat to my Face. I could not bear to hear your Ladyſhip called ugly.'’—‘Why do you repeat her Impudence ſo often?'’ ſaid Mrs. Weſtern. And then turning to Mrs. Honour, ſhe aſked her ‘how ſhe had the Aſſurance to mention her Name with Diſ⯑reſpect?’ ‘Diſreſpect Madam! anſwered Honour, [38] I never mentioned your Name at all. I ſaid ſome⯑body was not as handſome as my Miſtreſs, and to be ſure you know that as well as I.’ ‘Huſſy, 're⯑plied the Lady, 'I will make ſuch a ſaucy Trol⯑lop as yourſelf, know that I am not a proper Sub⯑ject of your Diſcourſe. And if my Brother doth not diſcharge you this Moment, I will never ſleep in his Houſe again. I will find him out and have you diſcharged this Moment.'’ ‘'Diſcharged!' cries Honour, 'and ſuppoſe I am, there are more Places in the World than one. Thank Heaven, good Servants need not want Places; and if you turn away all who do not think you handſome, you will want Servants very ſoon, let me tell you that.’

Mrs. Weſtern ſpoke, or rather thundered in An⯑ſwer; but as ſhe was hardly articulate, we cannot be very certain of the Identical Words: We ſhall, therefore, omit inſerting a Speech, which, at beſt, would not greatly redound to her Honour. She then departed in ſearch of her Brother, with a Coun⯑tenance ſo full of Rage, that ſhe reſembled one of the Furies rather than a human Creature.

The two Chambermaids being again left alone, be⯑gan a ſecond Bout at Altercation, which ſoon produced a Combat of a more active Kind. In this the Victo⯑ry belonged to the Lady of Inferior Rank, but not without ſome Loſs of Blood, of Hair, and of Lawn and Muſlin.

CHAP. IX. The wiſe Demeanour of Mr. Weſtern in the Charac⯑ter of a Magiſtrate. A Hint to Juſtices of Peace, concerning the neceſſary Qualifications of a Clerk; with extraordinary Inſtances of paternal Madneſs, and filial Affection.

LOgicians ſometimes prove too much by an Ar⯑gument, and Politicians often overreach them⯑ſelves in a Scheme. Thus had it like to have hap⯑pened to Mrs. Honour, who inſtead of recovering the reſt of her Clothes, had like to have ſtopped even thoſe ſhe had on her Back from eſcaping: For the Squire no ſooner heard of her having abuſed his Siſter, than he ſwore twenty Oaths he would ſend her to Bridewell.

Mrs. Weſtern was a very good-natured Woman, and ordinarily of a forgiving Temper. She had lately remitted the Treſpaſs of a Stage-coach Man, who had overturned her Poſt-chaiſe into a Ditch; nay, ſhe had even broken the Law in refuſing to proſecute a High-way-man who had robbed her, not only of a Sum of Money, but of her Ear-rings; at the ſame Time d—ning her, and ſaying, ‘'ſuch handſome B—s as you, don't want Jewels to ſet them off, and be d—nd to you.’ But now, ſo uncertain are our Tempers, and ſo much do we at different Times differ from ourſelves, ſhe would hear of no Mitigati⯑on; nor could all the affected Penitence of Honour, nor all the Entreaties of Sophia for her own Servant, prevail with her to deſiſt from earneſtly deſiring her Brother to execute Juſticeſhip (for it was indeed a Syllable more than Juſtice) on the Wench.

But luckily the Clerk had a Qualification, which no Clerk to a Juſtice of Peace ought ever to be with⯑out, namely, ſome Underſtanding in the Law of this [40] Realm. He therefore whiſpered in the Ear of the Juſtice, that he would exceed his Authority by com⯑mitting the Girl to Bridewell, as there had been no Attempt to break the Peace; ‘'for I am afraid, Sir,' ſays he, 'you cannot legally commit any one to Bridewell only for Ill-breeding.'’

In the Matters of high Importance, particularly in Caſes relating to the Game, the Juſtice was not al⯑ways attentive to theſe Admonitions of his Clerk: For, indeed, in executing the Laws under that Head, many Juſtices of Peace ſuppoſe they have a large diſ⯑cretionary Power. By Virtue of which, under the Notion of ſearching for, and taking away Engines for the Deſtruction of the Game, they often com⯑mit Treſpaſſes, and ſometimes Felony at their Plea⯑ſure.

But this Offence was not of quite ſo high a Na⯑ture, nor ſo dangerous to the Society. Here, there⯑fore, the Juſtice behaved with ſome Attention to the Advice of his Clerk: For, in Fact, he had already had two Informations exhibited againſt him in the King's Bench, and had no Curioſity to try a third.

The Squire, therefore, putting on a moſt wiſe and ſignificant Countenance, after a Preface of ſeveral Hum's and Ha's, told his Siſter, that upon more ma⯑ture Deliberation, he was of Opinion that ‘as there was no breaking up of the Peace, ſuch as the Law, ſays he, 'calls breaking open a Door, or breaking a Hedge, or breaking a Head; or any ſuch Sort of Breaking; the Matter did not amount to a feloni⯑ous Kind of a Thing, nor Treſpaſſes nor Damages, and, therefore, there was no Puniſhment in the Law for it.’

Mrs. Weſtern ſaid, ‘'ſhe knew the Law much bet⯑ter; that ſhe had known Servants very ſeverely puniſhed for affronting their Maſters; and then named a certain Juſtice of the Peace in London, who,' ſhe ſaid, 'would commit a Servant to Bride⯑well, [41] at any Time when a Maſter or Miſtreſs de⯑ſired it.’

‘'Like enough, cries the Squire, 'it may be ſo in London; but the Law is different in the Country.—'’ Here followed a very learned Diſpute between the Brother and Siſter concerning the Law, which we would inſert, if we imagined many of our Readers could underſtand it. This was, however, at length referred by both Parties to the Clerk, who decided it in Favour of the Magiſtrate; and Mrs. Weſtern was, in the End, obliged to content herſelf with the Satisfaction of having Honour turned away; to which Sophia herſelf very readily and chearfully conſented.

Thus Fortune, after having diverted herſelf, ac⯑cording to Cuſtom, with two or three Frolicks, at laſt diſpoſed all Matters to the Advantage of our He⯑roine; who, indeed, ſucceeded admirably well in her Deceit, conſidering it was the firſt ſhe ever had prac⯑tiſed. And, to ſay the Truth, I have often conclud⯑ed, that the honeſt Part of Mankind would be much too hard for the knaviſh, if they could bring them⯑ſelves to incur the Guilt, or thought it worth their while to take the Trouble.

Honour acted her Part to the utmoſt Perfection. She no ſooner ſaw herſelf ſecure from all Danger of Bridewell, a Word which had raiſed moſt horrible Ideas in her Mind, than ſhe reſumed thoſe Airs which her Terrours before had a little abated; and laid down her Place, with as much Affectation of Con⯑tent, and indeed of Contempt, as was ever practiſed at the Reſignation of Places of a much greater Im⯑portance. If the Reader pleaſes, therefore, we chuſe rather to ſay ſhe reſigned—which hath, indeed, been always held a ſynonymous Expreſſion with be⯑ing turned out, or turned away.

Mr. Weſtern ordered her to be very expeditious in packing: For his Siſter declared ſhe would not ſleep another Night under the ſame Roof with ſo impu⯑dent [42] a Slut. To work therefore ſhe went, and that ſo earneſtly, that every Thing was ready early in the Evening; when having received her Wages, away packed Bag and Baggage, to the great Satisfaction of every one, but of none more than of Sophia; who, having appointed her Maid to meet her at a certain Place not far from the Houſe, exactly at the dread⯑ful and ghoſtly Hour of Twelve, began to prepare for her own Departure.

But firſt ſhe was obliged to give two painful Au⯑diences, the one to her Aunt, and the other to her Father. In theſe Mrs. Weſtern herſelf began to talk to her in a more peremptory Stile than before; but her Father treated her in ſo violent and outragious a Manner, that he frightened her into an affected Com⯑pliance with his Will, which ſo highly pleaſed the good Squire, that he changed his Frowns into Smiles, and his Menaces into promiſes; he vowed his whole Soul was wrapt in hers, that her Conſent (for ſo he conſtrued the Words, You know, Sir, I muſt not, nor can refuſe to obey any abſolute Command of yours,) had made him the happieſt of Mankind. He then gave her a large Bank-Bill to diſpoſe of in any Trinkets ſhe pleaſed, and kiſſed and embraced her in the fond⯑eſt Manner, while Tears of Joy trickled from thoſe Eyes, which a few Moments before had darted Fire and Rage againſt the dear Object of all his Affec⯑tion.

Inſtances of this Behaviour in Parents are ſo com⯑mon, that the Reader, I doubt not, will be very lit⯑tle aſtoniſhed at the whole Conduct of Mr. Weſtern. If he ſhould, I own I am not able to account for it; ſince that he loved his Daughter moſt tenderly, is, I think, beyond Diſpute. So indeed have many o⯑thers, who have rendered their Children moſt com⯑pleatly miſerable by the ſame Conduct; which, tho' it is almoſt univerſal in Parents, hath always appear⯑ed to me to be the moſt unaccountable of all the Ab⯑ſurdities, [43] which ever entered into the Brain of that ſtrange perfidious Creature Man.

The latter Part of Mr. Weſtern's Behaviour had ſo ſtrong an Effect on the tender Heart of Sophia, that it ſuggeſted a Thought to her, which not all the po⯑litic Sophiſtry of her Aunt, nor all the Menaces of her Father had ever once brought into her Head. She reverenced her Father ſo piouſly, and loved him ſo paſſionately, that ſhe had ſcarce ever felt more plea⯑ſing Senſations, than what aroſe from the Share ſhe frequently had of contributing to his Amuſement; and ſometimes, perhaps, to higher Gratifications; for he never could contain the Delight of hearing her commended, which he had the Satisfaction of hearing almoſt every Day of her Life. The Idea, therefore, of the immenſe Happineſs ſhe ſhould con⯑vey to her Father by her Conſent to this Match, made a ſtrong Impreſſion on her Mind. Again, the ex⯑treme Piety of ſuch an Act of Obedience, worked very forcibly, as ſhe had a very deep Senſe of Re⯑ligion. Laſtly, when ſhe reflected how much ſhe her⯑ſelf was to ſuffer, being indeed to become little leſs than a Sacrifice, or a Martyr, to filial Love and Duty, ſhe felt an agreeable Tickling in a certain little Paſ⯑ſion, which tho' it bears no immediate Affinity either to Religion or Virtue, is often ſo kind as to lend great Aſſiſtance in executing the Purpoſes of both.

Sophia was charmed with the Contemplation of ſo heroic an Action, and began to compliment herſelf with much permature Flattery, when Cupid, who lay hid in her Muff, ſuddenly crept out, and, like Punchi⯑nello in a Puppet-ſhew, kicked all out before him. In Truth (for we ſcorn to deceive our Reader, or to vindicate the Character of our Heroine, by aſcrib⯑ing her Actions to ſupernatural Impulſe) the Thoughts of her beloved Jones, and ſome Hopes (however diſ⯑tant) in which he was very particularly concerned, [44] immediately deſtroyed all which filial Love, Piety and Pride had, with their joint Endeavours, been la⯑bouring to bring about.

But before we proceed any farther with Sophia, we muſt now look back to Mr. Jones.

CHAP. X. Containing ſeveral Matters natural enough perhaps, but Low.

THE Reader will be pleaſed to remember, that we left Mr. Jones in the Beginning of this Book, on his Road to Briſtol; being determined to ſeek his Fortune at Sea, or rather, indeed, to fly away from his Fortune on Shore.

It happened, (a Thing not very unuſual) that the Guide who undertook to conduct him on his Way, was unluckily unacquainted with the Road; ſo that having miſſed his right Track, and being aſhamed to aſk Information, he rambled about backwards and forwards, till Night came on, and it began to grow dark. Jones ſuſpecting what had happened, acquaint⯑ed the Guide with his Apprehenſions; but he inſiſted on it, that they were in the right Road, and add⯑ed, it would be very ſtrange if he ſhould not know the Road to Briſtol; tho', in Reality, it would have been much ſtranger if he had known it, having never paſt through it in his Life before.

Jones had not ſuch implicit Faith in his Guide; but that on their arrival at a Village, he enquired of the firſt Fellow he ſaw, whether they were in the Road to Briſtol. ‘'Whence did you come?'’ cries the Fel⯑low. ‘'no Matter,' ſays Jones, a little haſtily, 'I want to know if this be the Road to Briſtol.'’ ‘'The Road to Briſtol!' cries the Fellow, ſcratching his Head, 'Why, Maſter, I believe you will hardly get to Briſtol this Way to Night.'’ ‘Prithee, Friend, [45] then,' anſwered Jones, 'do tell us which is the Way.’—‘'Why, Meaſter,' cries the Fellow, 'you muſt have come out of your Road the Lord knows whither: For thick Way goeth to Glouceſter.'’ ‘'Well, and which Way goes to Briſtol',’ ſaid Jones, ‘Why, you be going away from Briſtol,'’ anſwered the Fellow.—‘'Then,' ſaid Jones, 'we muſt go back again.'’ ‘'Ay, you muſt,' ’ ſaid the Fellow. ‘'Well, and when we come back to the Top of the Hill, which Way muſt we take?'’ ‘'Why you muſt keep the ſtrait Road.'’ ‘But I remember there are two Roads, one to the Right and the other to the Left.'’ ‘Why you muſt keep the right-hand Road, and then gu ſtrait vorwards; only remember to turn firſt to your Right, and then to your Left again, and then to your Right; and that brings you to the Squire's, and then you muſt keep ſtrait vorwards, and turn to the Left.'’

Another Fellow now came up, and aſked which Way the Gentlemen were going?—of which be⯑ing informed by Jones, he firſt ſcratched his Head, and then leaning upon a Pole he had in his Hand, be⯑gan to tell him, ‘That he muſt keep the Right-hand Road for about a Mile or a Mile and half or zuch a Matter, and then he muſt turn ſhort to the Left, which would bring him round by Meaſter Jin Bear⯑nes's.' But which is Mr. John Bearnes's,' ſays Jones. 'O Lord,' cries the Fellow, 'why don't you know Meaſter Jin Bearnes? Whence then did you come?’

Theſe two Fellows had almoſt conquered the Pa⯑tience of Jones, when a plain well-looking Man (who was indeed a Quaker) accoſted him thus: ‘Friend, I perceive thou haſt loſt thy Way, and if thou wilt take my Advice thou wilt not attempt to find it to Night. It is almoſt dark, and the Road is difficult to hit; beſides there have been ſeveral Robberies committed lately between this and Briſtol. Here is [46] a very creditable good Houſe juſt by, where thou may'ſt find good Entertainment for thyſelf and thy Cattle till Morning.'’ Jones, after a little Perſua⯑ſion, agreed to ſtay in this Place till the Morning, and was conducted by his Friend to the Public-Houſe.

The Landlord, who was a very civil Fellow, told Jones, ‘'he hoped he would excuſe the Badneſs of his Accommodation: For that his wife was gone from home, and had locked up almoſt every Thing, and carried the Keys along with her.'’ Indeed, the Fact was, that a favourite Daughter of hers was juſt mar⯑ried, and gone, that Morning, home with her Huſ⯑band; and that ſhe and her Mother together had al⯑moſt ſtript the poor Man of all his Goods, as well as Money: For tho' he had ſeveral Children, this Daughter only, who was the Mother's Favourite, was the Object of her Conſideration; and to the Humour, of this one Child, ſhe would, with Plea⯑ſure, have ſacrificed all the reſt, and her Huſband in⯑to the Bargain.

Tho' Jones was very unfit for any Kind of Com⯑pany, and would have preferred being alone, yet he could not reſiſt the Importunities of the honeſt Qua⯑ker; who was the more deſirous of ſitting with him, from having remarked the Melancholy which ap⯑peared both in his Countenance and Behaviour; and which the poor Quaker thought his Converſation might in ſome Meaſure relieve.

After they had paſſed ſome Time together, in ſuch a Manner that my honeſt Friend might have thought himſelf at one of his Silent-Meetings, the Quaker began to be moved by ſome Spirit or other, probably that of Curioſity; and ſaid, ‘'Friend, I perceive ſome ſad Diſaſter hath befallen thee; but, pray be of Comfort. Perhaps thou haſt loſt a Friend. If ſo, thou muſt conſider we are all mortal. And why ſhould'ſt thou grieve, when thou knoweſt thy [47] Grief will do thy Friend no Good. We are all born to Affliction. I myſelf have my Sorrows as well as thee, and moſt probably greater Sorrows. Tho' I have a clear Eſtate of a 100l. a Year, which is as much as I want, and I have a Conſci⯑ence, I thank the Lord, void of Offence. My Conſtitution is ſound and ſtrong, and there is no Man can demand a Debt of me nor accuſe me of an Injury—yet, Friend, I ſhould be concerned to think thee as miſerable as myſelf.’

Here the Quaker ended with a deep Sigh; and Jones preſently anſwered, ‘'I am very ſorry, Sir, for your Unhappineſs, whatever is the Occaſion of it.'’ ‘Ah! Friend,' replyed the Quaker, 'one only Daughter is the Occaſion. One who was my greateſt Delight upon Earth, and who within this Week is run away from me, and is married againſt my Conſent. I had provided her a proper Match, a ſober Man, and one of Subſtance; but ſhe, forſooth, would chuſe for herſelf, and away ſhe is gone with a young Fellow not worth a Groat. If ſhe had been dead, as I ſuppoſe thy Friend is, I ſhould have been happy!'’ ‘'That is very ſtrange, Sir,'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'Why would it not be better for her to be dead, than to be a Beg⯑gar?' replied the Quaker: 'For, as I told you, the Fellow is not worth a Groat; and ſurely ſhe cannot expect that I ſhall ever give her a Shilling. No, as ſhe hath married for Love, let her live on Love if ſhe can; let her carry her Love to Market, and ſee whether any one will change it into Silver, or even into Halfpence.'’ ‘'You know your own Concerns beſt, Sir,'’ ſaid Jones. ‘'It muſt have been,' continued the Quaker, 'a long premedi⯑tated Scheme to cheat me: For they have known one another from their infancy; and I always preached to her againſt Love—and told her a thouſand Times over, it was all Folly and Wickedneſs. Nay, the cunning Slut pretended to hearken to me, and [48] to deſpiſe all Wantonneſs of the Fleſh; and yet at laſt, to break out of a Window up two pair of Stairs: For I began, indeed, a little to ſuſpect her, and had locked her up carefully, intending the very next Morning to have married her up to my Liking. But ſhe diſappointed me within a few Hours, and eſcaped away to the Lover of her own chuſing, who loſt no Time: For they were mar⯑ried and bedded, and all within an Hour.’

‘But it ſhall be the worſt Hour's Work for them both that ever they did, for they may ſtarve, or beg, or ſteal together for me. I will never give either of them a Farthing.’ Here Jones ſtarting up, cry'd, ‘I really muſt be excuſed, I wiſh you would leave me.'’ ‘'Come, come, Friend, ſaid the Quaker, don't give Way to Concern. You ſee there are other People miſerable, beſides your⯑ſelf.'’ ‘'I ſee there are Madmen and Fools and Villains in the World,' cries Jones—'But let me give you a Piece of Advice; ſend for your Daughter and Son-in-law home, and don't be yourſelf the only Cauſe of Miſery to one you pre⯑tend to love.'’ ‘Send for her and her Huſband home!' cries the Quaker loudly, 'I would ſooner ſend for the two greateſt Enemies I have in the World!'’ ‘'Well go home yourſelf, or where you pleaſe,' ſaid Jones: 'For I will ſit no longer in ſuch Company.’ ‘'—Nay, Friend,' anſwered the Quaker, I ſcorn to impoſe my Company on any one.'’ He then offered to pull Money from his Pocket, but Jones puſhed him with ſome Violence out of the Room.

The Subject of the Quaker's Diſcourſe had ſo deeply affected Jones, that he ſtared very wildly all the Time he was ſpeaking. This the Quaker had obſerved, and this, added to the reſt of his Behavi⯑our, inſpired honeſt Broadbrim with a Conceit, that his Companion was in reality out of his Senſes. In⯑ſtead of reſenting the Affront, therefore, the Quaker [49] was moved with Compaſſion for his unhappy Cir⯑cumſtances; and having communicated his Opinion to the Landlord, he deſired him to take great Care of his Gueſt, and to treat him with the higheſt Civility.

‘'Indeed,' ſays the Landlord, 'I ſhall uſe no ſuch Civility towards him: For it ſeems, for all his laced Waiſtcoat there, he is no more a Gentleman than myſelf; but a poor Pariſh Baſtard bred up at a great Squire's about 30 Miles off, and now turned out of Doors, (not for any good to be ſure.) I ſhall get him out of my Houſe as ſoon as poſſible. If I do loſe my Reckoning, the firſt Loſs is always the beſt. It is not above a Year ago that I loſt a Silver-ſpoon.'’

‘'What doſt thou talk of a Pariſh Baſtard, Robin?' anſwered the Quaker. 'Thou muſt certainly be miſ⯑taken in thy Man.'’

‘'Not at all,' replied Robin, 'the Guide, who knows him very well, told it me.'’ For, indeed, the Guide had no ſooner taken his Place at the Kitch⯑en-Fire, than he acquainted the whole Company with all he knew, or had ever heard concerning Jones.

The Quaker was no ſooner aſſured by this Fellow of the Birth and low Fortune of Jones, than all Com⯑paſſion for him vaniſhed; and the honeſt, plain Man went home fired with no leſs Indignation than a Duke would have felt at receiving an Affront from ſuch a Perſon.

The Landlord himſelf conceived an equal Diſdain for his Gueſt; ſo that when Jones rung the Bell in order to retire to Bed, he was acquainted that he could have no Bed there. Beſides Diſdain of the mean Condition of his Gueſt, Robin entertained violent Su⯑ſpicion of his Intentions, which were, he ſuppoſed, to watch ſome favourable Opportunity of robbing the Houſe. In reality, he might have been very well eaſed of theſe Apprehenſions by the prudent Precau⯑tions of his Wife and Daughter, who had already re⯑moved [50] every thing which was not fixed to the Free⯑hold; but he was by Nature ſuſpicious, and had been more particularly ſo ſince the Loſs of his Spoon. In ſhort, the Dread of being robbed, totally abſorbed the comfortable Conſideration that he had nothing to loſe.

Jones being aſſured that he could have no Bed, ve⯑ry contentedly betook himſelf to a great Chair made with Ruſhes, when Sleep, which had lately ſhunned his Company in much better Apartments, generouſly paid him a Viſit in his humble Cell.

As for the Landlord, he was prevented by his Fears from retiring to Reſt. He returned therefore to the Kitchen Fire, whence he would ſurvey the only Door which opened into the Parlour, or rather, Hole, where Jones was ſeated; and as for the Window to that Room, it was impoſſible for any Creature larger than a Cat to have made his Eſcape through it.

CHAP. XI. The Adventure of a Company of Soldiers.

THE Landlord having taken his Seat directly oppoſite to the Door of the Parlour, determined to keep Guard there the whole Night. The Guide and another Fellow remained long on Duty with him, tho' they neither knew his Suſpicions, nor had any of their own. The true Cauſe of their watching did indeed, at length, put an End to it; for this was no other than the Strength and Goodneſs of the Beer, of which having tippled a very large Quantity, they grew at firſt very noiſy and vociferous, and afterwards fell both aſleep.

But it was not in the Power of Liquor to compoſe the Fears of Robin. He continued ſtill waking in his Chair, with his Eyes fixed ſtedfaſtly on the Door which led into the Apartment of Mr. Jones, till a violent Thundering at his outward Gate called him [51] from his Seat, and obliged him to open it; which he had no ſooner done, than his Kitchen was imme⯑diately full of Gentlemen in red Coats, who all ruſh⯑ed upon him in as tumultuous a Manner, as if they intended to take his little Caſtle by Storm.

The Landlord was now forced from his Poſt to furniſh his numerous Gueſts with Beer, which they called for with great Eagerneſs; and upon his ſecond or third Return from the Cellar, he ſaw Mr. Jones ſtanding before the Fire in the midſt of the Soldiers; for it may eaſily be believed, that the Arrival of ſo much good Company ſhould put an End to any Sleep, unleſs that from which we are only to be awakened by the laſt Trumpet.

The Company having now pretty well ſatisfied their Thirſt, nothing remained but to pay the Reckoning, a Circumſtance often productive of much Miſchief and Diſcontent among the inferior Rank of Gentry; who are apt to find great Difficulty in aſſeſ⯑ſing the Sum, with exact Regard to diſtributive Juſtice, which directs, that every Man ſhall pay according to the Quantity which he drinks. This Difficulty oc⯑curred upon the preſent Occaſion; and it was the greater, as ſome Gentlemen had, in their extreme Hurry, marched off, after their firſt Draught, and had entirely forgot to contribute any thing towards the the ſaid Reckoning.

A violent Diſpute now aroſe, in which every Word may be ſaid to have been depoſed upon Oath; for the Oaths were at leaſt equal to all the other Words ſpo⯑ken. In this Controverſy, the whole Company ſpoke together, and every Man ſeemed wholly bent to exte⯑nuate the Sum which fell to his Share; ſo that the moſt probable Concluſion which could be foreſeen, was, that a large Portion of the Reckoning would fall to the Landlord's Share to pay, or (what is much the ſame thing) would remain unpaid.

[52] All this while Mr. Jones was engaged in Converſa⯑tion with the Serjeant; for that Officer was entirely unconcerned in the preſent Diſpute, being privileged, by immemorial Cuſtom, from all Contribution.

The Diſpute now grew ſo very warm, that it ſeem⯑ed to draw towards a military Deciſion, when Jones ſtepping forward, ſilenced all their Clamours at once, by declaring that he would pay the whole Reckoning, which indeed amounted to no more than three Shillings and four-pence.

This Declaration procured Jones the Thanks and Applauſe of the whole Company. The Terms ho⯑nourable, noble, and worthy Gentleman, reſounded through the Room; nay, my Landlord himſelf began to have a better Opinion of him, and almoſt to diſ⯑believe the Account which the Guide had given.

The Serjeant had informed Mr. Jones, that they were marching againſt the Rebels, and expected to be commanded by the glorious Duke of Cumberland. By which the Reader may perceive (a Circumſtance which we have not thought neceſſary to communicate before) that this was the very Time when the late Rebellion was at the higheſt; and indeed the Banditti were now marched into England, intending, as it was thought, to fight the King's Forces, and to attempt puſhing forward to the Metropolis.

Jones had ſome Heroic Ingredients in his Compoſi⯑tion, and was a hearty Well-wiſher to the glorious Cauſe of Liberty, and of the Proteſtant Religion. It is no wonder, therefore, that in Circumſtances which would have warranted a much more romantic and wild Undertaking, it ſhould occur to him to ſerve as a Volunteer in this Expedition.

Our commanding Officer had ſaid all in his Power to encourage and promote this good Diſpoſition, from the firſt Moment he had been acquainted with it. He now proclaimed the noble Reſolution aloud, which was received with great Pleaſure by the whole Com⯑pany, [53] who all cried out, ‘'God bleſs King George, and your Honour;' and then added, with many Oaths, 'We will ſtand by you both to the laſt Drops of our Blood.'’

The Gentleman, who had been all Night tippling at the Alehouſe, was prevailed on by ſome Arguments which a Corporal had put into his Hand, to under⯑take the ſame Expedition. And now the Portman⯑teau belonging to Mr. Jones being put up in the Bag⯑gage-cart, the Forces were about to move forwards; when the Guide, ſtepping up to Jones, ſaid, ‘'Sir, I hope you will conſider that the Horſes have been kept out all Night, and we have travelled a great ways out of our Way.'’ Jones was ſurprized at the Impudence of this Demand, and acquainted the Soldiers with the Merits of his Cauſe, who were all unanimous in condemning the Guide for his Endea⯑vours to put upon a Gentleman. Some ſaid, he ought to be tied Neck and Heels; others, that he deſerved to run the Gauntlope; and the Serjeant ſhook his Cane at him, and wiſhed he had him under his Com⯑mand, ſwearing heartily he would make an Example of him.

Jones contented himſelf, however, with a negative Puniſhment, and walked off with his new Comrades, leaving the Guide to the poor Revenge of curſing and reviling him, in which latter the Landlord joined, ſaying, ‘'Ay, ay, he is a pure one, I warrant you. A pretty Gentleman, indeed, to go for a Soldier. He ſhall wear a laced Waiſtcoat truly. It is an old Proverb and a true one, all is not Gold that gliſters. I am glad my Houſe is well rid of him.'’

All that Day the Serjeant and the young Soldier marched together; and the former, who was an arch Fellow, told the latter many entertaining Stories of his Campaigns, tho' in Reality he had never made any; for he was but lately come into the Service, and had, by his own Dexterity, ſo well ingratiated him⯑ſelf [54] with his Officers, that he had promoted himſelf to a Halberd, chiefly indeed by his Merit in recruiting, in which he was moſt excellently well ſkilled.

Much Mirth and Feſtivity paſſed among the Sol⯑diers during their March. In which the many Oc⯑currences that had paſſed at their laſt Quarters were remembered, and every one, with great Freedom, made what Jokes he pleaſed on his Officers, ſome of which were of the coarſer Kind, and very near bor⯑dering on Scandal. This brought to our Heroe's Mind the Cuſtom which he had read of among the Greeks and Romans, of indulging, on certain Feſtivals and ſolemn Occaſions, the Liberty to Slaves, of uſing an uncontrouled Freedom of Speech towards their Maſters.

Our little Army, which conſiſted of two Companies of Foot, were now arrived at the Place where they were to halt that Evening. The Serjeant then ac⯑quainted his Lieutenant, who was the commanding Officer, that they had picked up two Fellows in that Day's March; one of which, he ſaid, was as fine a Man as ever he ſaw (meaning the Tippler) for that he was near ſix Feet, well-proportioned, and ſtrong⯑ly limbed; and the other, (meaning Jones,) would do well enough for their rear Rank.

The new Soldiers were now produced before the Officer, who having examined the ſix Foot Man, he being firſt produced, came next to ſurvey Jones; at the firſt Sight of whom, the Lieutenant could not help ſhewing ſome Surprize; for, beſides that he was very well dreſſed, and was naturally genteel, he had a remarkable Air of Dignity in his Look, which is rarely ſeen among the Vulgar, and is indeed not in⯑ſeparably annexed to the Features of their Superiors.

‘'Sir,' ſaid the Lieutenant, 'my Serjeant inform⯑ed me, that you are deſirous of enliſting in the Company I have at preſent under my command; [55] if ſo, Sir, we ſhall very gladly receive a Gentleman who promiſes to do much Honour to the Company, by bearing Arms in it.'’

Jones anſwered: ‘'That he had not mentioned any thing of enliſting himſelf; that he was moſt zealouſ⯑ly attached to the glorious Cauſe for which they were going to fight, and was very deſirous of ſerv⯑ing as a Volunteer;'’ concluding with ſome Com⯑pliments to the Lieutenant, and expreſſing the great Satisfaction he ſhould have in being under his Com⯑mand.

The Lieutenant returned his Civility, commended his Reſolution, ſhook him by the Hand, and invited him to dine with himſelf and the reſt of the Officers.

CHAP. XII. The Adventure of a Company of Officers.

THE Lieutenant, whom we mentioned in the preceding Chapter, and who commanded this Party, was now near ſixty Years of Age. He had entered very young into the Army, and had ſerved in the Capacity of an Enſign at the Battle of Tannieres; here he had received two Wounds, and had ſo well diſtinguiſhed himſelf, that he was by the Duke of Marlborough advanced to be a Lieutenant, immedi⯑ately after that Battle.

In this Commiſſion he had continued ever ſince, viz. near forty Years; during which Time he had ſeen vaſt Numbers preferred over his Head, and had now the Mortification to be commanded by Boys, whoſe Fathers were at Nurſe when he had firſt entered into the Service.

Nor was this ill Succeſs in his Profeſſion ſolely owing to his having no Friends among the Men in Power. He had the Misfortune to incur the Diſplea⯑ſure of his Colonel, who for many Years continued in the Command of this Regiment. Nor did he owe [56] the implacable Ill-will which this Man bore him to any Neglect or Deficiency as an Officer, nor indeed to any Fault in himſelf; but ſolely to the Indiſcretion of his Wife, who was a very beautiful Woman, and who, tho' ſhe was remarkably fond of her Huſband, would not purchaſe his Preferment at the Expence of certain Favours which the Colonel required of her.

The poor Lieutenant was more peculiarly unhap⯑py in this, that while he felt the Effects of the Enmi⯑ty of his Colonel, he neither knew, nor ſuſpected, that he really bore him any; for he could not ſuſpect an Ill-will for which he was not conſcious of giving any Cauſe; and his Wife, fearing what her Huſband's nice Regard to his Honour might have occaſioned, contented herſelf with preſerving her Virtue, with⯑out enjoying the Triumphs of her Conqueſt.

This unfortunate Officer (for ſo I think he may be called) had many good Qualities, beſides his Me⯑rit in his Profeſſion; for he was a religious, honeſt, good natured Man; and had behaved ſo well in his Command, that he was highly eſteemed and belov⯑ed, not only by the Soldiers of his own Company; but by the whole Regiment.

The other Officers who marched with him were a French Lieutenant, who had been long enough out of France to forget his own Language, but not long enough in England to learn ours, ſo that he really ſpoke no Language at all, and could barely make him⯑ſelf underſtood, on the moſt ordinary Occaſions. There were likewiſe two Enſigns, both very young Fellows; one of whom had been bred under an Attorney, and the other was Son to the Wife of a Nobleman's Butler.

As ſoon as Dinner was ended, Jones informed the Company of the Merriment which had paſſed among the Soldiers upon their March; ‘'and yet,' ſays he, 'notwithſtanding all their Vociferation, I dare ſwear they will behave more like Grecians than Trojans [57] when they come to the Enemy.' 'Grecians and Trojans!' ſays one of the Enſigns, 'who the De⯑vil are they? I have heard of all the Troops in Eu⯑rope, but never of any ſuch as theſe.'’

‘'Don't pretend to more Ignorance than you have, Mr. Northerton,' ſaid the worthy Lieutenant, 'I ſuppoſe you have heard of the Greeks and Trojans, tho', perhaps, you never read Pope's Homer; who, I remember, now the Gentleman mentions it, compares the March of the Trojans to the Cackling of Geeſe, and greatly commends the Silence of the Grecians. And upon my Honour, there is great Juſtice in the Cadet's Obſervation.'’

‘'Begar, me remember dem ver well,' ſaid the French Lieutenant, 'me ave read dem at School in dans Madam Daciere, des Greek, des Trojan, dey fight for von Woman—ouy, ouy, me ave read all dat.'’

‘'D—n Homo with all my Heart,' ſays Norther⯑ton, 'I have the Marks of him in my A—yet. There's Thomas of our Regiment, always carries a Homo in his Pocket: D—n me if ever I come at it, if I don't burn it. And there's Corderius, ano⯑ther d—n'd Son of a Whore that hath got me many a Flogging.'’

‘'Then you have been at School, Mr. Northerton?' ſaid the Lieutenant.'’

‘'Ay d—n me have I,' anſwered he, 'the De⯑vil take my Father for ſending me thither. The old Put wanted to make a Parſon of me, but d—n me, thinks I to myſelf, I'll nick you there, old Cull: The Devil a Smack of your Nonſenſe, ſhall you ever get into me. There's Jimmey Oliver of our Regiment, he narrowly eſcaped being a Pimp too; and that would have been a thouſand Pities: For d—n me if he is not one of the prettieſt Fel⯑lows in the whole World; but he went farther than [58] I with the old Cull: For Jimmey can neither write nor read.'’

‘'You give your Friend a very good Character,' ſaid the Lieutenant, 'and a very deſerved one, I dare ſay; but prithee, Northerton, leave off that fooliſh as well as wicked Cuſtom of ſwearing: For you are deceived, I promiſe you, if you think there is Wit or Politeneſs in it. I wiſh too, you would take my Advice, and deſiſt from abuſing the Clergy. Scandalous Names and Reflections caſt on any Body of Men, muſt be always unjuſtifiable; but eſpecially ſo when thrown on ſo ſacred a Function: For to abuſe the Body is to abuſe the Function it⯑ſelf; and I leave to you to judge how inconſiſtent ſuch a Behaviour is in Men, who are going to fight in Defence of the Proteſtant Religion.'’

Mr. Adderley, which was the Name of the other Enſign, had ſat hitherto kicking his Heels and hum⯑ming a Tune, without ſeeming to liſten to the Diſ⯑courſe; he now anſwered, ‘'O Monſieur, on ne parle pas de la Religion dans la Guerre.'’ ‘'Well ſaid, Jack,' cries Northerton, 'if la Religion was the only Matter, the Parſons ſhould fight their own Battles for me.'’

‘'I don't know, Gentlemen,' ſays Jones, 'what may be your Opinion; but I think no Man can engage in a nobler Cauſe than that of his Religion; and I have obſerved in the little I have read of Hiſ⯑tory, that no Soldiers have fought ſo bravely, as thoſe who have been inſpired with a religious Zeal: For my own Part, tho' I love my King and Coun⯑try, I hope, as well as any Man in it, yet the Pro⯑teſtant Intereſt is no ſmall Motive to my becoming a Volunteer in the Cauſe.'’

Northerton now winked on Adderley, and whiſ⯑pered to him ſlily, ‘'Smoke the Prig, Adderley, ſmoke him.'’ Then turning to Jones, ſaid to him, ‘'I am very glad, Sir, you have choſen our Regi⯑ment [59] to be a Volunteer in: For if our Parſon ſhould at any Time take a Cup too much, I find you can ſupply his Place. I preſume, Sir, you have been at the Univerſity, may I crave the Favour to know what College?'’

‘'Sir,' anſwered Jones, 'ſo far from having been at the Univerſity, I have not even had the Advantage of yourſelf: for I was never at School.'’

‘'I preſumed,' cries the Enſign, 'only upon the Information of your great Learning'’—‘Oh! Sir,' anſwered Jones, 'it is as poſſible for a Man to know ſomething without having been at School; as it is to have been at School and to know nothing.'’

‘'Well ſaid, young Volunteer,' cries the Lieute⯑nant, 'upon my Word, Northerton, you had better let him alone, for he will be too hard for you.'’

Northerton did not very well reliſh the Sarcaſm of Jones; but he thought the Provocation was ſcarce ſuf⯑ficient to juſtify a Blow, or a Raſcal, or Scoundrel, which were the only Repartees that ſuggeſted them⯑ſelves. He was, therefore, ſilent at preſent; but reſolved to take the firſt Opportunity of returning the Jeſt by Abuſe.

It now came to the Turn of Mr. Jones to give a Toaſt, as it is called; who could not refrain from mentioning his dear Sophia. This he did the more readily, as he imagined it utterly impoſſible, that any one preſent ſhould gueſs the Perſon he meant.

But the Lieutenant, who was the Toaſt-maſter, was not contented with Sophia only. He ſaid, he muſt have her Sir-name; upon which Jones heſitated a little, and preſently after named Miſs Sophia Weſ⯑tern. Enſign Northerton declared, he would not drink her Health, in the ſame Round with his own Toaſt, unleſs ſomebody would vouch for her. ‘'I knew one Sophy Weſtern,' ſays he, that was lain⯑with by half the young Fellows at Bath; and, per⯑haps, this is the ſame Woman.'’ Jones very ſolemn⯑ly [60] aſſured him of the contrary; aſſerting that the young Lady he named was one of great Faſhion and Fortune. ‘'Ay, ay,' ſays the Enſign, 'and ſo ſhe is, d—n me it is the ſame Woman, and I'll hold Half a Dozen of Burgundy, Tom French of our Regiment brings her into Company with us at any Tavern in Bridges-ſtreet.'’ He then proceeded to deſcribe her Perſon exactly, (for he had ſeen her with her Aunt) and concluded with ſaying, ‘'That her Father had a great Eſtate in Somerſetſhire.'’

The Tenderneſs of Lovers can ill brook the leaſt jeſting with the Names of their Miſtreſſes. How⯑ever, Jones, tho' he had enough of the Lover and of the Heroe too in his Diſpoſition, did not reſent theſe Slanders as haſtily as, perhaps, he ought to have done. To ſay the Truth, having ſeen but little of this Kind of Wit, he did not readily underſtand it, and for a long Time imagined Mr. Northerton had really miſtaken his Charmer for ſome other. But now turning to the Enſign with a ſtern Aſpect, he ſaid, ‘'Pray, Sir, chuſe ſome other Subject for your Wit: For I promiſe you I will bear no jeſting with this Lady's Character.'’ ‘'Jeſting,' cries the other, 'd—n me if ever I was more in Earneſt in my Life. Tom French of our Regiment had both her and her Aunt at Bath.'’ ‘'Then I muſt tell you in Earneſt,' cries Jones, 'that you are one of the moſt impudent Raſcals upon Earth.'’

He had no ſooner ſpoken theſe Words, than the Enſign, together with a Volly of Curſes, diſcharged a Bottle full at the Head of Jones, which hitting him a little above the right Temple, brought him inſtantly to the Ground.

The Conqueror perceiving the Enemy to lie mo⯑tionleſs before him, and Blood beginning to flow pretty plentifully from his Wound, began now to think of quitting the Field of Battle, where no more [61] Honour was to be gotten; but the Lieutenant inter⯑poſed, by ſtepping before the Door, and thus cut off his Retreat.

Northerton was very importunate with the Lieu⯑tenant for his Liberty; urging the ill Conſequences of his Stay, aſking him, what could he have done leſs! ‘'Zounds!' ſays he, 'I was but in Jeſt with the Fellow. I never heard any Harm of Miſs Weſtern in my Life.'’ ‘'Have not you?' ſaid the Lieute⯑nant. 'then you richly deſerve to be hanged, as well for making ſuch Jeſts, as for uſing ſuch a Weapon. You are my Priſoner, Sir; nor ſhall you ſtir from hence, till a proper Guard comes to ſecure you.'’

Such an Aſcendant had our Lieutenant over this Enſign, that all that Fervency of Courage which had levelled our poor Heroe with the Floor, would ſcarce have animated the ſaid Enſign to have drawn his ſword againſt the Lieutenant, had he then had one dangling at his Side; but all the Swords being hung up in the Room, were at the very Beginning of the Fray, ſecured by the French Officer. So that Mr. Northerton was obliged to attend the final Iſſue of this Affair.

The French Gentleman and Mr. Adderley, at the Deſire of their Commanding-Officer, had raiſed up the Body of Jones; but as they could perceive but little (if any) ſign of Life in him, they again let him fall. Adderley damning him for having blooded his Waiſtcoat; and the Frenchman declaring, ‘'Be⯑gar me no tuſh de Engliſeman de mort, me ave heard de Engliſe Ley, Law, what you call, hang up de Man dat tuſh him laſt.'’

When the good Lieutenant applied himſelf to the Door, he applied himſelf likewiſe to the Bell; and the Drawer immediately attending, he diſpatched him for a File of Muſqueteers and a Surgeon. Theſe Commands, together with the Drawer's Report of what he had himſelf ſeen, not only produced the Soliders, but preſently drew up the Landlord of the [62] Houſe, his Wife and Servants, and, indeed, every one elſe, who happened, at that Time, to be in the Inn.

To deſcribe every Particular, and to relate the whole Converſation of the enſuing Scene, is not within my Power, unleſs I had forty Pens, and could, at once, write with them altogether, as the Company now ſpoke. The Reader muſt, therefore, content himſelf with the moſt remarkable Incidents, and perhaps he may very well excuſe the reſt.

The firſt Thing done, was ſecuring the Body of Northerton, who being delivered into the Cuſtody of ſix Men with a Corporal at their Head, was by them conducted from a Place which he was very willing to leave, but it was unluckily to a Place whither he was very unwilling to go. To ſay the Truth, ſo whimſical are the Deſires of Ambition, the very Mo⯑ment this Youth had attained the above-mentioned Honour, he would have been well contented to have retired to ſome Corner of the World, where the Fame of it ſhould never have reached his Ears.

It ſurprizes us, and ſo, perhaps, it may the Reader, that the Lieutenant, a worthy and good Man, ſhould have applied his chief Care, rather to ſecure the Of⯑fender, than to preſerve the Life of the wounded Per⯑ſon. We mention this Obſervation, not with any View of pretending to account for ſo odd a Beha⯑viour, but leſt ſome Critic ſhould hereafter plume himſelf on diſcovering it. We would have theſe Gentlemen know we can ſee what is odd in Charac⯑ters as well as themſelves, but it is our Buſineſs to relate Facts as they are; which when we have done, it is the Part of the learned and ſagacious Reader to conſult that original Book of Nature, whence every Paſſage in our Work is tranſcribed, tho' we quote not always the particular Page for its Authority.

The Company which now arrived were of a dif⯑ferent Diſpoſition. They ſuſpended their Curioſity [63] concerning the Perſon of the Enſign, till they ſhould ſee him hereafter in a more engaging Attitude. At preſent, their whole Concern and Attention were employed about the bloody Object on the Floor; which being placed upright in a Chair, ſoon began to diſcover ſome Symptoms of Life and Motion. Theſe were no ſooner perceived by the Company (for Jones was, at firſt, generally concluded to be dead) than they all fell at once to preſcribing for him: (For as none of the phyſical Order was preſent, every one there took that Office upon him.)

Bleeding was the Unanimous Voice of the whole Room; but unluckily there was no Operator at hand: Every one then cry'd, 'Call the Barber'; but none ſtirred a Step. Several Cordials were like⯑wiſe preſcribed in the ſame ineffective Manner; till the Landlord ordered up a Tankard of his ſtrong Beer, with a Toaſt, which he ſaid was the beſt Cor⯑dial in England.

The Perſon principally aſſiſtant on this Occaſion, indeed the only one who did any Service, or ſeemed likely to do any, was the Landlady. She cut off ſome of her Hair, and applied it to the Wound to ſtop the Blood. She fell to chafing the Youth's Temples with her Hand; and having expreſt great Contempt for her Huſband's Preſcription of Beer, ſhe diſpatched one of her Maids to her own Cloſet for a Bottle of Brandy, of which, as ſoon as it was brought, ſhe prevailed upon Jones, who was juſt re⯑turned to his Senſes, to drink a very large and plen⯑tiful Draught.

Soon afterwards arrived the Surgeon, who having viewed the Wound, having ſhaken his Head, and blamed every Thing which was done, ordered his Patient inſtantly to Bed; in which Place, we think proper to leave him, ſome Time, to his Repoſe, and ſhall here, therefore, put an End to this Chap⯑ter.

CHAP. XIII. Containing the great Addreſs of the Landlady; the great Learning of a Surgeon, and the ſolid Skill in Caſuiſtry of the worthy Lieutenant.

WHEN the wounded Man was carried to his Bed, and the Houſe began again to clear up from the Hurry which this Accident had occaſioned; the Landlady thus addreſſed the commanding Officer. ‘'I am afraid, Sir,' ſaid ſhe, 'this young Man did not behave himſelf as well as he ſhould do to your Honours; and if he had been killed, I ſuppoſe he had had but his Deſarts; to be ſure when Gentle⯑men admit inferior Parſons into their Company, they oft to keep their Diſtance; but, as my firſt Huſband uſed to ſay, few of them knew how to do it. For my own Part, I am ſure, I ſhould not have ſuffered any Fellows to include themſelves into Gentlemen's Company: but I thoft he had been an Officer himſelf, till the Serjeant told me he was but a Recruit.’

‘'Landlady,' anſwered the Lieutenant, 'you miſ⯑take the whole Matter. The young Man behaved himſelf extremely well, and is, I believe a much better Gentleman than the Enſign, who abuſed him. If the young Fellow dies, the Man who ſtruck him will have moſt Reaſon to be ſorry for it: For the Regiment will get rid of a very trouble⯑ſome Fellow, who is a Scandal to the Army; and if he eſcapes from the Hands of Juſtice, blame me, Madam, that's all.’

‘'Ay! Ay! good Lack-a-day!' ſaid the Land⯑lady, 'who could have thoft it? Ay, ay, ay, I am ſatisfied your Honour will ſee Juſtice done; and to be ſure it oft to be to every one. Gentlemen oft not to kill poor Folks without anſwering for it. [65] A poor Man hath a Soul to be ſaved as well as his Betters.'’

‘'Indeed, Madam, ſaid the Lieutenant, you do the Volunteer wrong; I dare ſwear he is more of a Gentleman than the Officer.'’

‘'Ay,' cries the Lanlady, 'why look you there now: Well, my firſt Huſband was a wiſe Man; he uſed to ſay, you can't always know the Inſide by the Outſide. Nay, that might have been well enough too: For I never ſaw'd him till he was all over Blood. Who would have thoft it! mayhap, ſome young Gentleman croſt in Love. Good Lack-a-day! if he ſhould die, what a Concern it would be to his Parents! Why ſure the Devil muſt poſſeſs the wicked Wretch to do ſuch an Act. To be ſure he is a Scandal to the Army, as your Ho⯑nour ſays: For moſt of the Gentlemen of the Ar⯑my that ever I ſaw, are quite different Sort of Peo⯑ple, and look as if they would ſcorn to ſpill any Chriſtian Blood as much as any Men. I mean, that is, in a civil Way, as my firſt Huſband uſed to ſay. To be ſure, when they come into the Wars, there muſt be Blood-ſhed; but they are not to be blamed for that. The more of our Ene⯑mies they kill there, the better; and I wiſh, with all my Heart, they could kill every Mother's Son' of them.’

‘'O fie! Madam,' ſaid the Lieutenant ſmiling, 'ALL is rather too bloody-minded a Wiſh.'’

‘'Not at all, Sir,' anſwered ſhe, 'I am not at all bloody-minded, only to our Enemies, and there is no Harm in that. To be ſure it is natural for us to wiſh our Enemies, dead, that the Wars may be at an End, and our Taxes be lowered: For it is a dreadful Thing to pay as we do. Why now there is above forty Shillings for Window-lights, and yet we have ſtopt up all we could; we have [66] almoſt blinded the Houſe I am ſure: Says I to the Exciſeman, ſays I, I think you oft to favour us, I am ſure we are very good Friends to the Goverment; and ſo we are for ſartain: For we pay a Mint of Money to 'um. And yet I often think to myſelf, the Government doth not imagine itſelf more oblig⯑ed to us, than to thoſe that don't pay 'um a Far⯑thing.'’ Ay, ay; it is the Way of the World.

She was proceeding in this Manner, when the Sur⯑geon entered the Room. The Lieutenant immedi⯑ately aſked how his Patient did? But he reſolved him only by ſaying, ‘'Better, I believe, than he would have been by this Time, if I had not been called; and even as it is, perhaps it would have been lucky if I could have been called ſooner.'’ ‘I hope, Sir,' ſaid the Lieutenant, 'the Skull is not fractured.' Hum,' cries the Surgeon, 'Fractures are not al⯑ways the moſt dangerous Symptoms. Contuſions and Lacerations are often attended with worſe Phaenomena, and with more fatal Conſequences than Fractures. People who know nothing of the Matter conclude, if the Skull is not fractured, all is well; whereas, I had rather ſee a Man's Skull broke all to Pieces, than ſome Contuſions I have met with. I hope,' ſays the Lieutenant, 'there are no ſuch Symptoms here:'’ ‘'Symptoms,' an⯑ſwered the Surgeon, 'are not always regular nor con⯑ſtant. I have known very unfavourable Symptoms in the Morning change to favourable ones at Noon, and return to unfavourable again at Night. Of Wounds, indeed, it is rightly and truly ſaid, Nem [...] repente fuit turpiſſimus. I was once, I remember, called to a Patient, who had received a violent Con⯑tuſion in his Tibia, by which the exterior Cutis was lacerated, ſo that there was a profuſe ſanguinary Diſcharge; and the interior Membranes were ſo divellicated; that the Os or Bone very plainly ap⯑peared through the Aperture of the Vulnus or [67] Wound. Some febrile Symptoms intervening at the ſame Time, (for the Pulſe was exuberant and indi⯑cated much Phlebotomy) I apprehended an imme⯑diate Mortification. To prevent which I preſently made a large Orifice in the Vein of the left Arm, whence I drew twenty Ounces of Blood; which I expected to have found extremely ſizy and glutinous, or indeed coagulated, as it is in pleuritic Com⯑plaints; but, to my Surprize, it appeared roſy and florid, and its Conſiſtency differed little from the Blood of thoſe in perfect Health. I then applied a Fomentation to the Part, which highly anſwered the Intention, and after three or four Times dreſſing, the Wound began to diſcharge a thick Pus or Matter, by which Means the Coheſion—but perhaps I do not make myſelf perfectly well underſtood.'’ ‘'No real⯑ly,' anſwered the Lieutenant, 'I cannot ſay I un⯑derſtand a Syllable.'’ ‘'Well, Sir,' ſaid the Sur⯑geon, 'then I ſhall not tire your Patience; in ſhort, within ſix Weeks, my Patient was able to walk up⯑on his Legs, as perfectly as he could have done be⯑fore he received the Contuſion.'’ ‘'I wiſh, Sir,' ſaid the Lieutenant, 'you would be ſo kind only to inform me, whether the Wound this young Gen⯑tleman hath had the Misfortune to receive is likely to prove mortal?'’ ‘'Sir,' anſwered the Surgeon, 'to ſay whether a Wound will prove mortal or not at firſt Dreſſing, would be very weak and fooliſh Pre⯑ſumption: We are all mortal, and Symptoms often occur in a Cure which the greateſt of our Profeſſi⯑on could never foreſee.'’—‘'But do you think him in Danger?'’ ſays the other. ‘'In Danger! ay, ſurely,' cries the Doctor, 'who is there among us, who in the moſt perfect Health can be ſaid not to be in Danger? Can a Man, therefore, with ſo bad a Wound as this be ſaid to be out of Danger? All I can ſay, at preſent, is, that it is well I was called as I was, and perhaps it would have been [68] better if I had been called ſooner. I will ſee him again early in the Morning, and in the mean Time let him be kept extremely quiet, and drink liberal⯑ly of Water-Gruel.'’ ‘'Won't you allow him Sack-whey,' ſaid the Landlady?’ ‘'Ay, ay, Sack-whey,' cries the Doctor, 'if you will, provided it be very ſmall.'’ ‘'And a little Chicken-broth too,' added ſhe?'’—‘'Yes, yes, Chicken-broth,' ſaid the Doc⯑tor, 'is very good.'’ ‘'May'nt I make him ſome Jellies too,' ſaid the Landlady?'’ ‘'Ay, ay,' an⯑ſwered the Doctor, 'Jellies are very good for Wounds, for they promote Coheſion.'’ And, in⯑deed, it was lucky ſhe had not named Soop or high Sauces, for the Doctor would have complied, rather than have loſt the Cuſtom of the Houſe.

The Doctor was no ſooner gone, than the Land⯑lady began to trumpet forth his Fame to the Lieute⯑nant, who had not, from their ſhort Acquaintance conceived quite ſo favourable an Opinion of his phy⯑ſical Abilities, as the good Woman, and all the Neigh⯑bourhood entertained; (and indeed very rightly) for tho' I am afraid the Doctor was a little of a Cox⯑comb, he might be nevertheleſs very much of a Sur⯑geon.

The Lieutenant having collected from the learn⯑ed Diſcourſe of the Surgeon, that Mr. Jones was in great Danger, gave Orders for keeping Mr. Norther⯑ton under a very ſtrict Guard, intending in the Morn⯑ing to attend him to a Juſtice of Peace, and to com⯑mit the conducting the Troops to Gloceſter to the French Lieutenant, who, tho' he could neither read, write, nor ſpeak any language, was, however, a good Officer.

In the Evening our Commander ſent a Meſſage to Mr. Jones, that if a Viſit would not be trouble⯑ſome he would wait on him. This Civility was very kindly and thankfully received by Jones, and the Lieutenant accordingly went up to his Room; [69] where he found the wounded Man much better than he expected; nay, Jones aſſured his Friend, that if he had not received expreſs Orders to the contrary from the Surgeon, he ſhould have got up long ago: For he appeared to himſelf to be as well as ever, and felt no other Inconvenience from his Wound but an extreme Soreneſs on that Side of his Head.

‘'I ſhould be very glad,' quoth the Lieutenant, 'that you was as well as you fancy yourſelf: For then you would be able to do yourſelf Juſtice immedi⯑ately; for when a Matter can't be made up, as in Caſe of a Blow, the ſooner you take him out the better; but I am afraid you think yourſelf better than you are, and he would have too much Ad⯑vantage over you.'’

‘'I'll try, however,' anſwered Jones, 'if you pleaſe, and will be ſo kind to lend me a Sword: For I have none here of my own.'’

‘'My Sword is heartily at your Service,' my dear Boy, cries the Lieutenant, kiſſing him, 'you are, a brave Lad, and I love your Spirit; but I fear your Strength: For ſuch a Blow, and ſo much Loſs of Blood, muſt have very much weakened you; and tho' you feel no Want of Strength in your Bed, yet you moſt probably would after a Thruſt or two. I can't conſent to your taking him out To-night; but I hope you will be able to come up with us before we get many Days March ad⯑vance; and I give you my Honour you ſhall have Satisfaction, or the Man who hath injured you ſhan't ſtay in our Regiment.'’

‘'I wiſh,' ſaid Jones, 'it was poſſible to decide this Matter To-night; now you have mentioned it to me, I ſhall not be able to reſt.'’

‘'O never think of it,' returned the other, 'a few Days will make no Difference. The Wounds of [70] Honour are not like thoſe in your Body. They ſuffer nothing by the Delay of Cure. It will be alto⯑gether as well for you, to receive Satisfaction a Week hence as now.'’

‘'But ſuppoſe,' ſays Jones, 'I ſhould grow worſe, and die of the Conſequences of my preſent Wound.'’

‘'Then your Honour,' anſwered the Lieutenant, 'will require no Reparation at all. I myſelf will do Juſtice to your Character, and will teſtify to the World your Intention to have acted properly, if you had recovered.'’

‘'Still,' replied Jones, 'I am concerned at the Delay. I am almoſt afraid to mention it to you who are a Soldier; but tho' I have been a very wild young Fellow, ſtill in my moſt ſerious Moments, and at the Bottom, I am really a Chriſtian.'’

‘'So am I too, I aſſure you,' ſaid the Officer: 'And ſo zealous a one, that I was pleaſed with you at Dinner for taking up the Cauſe of your Religion: and I am a little offended with you now, young Gentleman, that you ſhould expreſs a Fear of de⯑claring your Faith before any one.'’

‘'But how terrible muſt it be,' cries Jones, 'to any one who is really a Chriſtian, to cheriſh Malice in his Breaſt, in Oppoſition to the Command of him who hath expreſly forbid it? How can I bear to do this on a ſick Bed? Or how ſhall I make up my Account, with ſuch an Article as this in my' Boſom againſt me?’

‘'Why I believe there is ſuch a Command,' cries the Lieutenant; 'but a Man of Honour can't keep it. And you muſt be a Man of Honour, if you will be in the Army. I remember I once put the Caſe to our Chaplain over a Bowl of Punch, and he confeſſed there was much Difficulty in it; but ſaid, he hoped there might be a Latitude granted to Soldiers in this one Inſtance; and to be ſure it is our Duty to hope ſo: For who would bear to [71] live without his Honour? No, no, my dear Boy, be a good Chriſtian as long as you live; but be a Man of Honour too, and never put up an Af⯑front; not all the Books, nor all the Parſons in the World, ſhall ever perſuade me to that. I love my Religion very well, but I love my Ho⯑nour more. There muſt be ſome Miſtake in the wording the Text, or in the Tranſlation, or in the underſtanding it, or ſomewhere or other. But how⯑ever that be, a Man muſt run the Riſque, for he muſt preſerve his Honour. So compoſe yourſelf To-night, and I promiſe you, you ſhall have an Opportunity of doing yourſelf Juſtice.'’ Here he gave Jones a hearty Buſs, ſhook him by the Hand, and took his Leave.

But tho' the Lieutenant's Reaſoning was very ſa⯑tisfactory to himſelf, it was not entirely ſo to his Friend. Jones therefore having revolved this Mat⯑ter much in his Thoughts, at laſt came to a Reſolu⯑tion, which the Reader will find in the next Chap⯑ter.

CHAP. XIV. A moſt dreadful Chapter indeed; and which few Rea⯑ders ought to venture upon in an Evening, eſpecial⯑ly when alone.

JONES ſwallowed a large Meſs of Chicken, or rather Cock, Broth, with a very good Appetite, [...] indeed he would have done the Cock it was made [...]f, with a Pound of Bacon into the Bargain; and [...]ow, finding in himſelf no Deficiency of either Health or Spirit, he reſolved to get up and ſeek his [...]nemy.

But firſt he ſent for the Serjeant, who was his firſt [...]cquaintance among theſe military Gentlemen. Un⯑ [...]ckily that worthy Officer having, in a literal Senſe, [72] taken his Fill of Liquor, had been ſome Time re⯑tired to his Bolſter, where he was ſnoaring ſo loud, that it was not eaſy to convey a Noiſe in at his Ears capable of drowning that which iſſued from hi [...] Noſ⯑trils.

However, as Jones perſiſted in his Deſire of ſeeing him, a vociferous Drawer at length found Means to diſturb his Slumbers, and to acquaint him with the Meſſage. Of which the Serjeant was no ſooner made ſenſible, than he aroſe from his Bed, and having his Clothes already on, immediately attended. Jones did not think fit to acquaint the Serjeant with his De⯑ſign, tho' he might have done it with great Safety; for the Halberdier was himſelf a Man of Honour, and had killed his Man. He would therefore have faith⯑fully kept this Secret, or indeed any other which no Reward was publiſhed for diſcovering. But as Jones knew not theſe Virtues in ſo ſhort an Acquaintance, his Caution was perhaps prudent and commendable enough.

He began therefore by acquainting the Serjeant, that now he was entered into the Army, he was aſhamed of being without what was perhaps the moſt neceſſary Implement of a Soldier, namely, a Sword; adding, that he ſhould be infinitely obliged to him if he could procure one. ‘'For which,' ſays he, 'I will give you any reaſonable Price. Nor do I in⯑ſiſt upon its being Silver-hilted, only a good Blade, and ſuch as may become a Soldier's Thigh.'’

The Serjeant, who well knew what had happened, and had heard that Jones was in a very dangerous Condition, immediately concluded, from ſuch a Meſſage, at ſuch a Time of Night, and from a Man in ſuch a Situation, that he was light-headed. Now as he had his Wit (to uſe that Word in its common Signification) always ready, he bethought himſelf of making his Advantage of this Humour in the ſick Man. ‘'Sir,' ſays he, 'I believe I can fit you. I [73] have a moſt excellent Piece of Stuff by me. It is not indeed Silver-hilted, which, as you ſay, doth not become a Soldier; but the Handle is decent enough, and the Blade one of the beſt in Europe.—It is a Blade that—a Blade that—In ſhort, I will fetch it you this Inſtant, and you ſhall ſee it and handle it.—I am glad to ſee your Honour ſo well with all my Heart.'’

Being inſtantly returned with the Sword, he de⯑livered it to Jones, who took it and drew it; and then told the Serjeant it would do very well, and bid him name his Price.

The Serjeant now began to harangue in Praiſe of his Goods. He ſaid (nay he ſwore very heartily) ‘'that the Blade was taken from a French Officer of very high Rank, at the Battle of Dettingen. I took it myſelf,' ſays he, 'from his Side after I had knocked him o' the Head. The Hilt was a golden one. That I ſold to one of our fine Gentlemen; for there are ſome of them, an't pleaſe your Ho⯑nour, who value the Hilt of a Sword more than the Blade.'’

Here the other ſtopped him, and begged him to name a Price. The Serjeant, who thought Jones ab⯑ſolutely out of his Senſes, and very near his End, was afraid, leſt he ſhould injure his Family by aſking too little—However, after a Moment's Heſitation, he contented himſelf with naming twenty Guineas, and ſwore he would not ſell it for leſs to his own Brother.

‘Twenty Guineas!' ſays Jones, in the utmoſt Sur⯑prize, 'ſure you think I am mad, or that I never ſaw a Sword in my Life. Twenty Guineas indeed! I did not imagine you would endeavour to impoſe upon me.—Here, take the Sword—No, now I think on't, I will keep it myſelf, and ſhew it your Officer in the Morning, acquainting him, at the ſame Time, what a Price you aſked me for it.'’

[74] The Serjeant, as we have ſaid, had always his Wit (in ſenſu praedicto) about him, and now plainly ſaw that Jones was not in the Condition he had apprehend⯑ed him to be; he now, therefore, counterfeited as great Surprize as the other had ſhewn, and ſaid, ‘'I am certain, Sir, I have not aſked you ſo much out of the way. Beſides, you are to conſider, it is the only Sword I have, and I muſt run the Riſque of my Officer's Diſpleaſure, by going without one myſelf. And truly, putting all this together, I don't think twenty Shillings was ſo much out of the Way.'’

‘'Twenty Shillings!' cries Jones, 'why you juſt now aſked me twenty Guineas.'’ ‘'How! cries the Serjeant—'Sure your Honour muſt have miſtaken me; or elſe I miſtook myſelf—and indeed I am but half awake—Twenty Guineas indeed! no wonder your Honour flew into ſuch a Paſſion. I ſay twen⯑ty Guineas too—No, no, I meant twenty Shil⯑lings, I aſſure you. And when your Honour comes to conſider every thing, I hope you will not think that ſo extravagant a Price. It is indeed true, you may buy a Weapon which looks as well for' leſs Money. But—’

Here Jones interrupted him, ſaying, ‘'I will be ſo far from making any Words with you, that I will give you a Shilling more than your Demand.'’ He then gave him a Guinea, bid him return to his Bed, and wiſhed him a good March; adding, he hoped to overtake them before the Diviſion reached Worceſter.

The Serjeant very civilly took his Leave, fully ſatisfied with his Merchandize, and not a little pleaſed with his dextrous Recovery from that falſe Step into which his Opinion of the Sick Man's Light-headed⯑neſs had betrayed him.

As ſoon as the Serjeant was departed, Jones roſe from his Bed, and dreſſed himſelf entirely, putting on even his Coat, which, as its colour was white, [75] ſhewed very viſibly the Streams of Blood which had flowed down it; and now, having graſped his new⯑purchaſed Sword in his Hand, he was going to iſſue forth, when the Thought of what he was about to undertake laid ſuddenly hold of him, and he began to reflect that in a few Minutes he might poſſibly deprive a human Being of Life, or might loſe his own. ‘'Ve⯑ry well,' ſaid he, 'and in what Cauſe do I venture my Life? Why, in that of my Honour. And who is this human Being? A Raſcal who hath injured and inſulted me without Provocation. But is not Revenge forbidden by Heaven?—Yes, but it is en⯑joined by the World. Well, but ſhall I obey the World in Oppoſition to the expreſs Commands of Heaven? Shall I incur the divine Diſpleaſure ra⯑ther than be called—Ha—Coward—Scoundrel?—I'll think no more, I am reſolved and muſt fight him.'’

The Clock had now ſtruck Twelve, and every one in the Houſe were in their Beds, except the Cen⯑tinel who ſtood to guard Northerton, when Jones ſoftly opening his Door, iſſued forth in Purſuit of his Enemy, of whoſe Place of Confinement he had re⯑ceived a perfect Deſcription from the Drawer. It is not eaſy to conceive a much more tremendous Figure than he now exhibited. He had on, as we have ſaid, a light-coloured Coat, covered with Streams of Blood. His Face, which miſſed that very Blood, as well as twenty Ounces more drawn from him by the Surgeon, was pallid. Round his Head was a Quantity of Bandage, not unlike a Turban. In the right Hand he carried a Sword, and in the left a Can⯑dle. So that the bloody Banquo was not worthy to be compared to him. In Fact, I believe a more dreadful Apparition was never raiſed in a Church-yard, nor in the Imagination of any good People met in a Winter Evening over a Chriſtmas Fire in Somer⯑ſetſhire.

[76] When the Centinel firſt ſaw our Heroe approach, his Hair began gently to lift up his Grenadier's Cap; and in the ſame Inſtant his Knees fell to Blows with each other. Preſently his whole Body was ſeized with worſe than an Ague Fit. He then fired his Piece, and fell flat on his Face.

Whether Fear or Courage was the Occaſion of his Firing, or whether he took Aim at the Object of his Terror, I cannot ſay. If he did, however, he had the good Fortune to miſs his Man.

Jones ſeeing the Fellow fall, gueſſed the Cauſe of his Fright, at which he could not forbear ſmiling, not in the leaſt reflecting on the Danger from which he had juſt eſcaped. He then paſſed by the Fellow, who ſtill continued in the Poſture in which he fell, and en⯑tered the Room where Northerton, as he had heard, was confined. Here, in a ſolitary Situation he found—an empty Quart Pot ſtanding on the Table, on which ſome Beer being ſplit, looked as if the Room had lately been inhabited; but at preſent it was en⯑tirely vacant.

Jones then apprehended it might lead to ſome other Apartment; but, upon ſearching all round it, he could perceive no other Door than that at which he entered, and where the Centinel had been poſted. He then proceeded to call Northerton ſeveral Times by his Name; but no one anſwered; nor did this ſerve to any other Purpoſe than to confirm the Centinel in his Terrors, who was now convinced that the Vo⯑lunteer was dead of his Wounds, and that his Ghoſt was come in Search of the Murtherer: He now lay in all the Agonies of Horror, and I wiſh, with all my Heart, ſome of thoſe Actors, who are hereafter to repreſent a Man frighted out of his Wits, had ſeen him, that they might be taught to copy Nature inſtead of performing ſeveral antic Tricks and Geſtures, for the Entertainment and Applauſe of the Galleries.

[77] Perceiving the Bird was flown, at leaſt deſpairing to find him, and rightly apprehending that the Report of the Firelock would alarm the whole Houſe, our Heroe now blew out his Candle, and gently ſtole back again to his Chamber, and to his Bed: Whi⯑ther he would not have been able to have gotten un⯑diſcovered, had any other Perſon been on the ſame Stair-caſe, ſave only one Gentleman who was con⯑fined to his Bed by the Gout; for before he could reach the Door to his Chamber, the Hall where the Centinel had been poſted was half full of People. Some in their Shirts, and others not half dreſt, all very earneſtly enquiring of each other, what was the Matter?

The Soldier was now found lying in the ſame Place and Poſture in which we juſt before left him. Seve⯑ral immediately applied themſelves to raiſe him, and ſome concluded him dead: But they preſently ſaw their Miſtake; for he not only ſtruggled with thoſe who laid their Hands on him, but fell a roaring like a Bull. In reality, he imagined ſo many Spirits or Devils were handling him; for his Imagination be⯑ing poſſeſſed with the Horror of an Apparition, con⯑verted every Object he ſaw or felt, into nothing but Ghoſts and Spectres.

At length he was overpowered by Numbers, and got upon his Legs; when Candles being brought, and ſeeing two or three of his Comrades preſent, he came a little to himſelf; but when they aſked him what was the Matter? he anſwered, ‘'I am a dead Man, that's all, I'm a dead Man. I can't recover it. I have ſeen him.'’ ‘What haſt thou ſeen, Jack,'’ ſays one of the Soldiers. ‘'Why I have ſeen the young Volunteer that was killed Yeſterday.'’ He then imprecated the moſt heavy Curſes on himſelf, if he had not ſeen the Volunteer, all over Blood, vo⯑miting Fire out of his Mouth and Noſtrils, paſs by him into the Chamber where Enſign Northerton was, [78] and then ſeizing the Enſign by the Throat, fly away with him in a Clap of Thunder.

This Relation met with a gracious Reception from the Audience. All the Women preſent believed it firmly, and prayed Heaven to defend them from Murther. Amongſt the Men too, many had Faith in the Story; but others turned it into Deriſion and Ridicule; and a Serjeant who was preſent, anſwered very coolly: ‘'Young Man, you will hear more of this for going to ſleep, and dreaming on your Poſt.'’

The Soldier replied, ‘'You may puniſh me if you pleaſe; but I was as broad awake as I am now; and the Devil carry me away, as he hath the En⯑ſign, if I did not ſee the dead Man as I tell you, with Eyes as big and as fiery as two large Flam⯑beaux.'’

The Commander of the Forces, and the Com⯑mander of the Houſe, were now both arrived: For the former being awake at the Time, and hearing the Centinel fire his Piece, thought it his Duty to riſe im⯑mediately, though he had no great Apprehenſions of any Miſchief; whereas the Apprehenſions of the latter were much greater, leſt her Spoons and Tan⯑kards ſhould be upon the March, without having received any ſuch Orders from her.

Our poor Centinel, to whom the Sight of this Officer was not much more welcome than the Ap⯑parition, as he thought it, which he had ſeen before, again related the dreadful Story, and with many Ad⯑ditions of Blood and Fire: But he had the Misfortune to gain no Credit with either of the laſt mentioned Perſons; for the Officer, tho' a very religious Man, was free from all Terrors of this Kind; beſides, having ſo lately left Jones in the Condition we have ſeen, he had no Suſpicion of his being dead. As for the Landlady, tho' not over religious, ſhe had no kind of Averſion to the Doctrine of Spirits; but [79] there was a Circumſtance in the Tale which ſhe well knew to be falſe, as we ſhall inform the Reader preſently.

But whether Northerton was carried away in Thunder or Fire, or in whatever other Manner he was gone; it was now certain, that his Body was no longer in Cuſtody. Upon this Occaſion, the Lieu⯑tenant formed a Concluſion not very different from what the Serjeant is juſt mentioned to have made be⯑fore, and immediately ordered the Centinel to be ta⯑ken Priſoner. So that, by a ſtrange Reverſe of For⯑tune (tho' not very uncommon in a military Life) the Guard became the Guarded.

CHAP. XV. The Concluſion of the foregoing Adventure.

BESIDES the Suſpicion of Sleep, the Lieutenant harboured another, and worſe Doubt againſt the poor Centinel, and this was that of Treachery: For as he believed not one Syllable of the Apparition, ſo he imagined the whole to be an Invention, formed only to impoſe upon him, and that the Fellow had, in Reality, been bribed by Northerton to let him eſcape. And this he imagined the rather, as the Fright ap⯑peared to him, the more unnatural in one who had the Character of as brave and bold a Man as any in the Regiment, having been in ſeveral Ac⯑tions, having received ſeveral Wounds, and in a Word, having behaved himſelf always like a good and valiant Soldier.

That the Reader, therefore, may not conceive the leaſt ill Opinion of ſuch a Perſon, we ſhall not delay a Moment in reſcuing his Character from the Imputa⯑tion of this Guilt.

Mr. Northerton then, as we have before obſerved, was fully ſatisfied with the Glory which he had ob⯑tained [80] from this Action. He had, perhaps, ſeen, or heard, or gueſſed, that Envy is apt to attend Fame. Not that I would here inſinuate, that he was hea⯑theniſhly inclined to believe in, or to worſhip, the Goddeſs Nemeſis; for, in fact, I am convinced he never heard of her Name. He was, beſides, of an Active Diſpoſition, and had a great Antipathy to thoſe cloſe Winter Quarters in the Caſtle of Glouceſter, for which a Juſtice of Peace might poſſibly give him a Billet. Nor was he moreover free from ſome un⯑eaſy Meditations on a certain wooden Edifice, which I forbear to name, in Conformity to the Opinion of Mankind, who, I think, rather ought to honour than to be aſhamed of this Building, as it is, or at leaſt might be made, of more Benefit to Society than almoſt any other public Erection. In a Word, to hint at no more Reaſons for his Conduct, Mr. Northerton was deſirous of departing that Evening, and nothing re⯑mained for him but to contrive the Quomodo, which appeared to be a Matter of ſome Difficulty.

Now this young Gentleman, tho' ſomewhat crook⯑ed in his Morals, was perfectly ſtrait in his Perſon, which was extremely ſtrong and well made. His Face too was accounted handſome by the Generality of Women, for it was broad and ruddy, with to⯑lerably good Teeth. Such Charms did not fail mak⯑ing an Impreſſion on my Landlady, who had no little Reliſh for this kind of Beauty. She had, indeed, a real Compaſſion for the young Man; and hearing from the Surgeon that Affairs were like to go ill with the Volunteer, ſhe ſuſpected they might hereafter wear no benign Aſpect with the Enſign. Having ob⯑tained, therefore, leave to make him a Viſit, and finding him in a very melancholy Mood, which ſhe conſiderably heightened, by telling him there were ſcarce any Hopes of the Volunteer's Life, ſhe pro⯑ceeded to throw forth ſome Hints, which the other [81] readily and eagerly taking up, they ſoon came to a right Underſtanding; and it was at length agreed, that the Enſign ſhould at a certain Signal aſcend the Chim⯑ney, which communicating very ſoon with that of the Kitchen, he might there again let himſelf down; for which ſhe would give him an Opportunity, by keep⯑ing the Coaſt clear.

But leſt our Readers, of a different Complexion, ſhould take this Occaſion of too haſtily condemning all Compaſſion as a Folly, and pernicious to Society, we think proper to mention another Particular, which might poſſibly have ſome little Share in this Action. The Enſign happened to be at this Time poſſeſſed of the Sum of fifty Pounds, which did indeed belong to the whole Company: For the Captain having quar⯑relled with his Lieutenant, had entruſted the Pay⯑ment of his Company to the Enſign. This Money, however, he thought proper to depoſite in my Land⯑lady's Hand, poſſibly by way of Bail or Security that he would hereafter appear and anſwer to the Charge againſt him; but whatever were the Conditions, cer⯑tain it is, that ſhe had the Money, and the Enſign his Liberty.

The Reader may, perhaps, expect, from the com⯑paſſionate Temper of this good Woman, that when ſhe ſaw the poor Centinel taken Priſoner for a Fact of which ſhe knew him innocent, that ſhe ſhould imme⯑diately have interpoſed in his Behalf; but whether it was that ſhe had already exhauſted all her Compaſſion in the above-mentioned Inſtance, or that the Features of this Fellow, tho' not very different from thoſe of the Enſign, could not raiſe it, I will not determine; but ſo far from being an Advocate for the preſent Pri⯑ſoner, ſhe urged his Guilt to his Officer, declaring with uplifted Eyes and Hands, that ſhe would not have had any Concern in the Eſcape of a Murderer for all the World.

[82] Every thing was now once more quiet; and moſt of the Company returned again to their Beds; but the Landlady, either from the natural Activity of her Diſpoſition, or from her Fear for her Plate, having no Propenſity to ſleep, prevailed with the Officers, as they were to march within little more than an Hour, to ſpend that Time with her over a Bowl of Punch.

Jones had lain awake all this while, and had heard great Part of the Hurry and Buſtle that had paſſed, of which he had now ſome Curioſity to know the Particulars. He therefore applied to his Bell, which he rung at leaſt twenty Times without any Effect; for my Landlady was in ſuch high Mirth with her Company, that no Clapper could be heard there but her own, and the Drawer and Chambermaid, who were ſitting together in the Kitchen (for nei⯑ther durſt he ſit up, nor ſhe lie in Bed alone) the more they heard the Bell ring, the more they were frightened, and, as it were, nailed down in their Places.

At laſt, at a lucky Interval of Chat, the Sound reached the Ears of our good Landlady, who pre⯑ſently ſent forth her Summons, which both her Ser⯑vants inſtantly obeyed. ‘'Joo,' ſays the Miſtreſs, 'don't you hear the Gentleman's Bell ring? why don't you go up?'’ ‘'It is not my Buſineſs,' an⯑ſwered the Drawer, 'to wait upon the Chambers. It is Betty Chambermaid's!'’ ‘'If you come to that,' anſwered the Maid, 'it is not my Buſineſs to wait upon Gentlemen. I have done it, indeed, ſome times; but the Devil fetch me if ever I do again, ſince you make your Preambles about it.'’ The Bell ſtill ringing violently, their Miſtreſs fell into a Paſſion, and ſwore, if the Drawer did not go up im⯑mediately, ſhe would turn him away that very Morn⯑ing. ‘'If you do, Madam,' ſays he, 'I can't help [83] it. I won't do another Servant's Buſineſs.'’ She then applied herſelf to the Maid, and endeavoured to prevail by gentle Means; but all in vain, Betty was as inflexible as Joo. Both inſiſted it was not their Bu⯑ſineſs, and they would not do it.

The Lieutenant then fell a laughing, and ſaid, 'Come, I will put an End to this Contention;' and then turning to the Servants, commended them for their Reſolution, in neither giving up the Point; but added, he was ſure, if one would conſent to go, the other would. To which Propoſal they both a⯑greed in an Inſtant, and accordingly went up very lovingly and cloſe together. When they were gone, the Lieutenant appeaſed the Wrath of the Landlady, by ſatisfying her why they were both ſo unwilling to go alone.

They returned ſoon after, and acquainted their Miſtreſs, that the ſick Gentleman was ſo far from be⯑ing dead, that he ſpoke as heartily as if he was well; and that he gave his Service to the Captain, and ſhould be very glad of the Favour of ſeeing him before he marched.

The good Lieutenant immediately complied with his Deſires, and ſitting down by his Bed-ſide acquaint⯑ed him with the Scene which had happened below, concluding with his Intentions to make an Example of the Centinel.

Upon this, Jones related to him the whole Truth, and earneſtly begged him not to puniſh the poor Sol⯑dier, ‘'who, I am confident,' ſays he, 'is as in⯑nocent of the Enſign's Eſcape, as he is of forging any Lie, or of endeavouring to impoſe on you.'’

The Lieutenant heſitated a few Moments, and then anſwered: ‘'Why, as you have cleared the Fellow of one Part of the Charge, ſo it will be impoſſible to prove the other; becauſe he was not the only Cen⯑tinel. But I have a good mind to puniſh the Raſ⯑cal [84] for being a Coward. Yet who knows what Effect the Terror of ſuch an Apprehenſion may have; and to ſay the Truth, he hath always be⯑haved well againſt an Enemy. Come, it is a good Thing to ſee any Sign of Religion in theſe Fellows; ſo I promiſe you he ſhall be ſet at liberty when we march. But hark, the General beats. My dear Boy, give me another Buſs. Don't diſcompoſe nor hurry yourſelf; but remember the Chriſtian Doc⯑trine of Patience, and I warrant you will ſoon be able to do yourſelf Juſtice, and take to an honourable Revenge on the Fellow who hath injured you.'’ The Lieutenant then departed, and Jones endeavoured to compoſe himſelf to Reſt.

CHAP. I. A wonderful long Chapter concerning the Marvellous; being much the longeſt of all our introductory Chapters.

AS we are now entering upon a Book, in which the Courſe of our Hiſtory will oblige us to relate ſome Matters of a more ſtrange and ſurprizing Kind than any which have hitherto occur⯑red, it may not be amiſs in the prolegomenous, or introductory Chapter, to ſay ſomething of that Spe⯑cies of Writing which is called the Marvellous. To this we ſhall, as well for the Sake of ourſelves, as of others, endeavour to ſet ſome certain Bounds; and indeed nothing can be more neceſſary, as Criticks ^* [86] of different Complexions are here apt to run into very different Extremes; for while ſome are, with M. Dacier, ready to allow, that the ſame Thing which is impoſſible may be yet probable ^†, others have ſo little Hiſtoric or Poetic Faith, that they believe no⯑thing to be either poſſible or probable, the like to which hath not occured to their own Obſervation.

Firſt then, I think, it may very reaſonably be re⯑quired of every Writer, that he keeps within the Bounds of Poſſibility; and ſtill remembers that what it is not poſſible for Man to perform, it is ſcarce poſ⯑ſible for Man to believe he did perform. This Convic⯑tion, perhaps, gave Birth to many Stories of the an⯑tient Heathen Deities (for moſt of them are of poeti⯑cal Original). The Poet, being deſirous to indulge a wanton and extravagant Imagination, took Refuge in that Power, of the Extent of which his Readers were no Judges, or rather which they imagined to be infi⯑nite, and conſequently they could not be ſhocked at any Prodigies related of it. This hath been ſtrongly urged in Defence of Homer's Miracles; and it is, per⯑haps, a Defence; not, as Mr. Pope would have it, becauſe Ulyſſes told a ſet of fooliſh Lies to the Phae⯑acians, who were a very dull Nation; but becauſe the Poet himſelf wrote to Heathens, to whom poeti⯑cal Fables were Articles of Faith. For my own Part, I muſt confeſs, ſo compaſſionate is my Tem⯑per, I wiſh Polypheme had confined himſelf to his Milk Diet, and preſerved his Eye; nor could Ulyſſes be much more concerned than myſelf, when his Com⯑panions were turned into Swine by Circe, who ſhew⯑ed, I think, afterwards, too much Regard for Man's Fleſh to be ſuppoſed capable of converting it into Ba⯑con. I wiſh, likewiſe, with all my Heart, that Ho⯑mer could have known the Rule preſcribed by Horace, [87] to introduce ſupernatural Agents as ſeldom as poſſible. We ſhould not then have ſeen his Gods coming on trivial Errands, and often behaving themſelves ſo as not only to forfeit all Title to Reſpect, but to become the Objects of Scorn and Deriſion. A Conduct which muſt have ſhocked the Credulity of a pious and ſaga⯑cious Heathen; and which could never have been de⯑fended, unleſs by agreeing with a Suppoſition to which I have been ſometimes almoſt inclined, that this moſt glorious Poet, as he certainly was, had an Intent to bur⯑leſque the ſuperſtious Faith of his own Age and Country.

But I have reſted too long on a Doctrine which can be of no Uſe to a Chriſtian Writer: For as he cannot introduce into his Works any of that heaven⯑ly Hoſt which make a Part of his Creed; ſo is it horrid Puerility to ſearch the Heathen Theology for any of thoſe Deities who have been long ſince de⯑throned from their Immortality. Lord Shaftsbury obſerves, that nothing is more cold than the Invoca⯑tion of a Muſe by a Modern; he might have added that nothing can be more abſurd. A modern may with much more Elegance invoke a Ballad, as ſome have thought Homer did, or a Mug of Ale with the Author of Hudibras; which latter may perhaps have inſpired much more Poetry as well as Proſe, than all the Liquors of Hippocrene or Helicon.

The only ſupernatural Agents which can in any Manner be allowed to us Moderns are Ghoſts; but of theſe I would adviſe an Author to be extremely ſparing. Theſe are indeed like Arſenic, and other dangerous Drugs in Phyſic, to be uſed with the ut⯑moſt Caution; nor would I adviſe the Introduction of them at all in thoſe Works, or by thoſe Authors to which, or to whom a Horſe-Laugh in the Reader, would be any great Prejudice or Mortification.

As for Elves and Fairies, and other ſuch Mum⯑mery, I purpoſely omit the Mention of them, as I [88] ſhould be very unwilling to confine within any Bounds thoſe ſurprizing Imaginations, for whoſe Capacity the Limits of human Nature are too narrow; whoſe Works are to be conſidered as a new Creation; and who have conſequently juſt Right to do what they will with their own.

Man therefore is the higheſt Subject (unleſs on very extraordinary Occaſions indeed) which preſents itſelf to the Pen of our Hiſtorian, or of our Poet; and in relating his Actions, great Care is to be taken, that we do not exceed the Capacity of the Agent we de⯑ſcribe.

Nor is Poſſibility alone ſufficient to juſtify us, we muſt keep likewiſe within the Rules of Probability. It is, I think, the Opinion of Ariſtotle; or if not, it is the Opinion of ſome wiſe Man, whoſe Authority will be as weighty, when it is as old; 'that it is no Excuſe for a Poet who relates what is incredible, that the thing related is really Matter of Fact.' This may perhaps be allowed true with regard to Poetry, but it may be thought impracticable to extend it to the Hiſtorian: For he is obliged to record Matters as he finds them; though they may be of ſo extraordinary a Nature, as will require no ſmall Degree of hiſtori⯑cal Faith to ſwallow them. Such was the ſucceſsleſs Armament of Xerxes, deſcribed by Herodotus, or the ſucceſsful Expedition of Alexander related by Arrian. Such of later Years was the Victory of Agincourt obtained by Harry the Fifth, or that of Narva, won by Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. All which In⯑ſtances, the more we reflect on them, appear ſtill the more aſtoniſhing.

Such Facts, however, as they occur in the Thread of the Story; nay, indeed, as they conſtitute the eſ⯑ſential Parts of it, the Hiſtorian is not only juſtifiable in recording as they really happened; but indeed would be unpardonable, ſhould he omit or alter them. [89] But there are other Facts not of ſuch Conſequence nor ſo neceſſary, which tho' ever ſo well atteſted, may nevertheleſs be ſacrificed to Oblivion in Complaiſance to the Scepticiſm of a Reader. Such is that memo⯑rable Story of the Ghoſt of George Villers, which might with more Propriety have been made a Preſent of to Dr. Drelincourt, to have kept the Ghoſt of Mrs. Veale Company, at the Head of his Diſcourſe upon Death, than have been introduced into ſo ſo⯑lemn a Work as the Hiſtory of the Rebellion.

To ſay the Truth, if the Hiſtorian will confine himſelf to what really happened, and utterly reject any Circumſtance, which, tho' never ſo well atteſt⯑ed, he muſt be well aſſured is falſe, he will ſometimes fall into the Marvellous, but never into the Incredi⯑ble. He will often raiſe the Wonder and Surprize of his Reader, but never that incredulous Hatred men⯑tioned by Horace. It is by falling into Fiction there⯑fore, that we generally offend againſt this Rule, of deſerting Probability, which the Hiſtorian ſeldom if ever quits, till he forſakes his Character, and com⯑mences a Writer of Romance. In this, however, thoſe Hiſtorians who relate public Tranſactions, have the Advantage of us who confine ourſelves to Scenes of private Life. The Credit of the former is by common Notoriety ſupported for a long Time; and public Records, with the concurrent Teſtimony of many Authors bear Evidence to their Truth in fu⯑ture Ages. Thus a Trajan and an Antoninus, a Nero and a Caligula, have all met with the Belief of Po⯑ſterity; and no one doubts but that Men ſo very good, and ſo very bad, were once the Maſters of Mankind.

But we who deal in private Characters, who ſearch into the moſt retired Receſſes, and draw forth Exam⯑ples of Virtue and Vice, from Holes and Corners of the World, are in a more dangerous Situation. As' [90] we have no publick Notoriety, no concurrent Teſti⯑mony, no Records to ſupport and corroborate what we deliver, it becomes us not only to keep within the Limits of Poſſibility, but of Probability too; and this more eſpecially in painting what is greatly good and amiable. Knavery and Folly, though never ſo exor⯑bitant, will more eaſily meet with Aſſent: for Ill⯑nature adds great Support and Strength to Faith.

Thus we may, perhaps, with little Danger relate the Hiſtory of a Fiſher; who having long owed his Bread to the Generoſity of Mr. Derby, and having that very Morning received a conſiderable Bounty from his Hands, in order to poſſeſs himſelf of what remained in his Friend's Scrutore, concealed himſelf in a public Office of the Temple, through which there was a Paſſage into Mr. Derby's Chambers. Here he overheard Mr. Derby for many Hours ſola⯑cing himſelf at an Entertainment which he that Even⯑ing gave his Friends, and to which Fiſher had been invited. During all this Time, no tender, no grate⯑ful Reflections aroſe to reſtrain his Purpoſe; but when the poor Gentleman had let his Company out through the Office, Fiſher came ſuddenly from his lurking Place, and walking ſoftly behind his Friend into his Chamber, diſcharged a Piſtol Ball into his Head. This may be believed, when the Bones of Fiſher are as rot⯑ten as his Heart. Nay, perhaps, it will be credited that the Villain went two Days afterwards with ſome young Ladies to the Play of Hamlet; and with an unaltered Countenance heard one of the Ladies, who little ſuſpected how near ſhe was to the Perſon, cry out, Good God! if the Man that murdered Mr. Der⯑by was now preſent! Manifeſting in this a more ſear⯑ed and callous Conſcience than even Nero himſelf; of whom we are told by Suetonius, ‘'that the Conſci⯑ouſneſs of his Guilt after the Death of his Mother became immediately intolerable, and ſo continued; [91] nor could all the Congratulations of the Soldiers, of the Senate, and the People, allay the Horrors of his Conſcience.'’

But now, on the other hand, ſhould I tell my Reader, that I had known a Man whoſe penetrating Genius had enabled him to raiſe a large Fortune in a Way where no Beginning was chaulked out to him: That he had done this with the moſt perfect Preſer⯑vation of his Integrity, and not only without the leaſt Injuſtice or Injury to any one individual Perſon, but with the higheſt Advantage to Trade, and a vaſt Increaſe of the public Revenue: That he had expend⯑ed one Part of the Income of this Fortune in diſco⯑vering a Taſte ſuperior to moſt, by Works where the higheſt Dignity was united with the pureſt Sim⯑plicity, and another Part in diſplaying a Degree of Goodneſs ſuperior to all Men, by acts of Charity to Objects whoſe only Recommendations were their Merits, or their Wants: That he was moſt induſtri⯑ous in ſearching after Merit in Diſtreſs, moſt eager to relieve it, and then as careful (perhaps too careful) to conceal what he had done: That his Houſe, his Furniture, his Gardens, his Table, his private Hoſ⯑pitality, and his public Beneficence all denoted the Mind from which they flowed, and were all intrin⯑ſically rich and noble, without Tinſel, or external Oſtentation: That he filled every Relation in Life with the moſt adequate Virtue: That he was moſt piouſly religious to his Creator, moſt zealouſly loyal to his Sovereign; a moſt tender Huſband to his Wife, a kind Relation, a munificent Patron, a warm and firm Friend, a knowing and a chearful Companion, indulgent to his Servants, hoſpitable to his Neigh⯑bours, charitable to the Poor, and benevolent to all Mankind. Should I add to theſe the Epithits of wiſe, brave, elegant, and indeed every other amia⯑ble Epithet in our Language, I might ſurely ſay,

And yet I know a Man who is all I have here de⯑ſcribed. But a ſingle Inſtance (and I really know not ſuch another) is not ſufficient to juſtify us, while we are writing to thouſands who never heard of the Perſon, nor of any thing like him. Such Rarae A⯑ves ſhould be remitted to the Epitaph-Writer, or to ſome Poet, who may condeſcend to hitch him in a Diſtich, or to ſlide him into a Rhime with an Air of Careleſneſs and Neglect, without giving any Offence to the Reader.

In the laſt Place, the Actions ſhould be ſuch as may not only be within the Compaſs of human Agency, and which human Agents may probably be ſuppoſed to do; but they ſhould be likely for the very Actors and Characters themſelves to have performed: For what may be only wonderful and ſurprizing in one Man, may become improbable, or indeed impoſſible, when related of another.

This laſt Requiſite is what the dramatic Critics call Conſervation of Character, and it requires a very ex⯑traordinary Degree of Judgment, and a moſt exact Knowledge of human Nature.

It is admirably remarked by a moſt excellent Wri⯑ter, That Zeal can no more hurry a Man to act in direct Oppoſition to itſelf, than a rapid Stream can carry a Boat againſt its own Current. I will venture to ſay, that for a Man to act in direct Contradiction to the Dictates of Nature, is, if not impoſſible, as improbable and as miraculous as any Thing which can well be conceived. Should the beſt Parts of the Story of M. Antoninus be aſcribed to Nero, or ſhould the worſt Incidents of Nero's Life be imputed to An⯑toninus, what would be more ſhocking to Belief than either Inſtance; whereas both theſe being related of their proper Agent, conſtitute the Truly Marvellous.

[93] Our modern Authors of Comedy have fallen al⯑moſt univerſally into the Error here hinted at: Their Heroes generally are notorious Rogues, and their Heroines abandoned Jades, during the firſt four Acts; but in the fifth, the former become very worthy Gentlemen, and the latter, Women of Virtue and Diſcretion: Nor is the Writer often ſo kind as to give himſelf the leaſt Trouble, to reconcile or account for this monſtrous Change and Incongruity. There is, indeed, no other Reaſon to be aſſigned for it, than becauſe the Play is drawing to a Concluſion; as if it was no leſs natural in a Rogue to repent in the laſt Act of a Play, than in the laſt of his Life; which we perceive to be generally the Caſe at Tyburn, a Place which might, indeed, cloſe the Scene of ſome Co⯑medies with much Propriety, as the Heroes in theſe are moſt commonly eminent for thoſe very Talents which not only bring Men to the Gallows, but enable them to make an heroic Figure when they are there.

Within theſe few Reſtrictions, I think, every Wri⯑ter may be permitted to deal as much in the Wonder⯑ful as he pleaſes; nay, the more he can ſurpriſe the Reader, if he thus keeps within the Rules of Credi⯑bility, the more he will engage his Attention, and the more he will charm him. As a Genius of the high⯑eſt Rank obſerves in his 5th Chapter of the Bathos, ‘'The great Art of all Poetry is to mix Truth with Fiction; in order to join the Credible with the Sur⯑prizing.'’

For though every good Author will confine him⯑ſelf within the Bounds of Probability, it is by no means neceſſary that his Characters, or his Incidents, ſhould be trite, common, or vulgar; ſuch as happen in every Street, or in every Houſe, or which may be met with in the home Articles of a News-paper. Nor muſt he be inhibited from ſhewing many Perſons and Things, which may poſſibly have never fallen within the Knowledge of great Part of his Readers.

[94] If the Writer ſtrictly obſerves the Rules abovemen⯑tioned, he hath diſcharged his Part; and is then in⯑titled to ſome Faith from his Reader, who is indeed guilty of critical Infidelity if he diſbelieves him. For want of a Portion of ſuch Faith, I remember the Character of a young Lady of Quality, which was condemned on the Stage for being unnatural, by the unanimous Voice of a very large Aſſembly of Clerks and Apprentices; tho' it had had the previous Suffrages of many Ladies of the firſt Rank; one of whom ve⯑ry eminent for her Underſtanding, declared it was the Picture of half the young People of her Acquaintance.

CHAP. II. In which the Landlady pays a Viſit to Mr. Jones.

WHEN Jones had taken Leave of his Friend the Lieutenant, he endeavoured to cloſe his Eyes, but all in vain; his Spirits were too lively and wake⯑ful to be lulled to Sleep. So having amuſed, or rather tormented himſelf with the Thoughts of his Sophia, till it was open Day-light, he called for ſome Tea; upon which Occaſion my Landlady herſelf vouchſaf⯑ed to pay him a Viſit.

This was indeed the firſt Time ſhe had ſeen him, or at leaſt had taken any Notice of him; but as the Lieutenant had aſſured her that he was certainly ſome young Gentleman of Faſhion, ſhe now determined to ſhew him all the Reſpect in her Power: for, to ſpeak truly, this was one of thoſe Houſes where Gentle⯑men, to uſe the Language of Advertiſements, meet with civil Treatment for their Money.

She had no ſooner begun to make his Tea, than ſhe likewiſe began to diſcourſe, ‘'La! Sir,' ſaid ſhe, I think it is great Pity that ſuch a pretty young Gen⯑tleman ſhould undervalue himſelf ſo, as to go about with theſe Soldier Fellows. They call themſelves Gentlemen, I warrant you; but, as my firſt Huſ⯑band [95] uſed to ſay, they ſhould remember it is we that pay them. And to be ſure it is very hard upon us to be obliged to pay them, and to keep 'em too, as we Publicans are. I had twenty of 'um laſt Night, beſides Officers; nay, for matter o' that, I had rather have the Soldiers than the Officers: For nothing is ever good enough for thoſe Sparks; and I am ſure if you was to ſee the Bills; La, Sir, it is nothing. I have had leſs Trouble, I warrant you, with a good Squire's Family, where we take forty or fifty Shillings of a Night beſides Horſes'. And yet I warrants me, there is narrow a one of all thoſe Officer Fellows, but looks upon himſelf to be as good as arrow a Squire of 500l. a Year. To be ſure it doth me Good to hear their Men run about after 'um, crying your Honour, and your Honour. Marry come up with ſuch Honour, and an Ordinary at a Shilling a Head. Then there's ſuch Swearing among 'um, to be ſure, it frightens me out o' my Wits, I think nothing can proſper with ſuch wicked People. And here one of 'um has uſed you in ſo barbarous a Manner. I thought indeed how well the reſt would ſecure him; they all hang together; for if you had been in Danger of Death, which I am glad to ſee you are not, it would have been all as one to ſuch wicked People. They would have let the Murderer go. Laud have Mercy upon 'um, I would not have ſuch a Sin to anſwer for, for the whole World. But tho' you are likely, with the Bleſſing to recover, there is Laa for him yet, and if you will employ Layer Small, I dareſt be ſworn he'll make the Fellow fly the Country for him; tho' perhaps, he'll have fled the Country before; for it is here To-day and gone To-morrow with ſuch Chaps. I hope however, you will learn more Wit for the future, and return back to your Friends; I warrant they are all mi⯑ſerable for your Loſs; and if they was but to know [96] what had happened. La, my ſeeming! I would not for the World they ſhould. Come, come, we know very well what all the Matter is; but if one won't, another will, ſo pretty a Gentleman need never want a Lady. I am ſure if I was as you, I would ſee the fineſt ſhe that ever wore a Head hanged, before I would go for a Soldier for her.—Nay, don't bluſh ſo (for indeed he did to a violent Degree) why, you thought, Sir, I knew nothing of the Matter, I warrant you, about Ma⯑dam Sophia.'’ ‘'How,' ſays Jones, ſtarting up, 'do you know my Sophia?'’ ‘Do I? ay marry,' cries the Landlady, 'many's the Time hath ſhe lain in this Houſe.'’ 'With her Aunt, I ſuppoſe,' ſays Jones.'—‘'Why there it is now,' cries the Landlady. 'Ay, ay, ay, I know the old Lady very well. And a ſweet young Creature is Madam Sophia, that's the truth on't.'’ ‘'A ſweet Creature!' cries Jones,' Oh Heavens! Angels are painted fair to look like her. There's in her all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing Brightneſs, Purity and Truth, Eternal Joy, and everlaſting Love. 'And could I ever have imagined that you had known my Sophia.'’ ‘'I wiſh,' ſays the Landlady, 'you knew half ſo much of her. What would you have given to have ſat by her Bed-ſide? What a delicious Neck ſhe hath! Her lovely Limbs have ſtretched themſelves in that very Bed you now lie in.' 'Here! cries Jones, 'hath Sophia ever lain here?’—‘'Ay, ay, here; there; in that very Bed,' ſays the Landlady, 'where I wiſh you had her this Moment; and ſhe may wiſh ſo too, for any thing I know to the contrary: For ſhe hath mentioned your Name to me.'’—‘'Ha,' cries he, 'did ſhe ever mention her poor Jones?—You flatter me [97] now, I can never believe ſo much.'’ ‘Why then,' anſwered ſhe, 'as I hope to be ſaved, and may the Devil fetch me, if I ſpeak a Syllable more than the Truth. I have heard her mention Mr. Jones; but in a civil and modeſt Way, I confeſs; yet I could perceive ſhe thought a great deal more than ſhe ſaid.'’ ‘'O my dear Woman,' cries Jones, 'her Thoughts of me I ſhall never be worthy of. O ſhe is all Gentleneſs, Kindneſs, Goodneſs. Why was ſuch a Raſcal as I born, ever to give her ſoft Boſom a Moment's Uneaſineſs? Why am I curſed? I, who would undergo all the Plagues and Miſeries which any Daemon ever invented for Mankind, to procure her any Good; nay, Torture itſelf could not be Miſery to me, did I but know that ſhe was hap⯑py,'’ ‘'Why look you there now,' ſays the Land⯑lady, I told her you was a conſtant Lover.' But pray, Madam, tell me when or where you knew any thing of me; for I never was here before, nor do I remember ever to have ſeen you.'’ ‘'Nor is it poſſible you ſhould,' anſwered ſhe, 'for you was a little Thing when I had you in my Lap at the Squire's.'—'How the Squire's,' ſaid Jones, what do you know the great and good Mr. Allwor⯑thy then?'’ ‘'Yes, marry do I,' ſays ſhe; 'Who in this Country doth not?'’—‘'the Fame of his Goodneſs indeed,' anſwered Jones, 'muſt have extended farther than this; but Heaven only can know him, can know that Benevolence which is co⯑pied from itſelf, and ſent upon Earth as its own Pattern. Mankind are as ignorant of ſuch divine Goodneſs, as they are unworthy of it; but none ſo unworthy of it as myſelf. I who was raiſed by him to ſuch a Height; taken in, as you well muſt know, a poor baſe-born Child, adopted by him, and treated as his own Son, to dare by my Follies to diſ⯑oblige him, to draw his Vengeance upon me. Yes, [98] I deſerve it all: For I will never be ſo ungrateful as even to think he hath done an Act of Injuſtice by me. No, I deſerve to be turned out of Doors, as I am. And now, Madam, ſays he, I believe you will not blame me for turning Soldier, eſpe⯑cially' with ſuch a Fortune as this in my Pocket.’ At which words he ſhook a Purſe which had but very little in it, and which ſtill appeared to the Landlady to have leſs.

My good Landlady was, (according to vulgar Phraſe) ſtruck all of a Heap by this Relation. She anſwered coldly, ‘'That to be ſure People were the beſt Judges what was moſt proper for their Circum⯑ſtances.—But hark,' ſays ſhe, 'I think I hear ſome body call. Coming! coming! the De⯑vil's in all our Volk, nobody hath any Ears. I muſt go down Stairs, if you want any more Break⯑faſt,' the Maid will come up. Coming!'’ At which Words, without taking any Leave, ſhe flung out of the Room: For the lower Sort of People are very te⯑nacious of Reſpect; and tho' they are contented to give this gratis to Perſons of Quality, yet they never confer it on thoſe of their own Order, without taking Care to be paid for their Pains.

CHAP. III. In which the Surgeon makes his ſecond Appearance.

BEFORE we proceed any farther, that the Rea⯑der may not be miſtaken in imagining the Land⯑lady knew more than ſhe did, nor ſurprized that ſhe knew ſo much, it may be neceſſary to inform him, that the Lieutenant had acquainted her that the Name of Sophia had been the Occaſion of the Quarrel; and as for the reſt of her Knowledge, the ſagacious Rea⯑der will obſerve how ſhe came by it in the preceding Scene. Great Curioſity was indeed mixed with her [99] Virtues; and ſhe never willingly ſuffered any one to depart from her Houſe without enquiring as much as poſſible into their Names, Families and Fortunes.

She was no ſooner gone, than Jones, inſtead of animadverting on her Behaviour, reflected that he was in the ſame Bed, which he was informed had held his dear Sophia. This occaſioned a thouſand fond and tender Thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not conſider that ſuch kind of Lovers will make a very inconſiderable Part of our Readers.

In this Situation the Surgeon found him, when he came to dreſs his Wound. The Doctor, per⯑ceiving upon Examination, that his Pulſe was diſor⯑dered, and hearing that he had not ſlept, declared that he was in great Danger: For he apprehended a Fever was coming on; which he would have pre⯑vented by bleeding, but Jones would not ſubmit, de⯑claring he would loſe no more Blood; and ‘'Doc⯑tor,' ſays he, 'if you will be ſo kind only to dreſs my Head, I have no Doubt of being well in a Day or two.'’

‘'I wiſh,' anſwered the Surgeon, 'I could aſſure your being well in a Month or two. Well, in⯑deed! No, no, People are not ſo ſoon well of ſuch Contuſions; but, Sir, I am not at this Time of Day to be inſtructed in my Operations by a Pa⯑tient, and a inſiſt on making a Revulſion before I dreſs you.'’

Jones perſiſted obſtinately in his Refuſal, and the Doctor at laſt yielded; telling him at the ſame Time, that he would not be anſwerable for the ill Conſe⯑quence, and hoped he would do him the Juſtice to acknowledge that he had given him a contrary Ad⯑vice; which the Patient promiſed he would.

The Doctor retired into the Kitchen, where, ad⯑dreſſing himſelf to the Landlady, he complained bit⯑terly of the undutiful Behaviour of his Patient, who would not be blooded, though he was in a Fever.

‘[100] 'It is an eating Fever then,' ſays the Landlady: 'For he hath devoured two ſwinging buttered Toaſts this Morning for Breakfaſt.'’

‘'Very likely,' ſays the Doctor, 'I have known People eat in a Fever; and it is very eaſily account⯑ed for; becauſe the Acidity occaſioned by the fe⯑brile Matter, may ſtimulate the Nerves of the Dia⯑phragm, and thereby occaſion a Craving, which will not be eaſily diſtinguiſhable from a natural Ap⯑petite; but the Aliment will not be concreted, nor aſſimilated into Chyle, and ſo will corrode the vaſ⯑cular Orifices, and thus will aggravate the febrific Symptoms. Indeed I think the Gentleman in a very dangerous Way, and, if he is not blooded, I am afraid will die.'’

‘'Every Man muſt die ſome Time or other,' an⯑ſwered the good Woman; 'it is no Buſineſs of mine. I hope, Doctor, you would not have me hold him while you bleed him.—But, harkee, a Word in your Ear, I would adviſe you before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your Paymaſ⯑ter.'’

‘'Paymaſter! ſaid the Doctor, ſtaring, why, I've a Gentleman under my Hands, have I not?'’

‘'I imagined ſo as well as you,' ſaid the Land⯑lady; 'but as my firſt Huſband uſed to ſay, every Thing is not what it looks to be. He is an arrant Scrub, I aſſure you. However, take no Notice that I mentioned any thing to you of the Matter; but I think People in Buſineſs oft always to let one another know ſuch Things.'’

‘'And have I ſuffered ſuch a Fellow as this,' cries the Doctor, in a Paſſion, 'to inſtruct me? Shall I hear my Practice inſulted by one who will not pay me! I am glad I have made this Diſcovery in Time. I will ſee now whether he will be blood⯑ed or no.'’ He then immediately went up Stairs, [101] and flinging open the Door of the Chamber with much Violence, awaked poor Jones from a very ſound Nap, into which he was fallen, and what was ſtill worſe, from a delicious dream concerning Sophia.

‘'Will you be blooded or no?' cries the Doctor, in a Rage. 'I have told you my Reſolution alrea⯑dy,' anſwered Jones, 'and I wiſh with all my Heart you had taken my anſwer: For you have awaked me out of the ſweeteſt Sleep which I ever had in my Life.'’

‘'Ay, ay,' cries the Doctor, 'many a Man hath doſed away his Life. Sleep is not always good, no more than Food; but remember I demand of you, for the laſt Time, will you be blooded?'’ ‘'I anſwer you for the laſt Time, ſaid Jones, I will not.'’ ‘'Then I waſh my Hands of you,' cries the Doctor, 'and I deſire you to pay me for the Trouble I have had already. Two Journeys at 5s. each, two Dreſſings at 5s. more, and half a Crown for Phlebotomy.'’ ‘'I hope,' ſaid Jones, you don't intend to leave me in this Condition.'’ ‘'Indeed but I ſhall,' ſaid the other.’ ‘'Then ſaid Jones, you have uſed me raſcally, and I will not pay you a farthing.'’ ‘'Very well,' cries the Doc⯑tor, 'the firſt Loſs is the beſt. What a Pox did my Landlady mean by ſending for me to ſuch Vaga⯑bonds?'’ At which Words he flung out of the Room, and his Patient turned himſelf about, ſoon recover⯑ed his Sleep; but his Dream was unfortunately gone.

CHAP. IV. In which is introduced one of the pleaſanteſt Barbers that was ever recorded in Hiſtory, the Barber of Bagdad, nor he in Don Quixote not excepted.

THE Clock had now ſtruck Five, when Jones awaked from a Nap of ſeven Hours, ſo much refreſhed, and in ſuch perfect Health and Spirits, [102] that he reſolved to get up and dreſs himſelf: for which Purpoſe he unlocked his Portmanteau, and took out clean Linnen, and a Suit of Clothes; but firſt he ſlipt on a Frock, and went down into the Kitchen to beſpeak ſomething that might pacify cer⯑tain Tumults he found riſing within his Stomach.

Meeting the Landlady, he accoſted her with great Civility, and aſked ‘'what he could have for Dinner.'’ ‘'For Dinner! ſays ſhe, 'it is an odd Time a Day to think of Dinner. There is nothing dreſt in the Houſe, and the Fire is almoſt out:’ ‘Well but,'’ ſays he, ‘'I muſt have ſomething to eat, and it is al⯑moſt indifferent to me what: For to tell you the Truth, I never was more hungry in my Life.'’ ‘'Then,' ſays ſhe, 'I believe there is a Piece of cold Buttock and Carrot, which will fit you.'’ —‘'Nothing better,' anſwered Jones, 'but I ſhould be obliged to you, if you would let it be fried.'’ To which the Landlady conſented, and ſaid ſmiling, ‘'ſhe was glad to ſee him ſo well recovered:'’ For the Sweetneſs of our Heroe's Temper was almoſt ir⯑reſiſtable; beſides, ſhe was really no ill-humoured Woman at the Bottom; but ſhe loved Money ſo much, that ſhe hated every Thing which had the Semblance of Poverty.

Jones now returned in order to dreſs himſelf, while his Dinner was preparing, and was, according to his Orders, attended by the Barber.

This Barber, who went by the Name of little Ben⯑jamin, was a Fellow of great Oddity and Humour, which had frequently led him into ſmall Inconvenien⯑cies, ſuch as Slaps in the Face, Kicks in the Breech, broken Bones, &c. For every one doth not underſtand a Jeſt; and thoſe who do, are often diſpleaſed with being themſelves the Subjects of it. This Vice was, however, incurable in him; and though he had often ſmarted for it, yet if ever he conceived a Joke, he [103] was certain to be delivered of it, without the leaſt Re⯑ſpect of Perſons, Time, or Place.

He had a great many other Particularities in his Character, which I ſhall not mention, as the Rea⯑der himſelf will very eaſily perceive them, on his far⯑ther Acquaintance with this extraordinary Perſon.

Jones being impatient to be dreſt, for a Reaſon which may be eaſily imagined, thought the Shaver was very tedious in preparing his Suds, and begged him to make Haſte; to which the other anſwered, with Gravity: For he never diſcompoſed his Muſcles on any Account. ‘'Feſtina lentè is a Proverb which I learnt long before I ever touched a Razor.'’ ‘'I find, Friend, you are a Scholar,' replied Jones,’ ‘'A poor one,' ſaid the Barber, 'non omnia poſſumus omnes.’ ‘Again!' ſaid Jones; 'I fancy you are good at capping Verſes.'’ ‘Excuſe me Sir,' ſaid the Barber, 'non tanti me dignor honore.'’ And then pro⯑ceeding to his Operation, ‘'Sir,' ſaid he, 'ſince I have dealt in Suds, I could never diſcover more than two Reaſons for ſhaving, the one is to get a Beard, and the other to get rid of one. I conjec⯑ture, Sir, it may not be long ſince you were ſhav⯑ed from the former of theſe Motives. Upon my Word you have had good Succeſs, for one may ſay of your Beard, that it is Tondenti gravior.'’ ‘'I conjecture, ſays Jones, that thou art a very co⯑mical Fellow.'’ ‘'You miſtake me widely, Sir,' ſaid the Barber, 'I am too much addicted to the Study of Philoſophy. Hinc illae lachrymae, Sir, that's my Misfortune. Too much Learning hath been my ruin.'’ ‘'Indeed,' ſays Jones, 'I confeſs, Friend, you have more Learning than ge⯑nerally belongs to your Trade; but I can't ſee how it can have injured you.'’ ‘'Alas, Sir,' anſwered the Shaver, 'my Father diſinherited me for it. He was a Dancing-Maſter; and becauſe I could read, [104] before I could dance, he took an Averſion to me, and left every Farthing among his other Children.—Will you pleaſe to have your Temples—O la! I aſk your Pardon, I fancy there is Hiatus in ma⯑nuſcriptis. I heard you was going to the Wars: but I find it was a Miſtake.'’ ‘Why do you con⯑clude ſo?' ſays Jones.’ ‘Sure, Sir,' anſwered the Barber, 'you are too wiſe a Man to carry a brok⯑en Head thither; for that would be carrying Coals to Newcaſtle.'’

‘'Upon my word,' cries Jones, 'thou art a very odd Fellow, and I like thy Humour extremely; I ſhall be very glad if thou wilt come to me after Dinner, and drink a Glaſs with me; I long to be' better acquainted with thee.’

‘'O dear Sir,' ſaid the Barber, 'I can do you twenty times as great a Favour, if you will accept of it.' 'What is that, my Friend,' cries Jones. 'Why, I will drink a Bottle with you, if you pleaſe; for I dearly love Good-nature, and as you have found me out to be a comical Fellow, ſo I have no Skill in Phyſiognomy, if you are not one of the beſt⯑natured Gentlemen in the Univerſe.'’ Jones now walked down Stairs neatly dreſt, and perhaps the famed Adonis was not a lovelier Figure; and yet he had no Charms for my Landlady: For as that good Wo⯑man did not reſemble Venus at all in her Perſon, ſo neither did ſhe in her Taſte. Happy had it been for Nanny the Chambermaid, if ſhe had ſeen with the Eyes of her Miſtreſs; for that poor Girl fell ſo vio⯑lently in love with Jones in five Minutes, that her Paſſion afterwards coſt her many a Sigh. This Nancy was extremely pretty, and altogether as coy; for ſhe had refuſed a Drawer, and one or two young Farmers in the Neighbourhood, but the bright Eyes of our Heroe thawed all her Ice in a Moment.

When Jones returned to the Kitchen, his Cloth was not yet laid; nor indeed was there any Occaſion [105] it ſhould, his Dinner remaining in Satu quo, as did the Fire which was to dreſs it. This Diſappointment might have put many a philoſopical Temper into a Paſſion; but it had no ſuch Effect on Jones. He only gave the Landlady a gentle Rebuke, ſaying, ‘'Since it was ſo difficult to get it heated, he would eat the Beef cold.'’ But now the good Woman, whether moved by Compaſſion, or by Shame, or by whatever other Motive, I cannot tell, firſt gave her Servants a round Scold for diſobeying the Orders which ſhe had never given, and then bidding the Draw⯑er lay a Napkin in the Sun, ſhe ſet about the Matter in good earneſt, and ſoon accompliſhed it.

This Sun, into which Jones was now conducted, was truly named as Lucus a non lucendo; for it was an Apartment into which the Sun had ſcarce ever looked. It was indeed the worſt Room in the Houſe; and happy was it for Jones that it was ſo. However, he was now too hungry to find any Fault; but hav⯑ing once ſatisfied his Appetite, he ordered the Drawer to carry a Bottle of Wine into a better Room, and expreſſed ſome Reſentment at having been ſhewn in⯑to a Dungeon.

The Drawer having obeyed his Commands, he was, after ſome Time, attended by the Barber; who would not indeed have ſuffered him to wait ſo long for his Company, had he not been liſtening in the Kitchen to the Landlady, who was entertaining a Circle that ſhe had gathered round her with the Hiſ⯑tory of poor Jones, Part of which ſhe had extracted from his own Lips, and the other Part was her own ingenious Compoſition; ‘'for ſhe ſaid he was a poor Pariſh Boy, taken into the Houſe of Squire Allwor⯑thy, where he was bred up as an Apprentice, and now turned out of Doors for his Miſdeeds, parti⯑cularly for making Love to his young Miſtreſs, and probably for robbing the Houſe; for how elſe ſhould he come by the little Money he hath. And this,' [106] ſays ſhe, 'is your Gentleman, forſooth.'’ ‘'A Ser⯑vant of Squire Allworthy!' ſays the Barber, 'what's his Name.’'—‘'Why he told me his Name was Jones,' ſays ſhe, 'perhaps he goes by a wrong Name. Nay, and he told me too, that the Squire had maintained him as his own Son, thof he had quarrelled with him now.'’ ‘'And if his Name be Jones, he told you the Truth,' ſaid the Barber; for I have Relations who live in that Country, nay, and ſome People ſay he is his Son.’ ‘'Why doth he not go by the Name of his Father?'’ ‘'I can't tell that,' ſaid the Barber, 'many People's Sons don't go by the Name of their Father.'’ ‘'Nay,' ſaid the Landlady, 'if I thought he was a Gentle⯑man's Son, thof he was a Bye Blow, I ſhould behave to him in another gueſs Manner; for many of theſe Bye Blows come to be great Men; and, as my poor firſt Huſband uſed to ſay, Never affront any Cuſtomer that's a Gentleman.'’

CHAP. V. A Dialogue between Mr. Jones and the Barber.

THIS Converſation paſſed partly while Jones was at Dinner in his Dungeon, and partly while he was expecting the Barber in the Parlour. And, as ſoon as it was ended, Mr. Benjamin, as we have ſaid, attended him, and was very kindly deſired to ſit down. Jones then filling out a Glaſs of Wine, drank his Health by the Appellation of Doctiſſime Tonſorum. Ago tibi Gratias, Domine, ſaid the Bar⯑ber, and then looking very ſtedfaſtly at Jones, he ſaid, with great Gravity, and with a ſeeming Surprize, as if he recollected a Face he had ſeen before, ‘'Sir, may I crave the Favour to know if your Name is not Jones?'’ To which the other anſwered, That it was. ‘'Proh Deum at (que) Hominum Fidem,' ſays the Barber, 'how ſtrangely Things come to paſs. [107] Mr. Jones, I am your moſt obedient Servant, I find you do not know me, which indeed is no Wonder, ſince you never ſaw me but once, and then you was very young. Pray, Sir, how doth the good Squire Allworthy? How doth Ille optimus omnium Patronus?'’ ‘'I find,' ſaid Jones, 'you do indeed know me; but I have not the like Happineſs of recollecting you.'’—‘I do not wonder at that,' cries Benjamin; 'but I am ſurprized I did not know you ſooner, for you are not in the leaſt altered. And pray, Sir, may I without Offence enquire whither you are travelling this Way?’ ‘Fill the Glaſs, Mr. Barber,' ſaid Jones, 'and aſk me no more Queſtions.'’ ‘Nay, Sir,' anſwered Benjamin, 'I would not be troubleſome; and I hope you don't think me a Man of an impertinent Curioſity, for that is a Vice which nobody can lay to my Charge; but I aſk Pardon, for when a Gentleman of your Figure travels without his Servants, we may ſup⯑poſe him to be, as we ſay, in Caſu incognito, and perhaps I ought not to have mentioned your Name.'’ ‘'I own,' ſays Jones, 'I did not expect to have been ſo well known in this Country as I find I am, yet, for particular Reaſons, I ſhall be obliged to you if you will not mention my Name to any o⯑ther Perſon, till I am gone from hence.'’ ‘'Pau⯑ca Verba,' anſwered the Barber; 'and I wiſh no other here knew you but myſelf; for ſome People have Tongues; but I promiſe you I can keep a Se⯑cret. My Enemies will allow me that Virtue.'’ ‘'And yet that is not the Characteriſtic of your Pro⯑feſſion, Mr. Barber,' anſwered Jones.’ ‘'Alas, Sir,' replied Benjamin, 'Non ſi male nunc & olim ſic erat. I was not born nor bred a Barber, I aſſure you. I have ſpent moſt of my Time among Gentlemen, and tho' I ſay it, I underſtand ſomething of Gen⯑tility. And if you had thought me as worthy of your Confidence as you have ſome other People, [108] I ſhould have ſhewn you I could have kept a Secret better. I ſhould not have degraded your Name in a public Kitchen; for indeed, Sir, ſome People have not uſed you well; for beſides making a publick Proclamation of what you told them of a Quarrel between yourſelf and Squire Allworthy, they added Lies of their own, Things which I knew to be Lies.’ ‘You ſurprize me greatly,' cries Jones.'’ ‘'Upon my Word, Sir, anſwered Benjamin, 'I tell the Truth, and I need not tell you my Landlady was the Perſon. I am ſure it moved me to hear the Story, and I hope it is all falſe; for I have a great Reſpect for you, I do aſſure you I have, and have had, ever ſince the Good-nature you ſhewed to Black George, which was talked of all over the Country, and I received more than one Letter about it. Indeed it made you beloved by every body. You will pardon me, therefore; for it was real Concern at what I heard made me aſk any Queſtions; for I have no impertinent Curioſity about me; but I love Good-nature, and thence became Amoris abundantia ergo Te.'’

Every Profeſſion of Friendſhip eaſily gains Credit with the Miſerable, it is no wonder, therefore, if Jones, who, beſides his being miſerable, was extreme⯑ly open-hearted, very readily believed all the Profeſ⯑ſions of Benjamin, and received him into his Boſom. The Scraps of Latin, ſome of which Benjamin ap⯑plied properly enough, though it did not favour of profound Literature, ſeemed yet to indicate ſome⯑thing ſuperior to a common Barber, and ſo indeed did his whole Behaviour. Jones therefore believed the Truth of what he ſaid, as to his Original and Education, and at length, after much Entreaty, he ſaid, ‘'Since you have heard, my Friend, ſo much of my Affairs, and ſeem ſo deſirous to know the [109] Truth, if you will have Patience to hear it, I will inform you of the whole.'’ ‘'Patience,' cries Ben⯑jamin, 'that I will, if the Chapter was never ſo long, and I am very much obliged to you for the Honour you do me.'’

Jones now began, and related the whole Hiſtory, forgetting only a Circumſtance or two, namely, e⯑very thing which paſſed on that Day in which he had fought with Thwackum, and ended with his Re⯑ſolution to go to Sea, till the Rebellion in the North had made him change his Purpoſe, and had brought him to the Place where he then was.

Little Benjamin, who had been all Attention, never once interrupted the Narrative; but when it was ended, he could not help obſerving, that there muſt be ſurely ſomething more invented by his Enemies, and told Mr. Allworthy againſt him, or ſo good a Man would never have diſmiſſed one he had loved ſo tenderly, in ſuch a Manner. To which Jones an⯑ſwered, ‘'He doubted not but ſuch villanous Arts had been made uſe of to deſtroy him.'’

And ſurely it was ſcarce poſſible for any one to have avoided making the ſame Remark with the Bar⯑ber; who had not, indeed, heard from Jones one ſingle Circumſtance upon which he was condemned; for his Actions were not now placed in thoſe injurious Lights, in which they had been miſrepreſented to Allworthy: Nor could he mention thoſe many falſe Accuſations which had been from time to time pre⯑ferred againſt him to Allworthy; for with none of theſe was he himſelf acquainted. He had likewiſe, as we have obſerved, omitted many material Facts in his preſent Relation. Upon the whole, indeed, every thing now appeared in ſuch favourable Colours to Jones, that Malice it ſelf would have found it no eaſy Matter to fix any Blame upon him.

[110] Not that Jones deſired to conceal or to diſguiſe the Truth; nay, he would have been more unwilling to have ſuffered any Cenſure to fall on Mr. Allworthy for puniſhing him, than on his own Actions for de⯑ſerving it; but, in Reality, ſo it happened, and ſo it always will happen: For let a Man be never ſo honeſt, the Account of his own Conduct will, in Spite of himſelf, be ſo very favourable, that his Vices will come purified through his Lips, and, like foul Liquors well ſtrained, will leave all their Foulneſs behind. For tho' the Facts them⯑ſelves may appear, yet ſo different will be the Mo⯑tives, Circumſtances, and Conſequences, when a Man tells his own Story, and when his Enemy tells it, that we ſcarce can recognize the Facts to be one and the ſame.

Tho' the Barber had drank down this Story with greedy Ears, he was not yet ſatisfied. There was a Circumſtance behind, which his Curioſity, cold as it was, moſt eagerly longed for. Jones had mention⯑ed the Fact of his Amour, and of his being the Ri⯑val of Blifil, but had cautiouſly concealed the Name of the young Lady. The Barber therefore, after ſome Heſitation, and many Hums and Ha's, at laſt begged Leave to crave the Name of the Lady, who appeared to be the principal Cauſe of all this Miſchief. Jones pauſed a Moment, and then ſaid, ‘'Since I have truſt⯑ed you with ſo much, and ſince I am afraid, her Name is become too public already on this Occa⯑ſion, I will not conceal it from you. Her Name is Sophia Weſtern.'’

‘'Proh Deum atque Hominum Fidem! Squire Weſtern hath a Daughter grown a Woman!'’ ‘'Ay, and ſuch a Woman,' cries Jones, 'that the World cannot match. No Eye ever ſaw any thing ſo beautiful; but that is her leaſt Excellence. Such Senſe, ſuch Goodneſs! O I could praiſe her for ever, and yet ſhould omit half her Virtues.'’ ‘'Mr. Weſtern a Daughter grown up!' cries the [111] Barber, 'I remember the Father a Boy; well, Tem⯑pus edax Rerum.'’

The Wine being now at an End, the Barber preſ⯑ſed very eagerly to be his Bottle; but Jones abſolutely refuſed, ſaying, ‘'He had already drank more than he ought; and that he now choſe to retire to his Room, where he wiſhed he could procure himſelf a Book.'’ ‘'A Book!' cries Benjamin, 'what Book would you have? Latin or Engliſh? I have ſome curious Books in both Languages. Such as Eraſmi Collo⯑quia, Ovid de Triſtibus, Gradus ad Parnaſſum; and in Engliſh, I have ſeveral of the beſt Books, tho' ſome of them are a little torn; but I have a great Part of Stow's Chronicle; the ſixth Volume of Pope's Homer; the third Volume of the Spec⯑tator; the ſecond Volume of Echard's Roman Hiſtory; the Craftſman; Robinſon Cruſoe; Tho⯑mas a Kempis, and two Volumes of Tom Brown's Works.'’

‘'Thoſe laſt,' cries Jones, 'are Books I never ſaw, ſo if you pleaſe to lend me one of thoſe Volumes.'’ The Barber aſſured him he would be highly entertained; for he looked upon the Author to have been one of the greateſt Wits that ever the Nation produced. He then ſtepped to his Houſe, which was hard by, and immediately returned, after which, the Barber having received very ſtrict Injunctions of Secrecy from Jones, and having ſworn inviolably to maintain it, they ſe⯑parated; the Barber went home, and Jones retired to his Chamber.

CHAP. VI. In which more of the Talents of Mr. Benjamin will appear, as well as who this extraordinary Perſon was.

IN the Morning Jones grew a little uneaſy at the Deſertion of his Surgeon, as he apprehended ſome [112] Inconvenience, or even Danger, might attend the not Dreſſing his Wound; he enquired therefore of the Drawer what other Surgeons were to be met with in that Neighbourhood. The Drawer told him there was one not far off; but he had known him often re⯑fuſe to be concerned after another had been ſent for before him; ‘'but, Sir,' ſays he, 'if you will take my Advice, there is not a Man in the Kingdom can do your Buſineſs better than the Barber who was with you laſt Night. We look upon him to be one of the ableſt Men at a Cut in all this Neighbour⯑hood. For tho' he hath not been here above three Months, he hath done ſeveral great Cures.'’

The Drawer was preſently diſpatched for little Benjamin, who being acquainted in what Capacity he was wanted, prepared himſelf accordingly, and at⯑tended; but with ſo different an Air and Aſpect from that which he wore when his Baſon was under his Arm, that he could ſcarce be known to be the ſame Perſon.

‘'So, Tonſor,' ſays Jones, 'I find you have more Trades than one; how came you not to inform me of this laſt Night? A Surgeon,'’ anſwered Benja⯑min, with great Gravity, ‘'is a Profeſſion, not a Trade. The Reaſon why I did not acquaint you laſt Night that I profeſſed this Art, was that I then concluded you was under the Hands of another Gentleman, and I never love to interfere with my Brethren in their Buſineſs. Ars omnibus communis; but now, Sir, if you pleaſe, I will inſpect your Head, and when I ſee into your Skull, I will give my Opinion of your Caſe.'’

Jones had no great Faith in this new Profeſſor; however he ſuffered him to open the Bandage, and to look at his Wound, which as ſoon as he had done, Benjamin began to groan and ſhake his Head violent⯑ly. Upon which Jones, in a peeviſh Manner, bid [113] him not play the Fool, but tell him in what Condi⯑tion he found him. ‘'Shall I anſwer you as a Sur⯑geon, or a Friend?' ſaid Benjamin. 'As a Friend, and ſeriouſly,' ſaid Jones. 'Why then, upon my Soul,' cries Benjamin, 'it would require a great deal of Art to keep you from being well after a very few Dreſſings; and if you will ſuffer me to apply ſome Salve of mine, I will anſwer for the Succeſs.'’ Jones gave his Conſent, and the Plaiſter was applied accordingly.

‘'There, Sir,' cries Benjamin, 'now I will, if you pleaſe, reſume my former Self; but a Man is o⯑bliged to keep up ſome Dignity in his Countenance whilſt he is performing theſe Operations, or the World will not ſubmit to be handled by him. You can't imagine, Sir, of how much Conſequence a grave Aſpect is to a grave Character. A Barber may make you laugh, but a Surgeon ought rather to make you cry.'’

‘'Mr. Barber, or Mr. Surgeon, or Mr. Barber-Surgeon, ſaid Jones.'’—‘'O dear Sir,' anſwered Benjamin, interrupting him, 'Infandum Regina jubes renovare Dolorem. You recal to my Mind that cruel Separation of the united Fraternities, ſo much to the Prejudice of both Bodies, as all Se⯑parations muſt be, according to the old Adage, Vis unita fortior; which to be ſure there are not wanting ſome of one or of the other Fraternity who are able to conſtrue. What a Blow was this to me who unite both in my own Perſon.'—Well, by whatever Name you pleaſe to be called,'’ con⯑tinued Jones, ‘'you certainly are one of the oddeſt, moſt comical Fellows I ever met with, and muſt have ſomething very ſurprizing in your Story, which you muſt confeſs I have a Right to hear.'’ ‘'I [114] do confeſs it,' anſwered Benjamin, 'and will very readily acquaint you with it, when you have ſuf⯑ficient Leiſure; for I promiſe you it will require a good deal of Time.'’ Jones told him he could never be more at Leiſure than at preſent. ‘'Well then,' ſaid Benjamin, 'I will obey you; but firſt I will faſten the Door, that none may interrupt us.'’ He did ſo, and then advancing with a ſolemn Air to Jones, ſaid; ‘'I muſt begin by telling you, Sir, that you yourſelf have been the greateſt Ene⯑my I ever had.'’ Jones was a little ſtartled at this ſudden Declaration. ‘'I your Enemy, Sir!'’ ſays he, with much Amazement, and ſome Sternneſs in his Look. ‘'Nay, be not angry,' ſaid Benjamin, 'for I promiſe you I am not. You are perfectly inno⯑cent of having intended me any Wrong; for you was then an Infant; but I ſhall, I believe, unriddle all this the Moment I mention my Name. Did you never hear, Sir, of one Partridge, who had the Honour of being reputed your Father, and the Miſ⯑fortune of being ruined by that Honour?'’ ‘'I have indeed heard of that Partridge,' ſays Jones, 'and have always believed myſelf to be his Son.'’ ‘'Well, Sir,' anſwered Benjamin, 'I am that Partridge; but I hear abſolve you from all filial Duty; for I do aſſure you you are no Son of mine.'’ ‘'How,' replied Jones, 'and is it poſſible that a falſe Suſpi⯑cion ſhould have drawn all the ill Conſequences upon you, with which I am too well acquainted?'’ ‘'It is poſſible,' cries Benjamin, 'for it is ſo; but tho' it is natural enough for Men to hate even the innocent Cauſes of their Sufferings, yet I am of a different Temper. I have loved you ever ſince I heard of your Behaviour to Black George, as I told you; and am convinced from this extraordinary Meeting, that you are born to make me Amends for all I have ſuffered on that Account. Beſides, I [115] dreamt, the Night before I ſaw you, that I ſtum⯑bled over a Stool without hurting myſelf; which plainly ſhewed me ſomething good was towards me; and laſt Night I dreamt again, that I rode behind you on a Milk white Mare, which is a very excel⯑lent Dream, and betokens much good Fortune, which I am reſolved to purſue, unleſs you have the Cruelty to deny me.'’

‘'I ſhould be very glad, Mr. Partridge,' anſwer⯑ed 'Jones, 'to have it in my Power to make you Amends for your Sufferings on my Account; tho' at preſent I ſee no Likelihood of it; however, I aſſure you I will deny you nothing which is in my Power to grant.'’

‘'It is in your Power ſure enough,' replied Benja⯑min, 'for I deſire nothing more than Leave to at⯑tend you in this Expedition. Nay, I have ſo en⯑tirely ſet my Heart upon it, that if you ſhould re⯑fuſe me, you will kill both a Barber and a Surgeon in one Breath.'’

Jones anſwered ſmiling, That he ſhould be very ſorry to be the Occaſion of ſo much Miſchief to the Public. He then advanced many prudential Reaſons, in order to diſſuade Benjamin (whom we ſhall here⯑after call Partridge) from his Purpoſe; but all were in vain. Partridge relied ſtrongly on his Dream of the milk-white Mare. ‘'Beſides, Sir, ſays he, I promiſe you, I have as good an Inclination to the Cauſe, as any Man can poſſibly have; and go I will, whether you admit me to go in your Com⯑pany or not.'’

Jones, who was as much pleaſed with Partridge, as Partridge could be with him, and who had not con⯑ſulted his own Inclination, but the Good of the other in deſiring him to ſtay behind; when he found his Friend ſo reſolute, at laſt gave his Conſent; but then recollecting himſelf, he ſaid, ‘'Perhaps,' Mr. Par⯑tridge, [116] you think I ſhall be able to ſupport you, but I really am not;'’ and then taking out his Purſe, he told out nine Guineas, which he declared were his whole Fortune.

Partridge anſwered, ‘'that his Dependance was only on his future Favour: For he was thoroughly convinced he would ſhortly have enough in his Power. At preſent, Sir, ſaid he, I believe I am rather the richer Man of the two; but all I have is at your Service, and at your Diſpoſal. I inſiſt up⯑on your taking the whole, and I beg only to attend you in the Quality of your Servant, Nil deſperan⯑dum eſt Teucro duce et auſpice Teucro;'’ But to this generous Propoſal concerning the Money, Jones would by no means ſubmit.

It was reſolved to ſet out the next Morning; when a Difficulty aroſe concerning the Baggage, for the Portmanteau of Mr. Jones was too large to be car⯑ried without a Horſe.

‘'If I may preſume to give my Advice,' ſays Par⯑tridge, 'this Portmanteau, with every Thing in it, except a few Shirts, ſhould be left behind. Thoſe I ſhall be eaſily able to carry for you, and the reſ [...] of your Clothes will remain very ſafely locked up' in my Houſe.’

This Method was no ſooner propoſed than agreed to, and then the Barber departed, in order to prepare [...] every Thing for his intended Expedition.

CHAP. VII. Containing better Reaſons than any which have yet ap⯑peared for the Conduct of Partridge; an Apology for the Weakneſs of Jones; and ſome farther Anec⯑dotes concerning my Landlady.

THOUGH Partridge was one of the moſt ſu⯑perſtitious of Men, he would hardly, perhaps [117] have deſired to accompany Jones on his Expedition [...]erely from the Omens of the Joint-ſtool, and white [...]are, if his Proſpect had been no better than to have [...]ared the Plunder gained in the Field of Battle. In [...]ct, when Partridge came to ruminate on the Re⯑ [...]ion he had heard from Jones, he could not recon⯑ [...]e to himſelf, that Mr. Allworthy ſhould turn his [...]n (for ſo he moſt firmly believed him to be) out of [...]oors, for any Reaſon which he had heard aſſigned. [...]e concluded therefore, that the whole was a Ficti⯑ [...], and that Jones, of whom he had often from his [...]orreſpondents heard the wildeſt Character, had in [...]ality run away from his Father. It came into his [...]ead, therefore, that if he could prevail with the [...]ung Gentleman to return back to his Father, he [...]ould by that Means render a Service to Allworthy, which would obliterate all his former Anger; nay, [...]deed he conceived that very Anger was counterfeit⯑ [...], and that Allworthy had ſacrificed him to his own [...]eputation. And this Suſpicion, indeed, he well ac⯑ [...]unted for, from the tender Behaviour of that ex⯑ [...]llent Man to the Foundling Child; from his great verity to Partridge, who knowing himſelf to be in⯑ [...]cent, could not conceive that any other ſhould [...]nk him guilty; laſtly, from the Allowance which had privately received long after the Annuity had [...]en publicly taken from; and which he looked upon a kind of Smart-money, or rather by way of [...]tonement for Injuſtice: For it is very uncommon, believe, for Men to aſcribe the Benefactions they [...]ceive to pure Charity, when they can poſſibly im⯑ [...]te them to any other Motive. If he could by any [...]eans, therefore, perſuade the young Gentleman to [...]turn home, he doubted not but that he ſhould again received into the Favour of Allworthy, and well warded for his Pains; nay, and ſhould be again re⯑ [...]red to his native Country; a Reſtoration which [118] Ulyſſes himſelf never wiſhed more heartily than poor Partridge.

As for Jones, he was well ſatisfied with the Truth of what the other had aſſerted, and believed that Partridge had no other Inducements but Love to him, and Zeal for the Cauſe. A blameable Want of Caution, and Diffidence in the Veracity of others, in which he was highly worthy of Cenſure. To ſay the Truth, there are but two Ways by which Men become poſſeſſed of this excellent Quality. The one is from long Experience, and the other is from Na⯑ture; which laſt, I preſume, is often meant by Ge⯑nius, or great natural Parts; and it is infinitely the better of the two, not only as we are Maſters of i [...] much earlier in Life, but as it is much more infallible and concluſive: For a Man who hath been impoſed on by ever ſo many, may ſtill hope to find others more honeſt; whereas he who receives certain neceſ⯑ſary Admonitions from within, that this is impoſſible, muſt have very little Underſtanding indeed, if he ever renders himſelf liable to be once deceived. As Jones had not this Gift from Nature, he was too young to have gained it by Experience; for at the diffident Wiſdom which is to be acquired this Way, we ſel⯑dom arrive till very late in Life; which is perhaps the Reaſon why ſome old Men are apt to deſpiſe the Underſtandings of all thoſe who are a little younger than themſelves.

Jones ſpent moſt Part of the Day in the Company of a new Acquaintance. This was no other than the Landlord of the Houſe, or rather the Husband of the Landlady. He had but lately made his Deſcent down Stairs, after a long Fit of the Gout, in which Diſtem⯑per he was generally confined to his Room during one half of the Year; and during the reſt, he walk⯑ed about the Houſe, ſmoaked his Pipe, and drank his Bottle with his Friends, without concerning him⯑ſelf [119] in the leaſt with any Kind of Buſineſs. He had [...]en bred, as they call it, a Gentleman, that is, bred [...] to do nothing, and had ſpent a very ſmall For⯑ [...]ne, which he inherited from an induſtrious Farmer [...] Uncle, in Hunting, Horſe-racing, and Cock⯑ [...]ghting, and had been married by my Landlady for [...]tain Purpoſes which he had long deſiſted from an⯑ [...]ering: for which ſhe hated him heartily. But as [...] was a ſurly Kind of Fellow, ſo ſhe contented her⯑ [...]f with frequently upbraiding him by diſadvantage⯑ [...]s Compariſons with her firſt Husband, whoſe Praiſe [...]e had eternally in her Mouth; and as ſhe was for [...]e moſt part Miſtreſs of the Profit, ſo ſhe was ſa⯑ [...]fied to take upon herſelf the Care and Government [...] the Family, and after a long ſucceſsleſs Struggle, [...] ſuffer her Husband to be Maſter of himſelf.

In the Evening when Jones retired to his Room, a [...]all Diſpute aroſe between this fond Couple concern⯑ [...]g him. ‘'What,' ſays the Wife, 'you have been [...]tipling with the Gentleman! I ſee.'’ ‘'Yes,' an⯑ [...]wered the Huſband, 'we have cracked a Bottle to⯑gether, and a very Gentleman-like Man he is, and hath a very pretty Notion of Horſe-fleſh. Indeed [...]he is young, and hath not ſeen much of the World: For I believe he hath been at very few Horſe-races.'’ ‘O ho! he is one of your Order, is he?' replies the [...]ndlady, 'he muſt be a Gentleman to be ſure, if he is a Horſe-racer. The Devil fetch ſuch Gentry, I am ſure I wiſh I had never ſeen any of them. I have Reaſon to love Horſe-racers truly.'’ ‘'That you have, ſays the Huſband; for I was one you know.'’ ‘'Yes, anſwered ſhe, 'You are a pure one indeed. As my firſt Huſband uſed to ſay, I may put all the Good I have ever got by you in my Eyes, and ſee never the worſe.'’ ‘'D—n your firſt Husband,' cries he,'’—‘'Don't d—n a better Man than yourſelf,' anſwered the Wife, 'if he had been [120] alive, you durſt not have done it.'’ ‘'Then you think,' ſays he, 'I have not ſo much Courage as yourſelf: For you have d—n'd him often in my Hearing.’ ‘'If I did,' ſays ſhe, 'I have repented of it many's the good Time and oft. And if he was ſo good to forgive me a Word ſpoken in Haſte, or ſo, it doth not become ſuch a one as you to twitter me. He was a Huſband to me, he was; and if ever I did make uſe of an ill Word or ſo in a Paſſion; I ne⯑ver called him a Raſcal, I ſhould have told a Lie, if I had called him a Raſcal.'’ Much more ſhe ſaid, but not in his Hearing: For having lighted his Pipe, he ſtaggered off as faſt as he could. We ſhall there⯑fore tranſcribe no more of her Speech, as it approached ſtill nearer and nearer to a Subject too indelicate to find any Place in this Hiſtory.

Early in the Morning, Partridge appeared at the Bedſide of Jones, ready equipped for the Journey, with his Knapſack at his Back. This was his own Work⯑manſhip; for beſides his other Trades, he was no indifferent Taylor. He had already put up his whole Stock of Linnen in it, conſiſting of four Shirts, to which he now added eight for Mr. Jones, and then packing up the Portmanteau, he was departing with it towards his own Houſe, but was ſtopt in his Way by the Landlady, who refuſed to ſuffer any Removals till after the Payment of the reckoning.

The Landlady was, as we have ſaid, abſolute Governeſs in theſe Regions; it was therefore neceſ⯑ſary to comply with her Rules, ſo the Bill was pre⯑ſently writ out, which amounted to a much large [...] Sum than might have been expected, from the En⯑tertainment which Jones had met with; but here we are obliged to diſcloſe ſome Maxims, which Publicans hold to be the grand Myſteries of their Trade. The firſt is, if they have any Thing good in their Houſe (which indeed very ſeldom happens) to produce i [...] only to Perſons who travel with great Equipages [121] 2dly, To charge the ſame for the very worſt Provi⯑ſions, as if they were the beſt. And, laſtly, if any of their Gueſts call but for little, to make them pay a double Price for every Thing they have; ſo that the Amount by the Head may be much the ſame.

The Bill being made and diſcharged, Jones ſet for⯑ward with Partridge carrying his Knapſack; nor did the Landlady condeſcend to wiſh him a good Journey: for this was, it ſeems, an Inn frequented by People of Faſhion; and I know not whence it is, but all thoſe who get their Livelihood by People of Faſhion, contract as much Inſolence to the reſt of Mankind, as if they really belonged to that Rank themſelves.

CHAP. VIII. Jones arrives at Glouceſter, and goes to the Bell; the Character of that Houſe, and of a Petty-fogger, which he there meets with.

MR. Jones, and Partridge, or Little Benjamin, (which Epithet of Little was perhaps given him ironically, he being in reality near ſix Feet high) having left their laſt Quarters in the Manner before deſcribed, travelled on to Glouceſter without meeting any Adventure worth relating.

Being arrived here, they choſe for their Houſe of Entertainment the Sign of the Bell, an excellent Houſe indeed, and which I do moſt ſeriouſly recom⯑mend to every Reader who ſhall viſit this ancient City. The Maſter of it is Brother to the great Preacher Whitefield; but is abſolutely untainted with the per⯑ [...]icious Principles of Methodiſm, or of any other heretical Sect. He is indeed a very honeſt plain Man, and in my Opinion, not likely to create any Diſtur⯑bance either in Church or State. His Wife hath I believe, had much Pretenſion to Beauty, and is ſtill a very fine Woman. Her Perſon and Deportment might have made a ſhining Figure in the politeſt Aſ⯑ſemblies; [122] but though ſhe muſt be conſcious of this, and many other Perfections, ſhe ſeems perfectly con⯑tented with, and reſigned to that State of Life to which ſhe is called; and this Reſignation is entirely owing to the Prudence and Wiſdom of her Temper: For ſhe is at preſent as free from any methodiſtical Notions as her Huſband. I ſay at preſent: For ſhe freely confeſſes that her Brother's Documents made at firſt ſome Impreſſion upon her, and that ſhe had put herſelf to the Expence of a long Hood, in order to attend the extraordinary Emotions of the Spirit; but having found during an Experiment of three Weeks, no Emotions, ſhe ſays, worth a Farthing, ſhe very wiſely laid by her Hood, and abandoned the Sect. To be conciſe, ſhe is a very friendly, good-natured Woman, and ſo induſtrious to oblige, that the Gueſts muſt be of a very moroſe Diſpoſition who are not extremely well ſatisfied in her Houſe.

Mrs. Whitefield happened to be in the Yard when Jones and his Attendant marched in. Her Sagacity ſoon diſcovered in the Air of our Hero ſomething which diſtinguiſhed him from the Vulgar. She or⯑dered her Servants, therefore, immediately to ſhew him into a Room, and preſently afterwards invited him to Dinner with herſelf; which Invitation he ve⯑ry thankfully accepted: For indeed much leſs agree⯑able Company than that of Mrs. Whitefield, and a [...] much worſe Entertainment than ſhe had provided would have been welcome, after ſo long faſting and ſo long a Walk.

Beſides Mr. Jones and the good Governeſs of the Manſion, there ſat down at Table an Attorney o [...] Salisbury, indeed the very ſame who had brought the News of Mrs. Blifil's Death to Mr. Allworthy, an [...] whoſe Name, which, I think, we did not before mention, was Dowling; there was likewiſe preſen [...] another Perſon, who ſtiled himſelf a Lawyer, an [...] [123] who lived ſomewhere near Lidlinch in Somerſetſhire. This Fellow, I ſay, ſtiled himſelf a Lawyer, but was indeed a moſt vile Petty-fogger, without Senſe or Knowledge of any Kind; one of thoſe who may be termed Train-bearers to the Law; a Sort of Su⯑pernumeraries in the Profeſſion, who are the Hack⯑neys of Attornies, and will ride more Miles for half a Crown, than a Poſt-boy.

During the time of Dinner, the Somerſetſhire Lawyer recollected the Face of Jones, which he had ſeen at Mr Allworthy's: For he had often viſited in that Gentleman's Kitchen. He therefore took Occa⯑ſion to enquire after the good Family there, with that Familiarity which would have become an intimate Friend or Acquaintance of Mr. Allworthy; and indeed he did all in his Power to inſinuate himſelf to be ſuch, though he had never had the Honour of ſpeaking to any Perſon in that Family higher than the Butler. Jones anſwered all his Queſtions with much Civility, though he never remembred to have ſeen the Petty⯑fogger before, and though he concluded from the outward Appearance and Behaviour of the Man, that he uſurped a Freedom with his Betters, to which he was by no means intitled.

As the Converſation of Fellows of this Kind, is of all others the moſt deteſtable to Men of any Senſe, the Cloth was no ſooner removed than Mr. Jones withdrew, and a little barbarouſly left poor Mrs. Whitefield to do a Penance, which I have often heard Mr. Timothy Harris, and other Publicans of good Taſte, lament, as the ſevereſt Lot annexed to their Calling, namely, that of being obliged to keep Company with their Gueſts.

Jones had no ſooner quitted the Room, than the Petty-fogger, in a whiſpering Tone, aſked Mrs. Whitefield, ‘'if ſhe knew who that fine Spark was?'’ She anſwered, ‘'ſhe had never ſeen the Gentleman before. The Gentleman, indeed!' replied the [124] Petty-fogger, 'a pretty Gentleman truly! Why, he's the Baſtard of a Fellow who was hanged for Horſe-ſtealing. He was dropt at Squire Allwor⯑thy's Door, where one of the Servants found him in a Box ſo full of Rain-water, that he would cer⯑tainly have been drowned, had he not been reſerved for another Fate.'’ ‘Ay, ay, you need not men⯑tion it, I proteſt, we underſtand what that Fate is very well,'’ cried Dowling, with a moſt facetious Grin. ‘'Well,' continued the other, 'the Squire ordered him to be taken in: For he is a timberſome Man every Body knows, and was afraid of draw⯑ing himſelf into a Scrape, and there the Baſtard was bred up, and fed and cloathified all to the World like any Gentleman: and there he got one of the Servant Maids with Child, and perſuaded her to ſwear it to the Squire himſelf; and after⯑wards he broke the Arm of one Mr. Thwackum a Clergyman, only becauſe he reprimanded him for following Whores; and afterwards he ſnapt a Piſ⯑tol at Mr. Blifil behind his Back; and once when Squire Allworthy was ſick, he got a Drum, and beat it all over the Houſe, to prevent him from ſleeping: And twenty other Pranks he hath played, for all which, about four or five Days ago, juſt before I left the Country, the Squire ſtrip'd him ſtark nak⯑ed, and turned him out of Doors.’

‘'And very juſtly too, I proteſt,' cries Dowling, 'I would turn my own Son out of Doors, if he was guilty of half as much. And pray what is the' Name of this pretty Gentleman?’

‘'The Name o'un!' anſwered Petty-fogger, 'why, he is a called Thomas Jones.'’

‘Jones!' anſwered Dowling, a little eagerly, 'what, Mr. Jones, that lived at Mr. Allworthy's! was that the Gentleman that dined with us?' 'The very ſame,' ſaid the other. 'I have heard of the Gentleman,' cries Dowling, 'often, but I never [125] heard any ill Character of him.' 'And I am ſure,' ſays Mrs. Whitefield, 'if half what this Gentleman hath ſaid be true, Mr. Jones hath the moſt deceitful Countenance I ever ſaw; for ſure his Looks promiſe ſomething very different; and I muſt ſay, for the little I have ſeen of him, he is as civil a well-bred Man as you would wiſh to con⯑verſe with.'’

Pettyfogger calling to mind that he had not been ſworn, as he uſually was, before he gave his Evi⯑dence, now bound what he had declared with ſo many Oaths and Imprecations, that the Lady's Ears were ſhocked, and ſhe put a Stop to his ſwearing, by aſ⯑ſuring him of her Belief. Upon which he ſaid, ‘'I hope, Madam, you imagine I would ſcorn to tell ſuch Things of any Man, unleſs I knew them to be true. What Intereſt have I in taking away the Reptutation of a Man who never injured me? I promiſe you every Syllable of what I have ſaid is Fact, and the whole Country knows it.'’

As Mrs. Whitefield had no Reaſon to ſuſpect that the Pettyfogger had any Motive or Temptation to abuſe Jones, the Reader cannot blame her for be⯑lieving what he ſo confidently affirmed with many Oaths. She accordingly gave up her Skill in Phy⯑ſiognomy, and henceforwards conceived ſo ill an Opinion of her Gueſt, that ſhe heartily wiſhed him out of her Houſe.

This Diſlike was now farther increaſed by a Re⯑port which Mr. Whitefield made from the Kitchen, where Partridge had informed the Company, ‘'That tho' he carried the Knapſack, and contented him⯑ſelf with ſtaying among Servants, while Tom Jones (as he called him) was regaling in the Parlour, he was not his Servant, but only a Friend and Com⯑panion, and as good a Gentleman as Mr. Jones him⯑ſelf.'’

[126] Dowling ſat all this while ſilent, biting his Fingers, making Faces, grinning, and looking wonderfully arch; at laſt he opened his Lips, and proteſted that the Gen⯑tleman looked like another Sort of Man. He then called for his Bill with the utmoſt Haſte, declared he muſt be at Hertford that Evening, lamenting his great Hurry of Buſineſs, and wiſhed he could divide himſelf into twenty Pieces, in order to be at once in twenty Places.

The Pettyfoggar now likewiſe departed, and then Jones deſired the Favour of Mrs. Whitefield's Com⯑pany to drink Tea with him; but ſhe refuſed, and with a Manner ſo different from that with which ſhe had received him at Dinner, that it a little ſurprized him. And now he perceived her Behaviour totally changed; for inſtead of that natural Affability which we have before celebrated, ſhe wore a conſtrained Severity on her Countenance, which was ſo diſagree⯑able to Mr. Jones, that he reſolved, however late, to quit the Houſe that Evening.

He did indeed account ſomewhat unfairly for this ſudden Change; for beſides ſome hard and unjuſt Sur⯑miſes concerning Female Fickleneſs and Mutability, he began to ſuſpect that he owed this want of Civi⯑lity to his Want of Horſes, a Sort of Animals which, as they dirty no Sheets, are thought in Inns, to pay better for their Beds than their Riders, and are there⯑fore conſidered as the more deſirable Company; but Mrs. Whitefield, to do her Juſtice, had a much more liberal Way of thinking. She was perfectly well⯑bred, and could be very civil to a Gentleman, tho' he walked on Foot: In Reality, ſhe looked on our Heroe as a ſorry Scoundrel, and therefore treated him as ſuch, for which not even Jones himſelf, had he known as much as the Reader, could have blamed her; nay, on the Contrary, he muſt have approved her Conduct, and have eſteemed her the more for the Diſreſpect ſhewn towards himſelf. This is indeed [127] a moſt aggravating Circumſtance which attends un⯑juſtly depriving Men of their Reputation; for a Man who is Conſcious of having an ill Character, cannot juſtly be angry with thoſe who neglect and ſlight him; but ought rather to deſpiſe thoſe that affect his Conver⯑ſation, unleſs where a perfect Intimacy muſt have con⯑vinced them that their Friend's Character hath been falſely and injuriouſly aſperſed.

This was not, however, the Caſe of Jones; for as he was a perfect Stranger to the Truth, ſo he was with good Reaſon offended at the Treatment he received. He therefore paid his Reckoning and departed, highly againſt the Will of Mr. Partridge, who having remonſtrated much againſt it to no Pur⯑poſe, at laſt condeſcended to take up his Knapſack, and to attend his Friend.

CHAP. IX. Containing ſeveral Dialogues between Jones and Par⯑tridge, concerning Love, Cold, Hunger, and other Matters; with the lucky and narrow Eſcape of Par⯑tridge, as he was on the very Brink of making a fatal Diſcovery to his Friend.

THE Shadows began now to deſcend larger from the high Mountains: The feather'd Creation had betaken themſelves to their Reſt. Now the high⯑eſt Order of Mortals were ſitting down to their Din⯑ners, and the loweſt Order to their Suppers. In a Word, the Clock ſtruck five juſt as Mr. Jones took his Leave of Glouceſter; an Hour at which (as it was now Midwinter) the dirty Fingers of Night would have drawn her ſable Curtain over the Univerſe, had not the Moon forbid her, who now with a Face as broad and as red as thoſe of ſome jolly Mortals, who, like her, turn Night into Day, began to riſe from her Bed, where ſhe had ſlumbered away the Day, in or⯑der to ſit up all Night. Jones had not travelled far before he paid his Compliments to that beautiful Pla⯑net, [128] and turning to his Companion, aſked him, If he had ever beheld ſo delicious an Evening. Par⯑tride making no ready Anſwer to his Queſtion, he pro⯑ceeded to comment on the Beauty of the Moon, and repeated ſome Paſſages from Milton, who hath cer⯑tainly excelled all other Poets in his Deſcription of the heavenly Luminaries. He then told Partridge the Story from the Spectator, of two Lovers who had agreed to entertain themſelves when they were at a great Diſtance from each other, by repairing, at a certain fixed Hour, to look at the Moon; thus pleaſ⯑ing themſelves with the Thought that they were both employed in contempiating the ſame Object at the ſame Time. ‘'Thoſe Lovers,' added he, 'muſt have had Souls truly capable of feeling all the Ten⯑derneſs of the ſublimeſt of all human Paſſions.'’ ‘'Very probably,' cries Partridge, 'but I envy them more if they had Bodies incapable of feeling cold; for I am almoſt frozen to Death, and am very much afraid I ſhall loſe a Piece of my Noſe before we get to another Houſe of Entertainment. Nay, truly, we may well expect ſome Judgment ſhould happen to us for our Folly in running away ſo by Night from one of the moſt excellent Inns I ever ſet my Foot into. I am ſure I never ſaw more good Things in my Life, and the greateſt Lord in the Land cannot live better in his own Houſe than he may there. And to forſake ſuch a Houſe, and go a rambling about the Country, the Lord knows whither, per devia rura viarum, I ſay nothing for my Part; but ſome People might not have Charity enough to conclude we were in our ſober Senſes.'’ ‘'Fie upon it, Mr. Partridge,' ſays Jones, 'have a better Heart; conſider you are going to face an E⯑nemy, and are you afraid of facing a little Cold? I wiſh indeed we had a Guide to adviſe which of theſe Roads we ſhould take.'’ ‘'May I be ſo bold,' ſays Partridge, 'to offer my Advice; Interdum [129] Stultus opportuna loquitur.'’ ‘'Why, which of them.' cries Jones, 'would you recommend?'’ ‘'Truly nei⯑ther of them,' anſwered Partridge. 'The only Road we can be certain of finding, is the Road we came. A good hearty Pace will bring us back to Glouceſter in an Hour; but if we go forward, the Lord Harry knows when we ſhall arrive at any Place; for I ſee at leaſt fifty Miles before me, and no Houſe in all the Way.'’ ‘'You ſee, indeed, a very fair Proſpect,' ſays Jones, 'which receives great additio⯑nal Beauty from the extream Luſtre of the Moon. However, I will keep the Left-hand Track, as that ſeems to lead directly to thoſe Hills, which we were informed lie not far from Worceſter. And here, if you incline to quit me; you may, and return back again! but for my Part, I am reſolved to go forward.'’

‘'It is unkind in you, Sir,' ſays Partridge, 'to ſuſpect me of any ſuch Intention. What I have adviſed hath been as much on your Account as on my own; but ſince you are determined to go on, I am as much determined to follow.'’ I prae, ſequar te. They now travelled ſome Miles without ſpeaking to each other, during which Suſpence of Diſcourſe Jones often ſighed, and Benjamin groaned as bitter⯑ly, tho' from a very different Reaſon. At length Jones made a full Stop, and turning about, cries, ‘'Who knows, Partridge, but the lovelieſt Creature in the Univerſe may have her Eyes now fixed on that very Moon which I behold at this Inſtant!'’ ‘'Very likely, Sir, anſwered Partridge, and if my Eyes were fixed on a good Surloin of roaſt Beef, the Devil might take the Moon and her Horns into the Bargain.'’ ‘Did ever Tramontane make ſuch an Anſwer,'’ cries Jones? ‘'Prithee, Partridge, waſt thou never ſuſceptible of Love in thy Life, or hath Time worn away all the Traces of it from thy Memory?'’ ‘'Alack-a-day,' cries Partridge, well would it have been for me if I had never known what Love was. ‘Infandum Regina jubes renovare [130] 'Dolorem.’ I am ſure I have taſted all the Tender⯑neſs and Sublimities and Bitterneſſes of the Paſ⯑on.'’ 'Was your Miſtreſs unkind then?' ſays Jones. ‘'Very unkind indeed, Sir,' anſwered Par⯑tridge; 'for ſhe married me, and made one of the moſt confounded Wives in the World. How⯑ever, Heaven be praiſed, ſhe's gone, and if I be⯑lieved ſhe was in the Moon, according to a Book I once read, which teaches that to be the Recep⯑tacle of departed Spirits, I would never look at it for fear of ſeeing her; but I wiſh, Sir, that the Moon was a Looking-glaſs for your Sake, and that Miſs Sophia Weſtern was now placed before it.'’ ‘'My dear Partridge,' cries Jones, 'what a Thought was there! A thought which I am certain could never have entered into any Mind but that of a Lover. O Partridge, could I hope once again to ſee that Face; but, alas! all thoſe golden Dreams are vaniſhed for ever, and my only Re⯑fuge from future Miſery is to forget the Object of all my former Happineſs.'’ ‘'And do you really de⯑ſpair of ever ſeeing Mifs Weſtern again?'’ anſwer⯑ed Partridge; ‘'if you will follow my Advice I will engage you ſhall not only ſee her, but have her in your Arms.'’ ‘'Ha! do not awaken a Though of that Nature,' cries Jones. 'I have ſtruggled ſufficiently to conquer all ſuch Wiſhes already.’ ‘'Nay, anſwered Partridge, 'if you do not wiſh to have your Miſtreſs in your Arms, you are a moſt extraordinary Lover indeed.'’ ‘Well, well,' ſays Jones, 'let us avoid this Subject; but pray what is your Advice?'’ ‘'To give it you in the military Phraſe then,' ſays Partridge,' as we are Soldiers, To the Right about.' 'Let us return the Way we came, we may yet reach Glouceſter to Night tho' late; whereas if we proceed, we are like⯑ly, for ought I ſee, to ramble about for ever with out coming either to Houſe or Home.' I have already told you my Reſolution is to go on,'’ [131] anſwered Jones; ‘'but I would have you go back. I am obliged to you for your company hither, and I beg you to accept a Guinea as a ſmall Inſtance of my Gratitude. Nay, it would be cruel in me to ſuffer you to go any farther; for to deal plain⯑ly with you, my chief End and Deſire is a glorious Death in the Service of my King and Country.'’ ‘'As for your Money,' replied Partridge, 'I beg, Sir, you will put it up; I will receive none of you at this Time; for at preſent I am, I believe, the richer Man of the two. And as your Reſolution is to go on, ſo mine is to follow you if you do. Nay, now my preſence appears abſolutely neceſ⯑ſary to take Care of you, ſince your Intentions are ſo deſperate, for I promiſe you my Views are much more prudent: As you are reſolved to fall in Battle, if you can, ſo I am reſolved as firmly to come to no Hurt if I can help it. And indeed I have the Comfort to think there will be but little Danger; for a Popiſh Prieſt told me the other Day, the Buſineſs would ſoon be over, and he believed without a Battle.'’ ‘A popiſh Prieſt,' cries Jones, 'I have heard, is not always to be be⯑lieved when he ſpeaks in Behalf of his Religion.'’ ‘'Yes, but ſo far,' anſwered the other, 'from ſpeak⯑ing in Behalf of his Religion, he aſſured me, the Catholicks did not expect to be any Gainers by the Change; for that Prince Charles was as good a Proteſtant as any in England; and that no⯑thing but Regard to Right made him and the reſt of the popiſh Party to be Jacobites.'’ ‘'I believe him to be as much a Proteſtant as I believe he hath any Right,' ſays Jones, 'and I make no Doubt of our Succeſs, but not without a Battle. So that I am not ſo ſanguine as your Friend the popiſh Prieſt.'’ ‘'Nay, to be ſure, Sir,' anſwered Par⯑ridge, 'all the Prophecies I have ever read, ſpeak of a great deal of Blood to be ſpilt in the Quarrel, and the Miller with three Thumbs, who [132] is now alive, is to hold the Horſes of three Kings, up to his Knees in Blood. Lord have Mercy up⯑on us all, and ſend better Times!'’ ‘'With what Stuff and Nonſenſe haſt thou filled thy Head,' anſwered Jones? This too, I ſuppoſe, comes from the popiſh Prieſt. Monſters and Prodigies are the proper Argu⯑guments to ſupport monſtrous and abſurd Doctrines. The Cauſe of King George is the Cauſe of Liberty and true Religion. In other Words, it is the Cauſe of common Senſe, my Boy, and I warrant you will ſucceed, tho' Briareus himſelf was to riſe a⯑gain with his hundred Thumbs, and to turn Mil⯑ler.'’ Partridge made no Reply to this. He was indeed caſt in the utmoſt Confuſion by this Decla⯑ration of Jones. For to inform the Reader of a Se⯑cret, which we had no Opportunity of revealing be⯑fore, Partridge was in Truth a Jacobite, and had con⯑cluded that Jones was of the ſame Party, and was now proceeding to join the Rebels. An Opinion which was not without Foundation. For the tall long-ſided Dame, mentioned by Hudibras; that ma⯑ny-eyed, many-tongued, many-mouthed, many-eared Monſter of Virgil, had related the Story of the Quar⯑rel between Jones and the Officer, with her uſual Re⯑gard to Truth. She had indeed changed the Name of Sophia into that of the Pretender, and had report⯑ed, that drinking his Health was the Cauſe for which Jones was knocked down. This Partridge had heard, and moſt firmly believed. 'Tis no Wonder, there⯑fore, that he had thence entertained the above-men⯑tioned Opinion of Jones; and which he had almoſt diſcovered to him before he found out his own Miſtake. And at this the Reader will be the leſs inclined to wonder, if he pleaſes to recollect the doubtful Phraſe in which Jones firſt communicated his Reſolution to Mr. Partridge; and, indeed, had the Words been leſs ambiguous, Partridge might very well have conſtrued them as he did; being perſuaded, as he was, that [133] the whole Nation were of the ſame Inclination in their Hearts: Nor did it ſtagger him that Jones had travelled in the Company of Soldiers; for he had the ſame Opinion of the Army which he had of the reſt of People.

But however well affected he might be to James or Charles, he was ſtill much more attached to Lit⯑tle Benjamin than to either: for which Reaſon he no ſooner diſcovered the Principles of his Fellow-tra⯑veller, than he thought proper to conceal, and out⯑wardly to give up his own to the Man on whom he depended for the making his Fortune, ſince he by no means believed the Affairs of Jones to be ſo de⯑ſperate as they really were with Mr. Allworthy; for as he had kept a conſtant Correſpondence with ſome of his Neighbours ſince he left that Country, he had heard much, indeed more than was true, of the great Affection Mr. Allworthy bore this young Man, who, as Partridge had been inſtructed, was to be that Gentleman's Heir, and whom, as we have ſaid, he did not in the leaſt doubt to be his Son.

He imagined, therefore, that whatever Quarrel was between them, it would be certainly made up at the Return of Mr. Jones; an Event from which he promiſed great Advantages, if he could take this Opportunity of ingratiating himſelf with that young Gentleman; and if he could by any Means be inſtru⯑mental in procuring his Return, he doubted not, as we have before ſaid, but it would as highly advance him in the Favour of Mr. Allworthy.

We have already obſerved, that he was a very good-natured Fellow, and he hath himſelf declared the violent Attachment he had to the Perſon and Cha⯑racter of Jones; but poſſibly the Views which I have juſt before mentioned, might likewiſe have ſome lit⯑tle Share in prompting him to undertake this Expe⯑pedition, at leaſt in urging him to continue it, after he had diſcovered, that his Maſter and himſelf, like [134] ſome prudent Fathers and Sons, tho' they travelled together in great Friendſhip, had embraced oppo⯑ſite Parties. I am led into this Conjecture, by hav⯑ing remarked, that tho' Love, Friendſhip, Eſteem, and ſuch like, have very powerful Operations in the human Mind; Intereſt, however, is an Ingredient ſeldom omitted by wiſe Men, when they would work others to their own Purpoſes. This is indeed a moſt excellent Medicine, and like Ward's Pill, flies at once to the particular Part of the Body on which you deſire to operate, whether it be the Tongue, the Hand, or any other Member, where it ſcarce ever fails of immediately producing the deſired Ef⯑fect.

CHAP. X. In which our Travellers meet with a very extraordi⯑nary Adventure.

JUST as Jones and his Friend came to the End of their Dialogue in the preceding Chapter, they ar⯑rived at the Bottom of a very ſteep Hill. Here Jones ſtopt ſhort, and directing his Eyes upwards, ſtood for a while ſilent. At length he called to his Companion, and ſaid, ‘'Partridge, I wiſh I was at the Top of this Hill; it muſt certainly afford a moſt charming Proſpect, eſpecially by this Light: For the ſolemn Gloom which the Moon caſts on all Ob⯑jects, is beyond Expreſſion beautiful, eſpecially to an Imagination which is deſirous of cultivating me⯑lancholy Ideas.'’ ‘Very probably,' anſwered Par⯑tridge; 'but if the Top of the Hill be propereſt to produce melancholy Thoughts, I ſuppoſe the Bot⯑tom is the likelieſt to produce merry ones, and theſe I take to be much the better of the two. I pro⯑teſt you have made my Blood run cold with the very mentioning the Top of that Mountain; which ſeems to me to be one of the higheſt in the World. No, [135] no, if we look for any thing, let it be for a Place under Ground, to ſcreen ourſelves from the Froſt.’—‘Do ſo, ſaid Jones, let it be but within Hearing of this Place, and I will hollow to you at my Re⯑turn back.'’ ‘'Surely, Sir, you are not mad,'’ ſaid Partridge. ‘'Indeed I am,' anſwered Jones, 'if aſ⯑cending this Hill be Madneſs: But as you com⯑plain ſo much of the cold already, I would have you ſtay below. I will certainly return to you with⯑in an Hour.'’ ‘Pardon me, Sir,' cries Partridge, I have determined to follow you where-ever you go.'’ Indeed he was now afraid to ſtay behind; for tho' he was Coward enough in all Reſpects, yet his chief Fear was that of Ghoſts, with which the preſent Time of Night, and the Wildneſs of the Place, extremely well ſuited.

At this Inſtant Partridge eſpied a glimmering Light through ſome Trees, which ſeemed very near to them. He immediately cried out in a Rapture, ‘'Oh, Sir! Heaven hath at laſt heard my Prayers, and hath brought us to a Houſe; perhaps it may be an Inn. Let me beſeech you, Sir, if you have any Com⯑paſſion either for me or yourſelf, do not deſpiſe the the Goodneſs of Providence, but let us go directly to yon Light. Whether it be a Publick-houſe or no, I am ſure if they be Chriſtians that dwell there, they will not refuſe a little Houſe-room to Perſons in our miſerable Condition.'’ Jones at length yield⯑ed to the earneſt Supplications of Partridge, and both together made directly towards the Place whence the Light iſſued.

They ſoon arrived at the Door of this Houſe or Cottage: For it might be called either, without much Impropriety. Here Jones knocked ſeveral Times with-receiving any Anſwer from within; at which Par⯑tridge, whoſe head was full of nothing but of Ghoſts, Devils, Witches, and ſuch like, began to tremble, crying ‘'Lord have Mercy upon us, ſure the People [136] muſt be all dead. I can ſee no Light neither now, and yet I am certain I ſaw a Candle burning but a Moment before—Well! I have heard of ſuch Things.—’ ‘What haſt thou heard of,' ſaid Jones. The People are either faſt aſleep, or probably as this is a lonely Place, are afraid to open their Door.'’ He then began to vociferate pretty loudly, and at laſt an old Woman opening an upper Caſement, aſked who they were, and what they wanted? Jones an⯑ſwered, ‘'they were Travellers who had loſt their Way, and having ſeen a Light in the Window, had been led thither in Hopes of finding ſome Fire to warm themſelves.'’ ‘Whoever, you are,' cries the Woman, 'you have no Buſineſs here; nor ſhall I op⯑en the Door to any body a this Time of Night.'’ Partridge, whom the Sound of a human Voice had recovered from his Fright, fell to the moſt earneſt Supplications to be admitted for a few Minutes to the Fire, ſaying, ‘'he was almoſt dead with the Cold,'’ to which Fear had indeed contributed equally with the Froſt. He aſſured her, that the Gentleman who ſpoke to her, was one of the greateſt Squires in the Country, and made uſe of every Argument ſave one, which Jones afterwards effectually added, and this was the Promiſe of half a Crown. A Bribe too great to be reſiſted by ſuch a Perſon, eſpecially as the gen⯑teel Appearance of Jones, which the Light of the Moon plainly diſcovered to her, together with his af⯑fable Behaviour, had entirely ſubdued thoſe Appre⯑henſions of Thieves which ſhe had at firſt conceived. She agreed, therefore, at laſt to let them in, where Partridge, to his infinite Joy, found a good Fire rea⯑dy for his Reception.

The poor Fellow, however, had no ſooner warm⯑ed himſelf, than thoſe Thoughts which were always uppermoſt in his Mind, began a little to diſturb his Brain. There was no Article of his Creed in which he had a ſtronger Faith, than he had in Witchcraft, [137] nor can the Reader conceive a Figure more adapted to inſpire this Idea, than the old Woman, who now ſtood before him. She anſwered exactly to that Picture drawn by Otway, in his Orphan. Indeed if this Woman had lived in the Reign of James the Firſt, her Appearance alone would have hanged her, almoſt without any Evidence.

Many Circumſtances likewiſe conſpired to confirm Partridge in his Opinion. Her living, as he then imagined, by herſelf in ſo lonely a Place; and in a Houſe, the Outſide of which ſeemed much too good for her; but where the Inſide was furniſhed in the moſt neat and elegant Manner. To ſay the Truth, Jones himſelf was not a little ſurprized at what he ſaw: For, beſides the extraordinary Neatneſs of the Room, it was adorned with a great Number of Nick⯑nacks, and Curioſities, which might have engaged the Attention of a Virtuoſo.

While Jones was admiring theſe Things, and Par⯑tridge ſat trembling with the firm Belief that he was in the Houſe of a Witch, the old Woman ſaid, ‘'I hope, Gentlemen, you will make what Haſte you can; for I expect my Maſter preſently, and I would not for double the Money he ſhould find you here.'’ ‘'Then you have a Maſter,' cries Jones; indeed you will excuſe me, good Woman, but I was ſurprized to ſee all thoſe fine Things in your Houſe.'’ ‘'Ah, Sir!' ſaid ſhe, 'if the twentieth Part of theſe Things were mine, I ſhould think myſelf a rich Woman; but pray, Sir, do not ſtay much longer: For I look for him in every Minute.'’—‘'Why ſure he would not be angry with you,' ſaid Jones, 'for doing a common Act of Charity.’ ‘Alack-a-day, Sir,' ſaid ſhe, 'he is a ſtrange Man, not at all like other People. He keeps no Company with any Body, and ſeldom walks out but by Night, for he doth not care to be ſeen; and all the Country Peo⯑ple [138] are as much afraid of meeting him; for his Dreſs is enough to frighten thoſe who are not uſed to it. They call him, The Man of the Hill (for there he walks by Night) and the Country People are not, I believe, more afraid of the Devil him⯑ſelf. He would be terribly angry if he found you here.'’ ‘'Pray, Sir,' ſays Partridge, 'don't let us offend the Gentleman, I am ready to walk, and was never warmer in my Life.—Do, pray Sir, let us go—here are Piſtols over the Chimney; who knows whether they be charged or no, or what he may do with them.'’ ‘'Fear nothing, Par⯑tridge,' cries Jones, 'I will ſecure thee from Dan⯑ger.'’— ‘'Nay, for Matter o' that, he never doth any Miſchief,' ſaid the Woman; 'but to be ſure it is neceſſary he ſhould keep ſome Arms for his own Safety: for his Houſe hath been beſet more than once, and it is not many Nights ago, that we thought we heard Thieves about it: for my own Part, I have often wondered that he is not murdered by ſome Villain or other, as he walks out by himſelf at ſuch Hours; but then as I ſaid, the People are afraid of him, and beſides they think, I ſuppoſe, he hath nothing about him worth taking.'’ ‘'I ſhould imagine, by this Collection of Rarities,' cries Jones, that your Maſter had been a Traveller.'’ ‘'Yes, Sir,' anſwered ſhe, 'he hath been a very great one; there be few Gentlemen that know more of all Matters than he; I fancy he hath been croſt in Love, or whatever it is, I know not, but I have lived with him above theſe thirty Years, and in all that Time he hath hardly ſpoke to ſix living People.'’ She then again ſolicited their Departure, in which ſhe was backed by Partridge; but Jones purpoſely pro⯑tracted the time: For his Curioſity was greatly raiſed to ſee this extraordinary Perſon. Tho' the old Wo⯑man, therefore, concluded every one of her Anſwers with deſiring him to be gone, and Partridge pro⯑ceed [139] ſo far as to pull him by the Sleeve, he ſtill continued to invent new Queſtions, till the old Wo⯑man with an affrighted Countenance, declared ſhe heard her Maſter's Signal; and at the ſame Inſtant more than one Voice was heard without the Door, [...]rying, 'D—n your Blood, ſhew us your Money this Inſtant. Your Money, you Villain, or we will blow your Brains about your Ears.

‘'O, good Heaven!' cries the old Woman. 'Some Villains, to be ſure, have attacked my Maſter. O la! what ſhall I do? what ſhall I do?'’ ‘'How, cries Jones, how—Are theſe Piſtols loaded?'’ ‘'O, Good Sir, there is nothing in them, indeed—O, pray don't murder us, Gentlemen,'’ (for in reality ſhe now had the ſame Opinion of thoſe within, as ſhe had for thoſe without.) Jones made her no An⯑ſwer; but ſnatching an old Broad-ſword which hung [...]n the Room, he inſtantly ſallied out, where he found the old Gentleman ſtruggling with two Ruffians, and begging for Mercy. Jones aſked no Queſtions, but [...]ell ſo briſkly to work with his Broad-ſword, that the Fellows immediately quitted their Hold, and without offering to attack our Hero, betook themſelves to their Heels, and made their Eſcape; for he did not attempt to purſue them, being contented with having delivered the old Gentleman; and indeed he conclud⯑ed he had pretty well done their Buſineſs: For both of them, as they ran off, cried out with bitter Oaths, that they were dead Men.

Jones preſently ran to lift up the old Gentleman, who had been thrown down in the Scuffle, expreſſed [...]t the ſame Time great Concern, leſt he ſhould have [...]eceived any Harm from the Villians. The old Man [...]ared a Moment at Jones, and then cried,—‘'No, Sir, no, I have very little Harm, I thank you. Lord have mercy upon me.'’ ‘'I ſee Sir,' ſaid [...]ones, 'you are not free from Apprehenſions even of thoſe who have had the Happineſs to be your [140] Deliverers; nor can I blame any Suſpicions which you may have; but indeed, you have no real Occa⯑ſion for any; here are none but your Friends pre⯑ſent. Having miſt our Way this cold Night, we took the Liberty of warming ourſelves at your Fire, whence we were juſt departing when we heard you call for Aſſiſtance, which I muſt ſay, Providence a⯑lone ſeems to have ſent you.'’—‘'Providence indeed,' cries the old Gentleman, 'if it be ſo.'’— ‘'So it is, I aſſure you,' cries Jones, 'here is your own Sword, Sir. I have uſed it in your Defence, and I now return it into your own Hand.'’ The old Man having received the Sword, which was ſtained with the Blood of his Enemies, looked ſtedfaſtly at Jones during ſome Moments, and then with a Sigh, cried out, ‘'You will pardon me, young Gentleman, I was not always of a ſuſpicious Temper, nor am I a Friend to Ingratitude.'’ ‘'Be thankful then,' cries Jones, 'to that Providence to which you owe your Deliverance; as to my Part, I have only diſcharg⯑ed the common Duties of Humanity, and what I would have done for any Fellow Creature in your Situation.'’ ‘Let me look at you a little longer,' cries the old Gentleman—'You are a human Crea⯑ture then?—'Well, perhaps, you are. Come, pray walk into my little Hutt. You have been my' Deliverer indeed.’

The old Woman was diſtracted between the Fears which ſhe had of her Maſter, and for him; and Par⯑tridge was, if poſſible, in a greater Fright. The former of theſe, however, when ſhe heard her Maſter ſpeak kindly to Jones, and perceived what had hap⯑pened, came again to herſelf; but Partridge no ſooner ſaw the Gentleman, than the Strangeneſs of his Dreſs infuſed greater Terrors into that poor Fellow, than he had before felt either from the ſtrange Deſcription which he had heard, or from the Uproar which had happened at the Door.

[141] To ſay the Truth, it was an Appearance which might have affected a more conſtant Mind than that of Mr. Partridge. This Perſon was of the talleſt [...]ize, with a long Beard as white as Snow. His Bo⯑ [...]y was cloathed with the Skin of an Aſs, made ſome⯑thing into the Form of a Coat. He wore likewiſe Boots on his Legs, and a Cap on his Head, both com⯑poſed of the Skin of ſome other Animals.

As ſoon as the old Gentleman came into his Houſe, [...]he old Woman began her Congratulations on his hap⯑ [...]y Eſcape from the Ruffins. ‘'Yes,' cries he, 'I have eſcaped indeed, Thanks to my Preſerver.'’ ‘O the Bleſſing on him,' anſwered ſhe, 'he is a good Gentleman, I warrant him. I was afraid your Worſhip would have been angry with me for letting him in; and to be certain I ſhould not have done it, had not I ſeen by the Moon-light, that he was a Gentleman, and almoſt frozen to Death. And to be certain it muſt have been ſome good Angel that ſent him hither, and tempted me to do it.’

‘'I am afraid, Sir,' ſaid the old Gentleman to [...]ones, 'that I have nothing in this Houſe which you can either eat or drink, unleſs you will accept a Dram of Brandy; of which I can give you ſome moſt excellent, and which I have had by me theſe thirty Years.'’ Jones declined this Offer in a very [...]ivil and proper Speech, and then the other aſked him ‘'Whither he was travelling when he miſt his Way; ſaying, I muſt own myſelf ſurprized to ſee ſuch a Perſon as you appear to be journeying on Foot at this Time of Night. I ſuppoſe, Sir, you are a Gentleman of theſe Parts: for you do not look like one who is uſed to travel far without Horſes.’

‘'Appearances,' cried Jones, 'are often deceitful; Men ſometimes look like what they are not. I aſ⯑ſure you, I am not of this Country, and whither I am traveling, in reality I ſcarce know myſelf.’

‘[142] 'Whoever you are, or whitherſoever you are go⯑ing, anſwered the old Man, I have Obligations to' you which I can never return.’

‘'I once more,' replied Jones, 'affirm, that you have none: For there can be no Merit in having hazarded that in your Service on which I ſet no Value. And nothing is ſo contemptible in my Eye [...]' as Life.’

‘'I am ſorry, young Gentleman,' anſwered th [...] Stranger, 'that you have any Reaſon to be ſo unhap⯑py' at your Years.’

‘'Indeed I am, Sir,' anſwered Jones, 'the mo [...] unhappy of Mankind.'’— ‘'Perhaps you have ha [...] a Friend, or a Miſtreſs,'’ replied the other. ‘'Ho [...] could you,' cries Jones, 'mention two Words ſuf⯑ficient to drive me to Diſtraction?'’ ‘'Either of ther [...] are enough to drive any Man to Diſtraction,'’ an⯑ſwered the old Man. ‘'I enquire no farther, Sir Perhaps my Curioſity hath led me too far already.'’

‘'Indeed, Sir, cries Jones, 'I cannot cenſure Paſſion, which I feel at this Inſtant in the highe [...] Degree. You will pardon me, when I aſſure you that every Thing which I have ſeen or heard ſin [...] I firſt entered this Houſe, hath conſpired to raiſe th [...] greateſt Curioſity in me. Something very extra⯑ordinary muſt have determined you to this Cour [...] of Life, and I have reaſon to fear your own Hiſ⯑tory' is not without Misfortunes.'’

Here the old Gentleman again ſighed, and remain⯑ed ſilent for ſome Minutes; at laſt, looking earneſt on Jones, he ſaid, ‘'I have read that a good Count [...] ⯑nance is a Letter of recommendation; if ſo, no [...] ever can be more ſtrongly recommended than your ſelf. If I did not feel ſome Yearnings towar [...] you from another Conſideration, I muſt be the mo [...] ungrateful Monſter upon Earth; and I am real [...] concerned it is no otherwiſe in my Power, than' Words, to convince you of my Gratitude.'’

[143] Jones after a Moment's Heſitation, anſwered, ‘'That it was in his Power by Words to gratify him extremely. I have confeſt a Curioſity, ſaid he, Sir; need I ſay how much obliged I ſhould be to you, if you would condeſcend to gratify it? Will you ſuffer me therefore to beg, unleſs any Conſiderati⯑on reſtrains you, that you would be pleaſed to ac⯑quaint me what Motives have induced you thus to withdraw from the Society of Mankind, and to betake yourſelf to a Courſe of Life to which it ſuf⯑ficiently' appears you was not born?’

‘'I ſcarce think myſelf at Liberty to refuſe you any thing, after what hath happened,'’ replied the old Man, ‘'If you deſire therefore to hear the Story of an unhappy Man, I will relate it to you. Indeed you judge rightly, in thinking there is commonly ſomething extraordinary in the Fortunes of thoſe who fly from Society: For however it may ſeem a Paradox, or even a Contradiction, certain it is that great Philanthropy chiefly inclines us to avoid and deteſt Mankind; not on Account ſo much of their private and ſelfiſh Vices, but for thoſe of a relative Kind; ſuch as Envy, Malice, Treachery, Cruelty, with every other Species of Malevolence. Theſe are the Vices which true Philanthropy abhors, and which rather than ſee and converſe with, ſhe avoids Society itſelf. However, without a Compliment to you, you do not appear to me one of thoſe whom I ſhould ſhun or deteſt; nay, I muſt ſay, in what little hath dropt from you, there appears ſome Parity in our Fortunes; I hope however yours will conclude more ſucceſsfully.'’

Here ſome Compliments paſſed between our Heroe and his Hoſt, and then the latter was going to begin his Hiſtory, when Partridge interrupted him. His Apprehenſions had now pretty well left him; but ſome Effects of his Terrors remained; he therefore reminded the Gentleman of that excellent Brandy [144] which he had mentioned. This was preſently brought, and Partridge ſwallowed a large Bumper.

The Gentleman then, without any farther Preface, began as you may read in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XI. In which the Man of the Hill begins to relate his Hiſtory.

‘'I Was born in a Village of Somerſetſhire, called Mark, in the Year 1657; my Father was one of thoſe whom they call Gentlemen Farmers. He had a little Eſtate of about 300l. a Year of his own, and rented another Eſtate of near the ſame Value. He was prudent and induſtrious, and ſo good a Huſbandman, that he might have led a very eaſy and comfortable Life, had not an errant Vixe [...] of a Wife ſoured his domeſtic Quiet. But tho this Circumſtance perhaps made him miſerable, i [...] did not make him poor: For he confined her al⯑moſt entirely at Home, and rather choſe to bear ee⯑ternal Upbraidings in his own Houſe, than to injur [...] his Fortune by indulging her in the Extravagancie [...]' ſhe deſired abroad.’

‘'By this Xantippe (ſo was the Wife of Socrate [...] called, ſaid Partridge) 'By this Xantippe he had two Sons, of which I was the younger. He deſigne [...] to give us both good Educations; but my elde [...] Brother, who, unhappily for him, was the Favourit [...] of my Mother, utterly neglected his Learning inſomuch that after having been five or ſix Years a [...] School with little or no Improvement, my Father being told by his Maſter, that it would be to n [...] Purpoſe to keep him longer there, at laſt complie [...] with my Mother in taking him home from the Hand of that Tyrant, as ſhe called his Maſter; thoug [...] indeed he gave the Lad much leſs Correction tha [...] his Idleneſs deſerved, but much more, it ſeem [145] than the young Gentleman liked, who conſtantly complained to his Mother of his ſevere Treatment,' and ſhe as conſtantly gave him a Hearing.’

‘"Yes, yes,' cries Partridge, 'I have ſeen ſuch Mothers; I have been abuſed myſelf by them, and very unjuſtly; ſuch Parents deſerve Correcti⯑on' as much as their Children.’

Jones chid the Pedagogue for this Interruption, [...]nd then the Stranger proceeded. 'My Brother now at the Age of fifteen, bid adieu to all Learn⯑ing, and to every Thing elſe but to his Dog and Gun, with which latter he became ſo expert, that, though perhaps you may think it incredible, he could not only hit a ſtanding Mark with great Certainty; but hath actually ſhot a Crow as it was flying in the Air. He was likewiſe excellent at finding a Hare ſitting, and was ſoon reputed one of the beſt Sportſ⯑men in the Country. A Reputation which both he and his Mother enjoyed as much as if he had been thought the fineſt Scholar.

‘'The Situation of my Brother made me at firſt think my Lot the harder, in being continued at School; but I ſoon changed my Opinion; for as I advanced pretty faſt in Learning, my Labours be⯑came eaſy, and my Exerciſe ſo delightful, that Ho⯑lidays were my moſt unpleaſant Time: For my Mother, who never loved me, now apprehending that I had the greater Share of my Father's Affec⯑tion, and finding, or at leaſt thinking, that I was more taken Notice of by ſome Gentlemen of Learn⯑ing, and particularly by the Parſon of the Pariſh, than my Brother, ſhe now hated my Sight, and made Home ſo diſagreeable to me, that what is call⯑ed by Schoolboys Black Monday, was to me the whiteſt in the whole Year.’

‘'Having, at length, gone through the School at Taunton, I was thence removed to Exeter College in Oxford, where I remained four Years at the [146] End of which an Accident happened, that put a final End to my Studies, and whence I may truly date the Riſe of all which happened to me afterwards in Life.'’

‘'There was at the ſame College with myſelf one Sir George Greſham, a young Fellow who was in⯑titled to a very conſiderable Fortune; which he was not, by the Will of his Father, to come into full Poſſeſſion of till he arrived at the Age of Twenty-five. However, the Liberality of his Guardians gave him litle Cauſe to regret the abun⯑dant Caution of his Father: for they allowed him Five hundred Pound a Year while he remained at the Univerſity, where he kept his Horſes and his Whore, and lived as wicked and as profligate a Life, as he could have done, had he been never ſo entirely Maſter of his Fortune; for beſides the Five hundred a Year which he received from his Guar⯑dians, he found Means to ſpend a thouſand more. He was above the Age of Twenty-one, and had no Difficulty of gaining what Credit he pleaſed.'’

‘'This young Fellow, among many other tolera⯑ble bad Qualities, had one very diabolical. He had a great Delight in deſtroying and ruining the Youth of inferior Fortune, by drawing them into Expences which they could not afford ſo well as himſelf; and the better, and worthier, and ſoberer, any young Man was, the greater Pleaſure and Triumph had he in his Deſtruction. Thus acting the Character which is recorded of the Devil, and going about ſeeking whom he might devour.'’

‘'It was my Misfortune to fall into an Acquain⯑tance and Intimacy with this Gentleman. My Re⯑putation of Diligence in my Studies made me a de⯑ſirable Object of his miſchievous Intention; and my own Inclination made it ſufficiently eaſy for him to effect his Purpoſe; for tho' I had applied myſelf with much Induſtry to Books, in which I took [147] great Delight, there were other Pleaſures in which I was capable of taking much greater; for I was high-mettled, had a violent Flow of animal Spi⯑rits, was a little ambitious, and extremely amo⯑rous.'’

‘'I had not long contracted an Intimacy with Sir George, before I became a Partaker of all his Plea⯑ſures; and when I was once entered on that Scene, neither my Inclination, nor my Spirit, would ſuf⯑fer me to play an Under-Part. I was ſecond to none of the Company in any Acts of Debauchery: nay, I ſoon diſtinguiſhed myſelf ſo notably in all Riots and Diſorders, that my Name generally ſtood firſt in the Roll of Delinquents, and inſtead of being lamented as the unfortunate Pupil of Sir George, I was now accuſed as the Perſon who had miſled and debauched that hopeful young Gentle⯑man; for tho' he was the Ring-leader and Pro⯑moter of all the Miſchief, he was never ſo conſider⯑ed. I fell at laſt under the Cenſure of the Vice-Chancellor, and very narrowly eſcaped Expulſion.’

‘'You will eaſily believe, Sir, that ſuch a Life, as I am now deſcribing muſt be incompatible with my further Progreſs in Learning; and that in Propor⯑tion as I addicted myſelf more and more to looſe Pleaſure, I muſt grow more and more remiſs in Application to my Studies. This was truly the Conſequence; but this was not all. My Expen⯑ces now greatly exceeded not only my former In⯑come, but thoſe Additions which I extorted from my poor generous Father, by Pretences of Sums neceſſary for preparing for my approaching Degree of Batchelor of Arts. Theſe Demands, however, grew at laſt ſo frequent and exorbitant, that my Fa⯑ther, by ſlow Degrees, opened his Ears to the Ac⯑counts which he received from many Quarters of my preſent Behaviour, and which my Mother failed not to echo very faithfully and loudly; adding, 'Ay, [148] this is the fine Gentleman, the Scholar who doth ſo much Honour to his Family, and is to be the mak⯑ing of it. I thought what all his Learning would come to. He is to be the Ruin of us all, I find, after his elder Brother hath been denied Neceſſaries for his Sake, to perfect his Education forſooth, for which he was to pay us ſuch Intereſt; I thought what the Intereſt would come to:" with much more of the ſame Kind; but I have, I believe, ſa⯑tisfied you with this Taſte.'’

‘'My Father, therefore, began now to return Re⯑monſtrances, inſtead of Money, to my Demands, which brought my Affairs, perhaps a little ſoon⯑er to a Criſis; but had he remitted me his whole In⯑come, you will imagine it could have ſufficed a ve⯑ry ſhort Time to ſupport one who kept Pace with the Expences of Sir George Greſham.’

‘'It is more than poſſible, that the Diſtreſs I was now in for Money, and the Impracticability of going on in this Manner, might have reſtored me at once to my Senſes, and to my Studies, had I opened my Eyes, before I became involved in Debts, from which I ſaw no Hopes of ever extricating myſelf. This was indeed the great Art of Sir George, and by which he accompliſhed the Ruin of many, whom he afterwards laughed at as Fools and Coxcombs, for vying as he called it, with a Man of his For⯑tune. To bring this about, he would now and then advance a little Money himſelf, in order to ſupport the Credit of the unfortunate Youth with other People; till, by Means of that very Credit, he was irretrievably undone.'’

‘'My Mind being by theſe Means, grown as deſ⯑perate as my Fortune, there was ſcarce a Wicked⯑neſs which I did not meditate, in order for my Relief. Self-murder itſelf became the Subject of my ſerious Deliberation; and I had certainly re⯑ſolved on it, had not a more ſhameful, tho' perhaps [149] leſs ſinful, Thought, expelled it from my Head.'’ ‘Here he heſitated a Moment, and then cried out, 'I proteſt, ſo many Years have not waſhed away the Shame of this Act, and I ſhall bluſh while I re⯑late it. 'Jones deſired him to paſs over any thing that might give him pain in the Relation;' but Partridge eagerly cried out, 'O pray, Sir, let us hear this, I had rather hear this than all the reſt; as I hoped to be ſaved, I will never mention a Word of it.'’ Jones was going to rebuke him, but the Stranger prevented it by proceeding thus. ‘'I had a Chum, a very prudent frugal young Lad, who, tho' he had no very large Allowance, had by his Parſimony heaped up upwards of forty Guineas, which I knew he kept in his Eſcritore, I took therefore an Opportunity of purloining his Key from his Breeches Pocket while he was aſleep, and thus made myſelf Maſter of all his Riches. After which I again conveyed his Key into his Pocket, and counterfeiting Sleep, tho' I never once cloſed my Eyes, lay in Bed till after he aroſe and went to Prayers, an Exerciſe to which I had long been unaccuſtomed.'’

‘'Timorous Thieves, by extreme Caution, often ſubject themſelves to Diſcoveries, which thoſe of a bolder Kind eſcape. Thus it happened to me; for had I boldly broke open his Eſcritore. I had, perhaps, eſcaped even his Suſpicion; but as it was plain that the Perſon who robbed him had poſ⯑ſeſſed himſelf of his Key, he had no Doubt, when he firſt miſſed his Money, but that his Chum was certainly the Thief. Now as he was of a fearful Diſpoſition, and much my Inferior in Strength, and, I believe, in Courage, he did not dare to con⯑front me with my Guilt, for fear of worſe bodily Conſequences which might happen to him. He repaired therefore immediately to the Vice-Chan⯑cellor, [150] and, upon ſwearing to the Robbery, and to the Circumſtances of it, very eaſily obtained a Warrant againſt one who had now ſo bad a Cha⯑racter through the whole Univerſity.'’

‘'Luckily for me I lay out of the College the next Evening; for that Day I attended a young Lady in a Chaiſe to Whitney, where we ſtaid all Night; and in our Return the next Morning to Oxford, I met one of my Cronies, who acquainted me with ſufficient News concerning myſelf to make me turn my Horſe another Way.'’

‘'Pray Sir, did he mention any thing of the War⯑rant,' ſaid Partridge?’ But Jones begged the Gen⯑tleman to proceed without regarding any imper⯑tinent' Queſtions; which he did as follows.

‘'Having now abandoned all Thoughts of return⯑ing to Oxford, the next Thing which offered itſelf was a Journey to London. I imparted this Inten⯑tion to my female Companion, who at firſt remon⯑ſtrated againſt it, but upon producing my Wealth, ſhe immediately conſented. We then ſtruck a⯑croſs the Country into the great Cirenceſter Road, and made ſuch Haſte, that we ſpent the next Even⯑ing (ſave one) in London.'’

‘'When you conſider the Place where I now was, and the Company with whom I was, you will, I fancy, conceive that a very ſhort Time brought me to an End of that Sum of which I had ſo iniqui⯑touſly' poſſeſſed myſelf.’

‘'I was now reduced to a much higher Degree of Diſtreſs than before; the Neceſſaries of Life began to be numbered among my Wants; and what made my Caſe ſtill the more grievous, was, that my Para⯑mour, of whom I was now grown immoderately fond, ſhared the ſame Diſtreſſes with myſelf. To ſee a Woman you love in Diſtreſs; to be unable to relieve her, and at the ſame Time to reflect that you have brought her into this Situation, is, perhaps, [151] Curſe of which no Imagination can repreſent the Horrors to thoſe who have not felt it.'’ ‘I believe it from my Soul,' cries Jones, 'and I pity you from the Bottom of my Heart.'’ He then took two or three diſorderly Turns about the Room, and at laſt begged Pardon, and flung himſelf into his Chair, crying, ‘'I thank Heaven I have eſcaped that.'’

‘'This Circumſtance,' continued the Gentleman, 'ſo ſeverely aggravated the Horrors of my preſent Situation, that they became abſolutely intolerable. I could with leſs Pain endure the raging of my own natural unſatisfied Appetites, even Hunger or Thirſt, than I could ſubmit to leave ungratified the moſt whimſical Deſires of a Woman, on whom I ſo ex⯑travagantly doated, that tho' I knew ſhe had been the Miſtreſs of half my Acquaintance, I firmly in⯑tended to marry her. But the good Creature was unwilling to conſent to an Action which the World might think ſo much to my Diſadvantage. And as, poſſibly, ſhe compaſſionated the daily Anxieties which ſhe muſt have perceived me ſuffer on her Account, ſhe reſolved to put an End to my Diſtreſs. She ſoon, indeed, found Means to relieve me from my troubleſome and perplexed Situation: For while I was diſtracted with various Inventions to ſupply her with Pleaſures, ſhe very kindly—betrayed me to one of her former Lovers at Oxford, by whoſe Care and Diligence I was immediately apprehended and committed to Goal.'’

‘'Here I firſt began ſeriouſly to reflect on the Miſ⯑carriages of my former Life; on the Errors I had been guilty of; on the Misfortunes which I had brought on myſelf; and on the Grief which I muſt have occaſioned to one of the beſt of Fathers. When I added to all theſe the Perfidy of my Mi⯑ſtreſs, ſuch was the Horror of my Mind, that Life, [152] inſtead of being longer deſirable, grew the Object of my Abhorrence, and I could have gladly em⯑braced Death, as my deareſt Friend, if it had offer⯑ed itſelf to my Choice unattended by Shame.'’

‘'The Time of the Aſſizes ſoon came, and I was removed by Habeas Corpus to Oxford, where I ex⯑pected certain Conviction and Condemnation; but, to my great Surprize, none appeared againſt me, and I was, at the End of the Seſſions, diſcharged for Want of Proſecution. In ſhort, my Chum had left Oxford, and whether from Indolence, or from what other Motive, I am ignorant, had declined concerning himſelf any farther in the Affair.'’

‘'Perhaps,' cries Partridge, 'he did not care to have your Blood upon his Hands, and he was in the right on't. If any Perſon was to be hanged upon my Evidence, I ſhould never be able to lie alone after⯑wards, for Fear of ſeeing his Ghoſt.'’

‘'I ſhall ſhortly doubt, Partridge,' ſays Jones, 'whether thou art more brave or wiſe.’ ‘'You may laugh at me, Sir, if you pleaſe,' anſwered Par⯑tridge, 'but if you will hear a very ſhort Story which I can tell, and which is moſt certainly true, per⯑haps you may change your Opinion. In the Pa⯑riſh where I was born’—Here Jones would have ſi⯑lenced him, but the Stranger interceded that he might be permitted to tell his Story, and in the mean time promiſed to recollect the Remainder of his own.

Partridge then proceeded thus. ‘'In the Pariſh where I was born, there lived a Farmer whoſe Name was Bridle, and he had a Son named Francis a good hopeful young Fellow; I was at the Gram⯑mar School with him, where I remember he wa [...] got into Ovid's Epiſtles, and he could conſtrue yo [...] three Lines together ſometimes without looking into a Dictionary. Beſides all this, he was a very goo [...] Lad, never miſſed Church o' Sundays, and was rec+ [153] koned one of the beſt Pſalm-Singers in the whole Pariſh. He would indeed now and then take a Cup too much, and that was the only Fault he had.'’— ‘Well, but come to the Ghoſt.'’ cries Jones. ‘'Ne⯑ver fear, Sir, I ſhall come to him ſoon enough,' an⯑ſwered Partridge.'You muſt know then, that Farmer Bridle loſt a Mare, a ſorrel one to the beſt of my Remembrance, and ſo it fell out, that this young Francis ſhortly afterward being at a Fair at Hindon, and as I think it was on—I can't remem⯑ber the Day; and being as he was, what ſhould he happen to meet, but a Man upon his Father's Mare. Frank called out preſently, Stop Thief; and it be⯑ing in the Middle of the Fair, it was impoſſible, you know, for the Man to make his Eſcape. So they apprehended him, and carried him before the Juſtice, I remember it was Juſtice Willoughby of Noyle, a very worthy good Gentleman, and he committed him to Priſon, and bound Frank in a Recognizance, I think they call it, a hard Word compounded of re and cognoſco, but it differs in its Meaning from the Uſe of the Simple, as many other Compounds do. Well, at laſt, down came my Lord Juſtice Page to hold the Aſſizes, and ſo the Fellow was had up, and Frank was had up for a Witneſs. To be ſure I ſhall never forget the Face of the Judge, when he begun to aſk him what he had to ſay againſt the Priſoner. He made poor Frank tremble and ſhake in his Shoes. Well, you Fellow, ſays my Lord, what have you to ſay? Don't ſtand humming and hawing, but ſpeak out; but however he ſoon turned altogether as civil to Frank, and began to thunder at the Fellow; and when he aſked him, if he had any Thing to ſay for himſelf, the Fellow ſaid he had found the Horſe. Ay!' anſwered the Judge, 'thou art a lucky Fel⯑low; I have travelled the Circuit theſe forty Years, [154] and never found a Horſe in my Life; but I'll tell thee what, Friend, thou waſt more lucky than thou didſt know of: For thou didſt not only find a Horſe; but a Halter too, I promiſe thee. To be ſure I ſhall never forget the Word. Upon which every Body fell a laughing, as how could they help it. Nay, and twenty other Jeſts he made which I can't remember now. There was ſomething a⯑bout his Skill in Horſe Fleſh, which made all the Folks laugh. To be certain the Judge muſt have been a very brave Man, as well as a Man of much Learning. It is indeed charming Sport to hear Tri⯑als upon Life and Death. One Thing I own I thought a little hard, that the Priſoner's Counſel was not ſuffered to ſpeak for him, though he deſired only to be heard one very ſhort Word; but my Lord would not hearken to him, though he ſuffered a Counſellor to talk againſt him for above half an Hour. I thought it hard, I own, that there ſhould be ſo many of them; my Lord, and the Court, and the Jury, and the Counſellors, and the Witneſſe [...] all upon one poor Man, and he too in Chains▪ Well, the Fellow was hanged, as to be ſure it cou'd be no otherwiſe, and poor Frank could never be eaſy about it. He never was in the dark alone, bu [...] he fancied he ſaw the Fellow's Spirit.’ ‘Well, and is this thy Story, cries Jones?’ ‘No, no, anſwer'd Partridge, 'O Lord have Mercy upon me,—I am juſt now coming to the Matter; for one Night coming from the Alehouſe in a long narrow dar [...] Lane, there he ran directly up againſt him, and th [...] Spirit was all in white and fell upon Frank, and Frank who is a ſturdy Lad, fell upon the Spirit a⯑gain, and there they had a Tuſſel together, an [...] poor Frank was dreadfully beat; indeed he made [...] ſhift at laſt to crawl Home, but what with the beat⯑ing, and what with the Fright, he lay ill above [155] Fortnight; and all this is moſt certainly true, and the whole Pariſh will bear Witneſs to it.'’

The Stranger ſmiled at this Story, and Jones burſt into a loud Fit of Laughter, upon which Partridge cried, ‘'Ay, you may laugh, Sir, and ſo did ſome others, particularly a Squire, who is thought to be no better than an Atheiſt; who forſooth, becauſe there was a Calf with a white Face found dead in the ſame Lane the next Morning, would fain have it, that the Battle was between Frank and that, as if a Calf would ſet upon a Man. Beſides, Frank told me he knew it to be a Spirit, and could ſwear to him in any Court in Chriſtendom, and he had not drank above a Quart or two, or ſuch a Matter of Liquor at the time. Lud have Mercy upon us, and keep us all from dipping our Hands in Blood, I ſay.'’

‘'Well, Sir,' ſaid Jones to the Stranger, 'Mr. Par⯑tridge hath finiſhed his Story, and I hope will give you no future Interruption, if you will be ſo kind to proceed. He then reſumed his Narration; but as he hath taken Breath for a while, we think pro⯑per to give it to our Reader, and ſhall therefore put an End to this Chapter.'’

CHAP. XII. In which the Man of the Hill continues his Hiſtory.

‘'I Had now regained my Liberty, ſaid the Stran⯑ger, but I had loſt my Reputation; for there is a wide Difference between the Caſe of a Man who is barely acquitted of a Crime in a Court of Juſtice, and of him who is acquitted in his own Heart, and in the Opinion of the People. I was conſcious of my Guilt, and aſhamed to look any one in the Face, ſo reſolved to leave Oxford the next Morn⯑ing, [156] before the Daylight diſcovered me to the Eyes of any Beholders.'’

‘'When I had got clear of the City, it firſt enter⯑ed into my Head to return Home to my Father, and endeavour to obtain his Forgiveneſs; but as I had no Reaſon to doubt his Knowledge of all which had paſt, and as I was well aſſured of his great Averſion to all Acts of Diſhoneſty, I could entertain no Hopes of being received by him, eſpecially ſince I was too certain of all the good Offices in the Power of my Mother: Nay, had my Father's Pardon been as ſure, as I conceived his Reſentment to be, I yet queſtion whether I could have had the Aſſu⯑rance to behold him, or whether I could, upon any Terms, have ſubmitted to live and converſe with thoſe, who, I was convinced, knew me to have been guilty of ſo baſe an Action.'’

‘'I haſtened therefore back to London, the beſt Re⯑tirement of either Grief or Shame, unleſs for Per⯑ſons of a very publick Character; for here you have the Advantage of Solitude without its Diſad⯑vantage, ſince you may be alone and in Company at the ſame Time; and while you walk or ſit un⯑obſerved, Noiſe, Hurry, and a conſtant Succeſſion of Objects, entertain the Mind, and prevent the Spirits from preying on themſelves, or rather on Grief or Shame, which are the moſt unwholeſome Diet in the World; and on which (though there are many who never taſte either but in public) there are ſome who can feed very plentifully, and very fatally when alone.'’

‘'But as there is ſcarce any human Good without its concommitant Evil, ſo there are People who find an Inconvenience in this unobſerving Temper of Man⯑kind; I mean Perſons who have no Money; for as you are not put out of Countenance, ſo nei⯑ther are you cloathed or fed by thoſe who do [157] not know you. And a Man may be as eaſily ſtarved in Leadenhall Market as in the Deſarts of Arabia.'’

‘'It was at preſent my Fortune to be deſtitute of that great Evil, as it is apprehended to be by ſe⯑veral Writers, who I ſuppoſe were over burthened with it, namely, Money.' "With Submiſſion, Sir, ſaid Partridge, I do not remember any Wri⯑ters who have called it Malorum; but Irrita⯑menta Malorum. Effodiuntur opes irritamenta Malorum." Well, Sir, continued the Stranger, whether it be an Evil, or only the Cauſe of Evil, I was entirely void of it, and at the ſame Time of Friends, and as I thought of Acquaintance; when one Evening as I was paſſing through the Inner Temple, very hungry and very miſerable, I heard a Voice on a ſuden haling me with great Familiarity by my Chriſtian Name; and upon my turning a⯑bout, I preſently recollected the Perſon who ſo ſa⯑luted me, to have been my Fellow Collegiate; one who had left the Univerſity above a Year, and long before any of my Misfortunes had befallen me. This Gentleman, whoſe Name was Watſon, ſhook me heartily by the Hand, and expreſſing great Joy at meeting me, propoſed our immediately drinking a Bottle together. I firſt declined the Propoſal, and pretended Buſineſs; but as he was very earneſt and preſſing, Hunger at laſt overcame my Pride, and I fairly confeſſed to him I had no Money in my Pocket; yet not without framing a Lie for an Ex⯑cuſe, and imputing it to my having changed my Breeches that Morning. Mr. Watſon anſwered, I thought Jack, you and I had been too old Acquaintance for you to mention ſuch a Matter. He then took me by the Arm and was pulling me along; but I gave him very little Trouble, for [158] my own Inclinations pulled me much ſtronger than he could do.'’

‘'We then went into the Friers, which you know is the Scene of all Mirth and Jollity. Here when we arrived at the Tavern, Mr. Watſon applied him⯑ſelf to the Drawer only, without taking the leaſt Notice of the Cook; for he had no Suſpicion, but that I had dined long ſince. However, as the Caſe was really otherwiſe, I forged another Falſhood, and told my Companion, I had been at the further End of the City on Buſineſs of Conſequence, and had ſnapt up a Mutton Chop in Haſte, ſo that I was again Hungry, and wiſhed he would add a Beef Steak to his Bottle.'’ ‘'Some People, cries Par⯑tridge, 'ought to have good Memories, or did you find juſt Money enough in your Breeches to pay for the Mutton Chop?'’ ‘'Your Obſervation is right,' anſwered the Stranger, 'and I believe ſuch Blunders are inſeparable from all dealing in Untruth.—But to proceed—I began now to feel myſelf extreme⯑ly happy. The Meat and Wine ſoon revived my Spirits to a high Pitch, and I enjoyed much Plea⯑ſure in the Converſation of my old Acquaintance, the rather, as I thought him entirely ignorant of what had happened at the Univerſity ſince his leav⯑ing' it.’

‘'But he did not ſuffer me to remain long in this agreeable Deluſion; for taking a Bumper in one Hand, and holding me by the other, "Here, my Boy," cries he, "here's wiſhing you Joy of your being ſo honourably acquitted of that Affair laid to your Charge." 'I was Thunderſtruck with Con⯑fuſion at theſe Words, which Watſon obſerving, proceeded thus—Nay, never be aſhamed, Man; thou haſt been acquitted, and no one now dares call thee guilty; but prithee do tell me, who am thy Friend, I hope thou didſt really rob him; for [159] rat me if it was not a meritorious Action to ſtrip ſuch a ſneaking pitiful Raſcal, and inſtead of the two hundred Guineas, I wiſh you had taken as many thouſand. Come, come, my Boy, don't be ſhy of confeſſing to me, you are not now brought before one of the Pimps. D—n me, if I don't honour you for it; for as I hope for Salvation, I would have made no manner of Scruple of doing the ſame Thing.'’

‘'This Declaration a little relieved my Abaſhment, and as Wine had now ſomewhat opened my Heart, I very freely acknowledged the Robbery, but ac⯑quainted him that he had been miſinformed as to the Sum taken, which was little more than a fifth Part of what he had mentioned.'’

‘'I am ſorry for it with all my Heart, quoth he, and I wiſh thee better Succeſs another Time. Tho' if you will take my Advice, you ſhall have no Oc⯑caſion' to run any ſuch Riſque.’ ‘Here, ſaid he, (taking ſome Dice out of his Pocket) 'here's the Stuff. Here are the Implements; here are the little Doctors which cure the Diſtempers of the Purſe. Follow but my Counſel, and I will ſhew you a Way to empty the Pockets of a Queer Cull, without any Danger of the Nubbing Cheat.'’

‘'Nubbing Cheat,' cries Partridge, 'Pay, Sir, what is that?'’

‘'Why that, Sir,' ſays the Stranger, 'is a Cant Phraſe for the Gallows; for as Gameſters differ little from Highwaymen in their Morals, ſo do they' very much reſemble them in their Language.’

‘'We had now each drank our Bottle, when Mr. Watſon ſaid, the Board was ſitting, and that he muſt attend, earneſtly preſſing me, at the ſame Time, to go with him and try my Fortune. I anſwered, He knew that was at preſent out of my Power, as I had informed him of the emptineſs of [160] my Pocket. To ſay the Truth, I doubted not, from his many ſtrong Expreſſions of Friendſhip, but that he would offer to lend me a ſmall Sum for that Purpoſe; but he anſwered, "Never mind' that, Man, e'en boldly run a Levant;’ (Partridge was going to enquire the Meaning of that Word; but Jones ſtopped his Mouth;) ‘'but be circumſpect as to the Man. I will tip you the proper Per⯑ſon, which may be neceſſary, as you do not know the Town, nor can diſtinguiſh a Rum Cull from a Queer one.'’

‘'The Bill was now brought, when Watſon paid his Share, and was departing. I reminded him, not without bluſhing, of my having no Money.'’ ‘He anſwered, 'That ſignifies nothing, ſcore it be⯑hind the Door, or make a bold Bruſh, and take no Notice—Or—ſtay," ſays he, "I will go down Stairs firſt, and then do you take up my Money, and ſcore the whole Reckoning at the Bar, and I will wait for you at the Corner." 'I expreſſed ſome Diſlike at this, and hinted my Expectations that he would have depoſited the whole; but he ſwore he had not another Sixpence in his Pocket.'’

‘'He then went down, and I was prevailed on to take up the Money and follow him, which I did cloſe enough to hear him tell the Drawer the Reckoning was upon the Table. The Drawer paſ⯑ſed by me up Stairs; but I made ſuch Haſte into the Street, that I heard nothing of his Diſappointment, nor did I mention a Syllable at the Bar according to my Inſtructions.'’

‘'We now went directly to the Gaming Table, where Mr. Watſon, to my Surprize, pulled out a large Sum of Money, and placed before him, as did many others; all of them, no doubt, conſi⯑dering their own Heaps as ſo many decoy Birds, [161] which were to entice and draw over the Heaps of' their Neighbours.’

‘'Here it would be tedious to relate all the Freaks which Fortune, or rather the Dice, played in this her Temple. Mountains of Gold were in a few Moments reduced to nothing at one Part of the Table, and roſe as ſuddenly in another. The rich grew in a Moment poor, and the Poor as ſudden⯑ly became rich: ſo that it ſeemed a Philoſopher could no where have ſo well inſtructed his Pupils in the Contempt of Riches, at leaſt he could no where have better inculcated the Incertainty of their Du⯑ration.'’

‘'For my own Part, after having conſiderably im⯑proved my ſmall Eſtate, I at laſt entirely demoliſhed it. Mr. Watſon too, after much Variety of Luck, roſe from the Table in ſome Heat, and declared he had loſt a cool hundred, and would play no longer. Then coming up to me, he aſked me to return with him to the Tavern; but I poſitively refuſed, ſay⯑ing, I would not bring myſelf a ſecond Time into ſuch a Dilemma, and eſpecially as he had loſt all his Money, and was now in my own Condition.' Pooh," ſays he, "I have juſt borrowed a couple of Guineas of a Friend; and one of them is at your Service." 'He immediately put one of them into my Hand, and I no longer reſiſted his Inclination.'’

‘'I was at firſt a little ſhocked at returning to the ſame Houſe whence we had departed in ſo unhand⯑ſome a Manner; but when the Drawer, with very civil Addreſs, told us, "he believed we had for⯑got to pay our Reckoning," I became perfectly eaſy, and very readily gave him a Guinea, bid him pay himſelf, and acquieſced in the unjuſt Charge which had been laid on my Memory.'’

‘'Mr. Watſon now beſpoke the moſt extravagant Supper he could well think of, and tho' he had con⯑tented [162] himſelf with ſimple Claret before, nothing but the moſt precious Burgundy would ſerve his Purpoſe.'’

‘'Our Company was ſoon encreaſed by the Addi⯑tion of ſeveral Gentlemen from the Gaming-Table; moſt of whom, as I afterwards found, came not to the Tavern to drink, but in the Way of Buſineſs: for the true Gameſters pretended to be ill, and refuſed their Glaſs, while they plied heartily two young Fellows, who were to be after⯑wards pillaged, as indeed they were without Mercy. Of this Plunder I had the good Fortune to be a Sharer, tho I was not yet let into the Secret.'’

‘'There was one remarkable Accident attended this Tavern Play; for the Money, by Degrees totally diſappeared, ſo that tho' at the Beginning the Table was half covered with Gold, yet before the Play ended, which it did not till the next Day being Sunday, at Noon, there was ſcarce a Guine [...] to be ſeen on the Table; and this was the ſtranger as every Perſon preſent except myſelf declared h [...] had loſt; and what was become of the Money unleſs the Devil himſelf carried it away, is diffi⯑cult to determine.'’

‘'Moſt certainly he did,' ſays Partridge, 'for evi [...] Spirits can carry away any Thing without being ſeen, tho' there were never ſo many Folk in th [...] Room; and I ſhould not have been ſurprized if h [...] had carried away all the Company of a Set of wick⯑ed Wretches, who were at play in Sermon-time And I could tell you a true Story, if I would where the Devil took a man out of Bed from ano⯑ther Man's Wife, and carried him away through th [...] Key-hole of the Door. I've ſeen the very Houſe where it was done, and no Body hath lived in i [...] theſe thirty Years.'’

Tho' Jones was a little offended by the Imperti⯑nence of Partridge, he could not however avoi [...] [163] ſmiling at his Simplicity. The Stranger did the ſame, and then proceeded with his Story, as will be ſeen in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XIII. In which the foregoing Story is farther continued.

‘'MY Fellow Collegiate had now entered me in a new Scene of Life. I ſoon became ac⯑quainted with the whole Fraternity of Sharpers, and was let into their Secrets. I mean into the Knowledge of thoſe groſs Cheats which are pro⯑per to impoſe on the raw and unexperienced: For there are ſome Tricks of a finer Kind, which are only known to a few of the Gang, who are at the Head of their Profeſſion; a Degree of Ho⯑nour beyond my Expectation; for Drink, to which I was immoderately addicted, and the natural Warmth of my Paſſions, prevented me from ar⯑riving at any great Succeſs in an Art, which re⯑quires as much Coolneſs as the moſt auſtere School of Philoſophy.'’

‘'Mr. Watſon, with whom I now lived in the cloſeſt Amity, had unluckily the former Failing to a very great Exceſs; ſo that inſtead of making a Fortune by his Profeſſion, as ſome others did, he was alternately rich and poor, and was often obliged to ſurrender to his cooler Friends over a Bottle which they never taſted, that Plunder that he had taken from Culls at the public Table.'’

‘'However, we both made a Shift to pick up an uncomfortable Livelihood, and for two Years I con⯑tinued of the Calling, during which Time I taſted all the Varieties of Fortune; ſometimes flouriſh⯑ing in Affluence, and at others being obliged to ſtruggle with almoſt incredible Difficulties. To⯑day wallowing in Luxury, and To-morrow reduced to the coarſeſt and moſt homely Fare. My fine [164] Clothes being often on my Back in the Evening,' and at the Pawnſhop the next Morning.’

‘'One Night as I was returning Pennyleſs from the Gaming-table, I obſerved a very great Diſtur⯑bance, and a large Mob gathered together in the Street. As I was in no Danger from Pick-pockets, I ventered into the Croud, where upon enquiry, I found that a Man had been robbed and very ill uſed by ſome Ruffians. The wounded Man appeared very bloody, and ſeemed ſcarce able to ſupport himſelf on his Legs. As I had not therefore been deprived of my Humanity by my preſent Life and Converſation, tho' they had left me very little of either Honeſty or Shame, I immediately offered my Aſſiſtance to the unhappy Perſon, who thank⯑fully accepted it, and putting himſelf under my Conduct, begged me to convey him to ſome Ta⯑vern, where he might ſend for a Surgeon, being, as he ſaid, faint with Loſs of Blood. He ſeem⯑ed indeed highly pleaſed at finding one who ap⯑peared in the Dreſs of a Gentleman: For as to all the reſt of the Company preſent, their Outſide was ſuch that he could not wiſely place any Confidence in them.'’

‘'I took the poor Man by the Arm, and led him to the Tavern where we kept our Rendezvous, as it happened to be the neareſt at Hand. A Surgeon happening luckily to be in the Houſe, immediately attended, and applied himſelf to dreſſing the Wounds, which I had the Pleaſure to hear were not likely to be mortal.'’

‘'The Surgeon having very expeditiouſly and dex⯑trouſly finiſhed his Buſineſs, began to enquire in what Part of the Town the wounded Man lodged; who anſwered, "That he was come to Town that very Morning; that his Horſe was at an Inn in Piccadilly, and that he had no other Lodging, and very little or no Acquaintance in Town.'’

‘[165] 'This Surgeon, whoſe Name I have forgot, tho' I remember it began with an R, had the firſt Character in his Profeſſion, and was Serjeant-Surgeon to the King. He had moreover many good Qualities, and was a very generous, good-natured Man, and ready to do any Service to his Fellow-Creatures. He offered his Patient the Uſe of his Chariot to carry him to his Inn, and at the ſame Time whiſ⯑pered in his Ear, "That if he wanted any Money,' he would furniſh him.’

‘'The poor Man was not now capable of return⯑ing Thanks for this generous Offer: For having had his Eyes for ſome Time ſtedfaſtly on me, he threw himſelf back in his Chair, crying, O, my Son! my Son! and then fainted away.’

‘'Many of the People preſent imagined this Ac⯑cident had happened through his Loſs of Blood; but I, who at the ſame Time began to recollect the Features of my Father, was now confirmed in my Suſpicion, and ſatisfied that it was he himſelf who appeared before me. I preſently ran to him, raiſed him in my Arms, and kiſſed his cold Lips with the utmoſt Eagerneſs. Here I muſt draw a Curtain over a Scene which I cannot deſcribe: For though I did not loſe my Being, as my Father for a while did, my Senſes were however ſo overpow⯑ered with Affright and Surprize, that I am a Stran⯑ger to what paſt during ſome Minutes, and indeed till my Father had again recovered from his Swoon, and I found myſelf in his Arms, both tenderly embracing each other, while the Tears trickled a⯑pace down the Cheeks of each of us.'’

‘'Moſt of thoſe preſent ſeemed affected by this Scene, which we, who might be conſidered as the Actors in it, were deſirous of removing from the Eyes of all Spectators, as faſt as we could; my Father therefore [166] accepted the kind Offer of the Surgeon's Chariot, and I attended him in it to his Inn.'’

‘'When we were alone together, he gently up⯑braided me with having neglected to write to him during ſo long a Time, but entirely omitted the Mention of that Crime which had occaſioned it. He then informed me of my Mother's Death, and inſiſted on my returning Home with him, ſaying, That he had long ſuffered the greateſt Anxiety on my Account; that he knew not whether he had moſt feared my Death or wiſhed it; ſince he had ſo many more dreadful Apprenenſions for me. At laſt he ſaid, a neighbouring Gentleman, who had juſt recovered a Son from the ſame Place, in⯑formed him where I was, and that to reclaim me from this Courſe of Life, was the ſole Cauſe of his Journey to London." 'He thanked Heaven he had ſucceeded ſo far as to find me out by Means of an Accident which had like to have proved fatal to him; and had the Pleaſure to think he partly owed his Preſervation to my Humanity, with which he profeſſed himſelf to be more delighted than he ſhould have been with my filial Piety, if I had known that the Object of all my Care was my own Father.'’

‘'Vice had not ſo depraved my Heart, as to excite in it an Inſenſibility of ſo much paternal Affection, tho' ſo unworthily beſtowed, I preſently promiſed to obey his Commands in my return Home with him as ſoon as he was able to travel, which indeed he was in a very few Days, by the Aſſiſtance of that excellent Surgeon who had undertaken his Cure.'’

‘'The Day preceding my Father's Journey (before which Time I ſcarce ever left him) I went to take my Leave of ſome of my moſt intimate Acquain⯑tance, particularly of Mr. Watſon, who diſſuaded me from burying myſelf, as he called it, out of a [167] ſimple Compliance with the fond Deſires of a fooliſh [...]old Fellow. Such Solicitations, however, had no Effect, and I once more ſaw my own Home. My Father now greatly ſolicited me to think of Mar⯑riage; but my Inclinations were utterly averſe to [...]any ſuch Thoughts. I had taſted of Love already, and perhaps you know the extravagant Exceſſes of that moſt tender and moſt violent Paſſion.'’ Here [...]e old Gentleman pauſed, and looked earneſtly at [...]ones; whoſe Countenance within a Minute's Space [...]ſplayed the Extremities of both red and white. [...]pon which the old Man, without making any Ob⯑ [...]vations, renewed his Narrative.

‘'Being now provided with all the Neceſſaries of Life, I betook myſelf once again to Study, and that with a more inordinate Application than I had ever done formerly. The Books which now em⯑ployed my Time ſolely, were thoſe, as well anci⯑ent as modern, which treat of true Philoſophy, a Word, which is by many thought to be the Subject only of Farce and Ridicule. I now read over the Works of Ariſtotle and Plato, with the reſt of thoſe ineſtimable Treaſures which ancient Greece hath be⯑queathed to the World.’

‘'Theſe Authors, though they inſtructed me in no Science by which Men may promiſe to themſelves to acquire the leaſt Riches, or worldly Power, taught me, however, the Art of deſpiſing the high⯑eſt Acquiſitions of both. They elevate the Mind, and ſteel and harden it againſt the capricious Invaſions of Fortune. They not only inſtruct in the Know⯑ledge of Wiſdom, but confirm Men in her Habits, and demonſtrate plainly, that this muſt be our Guide, if we propoſe ever to arrive at the greateſt worldly Happineſs; or to defend ourſelves with any tolerable Security againſt the Miſery which every where ſurrounds and inveſts us.’

‘[168] 'To this I added another Study, compared to which all the Philoſophy taught by the wiſeſt Hea⯑thens is little better than a Dream, and is indeed as full of Vanity as the ſillieſt Jeſter ever pleaſed to repreſent it. This is that divine Wiſdom which is alone to be found in the Holy Scriptures: for they impart to us the Knowledge and Aſſurance of Things much more worthy our Attention, than all which this World can offer to our Accep⯑tance. Of Things which Heaven itſelf hath conde⯑ſcended to reveal to us, and to the ſmalleſt Know⯑ledge of which the higheſt human Wit unaſſiſted could never aſcend. I began now to think all the Time I had ſpent with the beſt Heathen Writers, was little more than Labour loſt: For however pleaſant and delightful theſe Leſſons may be, or however adequate to the right Regulation of our Conduct with Reſpect to this World only, yet when compared with the Glory revealed in Scrip⯑ture, their higheſt Documents will appear as trifling, and of as little Conſequence as the Rules by which Children regulate their Childiſh little Games and Paſtime. True it is, that Philoſophy makes us wiſer, but Chriſtianity makes us better Men. Phi⯑loſophy elevates and ſteels the Mind, Chriſtianity ſoftens and ſweetens it. The Former makes us the Objects of human Admiration, the Latter of Divine Love. That inſures us a temporal, but this an eternal Happineſs.—But I am afraid I tire you with my Rhapſody.'’

‘'Not at all,' cries Partridge, 'Lud forbid we' ſhould be tired with good Things.’

‘'I had ſpent,' continued the Stranger, 'about four Years in the moſt delightful Manner to myſelf, to⯑tally given up to Contemplation, and entirely un⯑embarraſſed with the Affairs of the World, when I loſt the beſt of Fathers, and one whom I ſo ſincere⯑ly [169] loved, that my Grief at his Loſs exceeds all De⯑ſcription. I now abandoned my Books, and gave myſelf up for a whole Month to the Efforts of Melancholy and Deſpair. Time, however, the beſt Phyſician of the Mind, at length brought me Relief.'’ Ay, ay, Tempus edax Rerum,' ſaid Par⯑tridge. ‘'I then,' continued the Stranger, 'be⯑took myſelf again to my former Studies, which I may ſay perfected my Cure: For Philoſophy and Religion may be called the Exerciſes of the Mind, and when this is diſordered they are as wholeſome as Exerciſe can be to a diſtempered Body. They do indeed produce ſimilar Effects with Exerciſe: For they ſtrengthen and confirm the Mind; till' Man becomes, in the noble Strain of Horace, 'Fortis, & in ſeipſo totus teres at (que) rotundus, 'Externi ne quid valeat per laeve morari: 'In quem manca ruit ſemper Fortuna.— ^*’

Here Jones ſmiled at ſome Conceit which intruded itſelf into his Imagination▪ but the Stranger, I be⯑lieve, perceived it not, and proceeded thus.

‘'My Circumſtances were now greatly altered by the Death of that beſt of Men: For my Brother who was now become Maſter of the Houſe, dif⯑fered ſo widely from me in his Inclinations, and our Purſuits in Life had been ſo very various, that we were the worſt of Company to each other; but what made our living together ſtill more diſagree⯑ble, was the little Harmony which could ſubſiſt be⯑tween the few who reſorted to me, and the nume⯑rous Train of Sportſmen who often attended my Brother from the Field to the Table: For ſuch [170] Fellows, beſides the Noiſe and Nonſenſe with which they perſecute the Ears of ſober Men, endeavour always to attack them with Affront and Contempt. This was ſo much the Caſe, that neither I myſelf, nor my Friends, could ever ſit down to a Meal with them, without being treated with Deriſion, becauſe we were unacquainted with the Phraſes of Sportſ⯑men. For men of true Learning, and almoſt uni⯑verſal Knowledge, always compaſſionate the Igno⯑rance of others: but Fellows who excel in ſome little, low, contemptible Art, are always certain to deſpiſe thoſe who are unacquainted with that Art.'’

‘'In ſhort, we ſoon ſeparated, and I went by the Advice of a Phyſician to drink the Bath Waters: For my violent Affliction, added to a ſedentary Life, have thrown me into a kind of a paralytic Diſorder, for which thoſe Waters are accounted an almoſt certain Cure. The ſecond Day after my arrival, as I was walking by the River, the Sun ſhone ſo intenſely hot (tho' it was early in the Year) that I retired to the Shelter of ſome Willows, and ſat down by the River-ſide. Here I had not been ſeated long before I heard a Perſon on the other Side the Willows, ſighing and bemoaning himſelf bit⯑terly. On a ſudden, having uttered a moſt im⯑pious Oath, he cried, "I am reſolved to bear it no longer." and directly threw himſelf into the Water. I immediately ſtarted, and ran towards the Place, calling at the ſame Time as loudly as I could for Aſſiſtance. An Angler happened luckily to be a fiſhing a little below me, tho' ſome very high ſedge had hid him from my Sight. He immedi⯑ately came up, and both of us together, not with⯑out ſome Hazard of our Lives, drew the Body to the Shore. At firſt we perceived no Sign of Life remaining; but having held the Body up by the [171] Heels (for we ſoon had Aſſiſtance enough) it diſ⯑charged a vaſt Quantity of Water at the Mouth, and at length began to diſcover ſome Symptoms of Breathing, and a little afterwards to move both its' Hands and its Legs.’

‘'An Apothecary, who happened to be preſent among others, adviſed that the Body, which ſeem⯑ed now to have pretty well emptied itſelf of Water, and which began to have many convulſive Motions, ſhould be directly taken up, and carried into a warm Bed. This was accordingly performed, the Apothecary and myſelf attending.'’

‘'As we were going towards an Inn, for we knew not the Man's Lodgings, luckily a Woman met us, who after ſome violent Screaming, told us, that the Gentleman lodged at her Houſe.'’

‘'When I had ſeen the Man ſafely depoſited there, I left him to the Care of the Apothecary, who, I ſuppoſe, uſed all the right Methods with him; for the next Morning I heard he had perfectly recover⯑ed' his Senſes.’

‘'I then went to viſit him, intending to ſearch out as well as I could the Cauſe of his having attempted ſo deſperate an Act, and to prevent as far as I was able, his purſuing ſuch wicked Intentions for the fu⯑ture. I was no ſooner admitted into his Chamber, than we both inſtantly knew each other; for who ſhould this Perſon be, but my good Friend Mr. Wat⯑ſon! Here I will not trouble you with what paſt at our firſt Interview: For I would avoid Prolixity as much as poſſible.'’ ‘'Pray let us hear all,' cries Partridge, 'I want mightily to know what brought him to Bath.'’

'You ſhall hear every thing material,' anſwered the Stranger; and then proceeded to relate what we ſhall proceed to write, after we have given a ſhort breathing Time to both ourſelves and the Reader.

CHAP. XIV. In which the Man of the Hill concludes his Hiſtory.

‘'MR. Watſon,' continued the Stranger,' 'very freely acquainted me, that the unhappy Si⯑tuation of his Circumſtances, occaſioned by a Tide of Ill-Luck, had in a Manner forced him to a Re⯑ſolution of deſtroying himſelf.'’

‘'I now began to argue very ſeriouſly with him, in Oppoſition to this Heatheniſh, or indeed diabo⯑lical Principle of the Lawfulneſs of Self-Murder; and ſaid every Thing which occurred to me on the Subject; but to my great Concern, it ſeemed to have very little Effect on him. He ſeemed not at all to repent of what he had done, and gave me Reaſon to fear, he would ſoon make a ſecond At⯑tempt of the like horrible kind.'’

‘'When I had finiſhed my Diſcourſe, inſtead of endeavouring to anſwer my Arguments, he looked me ſtedfaſtly in the Face, and with a Smile ſaid, You are ſtrangely altered my good Friend, ſince I remember you. I queſtion whether any of our Biſhops could make a better Argument againſt Sui⯑cide than you have entertained me with, but un⯑leſs you can find ſomebody who will lend me a cool Hundred, I muſt either hang, or drown, or ſtarve; and in my Opinion the laſt Death is the moſt terrible of the three.'’

‘'I anſwered him very gravely, that I was indeed altered ſince I had ſeen him laſt. That I had found Leiſure to look into my Follies, and to repent of them. I then adviſed him to purſue the ſame Steps; and at laſt concluded with an Aſſurance, that I my⯑ſelf would lend him a hundred Pound, if it would be of any Service to his Affairs, and he would not put it into the Power of a Die to deprive him of it.'’

‘[173] 'Mr. Watſon, who ſeemed almoſt compoſed in Slumber by the former Part of my Diſcourſe, was rouſed by the latter. He ſeized my Hand eagerly, gave me a thouſand Thanks, and declared I was a Friend indeed; adding, that he hoped I had a better Opinion of him, than to imagine he had profited ſo little by Experience, as to put any Confidence in thoſe damned Dice, which had ſo often deceived him. "No, no," cries he, "let me but once handſomely be ſet up again, and if ever Fortune makes a broken Merchant of me afterwards, I will forgive her.'’

‘'I very well underſtood the Language of ſetting up, and broken Merchant. I therefore ſaid to him with a very grave Face, Mr. Watſon, you muſt en⯑deavour to find out ſome Buſineſs, or Employment, by which you may procure yourſelf a Livelihood; and I promiſe you, could I ſee any probability of be⯑ing repaid hereafter, I would advance a much larger Sum than what you have mentioned, to equip you in any fair and honourable Calling; but as to Gam⯑ing beſides the Baſeneſs and wickedneſs of making it a Profeſſion, you are really, to my own Knowledge, unfit for it, and it will end in your certain Ruin.'’

‘"Why now, that's ſtrange," anſwered he, 'nei⯑ther you nor any of my Friends, would ever allow me to know any Thing of the Matter, and yet, I believe I am as good a Hand at every Game as any of you all; and I heartily wiſh I was to play with you only for your whole Fortune; I ſhould deſire no better Sport, and I would let you name your Game into the Bargain; but come, my dear Boy, have you the Hundred in your Pocket?’

‘'I anſwered, I had only a Bill for 50l. which I delivered him, and promiſed to bring him the reſt next Morning; and after giving him a little more A⯑vice,' took my Leave.’

‘[174] 'I was indeed better than my Word: For I re⯑turned to him that very Afternoon. When I en⯑tered the Room, I found him ſitting up in his Bed at Cards with a notorious Gameſter. This Sight, you will imagine, ſhocked me not a little; to which I may add the Mortification of ſeeing my Bill delivered by him to his Antagoniſt, and thirty Guineas only given in Exchange for it.'’

‘'The other Gameſter preſently quitted the Room, and then Watſon declared he was aſhamed to ſee me; but, ſays he, I find Luck runs ſo damnably againſt me, that I will reſolve to leave off Play for ever. I have thought of the kind Propoſal you made me ever ſince, and I promiſe you there ſhall be no Fault in me, if I do not put it in Execution.'’

‘'Though I had no great Faith in his Promiſes, I produced him the Remainder of the hundred in Conſequence of my own; for which he gave me a Note, which was all I ever expected to ſee in Re⯑turn for my Money.'’

‘'We were prevented from any further Diſcourſe at preſent, by the Arrival of the Apothecary, who with much Joy in his Countenance, and without even aſking his Patient how he did, proclaimed there was great News arrived in a Letter to himſelf, which he ſaid would ſhortly be public, "that the Duke of Monmouth was landed in the Weſt with a vaſt Army of Dutch, and that another vaſt Fleet hovered over the Coaſt of Norfolk, and was to make a Deſcent there, in order to favour the Duke's Enterprize with a Diverſion on that Side.'’

‘'This Apothecary was one of the greateſt Politi⯑cians of his Time. He was more delighted with the moſt paultry Packet, than with the beſt Patient; and the higheſt Joy he was capable of, he received from having a Piece of News in his Poſſeſſion an Hour or two ſooner than any other Perſon in the Town. His Advices, however, were ſeldom authentic; for [175] he would ſwallow almoſt any thing as a Truth, a' Humour which many made uſe to impoſe upon him.’

‘'Thus it happened with what he at preſent com⯑municated; for it was known within a ſhort Time afterwards, that the Duke was really landed; but that his Army conſiſted only of a few Attendants; and as to the Diverſion in Norfolk, it was entirely falſe.'’

‘'The Apothecary ſtaid no longer in the Room, than while he acquainted us with his News; and then, without ſaying a Syllable to his Patient on any other Subject, departed to ſpread his Advices all over the Town.'’

‘'Events of this Nature in the Public are generally apt to eclipſe all private Concerns. Our Diſcourſe, therefore, now became entirely political. For my own Part, I had been for ſome Time very ſeriouſ⯑ly affected with the Danger to which the Prote⯑ſtant Religion was ſo viſibly expoſed, under a Po⯑piſh Prince; and thought the Apprehenſion of it alone ſufficient to juſtify that Inſurrection: For no real Security can ever be found againſt the perſecut⯑ing Spirit of Popery, when armed with Power, except the depriving it of that Power, as woeful Experience preſently ſhewed. You know how King James behaved after getting the better of this Attempt; how little he valued either his Royal Word, or Coronation-Oath, or the Liberties and Rights of his People. But all had not the Senſe to foreſee this at firſt: and therefore the Duke of Monmouth was weakly ſupported; yet all could feel when the Evil came upon them; and therefore all united, at laſt, to drive out that King, againſt whoſe Excluſion a great Party among us had ſo warmly contended, during the Reign of his Bro⯑ther, and for whom they now fought with ſuch Zeal and Affection.'’

‘[176] 'What you ſay,' interrupted Jones, 'is very true; and it has often ſtruck me, as the moſt wonderful thing I ever read of in Hiſtory, that ſo ſoon after this convincing Experience, which brought out whole Nation to join ſo unanimouſly in expelling King James, for the Preſervation of our Religion and Liberties, there ſhould be a Party among us mad enough to deſire the placing his Family again on the Throne.'’ ‘You are not in earneſt!' anſwer⯑ed the old Man: 'there can be no ſuch Party. As bad an Opinion as I have of Mankind, I cannot believe them infatuated to ſuch a Degree! There may be ſome hot-headed Papiſts led by their Prieſts to engage in this deſperate Cauſe, and think it a Holy War; but that Proteſtants, that Members of the Church of England ſhould be ſuch Apoſtates, ſuch Felos de ſe, I cannot believe it; no, no, young Man, unacquainted as I am with what has paſt in the World for theſe laſt thirty Years, I cannot be ſo impoſed upon as to credit ſo fooliſh a Tale: But I ſee you have a Mind to ſport with my Ignorance.' Can it be poſſible,' replied Jones, 'that you have lived ſo much out of the World as not to know, that during that Time there have been two Rebelli⯑ons in favour of the Son of King James, one of which is now actually raging in the very Heart of this Kingdom? At theſe Words the old Gentleman ſtart⯑ed up, and, in a moſt ſolemn Tone of Voice conjured Jones by his Maker to tell him, if what he ſaid was really true: Which the other as ſolemnly affirming, he walked ſeveral Turns about the Room, in a pro⯑found Silence, then cried, then laughed, and at laſt, fell down on his Knees, and bleſſed God, in a loud Thankſgiving-Prayer, for having delivered him from all Society with Human Nature, which could be ca⯑pable of ſuch monſtrous Extravagances.’ After which [177] being reminded by Jones, that he had broke off his' Story, he reſumed it again, in this Manner.

‘'As Mankind, in the Days I was ſpeaking of, was not yet arrived to that Pitch of Madneſs which I find they are capable of now, and which, to be ſure, I have only eſcaped by living alone, and at a Diſtance from the Contagion, there was a conſide⯑rable Riſing in favour of Monmouth, and my Prin⯑ciples ſtrongly inclining me to take the ſame Part, I determined to join him, and Mr. Watſon, from different Motives concurring in the ſame Reſolution, (for the Spirit of a Gameſter will carry a Man as far upon ſuch an Occaſion as the Spirit of Patriotiſm,) we ſoon provided ourſelves with all Neceſſaries, and went to the Duke at Bridgewater. The un⯑fortunate Event of this Enterprize you are, I con⯑clude, as well acquainted with as myſelf. I eſ⯑caped together with Mr. Watſon, from the Battle at Sedgemore, in which Action I received a ſlight Wound. We rode near forty Miles together on the Exeter Road, and then abandoning our Horſes, ſcrambled as well as we could through the Fields and Bye-Roads, till we arrived at a little wild Hut on a Common, where a poor old Woman took all the Care of us ſhe could, and dreſſed my Wound with Salve, which quickly healed it.'’

‘'Pray, Sir, where was the Wound,' ſays Par⯑tridge. The Stranger ſatisfied him it was in his Arm, and then continued his Narrative. 'Here, Sir,' ſaid he, 'Mr Watſon left me the next Morn⯑ing, in order as he pretended, to get us ſome Pro⯑viſion from the Town of Cullumpton; but—can I relate it? or can you believe it?—This Mr. Watſon, this Friend, this baſe, barbarous, treacherous Villain, betrayed me to a Party of Horſe belonging to King James, and, at his Return, delivered me into their Hands.'’

‘[178] 'The Soldiers, being ſix in Number, had now ſeized me, and were conducting me to Taunton Goal; but neither my preſent Situation, nor the Apprehenſions of what might happen to me, were half ſo irkſome to my Mind, as the Company of my falſe Friend, who, having ſurrendered himſelf, was likewiſe conſidered as a Priſoner, tho' he was bet⯑ter treated, as being to make his Peace at my Expence. He at firſt endeavoured to excuſe his Treachery; but when he received nothing but Scorn and Upbraiding from me, he ſoon chang⯑ed his Note, abuſed me as the moſt atrocious and malicious Rebel, and laid all his own Guilt to my Charge, who, as he declared, had ſolicit⯑ed, and even threatened him, to make him take up Arms againſt his gracious, as well as lawful, Sovereign.'’

‘'This falſe Evidence, (for in Reality, he had been much the forwarder of the two) ſtung me to the Quick, and raiſed an Indignation ſcarce conceivable by thoſe who have not felt it. However, Fortune a [...] length, took Pity on me; for as we were got a little beyond Wellington, in a narrow Lane, my Guards received a falſe Alarm, that near fifty of the Ene⯑my were at hand, upon which they ſhifted for them⯑ſelves, and left me and my Betrayer to do the ſame. That Villain immediately ran from me, and I am glad he did, or I ſhould have certainly endeavoured though I had no Arms, to have executed Vengeanc [...] on his Baſeneſs.'’

‘'I was now once more at Liberty, and imme⯑diately withdrawing from the Highway into the Fields, [...] travelled on, ſcarce knowing which Way I went, and making it my chief Care to avoid all publick Roads, and all Towns, nay, even th [...] moſt homely Houſes; for I imagined every hu+ [179] man Creature whom I ſaw, deſirous of betraying' me.’

‘'At laſt, after rambling ſeveral Days about the Country, during which the Fields afforded me the ſame Bed, and the ſame Food, which Nature be⯑ſtows on our Savage Brothers of the Creation, I at length arrived at this Place, where the Solitude and Wildneſs of the Country invited me to fix my Abode. The firſt Perſon with whom I took up my Habitation was the Mother of this old Woman, with whom I remained concealed, till the News of the glorious Revolution put an End to all my Ap⯑prehenſions of Danger, and gave me an Opportu⯑nity of once more viſiting my own Home, and of enquiring a little into my Affairs, which I ſoon ſettled as agreeably to my Brother as to myſelf; having reſigned every thing to him, for which he paid me the Sum of a thouſand Pounds, and ſettled on me an Annuity for Life.'’

‘'His Behaviour in this laſt Inſtance, as in all others, was ſelfiſh and ungenerous. I could not look on him as my Friend, nor indeed did he deſire that I ſhould; ſo I preſently took my Leave of him, as well as of my other Acquaintance; and from that Day to this my Hiſtory is little better than a Blank.'’

‘'And is it poſſible, Sir, ſaid Jones, 'that you can have reſided here from that Day to this?' 'O no, Sir,' anſwered the Gentleman, 'I have been a great Traveller, and there are few Parts of Eu⯑rope with which I am not acquainted.' 'I have not, Sir, cried Jones, 'the Aſſurance to aſk it of you now. Indeed it would be cruel, after ſo much Breath as you have already ſpent. But you will give me Leave to wiſh for ſome further Opportunity of hearing the excellent Obſervations, which a Man of your Senſe and Knowledge of the World muſt have made in ſo long a Courſe of Travels.'’ ‘In⯑deed, [180] young Gentleman,' anſwered the Stranger, 'I will endeavour to ſatisfy your Curioſity on this Head likewiſe, as far as I am able.'’ Jones at⯑tempted freſh Apologies, but was prevented; and while he and Partridge ſat with greedy and im⯑patient Ears, the Stranger proceeded as in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XV. A brief Hiſtory of Europe. And a curious Diſcourſe between Mr. Jones and the Man of the Hill.

‘IN Italy the Landlords are very ſilent. In France they are more talkative, but yet civil. In Ger⯑many and Holland they are generally very imper⯑tinent. And as for their Honeſty, I believe it is pretty equal in all thoſe Countries. The Laquais a Louange are ſure to loſe no Opportunity of cheating you: And as for the Poſtilions, I think they are pretty much alike all the World over. Theſe, Sir, are the Obſervations on Men which I made in my Travels, for theſe were the only Men I ever con⯑verſed with. My Deſign when I went abroad, was to divert myſelf by ſeeing the wondrous Va⯑riety of Proſpects, Beaſts, Birds, Fiſhes, Inſects, and Vegetables, with which God has been pleaſed to enrich the ſeveral Parts of this Globe. A Va⯑riety, which as it muſt give great Pleaſure to a con⯑templative Beholder, ſo doth it admirably diſplay the Power and Wiſdom and Goodneſs of the Crea⯑tor. Indeed, to ſay the Truth, there is but one Work in his whole Creation that doth him any Diſ⯑honour, and with that I have long ſince avoided' holding any Converſation.’

‘'You will pardon me,' cries Jones, 'but I have always imagined, that there is in this very Work you mention, as great Variety as in all the reſt; [181] for beſides the Difference of Inclination, Cuſtoms and Climates have, I am told, introduced the ut⯑moſt Diverſity into Human Nature.' 'Very little indeed,' anſwered the other; 'thoſe who travel in order to acquaint themſelves with the different Man⯑ners of Men, might ſpare themſelves much Pains, by going to a Carnival at Venice; for there they will ſee at once all which they can diſcover in the ſeveral Parts of Europe. The ſame Hypocriſy, the ſame Fraud; in ſhort, the ſame Follies and Vices, dreſſed in different Habits. In Spain theſe are e⯑quipped with much Gravity; and in Italy, with vaſt Splendor. In France, a Knave is dreſſed like a Fop; and in the Northern Countries like a Sloven. But human Nature is every where the ſame, every where the Object of Deteſtation and Scorn.'’

‘'As for my own Part, I paſt through all theſe Na⯑tions, as you perhaps may have done through a Croud at a Shew, joſtling to get by them, holding my Noſe with one Hand, and defending my Pockets with the other, without ſpeaking a Word to any of them, while I was preſſing on to ſee what I wanted to ſee, which, however entertaining it might be in itſelf, ſcarce made me Amends for the Trouble the Company gave me.'’

‘'Did not you find ſome of the Nations among which you travelled, leſs troubleſome to you than others? ſaid Jones.' 'O yes,' replied the old Man, the Turks were much more tolerable to me than the Chriſtians. For they are Men of profound Taci⯑turnity, and never diſturb a Stranger with Queſ⯑tions. Now and then indeed they beſtow a ſhort Curſe upon him, or ſpit in his Face as he walks the Streets, but then they have done with him, and a Man may live an Age in their Country without hearing a Dozen Words from them. But of all the People I ever ſaw, Heaven defend me from the [182] French. With their damned Prate and Civilities, and doing the Honour of their Nation to Strangers, (as they are pleaſed to call it) but indeed ſetting forth their own Vanity; they are ſo troubleſome, that I had infinitely rather paſs my Life with the Hottentots, than ſet my Foot in Paris again. They are a naſty People, but their Naſtineſs is moſtly without, whereas in France, and ſome other Na⯑tions that I won't name, it is all within, and makes them ſtink much more to my Reaſon than that of Hottentots does to my Noſe.'’

‘'Thus, Sir, I have ended the Hiſtory of my Life; for as to all that Series of Years, during which I have lived retired here, it affords no Variety to entertain you, and may be almoſt conſidered as one Day. The Retirement has been ſo compleat, that I could hardly have enjoyed a more abſolute Solitude in the Deſerts of the Thebais, than here in the midſt of this populous Kingdom. As I have no Eſtate, I am plagued with no Tenants or Stewards; my An⯑nuity is paid me pretty regularly, as indeed it ought to be, for it is much leſs than what I might have expected, in Return for what I gave up. Viſits I admit none, and the old Woman who keeps my Houſe knows, that her Place entirely depends upon her ſaving me all the Trouble of buying the Things that I want, keeping off all Sollicitation or Buſineſs from me, and holding her Tongue whenever I am within hearing. As my Walks are all by Night, I am pretty ſecure in this wild, and unfrequented Place from meeting any Company. Some few Perſons I have met by Chance, and ſent them Home heartily frighted, as from the Oddneſs of my Dreſs and Figure they took me for a Ghoſt or a Hobgoblin. But what has happened to Night ſhews, that even here I cannot be ſafe from the Villany of [183] Men; for without your Aſſiſtance I had not only been robbed, but very probably murdered.'’

Jones thanked the Stranger for the trouble he had taken in relating his Story, and then expreſſed ſome Wonder how he could poſſibly endure a Life of ſuch Solitude; ‘'in which,' ſays he, 'you may well com⯑plain of the Want of Variety. Indeed I am aſto⯑niſhed how you have filled up, or rather killed, ſo much of your Time.'’

‘'I am not at all ſurprized,' anſwered the other, that to one whoſe Affections and Thoughts are fix⯑ed on the World, my Hours ſhould appear to have wanted Employment in this Place; but there is one ſingle Act, for which the whole Life of Man is in⯑finitely too ſhort. What Time can ſuffice for the Contemplation and Worſhip of that glorious, im⯑mortal, and eternal Being, among the Works of whoſe ſtupendous Creation, not only this Globe, but even thoſe numberleſs Luminaries which we may here behold ſpangling all the Sky, tho' they ſhould many of them be Suns lighting different Sy⯑ſtems of Worlds, may poſſibly appear but as a few Atoms, oppoſed to the whole Earth which we in⯑habit? Can a Man who, by Divine Meditations, is admitted, as it were, into the Converſation of this ineffable, incomprehenſible Majeſty, think Days, or Years, or Ages, too long, for the Continuance of ſo raviſhing an Honour? Shall the trifling Amuſe⯑ments, the palling Pleaſures, the ſilly Buſineſs of the World, roll away our Hours too ſwiftly from us; and ſhall the Pace of Time ſeem ſluggiſh to a Mind exerciſed in Studies ſo high, ſo important, and ſo glorious! As no Time is ſufficient, ſo no Place is improper for this great Concern. On what Object can we caſt our Eyes, which may not in⯑ſpire us with Ideas of his Power, of his Wiſdom, and of his Goodneſs? It is not neceſſary, that the [184] riſing Sun ſhould dart his fiery Glories over the Eaſtern Horizon; nor that the boiſterous Winds ſhould ruſh from their Caverns, and ſhake the lofty Foreſt; nor that the opening Clouds ſhould pour their Deluges on the Plains: It is not neceſſary, I ſay, that any of theſe ſhould proclaim his Majeſty; there is not an Inſect, not a Vegetable, of ſo low an Order in the Creation, as not to be honoured with bearing Marks of the Attributes of its great Creator; Marks not only of his Power, but of his Wiſdom and Goodneſs. Man alone, the King of this Globe, the laſt and greateſt Work of the Su⯑preme Being, below the Sun; Man alone hath baſely diſhonoured his own Nature, and by Diſ⯑honeſty, Cruelty, Ingratitude, and Treachery, hath called his Maker's Goodneſs in Queſtion, by puz⯑zling us to account how a benevolent Being ſhould form ſo fooliſh, and ſo vile an Animal. Yet this is the Being from whoſe Converſation you think, I ſuppoſe, that I have been unfortunately reſtrained; and without whoſe bleſſed Society, Life, in your Opinion, muſt be tedious and inſipid.'’

‘'In the former Part of what you ſaid,' replied Jones, 'I moſt heartily and readily concur; but I believe, as well as hope, that the Abhorrence which you expreſs for Mankind, in the Concluſion, is much too general. Indeed you here fall into an Error, which, in my little Experience, I have ob⯑ſerved to be a very common one, by taking the Character of Mankind from the worſt and baſeſt among them; whereas indeed, as an excellent Wri⯑ter obſerves, nothing ſhould be eſteemed as charac⯑teriſtical of a Species, but what is to be found among the beſt and moſt perfect Individuals of that ſpecies. This Error, I believe, is generally committed by thoſe who, from Want of proper Caution in the Choice of their Friends and Acquaintance, have [185] ſuffered injuries from bad and worthleſs Men; two or three Inſtances of which are very unjuſtly charg⯑ed on all Human Nature.'’

‘'I think I had Experience enough of it,' anſwered he other. 'My firſt Miſtreſs, and my firſt Friend, betrayed me in the baſeſt Manner, and in Matters which threatened to be of the worſt of Conſequen⯑ces, even to bring me to a ſhameful Death.'’

‘'But you will pardon me,' cries Jones, 'if I deſire you to reflect who that Miſtreſs, and who that Friend were. What better, my good Sir, could be expected in Love derived from the Stews, or in Friendſhip firſt produced and nouriſhed at the Gam⯑ing-Table! To take the Characters of Women from the former Inſtance, or of Men from the lat⯑ter, would be as unjuſt as to aſſert, that Air is a⯑nauſeous an unwholeſome Element, becauſe we find it ſo in a Jakes. I have lived but a ſhort Time in the World, and yet have known Men worthy of the higheſt Friendſhip, and Women of the higheſt Love.'’

‘'Alas! young Man,' anſwered the Stranger; 'you have lived, you confeſs, but a very ſhort Time in the World; I was ſomewhat older than you when I was of the ſame Opinion.'’

‘'You might have remained ſo ſtill,' replies Jones, 'if you had not been unfortunate, I will venture to ſay incautious in the placing your Affections. If there was indeed much more Wickedneſs in the World than there is, it would not prove ſuch ge⯑neral Aſſertions againſt human Nature, ſince much of this arrives by mere Accident, and many a Man who commits Evil is not totally bad and corrupt in his Heart. In Truth, none ſeem to have any Title to aſſert Human Nature to be neceſſarily and uni⯑verſally evil, but thoſe whoſe own Minds afford them one Inſtance of this natural Depravity; which is not, I am convinced, your Caſe.'’

‘[186] 'And ſuch,' ſaid the Stranger, 'will be always the moſt backward to aſſert any ſuch thing. Knaves will no more endeavour to perſuade us of the Baſe⯑neſs of Mankind, than a Highwayman will inform you that there are Thieves on the Road. This would indeed be a Method to put you on your Guard, and to defeat their own Purpoſes. For which Reaſon, tho' Knaves, as I remember, are very apt to abuſe particular Perſons; yet they ne⯑ver caſt any Reflection on Human Nature in gene⯑ral.'’ The old Gentleman ſpoke this ſo warmly, that as Jones deſpaired of making a Convert, and was unwilling to offend, he returned no Anſwer.

The Day now began to ſend forth its firſt Streams of Light, when Jones made an Apology to the Stran⯑ger for his having ſtaid ſo long, and perhaps having detained him from his Reſt. The Stranger anſwered, ‘'He never wanted Reſt leſs than at preſent; for that Day and Night were indifferent Seaſons to him, and that he commonly made uſe of the former for the Time of his Repoſe, and of the latter for his Walks and Lucubrations. However,' ſaid he, 'it is now a moſt lovely Morning, and if you can bear any longer to be without your own Reſt or Food, I will gladly entertain you with the Sight of ſome very fine Proſpects, which I believe you have not yet ſeen.'’

Jones very readily embraced this Offer, and they immediately ſet forward together from the Cottage. As for Partridge, he had fallen into a profound Re⯑poſe, juſt as the Stranger had finiſhed his Story; for his Curioſity was ſatisfied, and the ſubſequent Diſ⯑courſe was not forcible enough in its Operation to conjure down the Charms of Sleep. Jones therefore left him to enjoy his Nap; and as the Reader may perhaps be, at this Seaſon, glad of the ſame Favour, we will here put an End to the Eighth Book of our Hiſtory.

CHAP. I. Of thoſe who lawfully may, and of thoſe who may not write ſuch Hiſtories as this.

AMONG other good Uſes for which I have thought proper to inſtitute theſe ſeveral in⯑troductory Chapters, I have conſidered them as a Kind of Mark or Stamp, which may hereafter enable a very indifferent Reader to diſtinguiſh, what is true and genuine in this hiſtoric kind of Writing, from what is falſe and counterfeit. Indeed it ſeems likely that ſome ſuch Mark may ſhortly become ne⯑ceſſary, ſince the favourable Reception which two or three Authors have lately procured for their Works of this Nature from the Public, will probably ſerve as an Encroachment to many others to undertake the like. Thus a Swarm of fooliſh Novels, and mon⯑ſtrous Romances will be produced, either to the great impoveriſhing of Bookſellers, or to the great Loſs of Time, and Depravation of Morals in the Reader; [188] nay, often to the ſpreading of Scandal and Calumny, and to the Prejudice of the Characters of many wor⯑thy and honeſt People.

I queſtion not but the ingenious Author of the Spectator was principally induced to perfix Greek and Latin Mottos to every Paper from the ſame Conſi⯑deration of guarding againſt the Purſuit of thoſe Scrib⯑blers, who, having no Talents of a Writer but what is taught by the Writing-maſter, are yet no wiſe afraid nor more aſhamed to aſſume the ſame Titles with the greateſt Genius, than their good Brother in the Fable was of braying in the Lion's Skin.

By the Device therefore of his Motto, it became impracticable for any Man to preſume to imitate the Spectators, without underſtanding at leaſt one Sen⯑tence in the learned Languages. In the ſame Man⯑ner I have now ſecured myſelf from the Imitation of thoſe who are utterly incapable of any Degree of Reflection, and whoſe Learning is not equal to an Eſſay.

I would not here be underſtood to inſinuate, that the greateſt Merit of ſuch hiſtorical Productions can ever lie in theſe introductory Chapters; but, in Fact, thoſe Parts which contain mere Narrative only, afford much more Encouragement to the Pen of an Imitator, than thoſe which are compoſed of Obſervation and Reflection. Here I mean ſuch Imitators as Rowe was of Shakeſpear, or as Horace hints ſome of the the Romans were of Cato, by bare Feet and ſour Faces.

To invent good Stories, and to tell them well, are poſſibly very rare Talents, and yet I have obſerv⯑ed few Perſons who have ſcrupled to aim at both; and if we examine the Romances and Novels with which the world abounds, I think we may fairly conclude that moſt of the Authors would not have attempted to ſhew their Teeth (if the Expreſſion may be al⯑lowed me) in any other Way of Writing; nor could indeed have ſtrung together a dozen Sentences on any other Subject whatever. Scribimus indocti docti (que) [189] paſſim ^*, may be more truly ſaid of the Hiſtorian and Biographer, than of any other Species of Writing; For all the Arts and Sciences (even Criticiſm itſelf) [...]equire ſome little Degree of Learning and Know⯑ [...]ege. Poetry indeed may perhaps be thought an Ex⯑ [...]eption; but then it demands Numbers, or ſomething [...]ike Numbers; whereas to the Compoſition of No⯑ [...]els and Romances, nothing is neceſſary but Paper, Pens and Ink, with the manual Capacity of uſing them. This, I conceive, their Productions ſhew to be the Opi⯑nion of the Authors themſelves; and this muſt be the O⯑pinion of their Readers, if indeed there be any ſuch.

Hence we are to derive that univerſal Contempt, which the World, who always denominate the Whole from the Majority, have caſt on all hiſtorical Wri⯑ters, who do not draw their Materials from Records. And it is the Apprehenſion of this Contempt, that [...]ath made us ſo cautiouſly avoid the Term Romance, [...] Name with which we might otherwiſe have been well enough contented. Though as we have good Authority for all our Characters, no leſs indeed than [...]oomſday Book, or the vaſt authentic Book of Na⯑ture, as is elſewhere hinted, our Labours have ſuffi⯑cient Title to the Name of Hiſtory. Certainly they de⯑ [...]erve ſome Diſtinction from thoſe Works, which one of he wittieſt of Men regarded only as proceeding from a Pruritus, or indeed rather from a Looſeneſs of the Brain.

But beſides the Diſhonour which is thus caſt on one of the moſt uſeful as well as entertaining of all Kinds of Writing, there is juſt Reaſon to apprehend, that [...]y encouraging ſuch Authors, we ſhall propagate much Diſhonuur of another Kind; I mean to the Characters of many good and valuable Members of Society: For the dulleſt Writers, no more than the [...]ulleſt Companions, are always inoffenſive. They [...]ave both enough of Language to be indecent and a⯑buſive. [190] And ſurely if the Opinion juſt above cited be true, we cannot wonder, that Works ſo naſtily de⯑rived ſhould be naſty themſelves, or have a Tendency to make others ſo.

To prevent therefore for the future, ſuch intem⯑perate Abuſes of Leiſure, of Letters, and of the Li⯑berty of the Preſs, eſpecially as the World ſeems a [...] preſent to be more than uſually threatned with them I ſhall here venture to mention ſome Qualifications every one of which are in a pretty high Degree ne⯑ceſſary to this Order of Hiſtorians.

The firſt is Genius, without a rich Vein of which no Study, ſays Horace, can avail us. By Genius would underſtand that Power, or rather thoſe Power of the Mind, which are capable of penetrating into all Things within our Reach and Knowledge, and o [...] diſtinguiſhing their eſſential Differences. Theſe are no other than Invention and Judgment; and they are both called by the collective Name of Genius, as they are o [...] thoſe Gifts of Nature which we bring with us into the World. Concerning each of which many ſeem to have fallen into very great Errors: For by Invention, I be⯑lieve, is generally underſtood a creative Faculty; which would indeed prove moſt Romance-Writers to have the higheſt Pretenſions to it; whereas by Invention is really meant no more, (and ſo the Word ſignifies than Diſcovery, or finding out; or to explain it a [...] large, a quick and ſagacious Penetration into the tru [...] Eſſence of all the Objects of our Contemplation This, I think, can rarely exiſt without the Concomi [...] ⯑tancy of Judgment: For how we can be ſaid to have diſcovered the true Eſſence of two Things, without diſcerning their Difference, ſeems to me hard to con⯑ceive; now this laſt is the undiſputed Province of Judge⯑ment, and yet ſome few Men of Wit have agree [...] with all the dull Fellows in the World, in repreſenting theſe two to have been ſeldom or never the Property of one and the ſame Perſon.

[191] But tho' they ſhould be ſo, they are not ſufficient [...]r our Purpoſe without a good Share of Learning; [...]r which I could again cite the Authority of Horace, [...]nd of many others, if any was neceſſary to prove [...]hat Tools are of no Service to a Workman, when [...]hey are not ſharpened by Art, or when he wants [...]ules to direct him in his Work, or hath no Matter [...] work upon. All theſe Uſes are ſupplied by Learn⯑ing: For Nature can only furniſh us with Capacity, [...], as I have choſe to illuſtrate it, with the Tools [...]f our Profeſſion; Learning muſt fit them for Uſe, muſt direct them in it; and laſtly, muſt contribute, [...]art at leaſt, of the Materials. A competent Know⯑ [...]edge of Hiſtory and of the Belles Letters, is here ab⯑ [...]olutely neceſſary; and without this Share of Know⯑ [...]edge at leaſt, to affect the Character of an Hiſtorian, [...] as vain as to endeavour at building a Houſe without Timber or Mortar, or Brick or Stone. Homer and Milton, who, though they added the Ornament of Numbers to their Works, were both Hiſtorians of our Order, were Maſters of all the Learning of their Times.

Again, there is another Sort of Knowledge beyond [...]e Power of Learning to beſtow, and this is to be [...]ad by Converſation. So neceſſary is this to the un⯑derſtanding the Characters of Men, that none are more [...]gnorant of them than thoſe learned Pedants, whoſe [...]ives have been entirely conſumed in Colleges, and [...]mong Books: For however exquiſitely Human Na⯑ [...]re may have been deſcribed by Writers, the true [...]ractical Syſtem can only be learnt in the World. [...]ndeed the like happens in every other Kind of Know⯑ [...]dge. Neither Phyſic, nor Law, are to be practi⯑ [...]ally known from Books. Nay, the Farmer, the [...]lanter, the Gardener, muſt perfect by Experience what he hath acquired the Rudiments of by Reading. How accurately ſoever the ingenious Mr. Miller may [...]ave deſcribed the Plant, he himſelf would adviſe his [...]iſciple to ſee it in the Garden. As we muſt perceive, [192] that after the niceſt ſtrokes of a Shakeſpear, or Johnſon, of a Wycherly, or an Otway, ſome To [...] ⯑ches of Nature will eſcape the Reader, which the ju⯑dicious Action of a Garrick, of a Cibber, or a Cli [...] ^*, can convey to him; ſo on the real Stage, th [...] Character ſhews himſelf in a ſtronger, and bold [...] Light, than he can be deſcribed. And if this be th [...] Caſe in thoſe fine and nervous Deſcriptions, which great Authors themſelves have taken from Life, ho [...] much more ſtrongly will it hold when the Writer him ſelf takes his Lines not from Nature, but from Book Such Characters are only the faint Copy of a Copy and can have neither the Juſtneſs nor Spirit of a Original.

Now this Converſation in our Hiſtorian muſt univerſal, that is, with all Ranks and Degrees of Me [...] For the Knowledge of what is called High-Lif [...] will not inſtruct him in low, nor e converſo, will [...] being acquainted with the inferior Part of Mankin [...] teach him the Manners of the ſuperior. And thoug [...] it may be thought that the Knowledge of either m [...] ſufficiently enable him to deſcribe at leaſt that in whic [...] he hath been converſant; yet he will even here [...] greatly ſhort of Perfection; for the Follies of eith [...] Rank do in reality illuſtrate each other. For Inſtance, t [...] Affectation of High-life appears more glaring and [...] diculous from the Simplicity of the Low; and ag [...] the rudeneſs and barbarity of this latter, ſtrikes w [...] much ſtronger Ideas of Abſurdity, when contraſ [...] with, and oppoſed to the Politeneſs which contro [...] the former. Beſides to ſay the Truth, the Mann [...] [193] of our Hiſtorian will be improved by both theſe Con⯑verſations: For in the one he will eaſily find Exam⯑ples of Plainneſs, Honeſty, and Sincerity; in the o⯑ther of Refinement, Elegance, and a Liberality of Spirit; which laſt Quality I myſelf have ſcarce ever [...]een in Men of low Birth and Education.

Nor will all the Qualities I have hitherto given my Hiſtorian avail him, unleſs he have what is gene⯑rally meant by a good Heart, and be capable of feel⯑ing. The Author who will make me weep, ſays Horace, muſt firſt weep himſelf. In reality, no Man [...]an paint a Diſtreſs well, which he doth not feel while [...]e is painting it; nor do I doubt, but that the moſt [...]athetic and affecting Scenes have been writ with Tears. In the ſame Manner it is with the Ridiculous. [...] am convinced I never make my Reader laugh hear⯑ [...]ly, but where I have laughed before him, unleſs it [...]hould happen at any Time, that inſtead of laughing with me, he ſhould be inclined to laugh at me. Per⯑haps this may have been the Caſe at ſome Paſ⯑ [...]ages in this Chapter, from which Apprehenſions I will here put an End to it.

CHAP. II. Containing a very ſurprizing Adventure indeed, which Mr. Jones met with in his Walk with the Man of the Hill.

AURORA now firſt opened her Caſement, anglicè, the Day began to break, when Jones walked [...]orth in Company with the Stranger, and mounted Mazard Hill; of which they had no ſooner gained [...]he Summit, than one of the moſt noble Proſpects in [...]he World preſented itſelf to their View, and which [...]e would likewiſe preſent to the Reader; but for two Reaſons. Firſt, We deſpair of making thoſe who [...]ave ſeen this Proſpect, admire our Deſcription. Se⯑condly, We very much doubt whether thoſe, who have [...]ot ſeen it, would underſtand it.

[194] Jones ſtood for ſome Minutes fixed in one Poſture, and directing his Eyes towards the South; upon which the old Gentleman aſked, What he was looking at with ſo much Attention? ‘'Alas, Sir,' anſwered he, with a Sigh, 'I was endeavouring to trace out my own Journey hither. Good Heavens! what a Diſ⯑tance is Glouceſter from us! What a vaſt Tract of Land muſt be between me and my own Home.' Ay, ay, young Gentleman,' cries the other, 'and, by your Sighing, from what you love better than your own Home, or I am miſtaken. I perceive now the Object of your Contemplation is not with⯑in your Sight, and yet I fancy you have a Pleaſure in looking that Way.' Jones anſwered with a Smile, I find, old Friend, you have not yet forgot the Sen⯑ſations of your Youth.—I own my Thoughts were employed as you have gueſſed.'’

They now walked to that Part of the Hill which looks to the North Weſt, and which hangs over a vaſ [...] and extenſive Wood. Here they were no ſooner ar⯑rived, than they heard at a Diſtance the moſt violent Skreams of a Woman, proceeding from the Wood be⯑low them. Jones liſtened a Moment, and then, without ſaying a Word to his Companion (for indeed the Occaſion ſeemed ſufficiently preſſing) ran, or ra⯑ther ſlid, down the Hill, and without the leaſt Ap⯑prehenſions or Concern for his own Safety, made directly to the Thicket whence the Sound had iſſued.

He had not entered far into the Wood before he beheld a moſt ſhocking Sight indeed, a Woman ſtrip half naked, under the Hands of a Ruffian, who had put his Garter round her Neck, and was endeavour⯑ing to draw her up to a Tree. Jones aſked no Queſ⯑tions at this Interval; but fell inſtantly upon the Vil⯑lian, and made ſuch good Uſe of his truſty Oaken Stick [...] that he laid him ſprawling on the Ground, before h [...] could defend himſelf, indeed almoſt before he knew he was attacked; nor did he ceaſe the Proſecution o [...] [195] his Blows, till the Woman herſelf begged him to forbear, ſaying, She believed he had ſufficiently done his Buſineſs.

The poor Wretch then fell upon her Knees to Jones, and gave him a thouſand Thanks for her De⯑ [...]iverance: He preſently lifted her up, and told her [...]e was highly pleaſed with the extraordinary Acci⯑ [...]ent which had ſent him thither for her Relief, where [...]t was ſo improbable ſhe ſhould find any; adding, [...]hat Heaven ſeemed to have deſigned him as the hap⯑ [...]y Inſtrument of her Protection. 'Nay,' anſwer⯑ [...]d ſhe, 'I could almoſt conceive you to be ſome good Angel; and to ſay the Truth, you look more like an Angel than a Man in my Eye.' Indeed he was a charming Figure, and if a very fine Perſon, [...]nd a moſt comely Set of Features, adorned with Youth, Health, Strength, Freſhneſs, Spirit and Good Nature, can make a Man reſemble an Angel, he cer⯑tainly had that Reſemblance.

The redeemed Captive had not altogether ſo much of the human-angelic Species; ſhe ſeemed to be, at [...]eaſt, of the middle Age, nor had her Face much Ap⯑ [...]earance of Beauty; but her Cloaths being torn from [...]ll the upper Part of the Body, her Breaſts, which were well formed, and extremely white, attracted [...]he Eyes of her Deliverer, and for a few Moments [...]hey ſtood ſilent, and gazing at each other; till the Ruffian on the Ground beginning to move, Jones [...]ook the Garter which had been intended for another [...]urpoſe, and bound both his Hands behind him. And [...]ow, on contemplating his Face, he diſcovered, great⯑ [...]y to his Surprize, and perhaps not a little to his Sa⯑tisfaction, this very Perſon to be no other than En⯑ [...]gn Northerton. Nor had the Enſign forgotten his for⯑ [...]er Antagoniſt, whom he knew the Moment he came [...]o himſelf. His Surprize was equal to that of Jones; [...]ut I conceive his Pleaſure was rather leſs on this Occaſion.

[196] Jones helped Northerton upon his Legs, and then looking him ſtedfaſtly in the Face, ‘'I fancy, Sir,' ſaid he, 'you did not expect to meet me any more in this World, and I confeſs I had as little Expectation to find you here. However, Fortune, I ſee, hath brought us once more together, and hath given me Satis⯑faction for the Injury I have received, even with⯑out my own Knowledge.'’

‘'It is very much like a Man of Honour indeed,' anſwered Northerton, 'to take Satisfaction by knock⯑ing a Man down behind his Back. Neither am I capable of giving you Satisfaction here, as I have no Sword; but if you dare behave like a Gentleman, let us go where I can furniſh myſelf with one, and I will do by you as a Man of Honour ought.'’

‘'Doth it become ſuch a Villain as you are,' cries Jones, 'to contaminate the Name of Honour by aſ⯑ſuming it? But I ſhall waſte no Time in Diſcourſe with you—Juſtice requires Satisfaction of you now, and ſhall have it.'’ Then turning to the Woman, he aſked her, if ſhe was near her Home, or if not, whether ſhe was acquainted with any Houſe in the Neighbourhood, where ſhe might procure herſelf ſome decent Cloaths, in order to proceed to a Juſtice of the Peace.

She anſwered, She was an entire Stranger in that Part of the World. Jones then recollecting himſelf, ſaid he had a Friend near, who would direct them; indeed he wondered at his not following; but, in Fact, the Good Man of the Hill, when our Heroe departed, ſat himſelf down on the Brow, where, tho' he had a Gun in his Hand, he with great Patience and Un⯑concern, had attended the Iſſue.

Jones then ſtepping without the Wood, perceived the old Man ſitting as we have juſt deſcribed him; he preſently exerted his utmoſt Agility, and with ſurpriz⯑ing Expedition aſcended the Hill.

[197] The old Man adviſed him to carry the Woman to Upton, which, he ſaid, was the neareſt Town, and there he would be ſure of furniſhing her with all man⯑ner of Conveniences. Jones having received his Di⯑rection to the Place, took his Leave of the Man of the Hill, and deſiring him to direct Partridge the ſame Way, returned haſtily to the Wood.

Our Heroe, at his Departure to make this Enquiry of his Friend, had conſidered, that as the Ruffian's Hands were tied behind him, he was incapable of exe⯑cuting any wicked Purpoſes on the poor Woman. Beſides, he knew he ſhould not be beyond the Reach of her Voice, and could return ſoon enough to prevent any Miſchief. He had moreover declared to the Vil⯑lain, that if he attempted the leaſt Inſult, he would be himſelf immediately the Executioner of Vengeance on him. But Jones unluckily forgot that tho' the Hands of Northerton were tied, his Legs were at Liberty; nor did he lay the leaſt Injunction on the Priſoner, that he ſhould not make what uſe of theſe he pleaſed. Nor⯑therton therefore having given no Parole of that Kind, thought he might, without any Breach of Honour, depart, not being obliged, as he imagined, by any Rules, to wait for a formal Diſcharge. He there⯑fore took up his Legs, which were at Liberty, and walked off thro' the Wood, which favoured his Re⯑treat; nor did the Woman, whoſe Eyes were perhaps rather turned towards her Deliverer, once think of his Eſcape, or give herſelf any Concern or Trouble to prevent it.

Jones therefore, at his Return, found the Woman alone. He would have ſpent ſome Time in ſearch⯑ing for Northerton; but ſhe would not permit him; earneſtly entreating that he would accompany her to the Town whither they had been directed. ‘'As to the Fellow's Eſcape,' ſaid ſhe, 'it gives me no Un⯑eaſineſs: For Philoſophy and Chriſtianity both preach up Forgiveneſs of Injuries. But for you, Sir, I [198] am concerned at the Trouble I give you, nay in⯑deed my Nakedneſs may well make me aſhamed to look you in the Face; and if it was not for the Sake of your Protection, I ſhould wiſh to go alone.'’

Jones offered her his Coat; but, I know not for what Reaſon, ſhe abſolutely refuſed the moſt earneſt Solicitations to accept it. He then begged her to for⯑get both the Cauſes of her Confuſion. ‘'With Re⯑gard to the former,' ſays he, 'I have done no more than my Duty in protecting you; and as for the latter, I will entirely remove it, by walking before you all the Way; for I would not have my Eyes offend you, and I could not anſwer for my Power of reſiſting the attractive Charms of ſo much Beauty.'’

Thus our Heroe and the redeemed Lady walked in the ſame Manner as Orpheus and Eurydice marched heretofore: But tho' I cannot believe that Jones was deſignedly tempted by his Fair One to look behind him, yet as ſhe frequently wanted his Aſſiſtance to help her over Stiles, and had beſides many Trips and other Accidents, he was often obliged to turn about. However, he had better Fortune than what attended poor Orpheus; for he brought his Companion, or rather Follower, ſafe into the famous Town of Up⯑ton.

CHAP. III. The Arrival of Mr. Jones, with his Lady, at the Inn, with a very full Deſcription of the Battle of Upton.

THO' the Reader, we doubt not, is very eager to know what this Lady was, and how ſhe fell in⯑to the Hands of Mr. Northerton; we muſt beg him to ſuſpend his Curioſity for a ſhort Time, as we are obliged, for ſome very good Reaſons, which hereaf⯑ter [199] perhaps he may gueſs, to delay his Satisfaction a little longer.

Mr. Jones and his fair Companion no ſooner en⯑tered the Town, than they went directly to that Inn which, in their Eyes, preſented the faireſt Appear⯑ance to the Street. Here Jones, having ordered a Servant to ſhew a Room above Stairs, was aſcend⯑ing, when the diſhevelled Fair haſtily following, was laid hold on by the Maſter of the Houſe, who cried, ‘'Hey day, where is that Beggar Wench going? ſtay below Stairs, I deſire you;'’ but Jones at that In⯑ſtant thundered from above, 'Let the Lady come 'up,' in ſo authoritative a Voice, that the good Man inſtantly withdrew his Hands, and the Lady made the beſt of her way to the Chamber.

Here Jones wiſhed her Joy of her ſafe Arrival, and then departed, in order, as he promiſed, to ſend, the Landlady up with ſome Cloaths. The poor Wo⯑man thanked him heartily for all his Kindneſs, and ſaid, She ſhould ſee him again ſoon, to thank him a thouſand Times more. During this ſhort Converſati⯑on, ſhe covered her white Boſom as well as ſhe could poſſibly with her Arms: For Jones could not avoid ſtealing a Peep or two, tho' he took all imaginable Care to avoid giving any Offence.

Our Travellers had happened to take up their Re⯑ſidence at a Houſe of exceeding good Repute, whi⯑ther Iriſh Ladies of ſtrict Virtue, and many Nor⯑thern Laſſes of the ſame Predicament, were accuſ⯑tomed to reſort in their Way to Bath. The Land⯑lady therefore would by no Means have admitted any Converſation of a diſreputable Kind to paſs under her Roof. Indeed ſo foul and contagious are all ſuch Proceedings, that they contaminate the very inno⯑cent Scenes where they are committed, and give the Name of a bad Houſe, or of a Houſe of ill Re⯑pute, to all thoſe where they are ſuffered to be car⯑ried on.

[200] Not that I would intimate, that ſuch ſtrict Chaſtity as was preſerved in the Temple of Veſta can poſſibly be maintained at a public Inn. My good Landlady did not hope for ſuch a Bleſſing, nor would any of the Ladies I have ſpoken of, or indeed any others of the moſt rigid Note, have expected or inſiſted on any ſuch Thing. But to exclude all Vulgar Concubinage, and to drive all Whores in Rags from within the Walls, is within the Power of every one. This my Landlady very ſtiffly adhered to, and this her virtu⯑ous Gueſts, who did not travel in Rags, would very reaſonably have expected of her.

Now it required no very blameable Degree of Suſ⯑picion, to imagine that Mr. Jones and his ragged Companion had certain Purpoſes in their Intention, which, tho' tolerated in ſome Chriſtian Countries, connived at in others, and practiſed in all; are how⯑ever as expreſsly forbidden as Murder, or any o⯑ther horrid Vice, by that Religion which is univerſally believed in thoſe Countries. The Landlady there⯑fore had no ſooner received an Intimation of the En⯑trance of the aboveſaid Perſons, than ſhe began to meditate the moſt expeditious Means for their Ex⯑pulſion. In order to this, ſhe had provided herſelf with a long and deadly Inſtrument, with which, in Times of Peace, the Chambermaid was wont to de⯑moliſh the Labours of the Induſtrious Spider. In vulgar Phraſe, ſhe had taken up the Broomſtick, and was juſt about to ſally from the Kitchen, when Jones accoſted her with a Demand of a Gown, and other Veſtments, to cover the half naked woman above Stairs.

Nothing can be more provoking to the human Temper, nor more dangerous to that cardinal Vir⯑tue, Patience, than Solicitations of extraordinary Of⯑fices of Kindneſs, on Behalf of thoſe very Perſons with whom we are highly incenſed. For this Rea⯑ſon [201] Shakeſpear hath artfully introduced his Deſde⯑mona ſoliciting Favours for Caſſio of her Huſband, as the Means of enflaming not only his Jealouſy, but his Rage, to the higheſt Pitch of Madneſs; and we find the unfortunate Moor leſs able to Command his Paſſion on this Occaſion, than even when he beheld his valued Preſent to his Wife in the Hands of his ſuppoſed Rival. In Fact, we regard theſe Efforts as Inſults on our Underſtanding, and to ſuch the Pride of Man is very difficultly brought to ſubmit.

My Landlady, though a very good-tempered Wo⯑man, had, I ſuppoſe, ſome of this Pride in her Compo⯑ſition; for Jones had ſcarce ended his Requeſt, when ſhe fell upon him with a certain Weapon, which tho' it be neither long, nor ſharp, nor hard, nor indeed threatens from its Appearance with either Death or Wound, hath been however held in great Dread and Abhorrence by many wiſe Men; nay, by many brave ones; inſomuch that ſome who have dared to look into the Mouth of a loaded Cannon, have not dared to look into a Mouth where this Weapon was bran⯑diſhed; and rather than run the Hazard of its Exe⯑cution, have contented themſelves with making a moſt pitiful and ſneaking Figure in the Eyes of all their Acquaintance.

To Confeſs the Truth, I am afraid Mr. Jones was one of theſe; for tho' he was attacked and vio⯑lently belaboured with the aforeſaid Weapon, he could not be provoked to make any Reſiſtance; but in a moſt cowardly Manner applied, with many Entrea⯑tries, to his Antagoniſt to deſiſt from purſuing her Blows; in plain Engliſh, he only begged her with the utmoſt Earneſtneſs to hear him; but before he could obtain his Requeſt, my Landlord himſelf en⯑tered into the Fray, and embraced that Side of the Cauſe which ſeemed to ſtand very little in need of Aſſiſtance.

[202] There are a Sort of Heroes who are ſuppoſed to be determined in their chuſing or avoiding a Conflict by the Character and Behaviour of the Perſon whom they are to engage. Theſe are ſaid to know their Man, and Jones, I believe, knew his Woman; for tho' he had been ſo ſubmiſſive to her, he was no ſoon⯑er attacked by her Huſband, than he demonſtrated an immediate Spirit of Reſentment, and enjoined him Silence under a very ſevere Penalty; no leſs than that, I think, of being converted into Fuel for his own Fire.

The Huſband, with great Indignation, but with a Mixture of Pity, anſwered, ‘'You muſt pray firſt to be made able; I believe I am a better Man than yourſelf; ay, every Way, that I am;'’ and pre⯑ſently proceeded to diſcharge half a dozen Whores at the Lady above Stairs, the laſt of which had ſcarce iſſued from his Lips, when a ſwinging Blow from the Cudgel that Jones carried in his Hand aſſaulted him over the Shoulders.

It is a Queſtion whether the Landlord or the Land⯑lady was the moſt expeditious in returning this Blow. My Landlord, whoſe Hands were empty, fell to with his Fiſt, and the good Wife, uplifting her Broom, and aiming at the Head of Jones, had probably put an immediate End to the Fray, and to Jones like⯑wiſe, had not the Deſcent of this Broom been pre⯑vented—not by the miraculous Intervention of any Heathen Deity, but by a very natural, tho' for⯑tunate Accident; viz. by the Arrival of Partridge; who entered the Houſe at that Inſtant (for Fear had cauſed him to run every Step from the Hill) and who, ſeeing the Danger which threatened his Maſter, o [...] Companion, (which you chuſe to call him) prevented ſo ſad a Cataſtrophe, by catching hold of the Land⯑lady's Arm, as it was brandiſhed aloft in the Air.

The Landlady ſoon perceived the Impediment which prevented her Blow; and being unable to [203] reſcue her Arm from the Hands of Partridge, ſhe let fall the Broom, and then leaving Jones to the Diſcipline of her Huſband, ſhe fell with the utmoſt Fury on that poor Fellow, who had already given ſome Intimation of himſelf, by crying, 'Zounds! do 'you intend to kill my Friend?'

Partridge, though not much addicted to Battle, would not however ſtand ſtill when his Friend was attacked; nor was he much diſpleaſed with that Part of the Combat which fell to his Share: He there⯑fore returned my Landlady's Blows as ſoon as he re⯑ceived them; and now the Fight was obſtinately maintained on all Parts, and it ſeemed doubtful to which Side Fortune would incline, when the naked Lady, who had liſtened at the Top of the Stairs to the Dialogue which preceded the Engagement, de⯑ſcended ſuddenly from above, and without weighing the unfair Inequality of two to one, fell upon the poor Woman who was boxing with Partridge; nor did that great Champion deſiſt, but rather redoubled his Fury, when he found freſh Succours were arrived to his Aſſiſtance.

Victory muſt now have fallen to the Side of the Travellers (for the braveſt Troops muſt yield to Numbers) had not Suſan the Chambermaid come luckily to ſupport her Miſtreſs. This Suſan was as two-handed a Wench (according to the Phraſe) as any in the Country, and would, I believe, have beat the famed Thaleſtris herſelf, or any of her ſub⯑ject Amazons; for her Form was robuſt and manlike, and every Way made for ſuch Encounters. As her Hands and Arms were formed to give Blows with great Miſchief to an Enemy, ſo was her Face as well contrived to receive Blows without any great Injury to herſelf: Her Noſe being already flat to her Face; her Lips were ſo large that no Swelling could be per⯑ceived in them, and moreover they were ſo hard, [204] that a Fiſt could hardly make any Impreſſion on them. Laſtly, her Cheek-Bones ſtood out, as if Nature had intended them for two Baſtions to defend her Eyes in thoſe Encounters for which ſhe ſeemed ſo well calculated, and to which ſhe was moſt wonder⯑fully well inclined.

This fair Creature entering the Field of Battle, im⯑mediately filed to that Wing where her Miſtreſs maintained ſo unequal a Fight with one of either Sex. Here ſhe preſently challenged Partridge to ſingle Com⯑bat. He accepted the Challenge, and a moſt deſpe⯑rate Fight began between them.

Now the Dogs of War being let looſe, began to lick their bloody Lips; now Victory with Golden Wings hung hovering in the Air. Now Fortune tak⯑ing her Scales from her Shelf, began to weigh the Fates of Tom Jones, his Female Companion, and Par⯑tridge, againſt the Landlord, his Wife, and Maid; all which hung in exact Ballance before her; when a good-natured Accident put ſuddenly an End to the bloody Fray, with which half of the Combatants had already ſufficiently feaſted. This Accident was the Arrival of a Coach and four; upon which my Land⯑lord and Landlady immediately deſiſted from fighting, and at their Entreaty obtained the ſame Favour of their Antagoniſts; but Suſan was not ſo kind to Partridge, for that Amazonian Fair having overthrown and be⯑ſtrid her Enemy, was now cuffing him luſtily with both her Hands, without any Regard to his Requeſt of a Ceſſation of Arms, or to thoſe loud Acclamations of Murder which he roared forth.

No ſooner, however, had Jones quitted the Land⯑lord, than he flew to the Reſcue of his defeated Com⯑panion, from whom he with much Difficulty drew off the enraged Chambermaid; but Partridge was not immediately ſenſible of his Deliverance; for he ſtill lay flat on the Floor, guarding his Face with his Hands, nor did he ceaſe roaring till Jones had forced [205] him to look up, and to perceive that the Battle was at an End.

The Landlord who had no viſible Hurt, and the Landlady hiding her well ſcratched Face with her Handkerchief ran both haſtily to the Door to attend the Coach, from which a young Lady and her Maid now alighted. Theſe the Landlady preſently uſhered into that Room where Mr. Jones had at firſt depoſited his fair Prize, as it was the beſt Apartment in the Houſe. Hither they were obliged to paſs through the Field of Battle, which they did with the utmoſt Haſte, covering their Faces with their Handkerchiefs, as de⯑ſirous to avoid the Notice of any one. Indeed their Caution was quite unneceſſary: For the poor unfor⯑tunate Helen, the fatal Cauſe of all the Bloodſhed, was entirely taken up in endeavouring to conceal her own Face, and Jones was no leſs occupied in reſcuing Par⯑tridge from the Fury of Suſan; which being happily effected, the poor Fellow immediately departed to the Pump to waſh his Face, and to ſtop that bloody Tor⯑rent which Suſan had plentifully ſet a flowing from his Noſtrils.

CHAP. IV. In which the Arrival of a Man of War puts a final End to Hoſtilities, and cauſes the Concluſion of a firm and laſting Peace between all Parties.

A Serjeant and a File of Muſqueteers, with a De⯑ſerter in their Cuſtody, arrived about this Time. The Serjeant preſently enquired for the principal Ma⯑giſtrate of the Town, and was informed by my Land⯑lord, that he himſelf was veſted in that Office. He then demanded his Billets, together with a Mug of Beer, and complaining it was cold, ſpread himſelf before the Kitchen Fire.

Mr. Jones was at this Time comforting the poor diſtreſſed Lady, who ſat down at a Table in the [206] Kitchen, and leaning her Head upon her Arm, was bemoaning her Misfortunes; but leſt my fair Readers ſhould be in Pain concerning a particular Circumſtance, I think proper here to acquaint them, that before ſhe had quitted the Room above Stairs, ſhe had ſo well covered herſelf with a Pillowbere which ſhe there found, that her Regard to Decency was not in the leaſt violated by the Preſence of ſo many Men as were now in the Room.

One of the Soldiers now went up to the Serjeant, and whiſpered ſomething in his Ear; upon which he ſtedfaſtly fixed his Eyes on the Lady, and having look⯑ed at her for near a Minute, he came up to her, ſay⯑ing, ‘'I aſk Pardon, Madam, but I am certain I am not deceived, you can be no other Perſon than Cap⯑tain Waters's Lady.'’

The poor Woman, who in her preſent Diſtreſs had very little regarded the Face of any Perſon preſent, no ſooner looked at the Serjeant, than ſhe preſently recollected him, and calling him by his Name, an⯑ſwered, ‘'That ſhe was indeed the unhappy Perſon he imagined her to be; but added, I wonder any one ſhould know me in this Diſguiſe.'’ To which the Serjeant replied, ‘'he was very much ſurprized to ſee her Ladyſhip in ſuch a Dreſs, and was afraid ſome Accident had happened to her.'’ ‘'An Accident hath happened to me, indeed,' ſays ſhe, 'and I am highly obliged to this Gentleman (pointing to Jones) that it was not a fatal one, or that I am now living to mention it.'’ ‘'Whatever the Gentleman hath done,' cries the Serjeant, 'I am ſure the Captain will make him Amends for it; and if I can be of any Service, your Ladyſhip may command me, and I ſhall think myſelf very happy to have it in my Power to ſerve your Ladyſhip; and ſo indeed may any one, for I know the Captain will well reward them for it.'’

[207] The Landlady who heard from the Stairs all that paſt between the Serjeant and Mrs. Waters, came haſ⯑tily down, and running directly up to her, began to aſk Pardon for the Offences ſhe had committed, beg⯑ging that all might be imputed to Ignorance of her Quality: For, ‘'Lud! Madam,' ſays ſhe, 'how ſhould I have imagined that a Lady of your Faſhion would appear in ſuch a Dreſs? I am ſure, Madam, if I had once ſuſpected that your Ladyſhip was your Ladyſhip, I would ſooner have burnt my Tongue out, than have ſaid what I have ſaid: And I hope your Ladyſhip will accept of a Gown, till you can get your own Cloaths.'’

‘'Prithee Woman,' ſays Mrs. Waters, 'ceaſe your Impertinence: How can you imagine I ſhould con⯑cern myſelf about any thing which comes from the Lips of ſuch low Creatures as yourſelf. But I am ſurprized at your Aſſurance in thinking, after what is paſt, that I will condeſcend to put on any of your dirty Things. I would have you know, Creature, I have a Spirit above that.'’

Here Jones interfered, and begg'd Mrs. Waters to forgive the Landlady, and to accept her Gown: ‘'For I muſt confeſs,' cries he, 'our Appearance was a little ſuſpicious when firſt we came in; and I am well aſſured, all this good Woman did, was, as ſhe profeſſed, out of Regard to the Reputation of her Houſe.'’

‘'Yes, upon my truly was it,' ſays ſhe; 'the Gen⯑tleman ſpeaks very much like a Gentleman, and I ſee very plainly is ſo; and to be certain the Houſe is well known to be a Houſe of as good Reputati⯑on as any on the Road, and tho' I ſay it, is frequent⯑ed by Gentry of the beſt Quality, both Iriſh and Engliſh. I defy any Body to ſay black is my Eye, for that Matter. And, as I was ſaying, if I had known your Ladyſhip to be your Ladyſhip, I would as ſoon have burnt my Fingers as have affronted [208] your Ladyſhip; but truly where Gentry come and ſpend their Money, I am not willing that they ſhould be ſcandalized by a Set of poor ſhabby Ver⯑min, that wherever they go, leave more Lice than Money bebind them; ſuch Folks never raiſe my Compaſſion: For to be certain, it is fooliſh to have any for them, and if our Juſtices did as they ought, they would be all whipt out of the Kingdom; for to be certain it is what is moſt fitting for them. But as for your Ladyſhip, I am heartily ſorry your La⯑dyſhip hath had a Misfortune, and if your Ladyſhip will do me the Honour to wear my Cloaths till you can get ſome of your Ladyſhip's own, to be certain the beſt I have is at your Ladyſhip's Service.'’

Whether Cold, Shame, or the Perſuaſions of Mr. Jones prevailed moſt with Mrs. Waters, I will not determine; but ſhe ſuffered herſelf to be pacified by this Speech of my Landlady, and retired with that good Woman, in order to apparel herſelf in a decent Manner.

My Landlord was likewiſe beginning his Oration to Jones, but was preſently interrupted by that gene⯑rous Youth, who ſhook him heartily by the Hand; and aſſured him of entire Forgiveneſs, ſaying, ‘'If you are ſatisfied, my worthy Friend, I promiſe you I am;'’ and indeed in one Senſe the Landlord had the better Reaſon to be ſatisfied; for he had received a Bellyfull of Drubbing, whereas Jones had ſcarce felt a ſingle Blow.

Partridge, who had been all this Time waſhing his bloody Noſe at the Pump, returned into the Kitch⯑en at the Inſtant when his Maſter and the Landlord were ſhaking Hands with each other. As he was of a peaceable Diſpoſition, he was pleaſed with thoſe Symptoms of Reconciliation; and tho' his Face bore ſome Marks of Suſan's Fiſt, and many more of her Nails, he rather choſe to be contented with his For⯑tune [209] in the laſt Battle, than to endeavour at better⯑ing it in another.

The heroic Suſan was likewiſe well contented with her Victory, tho' it had coſt her a Black-Eye, which Partridge had given her at the firſt Onſet. Between theſe two, therefore, a League was ſtruck, and thoſe Hands which had been the Inſtruments of War, be⯑came now the Mediators of Peace.

Matters were thus reſtored to a perfect Calm, at which the Serjeant, tho' it may ſeem ſo contrary to the Principles of his Profeſſion, teſtified his Approba⯑tion. ‘'Why now, that's friendly, ſaid he; D—n me, I hate to ſee two People bear Illwill to one another, after they have had a Tuſſel. The only Way when Friends quarrel, is to ſee it out fairly in a friendly Manner, as a Man may call it, either with Fiſt, or Sword, or Piſtol, according as they like, and then let it be all over: For my own Part, d—n me if ever I love my Friend better than when I am fighting with him. To bear Malice is more like a Frenchman than an Engliſhman.'’

He then propoſed a Libation as a neceſſary Part of the Ceremony at all Treaties of that Kind. Perhaps the Reader may here conclude that he was well verſed [...]n antient Hiſtory; but this, tho' highly probable, as he cited no Authority to ſupport the Cuſtom, I will not affirm with any Confidence. Moſt likely indeed it is, that he founded his Opinion on very good Au⯑thority, ſince he confirmed it with many violent Oaths.

Jones no ſooner heard the Propoſal, than immedi⯑ately agreeing with the learned Serjeant, he ordered a Bowl, or rather a large Mug, filled with the Liquor uſed on theſe Occaſions to be brought in, and then began the Ceremony himſelf. He placed his Right Hand in that of the Landlord, and ſeizing the Bowl with his Left, uttered the uſual Words, and then made his Libation. After which the ſame was obſerved by [210] all preſent. Indeed there is very little Need of bein [...] particular in deſcribing the whole Form, as it differe [...] ſo little from thoſe Libations of which ſo much is re⯑corded in ancient Authors, and their modern Tran⯑ſcribers. The principal Difference lay in two Inſtan⯑ces: For firſt, the preſent Company poured the Li⯑quor only down their Throats; and, 2dly, The Se [...] ⯑jeant, who officiated as Prieſt, drank the laſt; but h [...] preſerved, I believe, that ancient Form in ſwallowing much the largeſt Draught of the whole Company, an [...] in being the only Perſon preſent who contributed no⯑thing towards the Libation, beſides his good Offic [...] in aſſiſting at the Performance.

The good People now ranged themſelves roun [...] the Kitchen Fire, where good Humour ſeemed [...] maintain an abſolute Dominion, and Partridge n [...] only forgot his ſhameful Defeat, but converted Hun⯑ger into Thirſt, and ſoon became extremely facetiou [...] We muſt, however, quit this agreeable Aſſembly fo [...] while, and attend Mr. Jones to Mrs. Waters' Apartment, where the Dinner which he had beſpok [...] was now on the Table. Indeed it took no loo [...] Time in preparing, having been all dreſt three Day before, and required nothing more from the Cook tha [...] to warm it over again.

CHAP. V. An Apology for all Heroes who have good Stomach▪ with a Deſcription of a Battle of the amorous Kind.

HEROES, notwithſtanding the high Ideas which by the Means of Flatterers they may en⯑tertain of themſelves, or the World may conceive o [...] them, have certainly more of mortal than divine about them. However elevated their Minds may be, thei [...] Bodies at leaſt (which is much the major Part of moſt are liable to the worſt Infirmities, and ſubject to th [...] [211] vileſt Offices of human Nature. Among theſe latter the Act of Eating, which hath by ſeveral wiſe Men been conſidered as extremely mean and derogatory from the Philoſophic Dignity, muſt be in ſome Mea⯑ſure performed by the greateſt Prince, Heroe, or Philoſopher upon Earth; nay, ſometimes Nature hath been ſo Frolickſome as to exact of theſe dignified Characters, a much more exorbitant Share of this Office, than ſhe hath obliged thoſe of the loweſt Or⯑der to perform.

To ſay the Truth, as no known Inhabitant of this Globe is really more than Man, ſo none need be aſhamed of ſubmitting to what the Neceſſities of Man demand; but when thoſe great Perſonages I have juſt mentioned, condeſcend to aim at confining ſuch low Offices to themſelves; as when by hoarding or deſtroying, they ſeem deſirous to prevent any others from eating, they then ſurely become very low and deſpicable.

Now after this ſhort Preface, we think it no Diſpa⯑ragement to our Heroe to mention the immoderate Ardour with which he laid about him at this Seaſon. Indeed it may be doubted, whether Ulyſſes, who by the Way ſeems to have had the beſt Stomach of all the Heroes in that eating Poem of the Odyſſey, ever made a better Meal. Three Pounds at leaſt of that Fleſh which formerly had contributed to the Compo⯑ſition of an Ox, was now honoured with becoming Part of the individual Mr. Jones.

This Particular we thought ourſelves obliged to mention, as it may account for our Heroe's tempo⯑rary Neglect of his fair Companion; who eat but very little, and was indeed employed in conſiderations of a very different Nature, which paſſed unobſerved by Jones, till he had entirely ſatisfied that Appetite which a Faſt of twenty-four Hours had procured him; but [212] his Dinner was no ſooner ended, than his Attention to other Matters revived; with theſe Matters there⯑fore we ſhall now proceed to acquaint the Reader.

Mr. Jones, of whoſe perſonal Accompliſhment [...] we have hitherto ſaid very little, was in reality, one of the handſomeſt young Fellows in the World. Hi [...] Face, beſides being the Picture of Health, had in i [...] the moſt apparent Marks of Sweetneſs and Good-na⯑ture. Theſe Qualities were indeed ſo characteriſtica [...] in his Countenance, that while the Spirit and Senſi⯑bility in his Eyes, tho' they muſt have been perceived by an accurate Obſerver, might have eſcaped the No⯑tice of the leſs diſcerning, ſo ſtrongly was this Good⯑nature painted in his Look, that it was remarked by almoſt every one who ſaw him.

It was, perhaps, as much owing to this, as to a very fine Complection, that his Face had a Delicacy in it almoſt inexpreſſible, and which might have given him an Air rather too effeminate, had it not been joined to a moſt maſculine Perſon and Mein; which latter had as much in them of the Hercules, as the for⯑mer had of the Adonis. He was beſides active, gen⯑teel, gay and good humoured, and had a Flow o [...] Animal Spirits, which enlivened every Converſation where he was preſent.

When the Reader hath duly reflected on theſe many Charms which all centered in our Heroe, and conſi⯑ders at the ſame Time the freſh Obligations which Mrs. Waters had to him, it will be a Mark of more Prudery than Candour to entertain a bad Opinion o [...] her, becauſe ſhe conceived a very good Opinion o [...] him.

But whatever Cenſures may be paſſed upon her, i [...] is my Buſineſs to relate Matters of Fact with Vera⯑city. Mrs. Waters had, in Truth, not only a good Opinion of our Heroe, but a very great Affection for him. To ſpeak out boldly at once, ſhe was in Love according to the preſent univerſally received Senſe o [...] [213] [...]at Phraſe, by which Love is applied indiſcriminate⯑ [...] to the deſirable Objects of all our Paſſions, Appe⯑ [...]es, and Senſes, and is underſtood to be that Prefe⯑ [...]ence which we give to one Kind of Food rather than [...] another.

But tho' the Love to theſe ſeveral Objects may poſ⯑ [...]bly be one and the ſame in all Caſes, its Operations [...]owever muſt be allowed to be different; for how [...]uch ſoever we may be in Love with an excellent [...]urloin of Beef, or Bottle of Burgundy; with a Da⯑ [...]aſk Roſe, or Cremona Fiddle; yet do we never [...]ile, nor ogle, nor dreſs, nor flatter, nor endea⯑our by any other Arts or Tricks to gain the Affection [...] the ſaid Beef, &c. Sigh indeed we ſometimes may; [...]ut it is generally in the Abſence, not in the Preſence [...] the beloved Object. For otherwiſe we might poſſibly [...]omplain of their Ingratitude and Deafneſs, with the [...]me Reaſon as Paſiphae doth of her Bull, whom ſhe [...]ndeavoured to engage by all the Coquetry practiſed [...]ith good Succeſs in the Drawing Room, on the [...]uch more ſenſible, as well as tender, Hearts of the [...]ne Gentlemen there.

The contrary happens, in that Love which ope⯑ [...]tes between Perſons of the ſame Species, but of [...]fferent Sexes. Here we are no ſooner in Love, [...]an it becomes our principal Care to engage the Af⯑ [...]ction of the Object beloved. For what other Pur⯑ [...]oſe indeed are our Youth inſtructed in all the Arts [...] rendering themſelves agreeable? If it was not with View to this Love, I queſtion whether any of thoſe [...]rades which deal in ſetting off and adorning the [...]uman Perſon would procure a Livelihood. Nay, [...]oſe great Poliſhers of our Manners, who are by [...]me thought to teach what principally diſtinguiſhes [...] from the Brute Creation, even Dancing-Maſters [...]emſelves, might poſſibly find no Place in Society. [...] ſhort, all the Graces which young Ladies and [214] young Gentlemen too learn from others; and the many Improvements which, by the help of a Look⯑ing Glaſs, they add of their own, are in Reality thoſe very Spicula & Faces Amoris, ſo often mentioned by Ovid; or, as they are ſometimes called in our own Language, the whole Artillery of Love.

Now Mrs. Watres and our Heroe had no ſooner ſat down together, than the former began to play this Artillery upon the latter. But here, as we are a⯑bout to attempt a Deſcription hitherto uneſſayed ei⯑ther in Proſe or Verſe, we think proper to invoke the Aſſiſtance of certain Aerial Beings, who will, we doubt not, come kindly to our Aid on this Occa⯑ſion.

‘'Say then, you Graces, you that inhabit the hea⯑venly Manſions of Seraphina's Countenance; for you are truly Divine, are always in her Preſence and well know all the Arts of charming, ſay, what were the Weapons now uſed to captivate the Heart of Mr. Jones.'’

‘'Firſt, from two lovely blue Eyes, whoſe bright Orbs flaſhed Lightning at their Diſcharge, flew forth two pointed Ogles. But happily for our He⯑roe, hit only a vaſt Piece of Beef which he was then conveying into his Plate, and harmleſs ſpen [...] their Force. The fair Warrior perceived their Miſ⯑carriage, and immediately from her fair Boſom drew forth a deadly Sigh. A Sigh which none could have heard unmoved, and which was ſufficient at once to have ſwept off a dozen Beaus; ſo ſoft, ſo ſweet ſo tender, that the inſinuating Air muſt have found its ſubtle Way to the Heart of our Heroe, had it no [...] luckily been driven from his Ears by the coarſe Bubbling of ſome bottled Ale, which at that Time he was pouring forth. Many other Weapons did ſhe aſſay; but the God of Eating (if there be any ſuch Deity; for I do not confidently aſſert it) pre⯑ſerved' his Votary; or perhaps it may not be Dig⯑nus [215] vindice nodus, and the preſent Security of Jones may be accounted for by natural Means: For as Love frequently preſerves from the Attacks of Hun⯑ger, ſo may Hunger poſſibly, in ſome Caſes, de⯑fend us againſt Love.'’

‘'The Fair One, enraged at her frequent Diſap⯑pointments, determined on a ſhort Ceſſation of Arms. Which Interval ſhe employed in making ready every Engine of Amorous Warfare for the renewing of the Attack, when Dinner ſhould be over.'’

‘'No ſooner then was the Cloth removed, than ſhe again began her Operations. Firſt, having planted her Right Eye ſide-ways againſt Mr. Jones, ſhe ſhot from its Corner a moſt penetrating Glance: which, tho' great Part of its Force was ſpent before it reached our Heroe, did not vent itſelf abſolutely without Effect. This the Fair One perceiving, haſtily withdrew her Eyes, and leveled them down⯑wards as if ſhe was concerned for what ſhe had done: Tho' by this Means ſhe deſigned only to draw him from his Guard, and indeed to open his Eyes, through which ſhe intended to ſurprize his Heart. And now, gently lifting up thoſe two bright Orbs which had already begun to make an Impreſ⯑ſion on poor Jones, ſhe diſcharged a Volicy of ſmall Charms at once from her whole Countenance in a Smile. Not a Smile of Mirth, nor of Joy; but a Smile of Affection, which moſt Ladies have always ready at their Command, and which ſerves them to ſhew at once their Good-Humour, their pretty Dimples, and their white Teeth.'’

‘'This Smile our Heroe received full in his Eyes, and was immediately ſtaggered with its Force. He then began to ſee the Deſigns of the Enemy, and indeed to feel their Succeſs. A Parley now was ſet on Foot between the Parties; during which the [216] artful Fair ſo ſlily and imperceptibly carried on he [...] Attack, that ſhe had almoſt ſubdued the Heart o [...] our Heroe, before ſhe again repaired to Acts o [...] Hoſtility. To confeſs the Truth, I am afraid Mr. Jones maintained a Kind of Dutch Defence and treacherouſly delivered up the Garriſon with out duly weighing his Allegiance to the fair Sophia. In ſhort, no ſooner had the amorous Parley ended and the Lady had unmaſked the Royal Battery, by careleſsly letting her Handherchief drop from he [...] Neck, than the Heart of Mr. Jones was entirely taken, and the fair Conqueror enjoyed the uſual Fruits of her Victory.'’

Here the Graces think proper to end their Deſcrip⯑tion, and here we think proper to end the Chap⯑ter.

CHAP. VI. A friendly Converſation in the Kitche, which had very common, tho' not friendly Concluſion.

WHILE our Lovers were entertaining them⯑ſelves in the Manner which is partly deſcribed in the foregoing Chapter; they were likewiſe furniſh⯑ing out an entertainment for their good Friends in the Kitchen. And this in a double Senſe, by affording them Matter for their Converſation, and, at the ſame Time, Drink to enliven their Spirits.

There were now aſſembled round the Kitchen Fire beſides my Landlord and Landlady, who occaſionally went backward and forward, Mr. Partridge, th [...] Serjeant, and the Coachman who drove the young Lady and her Maid.

Partridge having acquainted the Company with what he had learnt from the Man of the Hill, con⯑cerning the Situation in which Mrs. Waters had been found by Jones, the Serjeant proceeded to that Par [...] of her Hiſtory which was known to him. He ſaid [217] ſhe was the Wife of Mr. Waters, who was a Captain [...]n their Regiment, and had often been with him at Quarters. ‘'Some Folks,' ſays he, 'uſed indeed to doubt whether they were lawfully married in a Church or no. But for my Part, that's no Buſineſs of mine; I muſt own, if I was put to my Corporal Oath, I believe ſhe is little better than one of us, and I fancy the Captain may go to Heaven when the Sun ſhines upon a rainy Day. But if he does, that is neither here nor there, for he won't want Company. And the Lady, to give the Devil his Due, is a very good Sort of Lady, and loves the Cloth, and is al⯑ways deſirous to do ſtrict Juſtice to it; for ſhe hath begged off many a poor Soldier, and, by her Good⯑will, would never have any of them puniſhed. But yet, to be ſure, Enſign Northerton and ſhe were ve⯑ry well acquainted together, at our laſt Quarters, that is the very Right and Truth of the Matter. But the Captain he knows nothing about it; and as long as there is enough for him too, what does it ſignify? He loves her not a bit the worſe, and I am certain would run any Man through the Body that was to abuſe her, therefore I don't abuſe her, for my Part. I only repeat what other Folks ſay; and to be cer⯑tain, what every body ſays, there muſt be ſome Truth in.'’ ‘'Ay, ay, a great deal of Truth, I war⯑rant you,' cries Partridge, 'Veritas odium parit.'’ ‘'All a Parcel of ſcandalous Stuff,' anſwered the Miſ⯑ [...]eſs of the Houſe. 'I am ſure now ſhe is dreſt, ſhe looks like a very good Sort of Lady, and ſhe be⯑haves herſelf like one; for ſhe gave me a Guinea for the Uſe of my Cloaths.'’ ‘'A very good Lady in⯑deed.' cries my Landlord, 'and if you had not been a little too haſty, you would not have quarrelled with her as you did at firſt.'’ ‘'You need mention that with my truly,' anſwered ſhe, 'if it had not been for your Nonſenſe, nothing had happened. You muſt be meddling with what did not belong to [218] you, and throw in your Fool's Diſcourſe.'’ ‘'Well, well,' anſwered he, 'what's paſt cannot be mend⯑ed, ſo there's an End of the Matter.'’ ‘'Yes,' cries ſhe, 'for this once, but will it be mended ever the more hereafter? This is not the firſt Time I have ſuffered for your Numſcull's Pate. I wiſh you would always hold your Tongue in the Houſe, and meddle only in Matters without Doors which concern you. Don't you remember what happened about ſeven Years ago?’—‘'Nay, my Dear,' returned he, 'don' [...] rip up old Stories. Come, come, all's well, and I am ſorry for what I have done.'’ The Landlady was going to reply, but was prevented by the Peace▪ making Serjeant, ſorely to the Diſpleaſure of Partridge who was a great Lover of what is called Fun, and a great Promoter of thoſe harmleſs Quarrels which tend rather to the Production of comical than tragical In⯑cidents.

The Serjeant aſked Partridge whither he and hi [...] Maſter were travelling. ‘'None of your Magiſters, anſwered Partridge, 'I am no Man's Servant, [...] aſſure you; for tho' I have had Misfortunes in th [...] World, I write Gentleman after my Name; an [...] as poor and as ſimple as I may appear now, I have taught Grammar School in my Time. Sed he [...] mihi non ſum quod fui.'’ ‘'No Offence, I hope Sir,' ſaid the Serjeant, 'where then, if I ma [...] venture to be ſo bold, may you and your Frien [...] be travelling?'’—‘'You have now denominated u [...] right,' ſays Partridge. 'Amici Sumus. And [...] promiſe you my Friend is one of the greateſt Gen⯑tlemen in the Kingdom,'’ (at which Words bo [...] Landlord and Landlady pricked up their Ears ‘'He is the Heir of Squire Allworthy.'’ ‘'What, th [...] Squire who doth ſo much Good all over the Coun⯑try,'’ cries my Landlady? ‘'Even he,'’ anſwere [...] Partridge. ‘'Then I warrant,' ſays ſhe, 'he'll ha [...] 'a ſwinging great Eſtate hereafter.'’ Moſt certainly [219] anſwered Partridge. ‘Well,' replied the Landlady, 'I thought the firſt Moment I ſaw him he looked like a good Sort of Gentleman; but my Huſband here, to be ſure, is wiſer than any body.'’ ‘'I own, my Dear,' cries he, 'it was a Miſtake.'’ ‘'A Miſtake indeed!' anſwered ſhe: 'but when did you ever know me to make ſuch Miſtakes?'’—‘But how comes it, Sir,' cries the Landlord, 'that ſuch a great Gen⯑tleman walks about the Country afoot?'’ ‘'I don't know,' returned Partridge, 'great Gentlemen have Humours ſometimes. He hath now a dozen Horſes and Servants at Glouceſter, and nothing would ſerve him, but laſt Night, it being very hot Weather, he muſt cool himſelf with a Walk to yon high Hill, whither I likewiſe walked with him to bear him Company; but if ever you catch me there again: For I was never ſo frightened in all my Life. We met with the ſtrangeſt Man there.'’ ‘'I'll be hanged,' cries the Landlord, 'if it was not the Man of the Hill, as they call him; if indeed he be a Man; but I know ſeveral People who believe it is the Devil that lives there.'’ ‘'Nay, nay, like e⯑nough,' ſays Partridge, 'and now you put me in the Head of it, I verily and ſincerely believe it was the Devil; tho' I could not perceive his cloven Foot; but perhaps he might have the Power given him to hide that, ſince evil Spirits can appear in what Shapes they pleaſe.'’ ‘'And pray, Sir,' ſays the Serjeant, 'no Offence I hope; but pray what Sort of a Gentleman is the Devil? For I have heard ſome of our Officers ſay, There is no ſuch Perſon, and that it is only a Trick of the Parſons, to prevent their being broke; for if it was publickly known that there was no Devil, the Parſons would be of no more Uſe than we are in Time of Peace.'’ ‘Thoſe Officers,' ſays Partridge,' 'are very great Scholars, I ſuppoſe.'’ ‘'Not much of Schollards neither,' anſwered the Serjeant, 'they have not [220] half your Learning, Sir, I believe; and to be ſure, I thought there muſt be a Devil, notwithſtanding what they ſaid, tho' one of them was a Captain; for methought, thinks I to my ſelf, if there be no Devil, how can wicked People be ſent to him, and I have read all that upon a Book.'’ ‘'Some of your Officers,' quoth the Landlord, 'will find there is a Devil, to their Shame, I believe. I don't queſ⯑tion but he'll pay off ſome old Scores, upon my Account. Here was one quartered upon me half a Year, who had the Conſcience to take up one of my beſt Beds, tho' he hardly ſpent a Shilling a Day in the Houſe, and ſuffered his Men to roaſt Cabba⯑ges at the Kitchen Fire, becauſe I would not give them a Dinner on a Sunday. Every good Chriſti⯑an muſt deſire there ſhould be a Devil for the Pu⯑niſhment of ſuch Wretches.'’ ‘'Harkee, Land⯑lord,' ſaid the Serjeant, 'don't abuſe the Cloth, for I won't take it.'’ ‘D—n the Cloth,' anſwered the Landlord, 'I have ſuffered enough by them.’ ‘'Bear Witneſs, Gentlemen,' ſays the Serjeant, 'he curſes the King, and that's High Treaſon.'’ ‘'I curſe the King! you Villain,' ’ſaid the Landlord. ‘'Yes you did,' cries the Serjeant, 'you curſed the Cloth, and that's curſing the King. It's all one and the ſame; for every Man who curſes the Cloth, would curſe the King if he durſt; ſo for Matter o' that, it's all one and the ſame Thing.'’ ‘Excuſe me there, Mr. Serjeant,' quoth Partridge, 'that's a Non Sequitur.'’ ‘'None of your outlandiſh Lingo,' anſwered the Seajeant, leaping from his Seat, 'I will not ſit ſtill and hear the Cloth abuſed.'’—‘'You, miſtake me, Friend,' cries Partridge, 'I did not mean to abuſe the Cloth; I only ſaid your Con⯑cluſion was a Non Sequitur.' ^*'’ ‘'You are another,' [221] cries the Serjeant, 'an you come to that. No more a Sequitur than yourſelf. You are a Pack of Raſcals, and I'll prove it; for I will fight the beſt Man of you all for twenty Pound.'’ This Challenge effectually ſilenced Partridge, whoſe Sto⯑mach for drubbing did not ſo ſoon return, after the hearty Meal which he had lately been treated with; but the Coachman, whoſe Bones were leſs ſore, and whoſe Appetite for Fighting was ſomewhat ſharper, did not ſo eaſily brook the Affront, of which he con⯑ceived ſome Part at leaſt fell to his Share. He ſtarted therefore from his Seat, and advancing to the Serjeant, ſwore he looked on himſelf to be as good a Man as any in the Army, and offered to box for a Guinea. The military Man accepted the Combat but refuſed the Wager; upon which both immediately ſtript and en⯑gaged, till the Driver of Horſes was ſo well mauled by the Leader of Men, that he was obliged to exhauſt his ſmall Remainder of Breath in begging for Quar⯑ter.

The young Lady was now deſirous to depart, and had given Orders for her Coach to be prepared; but all in vain; for the Coachman was diſabled from per⯑forming his Office for that Evening. An antient Heathen would perhaps have imputed this Diſability to the God of Drink, no leſs than to the God of War; for, in Reality, both the Combatants had ſacrificed as well to the former Deity as to the latter. To ſpeak plainly, they were both dead drunk, nor was Partridge in a much better Situation. As for my Landlord, drinking was his Trade, and the Liquor had no more Effect on him, than it had on any other Veſſel in his Houſe.

The Miſtreſs of the Inn being ſummoned to attend Mr. Jones and his Companion, at their Tea, gave a full Relation of the latter Part of the foregoing Scene; [222] and at the ſame Time expreſſed great Concern for the young Lady, 'who,' ſhe ſaid,' was under the ut⯑moſt Uneaſineſs at being prevented from purſuing her Journey. ‘'She is a ſweet pretty Creature,' added ſhe, 'and I am certain I have ſeen her Face before. I fancy ſhe is in Love, and running away from her Friends. Who knows but ſome young Gentleman or other may be expecting her, with a Heart as hea⯑vy as her own.'’

Jones fetched a hearty Sigh at thoſe Words; of which, tho' Mrs. Waters obſerved it, ſhe took no Notice while the Landlady continued in the Room; but after the Departure of that good Woman, ſhe could not forbear giving our Heroe certain Hints of her ſuſpecting ſome very dangerous Rival in his Af⯑fections. The aukward Behaviour of Mr. Jones on this Occaſion convinced her of the Truth, without his giving her a direct Anſwer to any of her Queſtions; but ſhe was not nice enough in her Amours to be greatly concerned at the Diſcovery. The Beau⯑ty of Jones highly charmed her Eye; but, as ſhe could not ſee his Heart, ſhe gave herſelf no concern about it. She could feaſt heartily at the Table of Love, without reflecting that ſome other already had been, or hereafter might be, feaſted with the ſame Repaſt. A Sentiment which, if it deals but little in Refinement, deals however much in Subſtance; and is leſs capricious, and perhaps leſs ill-natured and ſel⯑fiſh than the Deſires of thoſe Females who can be contented enough to abſtain from the Poſſeſſion of their Lovers, provided they are ſufficiently ſatisfied that no one elſe poſſeſſes them.

CHAP. VII. Containing a fuller Account of Mrs. Waters, and by what Means ſhe came into that diſtreſsful Situation from which ſhe was reſcued by Jones.

THOUGH Nature hath by no Means mixed up an equal Share either of Curioſity or Vanity in every human Compoſition, there is perhaps no In⯑dividual to whom ſhe hath not allotted ſuch a Propor⯑tion of both, as requires much Art and Pains too, to ſubdue and keep under. A Conqueſt, however, ab⯑ſolutely neceſſary to every one who would in any De⯑gree deſerve the Characters of Wiſdom or Good-Breeding.

As Jones therefore might very juſtly be called a well-bred Man, he had ſtifled all that Curioſity which the extraordinary Manner in which he had found Mrs. Waters, muſt be ſuppoſed to have occaſioned. He had indeed at firſt thrown out ſome few Hints to the Lady; but when he perceived her induſtriouſly avoid⯑ing any Explanation, he was contented to remain in Ignorance, the rather as he was not without Suſpi⯑cion, that there were ſome Circumſtances which muſt have raiſed her Bluſhes, had ſhe related the whole Truth.

Now, ſince it is poſſible that ſome of our Readers may not ſo eaſily acquieſce under the ſame Ignorance, and as we are very deſirous to ſatisfy them all, we have taken uncommon Pains to inform ourſelves of the real Fact, with the Relation of which we ſhall conclude this Book.

This Lady then had lived ſome Years with one Captain Waters, who was a Captain in the ſame Regiment to which Mr. Northerton belonged. She paſt for that Gentleman's Wife, and went by his Name; and yet, as the Serjeant ſaid, there were [224] ſome Doubts concerning the Reality of their Marri⯑age, which we ſhall not at preſent take upon us to re⯑ſolve.

Mrs. Waters, I am ſorry to ſay it, had for ſome Time contracted an Intimacy with the above mention⯑ed Enſign, which did no great Credit to her Reputa⯑tion. That ſhe had a remakable Fondneſs for that young Fellow is moſt certain; but whether ſhe in⯑dulged this to any very criminal Lengths, is not ſo extremely clear, unleſs we will ſuppoſe that Women never grant every Favour to a Man but one, without granting him that one alſo.

The Diviſion of the Regiment to which Captain Waters belonged, had two Days preceded the March of that Company to which Mr. Northerton was the Enſign; ſo that the former had reached Worceſter, the very Day after the unfortunate Rencounter be⯑tween Jones and Northerton, which we have before recorded.

Now it had been agreed between Mrs. Waters and the Captain, that ſhe ſhould accompany him in his March as far as Worceſter, where they were to take their Leave of each other, and ſhe was thence to return to Bath, where ſhe was to ſtay till the End of the Winter's Campaign againſt the Rebels.

With this Agreement Mr. Northerton was made acquainted. To ſay the Truth, the Lady had made him an Aſſignation at this very Place, and promiſed to ſtay at Worceſter till his Diviſion came thither; with what View, and for that Purpoſe muſt be left to the Reader's Divination: For though we are obliged to relate Facts, we are not obliged to do a Violence to our Nature by any Comments to the Diſadvantage of the lovelieſt Part of the Creation.

Northerton no ſooner obtained a Releaſe from his Captivity, as we have ſeen, than he haſted away to overtake Mrs. Waters; which, as he was a very ac⯑tive [225] nimble Fellow, he did at the laſt mentioned City, ſome few Hours after Captain Waters had left her: At his firſt Arrival he made no ſcruple of acquainting her with the unfortunate Accident, which he made ap⯑pear very unfortunate indeed: For he totally extracted every Particle of what could be called Fault, at leaſt in a Court of Honour, though he left ſome Cir⯑cumſtances which might be queſtionable in a Court of Law.

Women, to their Glory be it ſpoken, are more generally capable of that violent and apparently diſinte⯑reſted Paſſion of Love, which ſeeks only the Good of its Object, than Men. Mrs. Waters, therefore, was no ſooner apprized of the Danger to which her Lover was expoſed, than ſhe loſt every Conſidera⯑tion beſides that of his Safety; and this being a Matter equally agreeable to the Gentleman, it be⯑came the immediate Subject of Debate between them.

After much Conſultation on this Matter, it was at length agreed, that the Enſign ſhould go a-croſs the Country to Hereford, whence he might find ſome Conveyance to one of the Sea-Ports in Wales, and thence might make his Eſcape abroad. In all which Expedition Mrs. Waters declared ſhe would bear him Company; and for which ſhe was able to fur⯑niſh him with Money, a very material Article to Mr. Northerton, ſhe having then in her Pocket three Bank Notes to the Amount of 90l. beſides ſome Caſh, and a Diamond Ring of pretty conſiderable Value on her Finger. All which ſhe, with the utmoſt Confi⯑dence, revealed to this wicked Man, little ſuſpecting ſhe ſhould by theſe Means inſpire him with a Deſign of robbing her. Now as they muſt, by taking Hor⯑ſes from Worceſter, have furniſhed any Purſuers with the Means of hereafter diſcovering their Rout, the Enſign propoſed, and the Lady preſently agreed to make their firſt Stage on Foot; for which Purpoſe the Hardneſs of the Froſt was very ſeaſonable.

[226] The main Part of the Lady's Baggage was al⯑ready at Bath, and ſhe had nothing with her at pre⯑ſent beſides a very ſmall Quantity of Linnen, which the Gallant undertook to carry in his own Pockets. All Things, therefore, being ſettled in the Evening, they aroſe early the next Morning, and at Five o'Clock departed from Worceſter, it being then above two Hours before Day. But the Moon which was then at the full, gave them all the Light ſhe was capable of affording.

Mrs. Waters was not of that delicate Race of Wo⯑men who are obliged to the Invention of Vehicles for the Capacity of removing themſelves from one Place to another, and with whom conſequently a Coach is reckoned among the Neceſſaries of Life. Her Limbs were indeed full of Strength and Agility, and as her Mind was no leſs animated with Spirit, ſhe was per⯑fectly able to keep Pace with her nimble Lover.

Having travelled on for ſome Miles in a High Road, which Northerton ſaid he was informed led to Here⯑ford, they came at the Break of Day to the Side of a large Wood, where he ſuddenly ſtopped, and af⯑fecting to meditate a Moment with himſelf, expreſſed ſome Apprehenſions from travelling any longer in ſo public a Way. Upon which he eaſily perſuaded his fair Companion to ſtrike with him into a Path which ſeemed to lead directly through the Wood, and which at length brought them both to the Bottom of Ma⯑zard-Hill.

Whether the execrable Scheme which he now at⯑tempted to execute, was the Effect of previous De⯑liberation, or whether it now firſt came into his Head, I cannot determine. But being arrived in this lone⯑ly Place, where it was very improbable he ſhould meet with any Interruption; he ſuddenly ſlipped his Garter from his Leg, and laying violent Hands on the poor Woman, endeavoured to perpetrate that [227] dreadful and deteſtable Fact, which we have before commemorated, and which the providential Appear⯑ance of Jones did ſo fortunately prevent.

Happy was it for Mrs. Waters, that ſhe was not of the weakeſt Order of Females; for no ſooner did ſhe perceive by his tying a Knot in his Garter, and by his Declarations, what his Helliſh Intentions were, than ſhe ſtood ſtoutly to her Defence, and ſo ſtrong⯑ly ſtruggled with her Enemy, ſcreaming all the while for Aſſiſtance, that ſhe delayed the Execution of the Villain's Purpoſe ſeveral Minutes, by which Means Mr. Jones came to her Relief, at that very Inſtant when her Strength failed, and ſhe was totally over⯑powered, and delivered her from the Ruffian's Hands, with no other Loſs than that of her Cloaths, which were torn from her Back, and of the Diamond Ring, which during the Contention either dropped from her Finger, or was wrenched from it by Nor⯑therton.

Thus, Reader, we have given thee the Fruits of a very painful Enquiry, which for thy Satisfaction we have made into this Matter. And here we have open⯑ed to thee a Scene of Folly, as well as Villainy, which we could ſcarce have believed a human Creature ca⯑pable of being guilty of; had we not remembered that this Fellow was at that Time firmly perſuaded, that he had already committed a Murther, and had forfeited his Life to the Law. As he concluded therefore that his only Safety lay in Flight, he thought the poſſeſſing himſelf of this poor Woman's Money and Ring would make him Amends for the additional Burthen he was to lay on his Conſcience.

And here, Reader, we muſt ſtrictly caution thee, that thou doſt not take any Occaſion from the Miſbe⯑haviour of ſuch a Wretch as this, to reflect on ſo worthy and honourable a Body of Men, as are the Officers of our Army in general. Thou wilt be [228] pleaſed to conſider, that this Fellow, as we have al⯑ready informed thee, had neither the Birth nor Edu⯑cation of a Gentleman, nor was a proper Perſon to be enrolled among the Number of ſuch. If therefore his Baſeneſs can juſtly reflect on any beſides him⯑ſelf, it muſt be only on thoſe who gave him his Com⯑miſſion.

CHAP. I. Containing Inſtructions very neceſſary to be peruſed by modern Critics.

READER, it is impoſſible we ſhould know what Sort of Perſon thou wilt be: For, perhaps, thou may'ſt be as learned in Hu⯑man Nature as Shakeſpear himſelf was, and, perhaps, thou may'ſt be no wiſer than ſome of his Editors. Now, leſt this latter ſhould be the Caſe, we think proper, before we go any farther together, to give thee a few wholeſome Admonitions; that thou may'ſt not as groſly miſunderſtand and miſre⯑preſent us, as ſome of the ſaid Editors have miſun⯑derſtood and miſrepreſented their Author.

Firſt, then, we warn the not too haſtily to condemn any of the Incidents in this our Hiſtory, as imperti⯑nent [230] and foreign to our main Deſign, becauſe thou doſt not immediately conceive in what Manner ſuch Incident may conduce to that Deſign. This Work may, indeed, be conſidered as a great Creation of our own; and for a little Reptile of a Critic to preſume to find Fault with any of its Parts, without knowing the Manner in which the Whole is connected, and be⯑fore he comes to the final Cataſtrophe, is a moſt pre⯑ſumptuous Abſurdity. The Alluſion and Metaphor we have here made uſe of, we muſt acknowledge to be infinitely too great for our Occaſion, but there is, in⯑deed, no other, which is at all adequate to expreſs the Difference between an Author of the firſt Rate and a Critic of the loweſt.

Another Caution we muſt give thee, my good Rep⯑tile, is, that thou doſt not find out too near a Reſem⯑blance between certain Characters here introduced; as for inſtance, between the Landlady who appears in the Seventh Book, and her in the Ninth. Thou art to know, Friend, that there are certain Charac⯑teriſtics, in which moſt Individuals of every Profeſſion and Occupation agree. To be able to preſerve theſe Characteriſtics, and at the ſame Time to diverſity their Operations, is one Talent of a good Writer. Again, to mark the nice Diſtinction between two Per⯑ſons actuated by the ſame Vice or Folly is another; and as this laſt Talent is found in very few Writers, ſo is the true Diſcernment of it found in as few Rea⯑ders; though, I believe the Obſervation of this forms a very principal Pleaſure in thoſe who are capable of the Diſcovery: Every Perſon, for Inſtance, can diſ⯑tinguiſh between Sir Epicure Mammon, and Sir Fop⯑ling Flutter; but to know the Difference between Sir Fopling Flutter and Sir Courtly Nice, requires a more exquiſite Judgment: For want of which, vulgar Spec⯑tators of Plays very often do great Injuſtice in the Theatre; where I have ſometimes known a Poet in Danger of being convicted as a Thief, upon much [231] worſe Evidence than the Reſemblance of Hands hath been held to be in the Law. In reality, I apprehend every amorous Widow on the Stage would run the Hazard of being condemned as a ſervile Imitation of Dido, but that happily very few of our Play-houſe Critics underſtand enough of Latin to read Virgil.

In the next place, we muſt admoniſh thee, my wor⯑thy Friend, (for perhaps, thy Heart may be better than thy Head) not to condemn a Character as a bad one, becauſe it is not perfectly a good one. If thou doſt delight in theſe models of Perfection, there are Books enow written to gratify thy Taſte; but as we have not, in the Courſe of our Converſation, ever hap⯑pened to meet with any ſuch Perſon, we have not cho⯑ſen to introduce any ſuch here. To ſay the Truth, I a little queſtion whether mere Man ever arrived at this conſummate Degree of Excellence, as well as whether there hath ever exiſted a Monſter bad enough to veri⯑fy that

in Juvenal: Nor do I, indeed, conceive the good Purpoſes ſerved by inſerting Characters of ſuch an⯑gelic Perfection, or ſuch diabolical Depravity, in any Work of Invention: Since from contemplating ei⯑ther, the Mind of Man is more likely to be over⯑whelmed with Sorrow and Shame, than to draw any good Uſes from ſuch Patterns; for in the former In⯑ſtance he may be both concerned and aſhamed to ſee a Pattern of Excellence, in his Nature, which he may reaſonably deſpair of ever arriving at; and in con⯑templating the latter, he may be no leſs affected with thoſe uneaſy Senſations, at ſeeing the Nature, of which he is a Partaker, degraded into ſo odious and deteſtable a Creature.

[232] In Fact, if there be enough of Goodneſs in a Cha⯑racter to engage the Admiration and Affection of a well-diſpoſed Mind, though there ſhould appear ſome of thoſe little Blemiſhes, quas humana parum cavit na⯑tura, they will raiſe our Compaſſion rather than our Abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of more moral Uſe than the Imperfections which are ſeen in Exam⯑ples of this Kind; ſince ſuch form a Kind of Surprize, more apt to affect and dwell upon our Minds, than the Faults of very vicious and wicked Perſons. The Foibles and Vices of Men, in whom there is great Mixture of Good, become more glaring Objects, from the Virtues which contraſt them, and which ſhew their Deformity; and when we find ſuch Vices at⯑tended with their evil Conſequence to our favourite Characters, we are not only taught to ſhun them for our own Sake, but to hate them for the Miſchiefs they have already brought on thoſe we love.

And now, my Friend, having given you theſe few Admonitions, we will, if you pleaſe, once more ſet forward with our Hiſtory.

CHAP. II. Containing the Arrival of an Iriſh Gentleman, with ve⯑ry extraordinary Adventures which enſued at the Inn.

NOW the little trembling Hare, whom the Dread of all her numerous Enemies, and chiefly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous Animal Man, had confined all the Day to her Lurking-place, ſports wantonly o'er the Lawns: Now on ſome hollow Tree the Owl, ſhrill Choriſter of the Night, hoots forth Notes which might Charm the Ears of ſome modern Conoiſſeurs in Muſic: Now in the Imagina⯑tion of the half-drunk Clown, as he ſtaggars through the Church-yard, or rather Charnal-yard, to his [233] Home, Fear paints the bloody Hobgoblin: Now Thieves and Ruffians are awake, and honeſt Watch⯑men faſt aſleep: In plain Engliſh, it was now Mid⯑night; and the Company at the Inn, as well thoſe who have been already mentioned in this Hiſtory, as ſome others who arrived in the Evening, were all in Bed. Suſan Chambermaid, was now only ſtirring, ſhe being obliged to waſh the Kitchen, before ſhe re⯑tired to the Arms of the fond, expecting Oſtler.

In this Poſture were Affairs at the Inn, when a Gentleman arrived there Poſt. He immediately a⯑lighted from his Horſe, and coming up to Suſan, enquir⯑ed of her in a very abrupt and confuſed Manner, being almoſt out of Breath with Eagerneſs, whether there was any Lady in the Houſe. The Hour of Night, and the Behaviour of the Man, who ſtared very wildly all the Time, a little ſurprized Suſan, ſo that ſhe he⯑ſitated before ſhe made any Anſwer: Upon which the Gentleman, with redoubled Eagerneſs, begg'd her to give him a true Information, ſaying, he had loſt his 'Wife, and was come in Purſuit of her. ‘'Upon my Shoul,' cries he, 'I have been near catching her already in two or three Places, if I had not found her gone juſt as I came up with her.'’

‘'If ſhe be in the Houſe, do carry me up in the Dark and ſhew her to me; and if ſhe be gone a⯑way before me, do tell me which Way I ſhall go after her to meet her, and upon my Shoul, I will make you the richeſt poor Woman in the Nation.'’ He then pulled out a Handful of Guineas, a Sight which would have bribed Perſons of much greater Conſequence than this poor Wench, to much worſe Purpoſes.

Suſan, from the Account ſhe had received of Mrs. Waters, made not the leaſt Doubt but that ſhe was the very identical Stray whom the right owner purſued. As ſhe concluded, therefore, with great Appearance of Reaſon, that ſhe never could get Money in an honeſter [234] Way than by reſtoring a Wife to her Huſband, ſhe made no Scruple of aſſuring the Gentleman, that the Lady he wanted was then in the Houſe, and was pre⯑ſently afterward prevailed upon (by very liberal Pro⯑miſes, and ſome Earneſt paid into her Hands) to con⯑duct him to the Bed-chamber of Mrs. Waters.

It hath been a Cuſtom long eſtabliſhed in the polite World, and that upon very ſolid and ſubſtantial Rea⯑ſons, that a Huſband ſhall never enter his Wife's A⯑partment without firſt knocking at the Door. The many excellent Uſes of this Cuſtom need ſcarce be hinted to a Reader who hath any Knowledge of the World: For by this Means the Lady hath Time to adjuſt herſelf, or to remove any diſagreeable Object out of the Way; for there are ſome Situations, in which nice and delicate Women would not be diſco⯑vered by their Huſbands.

To ſay the Truth, there are ſeveral Ceremonies inſtituted among the poliſhed Part of Mankind, which tho' they may, to coarſer Judgments, appear as Mat⯑ters of mere Form, are found to have much of Sub⯑ſtance in them, by the more diſcerning; and lucky would it have been, had the Cuſtom abovementioned been obſerved by our Gentleman in the preſent In⯑ſtance. Knock, indeed, he did at the Door, but not with one of thoſe gentle Raps which is uſual on ſuch Occaſions. On the contrary, when he found the Door locked, he flew at it with ſuch Violence, that the Lock immediately gave Way, the Door burſt open, and he fell headlong into the Room.

He had no ſooner recovered his Legs, than forth from the Bed, upon his Legs likewiſe appeared—with Shame and Sorrow are we obliged to proceed—our Heroe himſelf, who, with a menacing Voice, de⯑manded of the Gentleman who he was, and what he meant by daring to burſt open his Chamber in that outrageous Manner.

[235] The Gentleman at firſt thought he had committed a [...]iſtake, and was going to aſk Pardon and retreat, when, on a ſudden, as the Moon ſhone very bright, [...]e caſt his Eyes on Stays, Gowns, Petticoats, Caps, Ribbons, Stockings, Garters, Shoes, Clogs, &c. [...]ll which lay in a diſordered Manner on the Floor. All theſe operating on the natural Jealouſy of his Temper, ſo enraged him, that he loſt all Power of Speech; and without returning any Anſwer to Jones, [...]e endeavoured to approach the Bed.

Jones immediately interpoſing, a fierce Contention [...]roſe, which ſoon proceeded to Blows on both Sides. And now Mrs. Waters (for we muſt confeſs ſhe was [...]n the ſame Bed) being, I ſuppoſe, awakened from [...]er Sleep, and ſeeing two Men fighting in her Bed⯑chamber, began to ſcream in the moſt violent Man⯑ner, crying out Murder! Robbery! and more fre⯑quently Rape! which laſt, ſome, perhaps, may won⯑der ſhe ſhould mention, who do not conſider that theſe Words of Exclamation are uſed by Ladies in a Fright, as Fa, la, la, ra, da, &c. are in Muſic, only as the Vehicles of Sound, and without any fixed Ideas.

Next to the Lady's Chamber was depoſited the Body of an Iriſh Gentleman, who arrived too late at the Inn to have been mentioned before. This Gentleman was one of thoſe whom the Iriſh call a Calabalaro, or Cavalier. He was a younger Bro⯑ther of a good Family, and having no Fortune at Home, was obliged to look abroad in order to get one: For which Purpoſe he was proceeding to the Bath to try his Luck with Cards and the Women.

This young Fellow lay in Bed reading one of Mrs. Behn's Novels; for he had been inſtructed by a Friend, that he would find no more effectual Method of re⯑commending himſelf to the Ladies than the improv⯑ing his Underſtanding, and filling his Mind with good Literature. He no ſooner, therefore, heard the vio⯑lent [236] Uproar in the next Room, than he leapt from hi [...] Bolſter, and taking his Sword in one Hand, and th [...] Candle which burnt by him in the other, he went di⯑rectly to Mrs. Waters's Chamber.

If the Sight of another Man in his Shirt at firſt ad⯑ded ſome Shock to the Decency of the Lady, it mad her preſently Amends by conſiderably abating he Fears; for no ſooner had the Calabalaro enter'd th [...] Room, than he cry'd out: ‘'Mr. Fitzpatrick, wha [...] the Devil is the Meaning of this?'’ Upon which th [...] other immediately anſwered, ‘'O, Mr. Macklachlan I am rejoiced you are here,—This Villain hath de⯑bauched my Wife, and is got into Bed with her.—'What Wife? cries Macklachlan, do not know Mrs. Fitzpatrick very well, and don't I ſe [...] that the Lady, whom the Gentleman who ſtand here in his Shirt is lying in Bed with, is none o [...] her?'’

Fitzpatrick now perceiving, as well by the Glimpſ [...] he had of the Lady, as by her Voice, which might have been diſtinguiſhed at a greater Diſtance than he now ſtood from her, that he had made a very unfor⯑tunate Miſtake, began to aſk many Pardons of the Lady; and then turning to Jones he ſaid, ‘'I would have you take Notice I do not aſk your Pardon, for you have bate me; for which I am reſolved to have your Blood in the Morning.'’

Jones treated this Menace with much Contempt; and Mr. Macklachlan anſwered, ‘'Indeed, Mr. Fitz⯑patrick, you may be aſhamed of your ownſelf, to diſturb People at this Time of Night: If all the People in the Inn were not aſleep, you would have awakened them as you have me. The Gentleman has ſerved you very rightly. Upon my Conſcience, tho' I have no Wife, if you had treated her ſo, I would have cut your Throat.'’

Jones was ſo confounded with his Fears for his Lady's Reputation, that he knew neither what to ſay [237] or do; but the Invention of Women is, as hath been obſerved, much readier than that of Men. She re⯑collected that there was a communication between her [...]hamber and that of Mr. Jones; relying, therefore, [...]n his Honour and her own Aſſurance, ſhe anſwered, I know not what you mean, Villains! I am Wife to none of you. Help! Rape! Murder! Rape!'—And now the Landlady coming into the Room, Mrs. Waters fell upon her with the utmoſt Virulence, [...]ying, 'She thought herſelf in a ſober Inn, and not in a Bawdy-Houſe; but that a Set of Villains had broke into her Room, with an Intent upon her Ho⯑nour, if not upon her Life; and both, ſhe ſaid, were equally dear to her'.

The Landlady now began to roar as loudly as the [...]oor Woman in Bed had done before. She cry'd, She was undone, and that the Reputation of her Houſe, which was never blown upon before, was utterly deſtroyed.' Then turning to the Men, ſhe [...]ry'd, 'What, in the Devil's Name, is the Reaſon of all this Diſturbance in the Lady's Room?' Fitz⯑patrick, hanging down his Head, repeated, 'that he had committed a Miſtake, for which he heartily asked Pardon,' and then retired with his Country⯑man. Jones, who was too ingenious to have miſſed [...]he Hint given him by his Fair One, boldly aſſerted, That he had run to her Aſſiſtance upon hearing the Door broke open; with what Deſign he could not conceive, unleſs of robbing the Lady; which if they intended, he ſaid, he had had the good Fortune to prevent. "I never had a Robbery committed in my Houſe ſince I have kept it,' cries the Landlady: I wou'd have you to know, Sir, I harbour no Highwaymen here; I ſcorn the Word, thof I ſay it. None but honeſt, good Gentlefolks, are welcome to my Houſe; and I thank good Luck, I have al⯑ways had enow of ſuch Cuſtomers; indeed as ma⯑ny as I could entertain. Here hath been my Lord—' [238] and then ſhe repeated over a Catalogue of Name and Titles, many of which we might, perhaps, b [...] guilty of a Breach of Privilege by inſerting.

Jones, after much Patience, at length interrupted her, by making an Apology to Mrs. Waters, for hav⯑ing appeared before her in his Shirt, aſſuring her ‘'That nothing but a Concern for her Safety coul [...] have prevailed on him to do it.'’ The Reader ma [...] inform himſelf of her Anſwer, and, indeed, of h [...] whole Behaviour to the End of the Scene, by conſi⯑dering the Situation which ſhe affected, being that of modeſt Lady, who was awakened out of her Slee [...] by three ſtrange Men in her Chamber. This was th [...] Part which ſhe undertook to perform; and, indeed ſhe executed it ſo well, that none of our Theatric [...] Actreſſes could exceed her, in any of their Perfor⯑mances, either on or off the Stage.

And hence, I think, we may very fairly draw a [...] Argument, to prove how extremely natural Virtue i [...] to the Fair Sex: For tho' there is not, perhaps, on [...] in ten thouſand who is capable of making a good Act⯑reſs; and even among theſe we rarely ſee two wh [...] are equally able to perſonate the ſame Character; y [...] this of Virtue they can all admirably well put on; an [...] as well thoſe Individuals who have it not, as thoſ [...] who poſſeſs it, can all act it to the utmoſt Degree o [...] Perfection.

When the Men were all departed, Mrs. Water recovering from her Fear, recovered likewiſe from her Anger, and ſpoke in much gentler Accents to th [...] Landlady, who did not ſo readily quit her Concern for the Reputation of the Houſe, in Favour of which ſhe began again to number the many great Perſon [...] who had ſlept under her Roof; but the Lady ſtopt he [...] ſhort, and having abſolutely acquitted her of having had any Share in the paſt Diſturbance, begged to b [...] left to her Repoſe, which, ſhe ſaid, ſhe hoped to en⯑joy unmoleſted during the Remainder of the Night [239] Upon which the Landlady, after much Civility, and [...]any Curt'ſies, took her Leave.

CHAP. III. [...] Dialogue between the Landlady, and Suſan the Chambermaid, proper to be read by all Innkeepers, and their Servants; with the Arrival, and affable Behaviour of a beautiful young Lady; which may teach Perſons of Condition how they may acquire the Love of the whole World.

THE Landlady remembring that Suſan had been the only Perſon out of Bed when the Door was [...]urſt open, reſorted preſently to her, to enquire into [...]he firſt Occaſion of the Diſturbance, as well as who [...]he ſtrange Gentleman was, and when and how he [...]ived.

Suſan related the whole Story which the Reader [...]nows already, varying the Truth only in ſome Cir⯑cumſtances, as ſhe ſaw convenient, and totally con⯑cealing the Money which ſhe had received. But whereas her Miſtreſs had in the Preface to her En⯑quiry ſpoken much in Compaſſion for the Fright which the Lady had been in concerning any intended Depredations on her Virtue, Suſan could not help endeavouring to quiet the Concern which her Miſ⯑treſs ſeemed to be under on that Account, by ſwear⯑ [...]ng heartily ſhe ſaw Jones leap out from her Bed.

The Landlady fell into a violent Rage at theſe Words. ‘'A likely Story truly,' cried ſhe, 'that a Woman ſhould cry out, and endeavour to ex⯑poſe herſelf, if that was the Caſe! I deſire to know what better Proof any Lady can give of her Virtue than her crying out, which, I believe, twen⯑ty People can witneſs for her ſhe did? I beg, Ma⯑dam, you would ſpread no ſuch Scandal of any of my Gueſts: For it will not only reflect on them, but upon the Houſe, and I am ſure no Vagabonds, nor wicked beggarly People come here.'’

‘[240] 'Well,' ſays Suſan, 'then I muſt not believe my own Eyes.'’ ‘'No, indeed muſt you not always,' anſwered her Miſtreſs, 'I would not have believed my own Eyes againſt ſuch good Gentlefolks. I have not had a better Supper ordered this half Year than they ordered laſt Night, and ſo eaſy and good humoured were they, that they found no Fault with my Worceſterſhire Perry, which I ſold them for Champagne; and to be ſure it is as well taſted, and as wholeſome as the beſt Champagne in the King⯑dom, otherwiſe I would ſcorn to give it 'em, and they drank me two Bottles. No, no, I will never be⯑lieve any Harm of ſuch ſober good Sort of People.'’

Suſan being thus ſilenced, her Miſtreſs proceeded to other Matters. ‘'And ſo you tell me,' continued ſhe 'That the ſtrange Gentleman came Poſt, and there is a Footman without with the Horſes; why then, he is certainly ſome of your great Gentle⯑folks too. Why did not you aſk him whether he'd have any Supper? I think he is in the other Gentleman's Room, go up and aſk whether he cal⯑led. Perhaps he'll order ſomething when he find any Body ſtirring in the Houſe to dreſs it. Now don't commit any of your uſual Blunders, by telling him the Fire's out, and the Fowls alive. And if he ſhould order Mutton, don't blab out, that we have none. The Butcher, I know, killed a Sheep juſt before I went to Bed, and he never refuſes to cut it up warm when I deſire it. Go, remember there's all Sort of Mutton and Fowls; go, open the Door, with Gentlemen d'ye call, and if they ſay nothing, aſk what his Honour will be pleaſed to have for Supper. Don't forget his Honour Go; if you don't mind all theſe Matters better you'll never come to any Thing.'’

Suſan departed, and ſoon returned with an Account that the two Gentlemen were got both into the ſam [...] Bed, ‘'Two Gentlemen,' ſays the Landlady, 'i [...] [241] the ſame Bed! that's impoſſible, they are two er⯑rant Scrubs, I warrant them, and, I believe, young Squire Allworthy gueſſed right, that the Fellow in⯑tended to rob her Ladyſhip: For if he had broke open the Lady's Door with any of the wicked De⯑ſigns of a Gentleman, he would never have ſneak⯑ed away to another Room to ſave the Expence of a Supper and a Bed to himſelf. They are certainly Thieves, and their ſearching after a Wife is no⯑thing but a Pretence.'’

In theſe Cenſures, my Landlady did Mr. Fitzpa⯑ [...]ick great Injuſtice; for he was really born a Gen⯑tleman, though not worth a Groat; and tho', perhaps, [...]e had ſome few Blemiſhes in his Heart as well as [...]n his Head, yet being a ſneaking, or a niggardly Fel⯑low, was not one of them. In reality, he was ſo generous a Man, that whereas he had received a very [...]andſome Fortune with his Wife, he had now ſpent every Penny of it, except ſome little Pittance which was ſettled upon her; and in order to poſſeſs himſelf [...]f this, he had uſed her with ſuch Cruelty, that to⯑gether with his Jealouſy, which was of the bittereſt [...]ind, it had forced the poor Woman to run away from him.

This Gentleman then being well tired with his long [...]ourney from Cheſter in one Day, with which, and [...]ome good dry Blows, he had received in the Scuffle, [...]is Bones were ſo ſore, that added to the Soreneſs of [...]s Mind, it had quite deprived him of any Appetite for eating. And now being ſo violently diſappointed [...]n the Woman, whom at the Maid's Inſtance, he had miſtaken for his Wife, it never once entered into [...]is Head, that ſhe might nevertheleſs be in the Houſe, though he had erred in the firſt Perſon he had attack⯑ed. He therefore yielded to the Diſſuaſions of his Friend from ſearching any farther after her that Night, and accepted the Kind offer of Part of his Bed.

[242] The Footman and Poſt-boy were in a differ [...] Diſpoſition. They were more ready to order th [...] the Landlady was to provide; however, after bei [...] pretty well ſatisfied by them of the real Truth of [...] Caſe, and that Mr. Fitzpatrick was no Thief, [...] was at length prevailed on to ſet ſome cold M [...] before them, which they were devouring with gr [...] Greedineſs, when Partridge came into the Kitch [...] He had been firſt awakened by the Hurry which [...] have before ſeen, and while he was endeavouring compoſe himſelf again on his Pillow, a Screech-O [...] had given him ſuch a Serenade at his Window, that leapt in a moſt horrible Affright from his Bed, [...] huddling on his Cloaths with great Expedition, [...] down to the Protection of the Company, whom heard talking below in the Kitchen.

His Arrival detained my Landlady from returni [...] to her Reſt: For ſhe was juſt about to leave the ther two Gueſts to the Care of Suſan; but the Fri [...] of young Squire Allworthy was not to be ſo neglect eſpecially as he called for a Pint of Wine to be [...] led. She immediately obeyed, by putting the ſa [...] Quantity of Perry to the Fire: For this readily ſwered to the Name of every Kind of Wine.

The Iriſh Footman was retired to Bed, and Poſt-Boy was going to follow; but Partridge vited him to ſtay, and partake of his Wine, which Lad very thankfully accepted. The Schoolma [...] was indeed afraid to return to Bed by himſelf; an [...] he did not know how ſoon he might loſe the Co [...] ⯑pany of my Landlady, he was reſolved to ſecure of the Boy, in whoſe Preſence he apprehended Danger from the Devil, or any of his Adherents.

And now arrived another Poſt-Boy at the G [...] upon which Suſan being ordered out, returned; troducing two young Women in Riding-habits, of which was ſo very richly laced, that Partridge [243] the Poſt-boy inſtantly ſtarted from their Chairs, and my Landlady fell to her Curt'ſies, and her Lady⯑ſhips, with great Eagerneſs.

The Lady in the rich Habit ſaid, with a Smile of great Condeſcenſion, 'If you will give me Leave, Madam, I will warm myſelf a few Minutes at your Kitchen Fire, for it is really very cold; but I muſt inſiſt on diſturbing no one from their Seats.' This was ſpoken on Account of Partridge, who had retreat⯑ed to the other End of the Room, ſtruck with the ut⯑moſt Awe and Aſtoniſhment at the Splendor of the Lady's dreſs. Indeed ſhe had a much better Title to Reſpect than this: For ſhe was one of the moſt beautiful Creatures in the World.

The Lady earneſtly deſired Partridge to return to his Seat, but could not prevail. She then pulled off her Gloves, and diſplayed two Hands, which had eve⯑ry Property of Wax in them, except that of melting, to the Fire. Her Companion, who was indeed her Maid, likewiſe pulled off her Gloves, and diſcovered what bore an exact Reſemblance, in Cold and Colour, [...]o a Piece of frozen Beef.

'I wiſh, Madam,' quoth the latter, 'your Lady⯑ſhip would not think of going any farther to Night. I am terribly afraid your Ladyſhip will not be able to bear the Fatigue.

'Why ſure,' cries the Landlady,' 'her Lady⯑ſhip's Honour can never intend it. O bleſs me, farther, to Night indeed! Let me beſeech your Ladyſhip not to think on't—But to be ſure, your Ladyſhip can't. What will your Honour be pleaſed to have for Supper? I have Mutton of all Kinds, and ſome nice Chicken.'—

‘'I think, Madam,' ſaid the Lady, 'it would be rather Breakfaſt than Supper; but I can't eat any Thing, and if I ſtay, ſhall only lie down for an Hour or two. However, if you pleaſe, Madam, [244] you may get me a little Sack-Whey made very ſmall and thin.'’

‘'Yes, Madam,' cries the Miſtreſs of the Houſe, I have ſome excellent White-wine. 'You have no Sack then,' ſays the Lady. 'Yes, an't pleaſe your Honour, I have; I may challange the Coun⯑try for that—But let me beg your Ladyſhip to eat ſomething.'’

‘'Upon my Word, I can't eat a Morſel,' anſwer⯑red the Lady; 'and I ſhall be much obliged to you, if you will pleaſe to get my Apartment ready as ſoon as poſſible: For I am reſolved to be o [...] Horſeback again in three Hours.'’

‘'Why Suſan,' cries the Landlady, 'is there a Fir [...] lit yet in the Wild-gooſe?—I am ſorry, Madam, al [...] my Beſt Rooms are full. Several People of th [...] firſt Quality are now in Bed. Here's a great youn [...] Squire, and a many other great Gentlefolks of Qua⯑lity.'’

‘Suſan anſwered, 'That the Iriſh Gentlemen wer [...] got into the Wild-gooſe.'’

‘'Was ever any Thing like it,' ſays the Miſtreſs 'why the Devil would you not keep ſome of the be [...] Rooms for the Quality, when you know ſcarce, Day paſſes without ſome calling here?—If they b [...] Gentlemen, I am certain, when they know it is fo [...] her Ladyſhip, they will get up again.'’

‘'Not upon my Account,' ſays the Lady. 'I wi [...] have no Perſon diſturbed for me. If you have Room that is commonly decent, it will ſerve n [...] very well, though it be never ſo plain. I beg, Ma⯑dam, you will not give yourſelf ſo much Troub [...] on my Account. O' Madam,' cries the other I have ſeveral very good Rooms for that Matte [...] but none good enough for your Honour's Ladyſhip However, as you are ſo condeſcending to take u [...] with the beſt I have, do, Suſan, get a Fire in th [...] Roſe this Minute. Will your Ladyſhip be pleaſe [245] to go up now, or ſtay till the Fire is lighted? I think, I have, ſufficiently warmed myſelf,' anſwer⯑ed the Lady, 'ſo if you pleaſe I will go now; I am afraid I have kept People, and particularly that Gen⯑tleman (meaning Partridge) too long in the Cold already. Indeed I cannot bear to think of keep⯑ing any Perſon from the Fire this dreadful Weather.'’ She then departed with her Maid, the Landlady marching with two lighted Candles before her.

When that good Woman returned, the Converſa⯑tion in the Kitchen was all upon the Charms of the young Lady. There is indeed in perfect Beauty a Power which none almoſt can withſtand: For my Landlady, though ſhe was not pleaſed at the Nega⯑tive given to the Supper, declared ſhe had never ſeen ſo lovely a Creature. Partridge ran out into the moſt extravagant Encomiums on her Face, though he could not refrain from paying ſome Compliments to the Gold Lace on her Habit: the Poſt-boy ſung forth the Praiſes of her Goodneſs, which were likewiſe echo⯑ed by the other Poſt-boy, who was now come in. ‘'She's a true good Lady, I warrant her,' ſays he: For ſhe hath Mercy upon dumb Creatures; for ſhe aſked me every now and tan upon the Journey, if I did not think ſhe ſhould hurt the Horſes by riding too faſt; and when ſhe came in, ſhe charged me to give them as much Corn as ever they would eat.'’

Such Charms are there in Affability, and ſo ſure is it to attract the Praiſes of all Kinds of People. It may indeed be compared to the celebrated Mrs. Huſſy ^*. It is equally ſure to ſet off every Female Perfection to the higheſt Advantage, and to palliate and conceal every Defect. A ſhort Reflection which [246] we could not forbear making in this Place, where my Reader hath ſeen the Lovelineſs of an affable Deport⯑ment; and Truth will now oblige us to contraſt it, by ſhewing the Reverſe.

CHAP. IV. Containing infallible Noſtrums for procuring univerſal Diſeſteem and Hatred.

THE Lady had no ſooner laid herſelf on her Pil⯑low, than the Waiting-woman returned to the Kitchen to regale with ſome of thoſe Dainties which her Miſtreſs had refuſed.

The Company at her Entrance, ſhewed her the ſame Reſpect which they had before paid to her Miſtreſs, by riſing; but ſhe forgot to imitate her, by deſiring them to ſit down again. Indeed it was ſcarce poſſible they ſhould have done ſo: For ſhe placed her Chain in ſuch a Poſture, as almoſt to occupy the whole Fire. She then ordered a Chicken to be broiled that Inſtant, declaring if it was not ready in a Quarter of an Hour, ſhe would not ſtay for it. Now tho' the ſaid Chicken was then at Rooſt in the ſtable, and re⯑quired the ſeveral Ceremonies of catching, killing, and picking, before it was brought to the Grid-iron, my Landlady would nevertheleſs have undertaken to do all within the Time; but the Gueſt being unfortu⯑nately admitted behind the Scenes, muſt have been Witneſs to the Fourberie, the poor Woman was there⯑fore obliged to confeſs that ſhe had none in the Houſe; but, Madam, ſaid ſhe, ‘'I can get any kind of Mut⯑ton in an Inſtant from the Butcher's.'’

‘'Do you think then,' anſwered the Waiting Gen⯑tlewoman, 'that I have the Stomach of a Horſe to eat Mutton at this Time of Night? Sure you Peo⯑ple that keep Inns imagine your Betters are like yourſelves. Indeed I expected to get nothing at this wretched place. I wonder my Lady would [247] ſtop at it. I ſuppoſe none but Tradeſmen and Graſiers ever call here.'’ The Landlady fired at [...]is Indignity offered to her Houſe; however ſhe ſup⯑reſſed her Temper, and contented herſelf with ſay⯑ing, ‘'Very good Quality frequented it, ſhe thanked Heaven!'’ ‘Don't tell me,' cries the other, 'of Qua⯑lity! I believe I know more of People of Quality than ſuch as you.—But, prithee, without troub⯑ling me with any of your Impertinence, do tell me what I can have for Supper; for tho' I con⯑not eat Horſe-fleſh, I am really hungry.'’ ‘'Why truly, Madam,' anſwered the Landlady, 'you could not have taken me again at ſuch a Diſadvantage: For I muſt confeſs, I have nothing in the Houſe, unleſs a cold Piece of Beef, which indeed a Gentle⯑woman's Footman, and the Poſt-boy, have almoſt cleared to the Bone.'’ ‘Woman, ſaid Mrs. Abigail (ſo for Shortneſs we will call her) I intreat you not to make me ſick. If I had faſted a Month, I could not eat what had been touched by the Fingers of ſuch Fellows: Is there nothing neat or decent to be had in this horrid Place?'’ ‘'What think you of ſome Eggs and Bacon, Madam,' ſaid the Land⯑lady. 'Are your Eggs new laid? Are you certain they were laid Today? And let me have the Bacon cut very nice and thin; for I can't endure any Thing that's groſs.—Prithee, try if you can do a little tolerably for once, and don't think you have a Farmer's Wife, or ſome of thoſe Creatures in the Houſe.'’—The Landlady begun then to handle her Knife; but the other ſtopt her, ſaying, ‘'Good Woman, I muſt inſiſt upon your firſt waſhing your Hands; for I am extremely nice, and have been always uſed from my Cradle to have every thing in the moſt elegant Manner.'’

The Landlady, who governed herſelf with much Difficulty, began now the neceſſary Preprerations; for as to Suſan, ſhe was utterly rejected, and with [248] ſuch Diſdain, that the poor Wench was as hard put to it, to reſtrain her Hands from Violence, as her Miſtreſs had been to hold her Tongue. This indeed Suſan did not entirely: For tho' ſhe literally kept it within her Teeth, yet there it muttered many ‘'marry-come-ups, as good Fleſh and Blood as yourſelf, with other ſuch indignant Phraſes.'’

While the Supper was preparing, Mrs Abigail be⯑gan to lament ſhe had not ordered a Fire in the Par⯑lour; but ſhe ſaid, that was now too late. ‘'Howe⯑ver, ſaid ſhe, 'I have Novelty to recommend a Kitchen, for I do not believe I ever eat in one be⯑fore.'’ Then turning to the Poſt-Boys, ſhe aſked them, ‘'Why they were not in the Stable with their Horſes? If I muſt eat my hard Fare here, Madam,'’ cries ſhe to the Landlady, ‘'I beg the Kitchen may be kept clear, that I may not be ſurrounded with all the Black-guards in Town; as for you, Sir,' ſays ſhe to Partridge, 'you look ſomewhat like a Gen⯑tleman, and may ſit ſtill if you pleaſe, I don't de⯑ſire to diſturb any body but Mob.'’

‘'Yes, yes, Madam, cries Partridge, 'I am a Gentleman, I do aſſure you, and I am not ſo eaſily to be diſturbed. Non ſemper vox cauſalis eſt verbo nominativus.'’ This Latin ſhe took to be ſome Af⯑front, and anſwered, ‘'You may be a Gentleman, Sir, but you don't ſhew yourſelf as one, to talk Latin to a Wonan.'’ Partridge made a genteel Reply, and concluded with more Latin; upon which ſhe toſſ⯑ed up her Noſe, and contented herſelf by abuſing him with the Name of a great Scholar.

The Supper being now on the Table, Mrs. Abigail eat very heartily, for ſo delicate a Perſon; and while a ſecond Courſe of the ſame was by her Order pre⯑paring, ſhe ſaid, ‘'And ſo, Madam, you tell me your 'Houſe is frequented by People of great Quality.'’

The Landlady anſwered in the Affirmative, ſaying, ‘'There were a great many very good Quality and [249] Gentlefolks in it now. There's young Squire All⯑worthy, as that Gentleman there knows.'’

‘'And pray who is this young Gentleman of Qua⯑lity, this young Squire Allworthy?'’ ſaid Abigail.

‘'Who ſhould he be,' anſwered Partridge, 'but the Son and Heir of the great Squire Allworthy of Somerſetſhire.'’

‘'Upon my Word,' ſaid ſhe, 'you tell me ſtrange News: For I know Mr. Allworthy of Somerſetſhire very well, and I know he hath no Son alive.'’

The Landlady pricked up her Ears at this, and Par⯑tridge looked a little confounded. However, after a ſhort Heſitatation, he anſwered, ‘'Indeed, Madam, it is true, every body doth not know him to be Squire Allworthy's Son; for he was never marri⯑ed to his Mother; but his Son he certainly is, and will be his Heir too as certainly as his Name is Jones.'’ At that Word, Abigail let drop the Ba⯑con, which ſhe was conveying to her Mouth, and cried out, ‘'You ſurprize me, Sir. Is it poſſible Mr. Jones ſhould be now in the Houſe?'’ ‘'Quare non?' anſwered Partridge, 'it is poſſible, and it is certain.’

Abigail now made Haſte to finiſh the Remainder of her Meal, and then repaired back to her Miſtreſs, when the Converſation paſſed, which may be read in the next Chapter.

CHAP. V. Shewing who the amiable Lady, and her unamiable Maid, were.

AS in the Month of June, the Damaſk Roſe, which Chance hath planted among the Lillies with their candid Hue mixes his Vermilion: Or, as ſome play-ſome Heifer in the pleaſant Month of May diffuſes her oderiferous Breath over the flowery Mea⯑dows: Or as, in the blooming Month of April, the gentle, conſtant Dove, perched on ſome fair Bough, [250] ſits meditating her Mate; ſo looking a hundred Charms, and breathing as many Sweets, her Thoughts being fixed on her Tommy, with a Heart as good and inno⯑cent, as her Face was beautiful: Sophia (for it was ſhe herſelf) lay reclining her lovely Head on her Hand, when her Maid entered the Room, and running di⯑rectly to the Bed, cried, ‘'Madam—Madam—who doth your Ladyſhip think is in the Houſe?'’ Sophia ſtarting up, cried, ‘'I hope my Father hath not over⯑taken us.'’ ‘'No, Madam, it is one worth a hun⯑dred Fathers; Mr. Jones himſelf is here at this very Inſtant.' Mr. Jones!' ſays Sophia, 'it is impoſſible, I cannot be ſo fortunate.'’ Her Maid averred the Fact, and was preſently detached by her Miſtreſs to order him to be called; for ſhe ſaid ſhe was reſolved to ſee him immediately.

Mrs. Honour had no ſooner left the Kitchen in the Manner we have before ſeen, than the Landlady fell ſeverely upon her. The poor Woman had indeed been loading her Heart with foul Language for ſome Time, and now it ſcoured out of her Mouth as Filth doth from a Mud-Cart, when the Board which con⯑ſines it is removed. Partridge, likewiſe ſhovelled in his ſhare of Calumny; and (what may ſurprize the Reader) not only beſpattered the Maid, but attempted to fully the Lilly-white Character of Sophia herſelf ‘'Never a Barrel the better Herring,' cries he, 'Noſcitur a ſocio, is a true Saying. It muſt be con⯑feſſed indeed that the Lady in the fine Garment is the civiller of the two; but I warrant neither o [...] them are a Bit better than they ſhould be. A Coupl [...] of Bath Trulls, I'll anſwer for them; your Qualit [...] don't ride about at this Time o'Night without Ser⯑vants.'’ ‘'Sbodlikins, and that's true,' cries th [...] Landlady, 'you have certainly hit upon the very Mat⯑ter; for Quality don't come into a Houſe without beſpeaking a Supper, whether they eat or no.'’

[251] While they were thus diſcourſing, Mrs. Honour re⯑turned, and diſcharged her Commiſſion, by bidding the Landlady immediately awake Mr. Jones, and tell him a Lady wanted to ſpeak with him. The Landlady referr⯑ed to Partridge, ſaying, ‘'he was the Squire's Friend; but, for her Part, ſhe never called Men Folks, eſpe⯑cially Gentlemen,'’ and then walked ſullenly out of the Kitchen. Honour applied herſelf to Partridge; but he refuſed; ‘'For my Friend,' cries he, 'went to Bed very late, and he would be very angry to be diſturbed ſo ſoon.'’ Mrs. Honour inſiſted ſtill to have him called, ſaying, ‘'She was ſure, inſtead of being angry, that he would be to the higheſt Degree delighted when he knew the Occaſion.'’ ‘Another Time, perhaps, he might,' cries Pa⯑rtridge; 'but non omnia poſſumus omnes. One Woman is enough at once for a reaſonrble Man.?’ ‘What do you mean by one Woman, Fellow,'’ cries Honour? ‘None of your Fellow,'’ anſwered Par⯑tridge. He then proceeded to inform her plainly, that Jones was in Bed with a Wench, and made uſe of an Expreſſion too indelicate to be here inſerted; which ſo enraged Mrs. Honour, that ſhe called him ſaucy Jackanapes, and returned in a violent Hurry to her Miſtreſs, whom ſhe acquainted with the Succeſs of her Errand, and with the Account ſhe had received; which, if poſſible, ſhe exaggerated, being as angry with Jones, as if he had pronounced all the Words that came from the Mouth of Partridge. She diſ⯑charged a Torrent of Abuſe on the Maſter, and ad⯑viſed her Miſtreſs to quit all Thoughts of a Man who had never ſhewn himſelf deſerving of her. She then ripped up the Story of Molly Seagrim, and gave the moſt malicious Turn to his formerly quitting Sophia herſelf; which, I muſt confeſs, the preſent Incident not a littl countenanced.

The Spirits of Sophia were too much diſſipated by Concern to enable her to ſtop the Torrent of her [252] Maid. ‘At laſt, however, ſhe interrupted her, ſay⯑ing, 'I never can believe this; ſome Villain hath belied him. You ſay you had it from his Friend; but ſurely it is not the Office of a Friend to betray ſuch Secrets.'’ ‘'I ſuppoſe,' cries Honour, 'the Fellow is his Pimp, for I never ſaw ſo ill-looked a Villain. Beſides, ſuch profligate Rakes as Mr. Jones, are never aſhamed of theſe Matters.'’

To ſay the Truth, this Behaviour of Partridge was a little inexcuſable; but he had not ſlept off the Effect of the Doſe which he ſwallowed the Evening before; which had in the Morning, received the Addi⯑tion of about a Pint of Wine, or indeed rather of Malt Spirits; for the Perry was by no Means pure. Now that Part of his Head which Nature deſigned for the Reſervoir of Drink, being very ſhallow, a ſmall Quantity of Liquor overflowed it, and opened the Sluices of his Heart; ſo that all the Secrets there de⯑poſited run out. Theſe Sluices were indeed naturally very ill ſecured. To give the beſt natured Turn we can to his diſpoſition, he was a very honeſt Man: for as he was the moſt inquiſitive of Mortals, and eter⯑nally prying into the Secrets of others, ſo he very faithfully paid them by communicating, in Return, every thing within his Knowledge.

While Sophia tormented with Anxiety, knew not what to believe, nor what Reſolution to take, Suſan arrived with the Sack-Whey. Mrs. Honour imme⯑diately adviſed her Miſtreſs, in a Whiſper to pump this Wench, who probably could inform her of the Truth. Sophia approved it, and began as follows: ‘'Come hither, Child, now anſwer me truly what I am going to aſk you, and I promiſe you I will very well reward you. Is there a young Gentleman in' this Houſe, a handſome young Gentleman that—’Here Sophia bluſhed and was confounded—‘'A young Gentleman,' cries Honour, 'that came hither in Company with that fancy Raſcal who is now in the [253] Kitchen?'’ Suſan anſwered, ‘'There was'—'Do you know any Thing of any Lady,'’ continues So⯑phia, 'any Lady? I don't aſk you whether ſhe is handſome or no; perhaps ſhe is not, that's nothing to the Purpoſe, but do you know of any Lady?'‘La, Madam, cries Honour, you will make a very bad Examiner. Harkee, Child,' ſays ſhe, 'Is not that very young Gentleman now in Bed with' ſome naſty Trull or other?’ Here Suſan ſmiled, and was ſilent. ‘'Anſwer the Queſtion, Child, ſays So⯑phia, 'and here's a Guinea for you.'’ ‘'A Guinea! Madam, cries Suſan; 'La, what's a Guinea? If my Miſtreſs ſhould know it, I ſhall certainly loſe my Place that very Inſtant.'’ ‘'Here's another for you,' ſays Sophia, 'and I promiſe you faithfully your Miſ⯑treſs ſhall never know it.'’ Suſan, after a very ſhort Heſitation, took the Money, and told his whole Story, concluding with ſaying, ‘'If you have a great Curi⯑oſity, Madam, I can ſteal ſoftly into the Room, and ſee whether he be in his own Bed or no.'’ She ac⯑cordingly did this by Sophia's Deſire, and returned with an Anſwer in the Negative.

Sophia now trembled and turned pale. Mrs. Ho⯑nour begged her to be comforted, and not to think any more of ſo worthleſs a Fellow. ‘'Why there,' ſays Suſan, 'I hope Madam, your Ladyſhip won't be offended; but pray Madam, is not your Ladyſhip's Name Madam Sophia Weſtern?' 'How is it poſ⯑ſible you ſhould know me? anſwered Sophia. 'Why that Man that the Gentlewoman ſpoke of, who is in the Kitchen, told about you laſt Night. But I hope your Ladyſhip is not angry with me.' 'In⯑deed, Child,' ſaid ſhe, 'I am not; pray tell me all, and I promiſe you I'll reward you.' 'Why, Ma⯑dam,' continued Suſan, 'that Man told us all in the Kitchen, that Madam Sophia Weſtern—Indeed I don't know how to bring it out.'’—Here ſhe ſtopt, till having received Encouragement from Sophia, [254] and being vehemently preſſed by Mrs. Honour, ſhe proceeded thus:—‘'He told us, Madam, tho' to be ſure it is all a Lie, that your Ladyſhip was dying for Love of the young Squire, and that he was go⯑ing to the Wars to get rid of you. I thought to my⯑ſelf then he was a falſe-hearted Wretch; but now to ſee ſuch a fine, rich, beautiful Lady as you be for⯑ſaken for ſuch an ordinary Woman; for to be ſure ſo ſhe is, and another Man's Wife into the Bargain. It is ſuch a ſtrange unnatural thing, in a Manner.'’

Sophia gave her a third Guinea, and telling her ſhe would certainly be her Friend, if ſhe mentioned no⯑thing of what had paſſed, nor informed any one who ſhe was, diſmiſſed the Girl with Orders to the Poſt-Boy to get the Horſes ready immediately.

Being now left alone with her Maid, ſhe told her truſty Waiting-woman, ‘'That ſhe never was more eaſy than at preſent. I am now convinced,' ſaid ſhe, 'he is not only a Villain, but a low deſpicable Wretch. I can forgive all rather than his expoſing my Name in ſo barbarous a Manner. That ren⯑ders him the Object of my Contempt. Yes, Ho⯑nour, I am now eaſy. I am indeed. I am very eaſy, and then ſhe burſt into a violent Flood o [...] Tears.'’

After a ſhort Interval, ſpent chiefly by Sophia, i [...] crying and aſſuring her Maid that ſhe was perfectly eaſy, Suſan arrived with an Account that the Horſe [...] were ready, when a very extraordinary Thought ſug⯑geſted itſelf to our young Heroine, by which Mr. Jones would be acquainted with her having been a [...] the Inn, in a Way, which, if any Sparks of Affec⯑tion for her remained in him, would be ſome Puniſh⯑ment, at leaſt, for his Faults.

The Reader will be pleaſed to remember a little Muff, which hath had the Honour of being more than once remembered already in this Hiſtory. Thi [...] Muff, ever ſince the Departure of Mr. Jones, ha [...] [255] been the conſtant companion of Sophia by Day, and her Bedfellow by Night, and this Muff ſhe had at this very Inſtant upon her Arm; whence ſhe took it off with great Indignation, and having writ her Name with her Pencil upon a Piece of Paper which ſhe pin⯑ned to it, ſhe bribed the Maid to convey it into the empty Bed of Mr. Jones, in which if he did not find it, ſhe charged her to take ſome Method of con⯑veying it before his Eyes in the Morning.

Then having paid for what Mrs. Honour had ea⯑ten, in which Bill was included an Account for what ſhe herſelf might have eaten, ſhe mounted her Horſe, and once more aſſuring her Companion that ſhe was perfectly eaſy, continued her Journey.

CHAP. VI. Containing, among other Things, the Ingenuity of Par⯑tridge, the Madneſs of Jones, and the Folly of Fitzpatrick.

IT was now paſt Five in the Morning, and other Company began to riſe and come to the Kitchen, among whom were the Serjeant and the Coachman, who being thoroughly reconciled, made a Libati⯑on, or, in the Engliſh Phraſe, drank a hearty Cup together.

In this Drinking nothing more remarkable happen⯑ed, than the Behaviour of Partridge, who, when the Serjeant drank a Health to King George, repeated only the Word King: Nor could he be brought to utter more: For tho' he was going to ſight againſt his own Cauſe, yet he could not be prevailed upon to drink againſt it.

Mr. Jones being now returned to his own Bed (but from whence we returned he muſt beg to be excuſed from relating) ſummoned Partridge from this agree⯑able Company, who, after a ceremonious Preface, [256] having obtained leave to offer his Advice, delivered himſelf as follows:

‘'It is, Sir, an old Saying, and a true one, that a wiſe Man may ſometimes learn Council from a Fool; wiſh therefore I might be ſo bold as to offer you my Advice, which is to return home again and leave theſe Horrida Bella, theſe bloody Wars to Fellows who are contented to ſwallow Gunpowder, becauſe they have nothing to eat. Now every bo⯑dy knows your Honour wants for nothing at home; when that's the Caſe, why ſhould any Man travel abroad?'’

‘'Partridge,' cries Jones, 'thou art certainly a Coward, I wiſh therefore thou would'ſt return home thyſelf, and trouble me no more.'’

‘'I aſk your Honour's Pardon,' cries Partridge, 'I ſpoke on your Account more than my own; for as to me, Heaven knows my Circumſtances are bad enough, and I am ſo far from being afraid, that I value a Piſtol, or a Blunderbuſs, or any ſuch Thing, no more than a Pop-gun. Every Man muſt die once, and what ſignifies the Manner how; beſides, perhaps, I may come off with the Loſs only of an Arm or a Leg. I aſſure you, Sir, I was never leſs afraid in my Life; and ſo if your Honour is reſolved to go on, I am reſolved to fol⯑low you. But, in that Caſe, I wiſh I might give my Opinion. To be ſure it is a ſcandalous Way of travelling, for a great Gentleman like you to walk afoot. Now here are two or three good Horſes in the Stable, which the Landlord will certainly make no Scruple of truſting you with; but if he ſhould, I can eaſily contrive to take them, and let the worſt come to the worſt, the King would certainly par⯑don you, as you are going to fight in his Cauſe.'’

Now as the Honeſty of Partridge was equal to his Underſtanding, and both dealt only in ſmall Matters, he would never have attempted a Roguery of this [257] Kind, had he not imagined it altogether ſafe; for he was one of thoſe who have more conſideration of the Gallows than of the Fitneſs of Things; but in Re⯑ality, he thought he might have committed this Felony without any Danger: For, beſides that he doubted not but the Name of Mr. Allworthy would ſufficiently quiet the Landlord, he conceived they ſhould be alto⯑gether ſafe, whatever Turn Affairs might take; as Jones, he imagined, would have Friends enough on one Side, and as his Friends would as well ſecure him on the other.

When Mr. Jones found that Partridge was in ear⯑neſt in this Propoſal, he very ſeverely rebuked him, and that in ſuch bitter Terms that the other attempted to laugh it off, and preſently turned the Diſcourſe to other Matters, ſaying, he believed they were then in a Bawdy-houſe, and that he had with much ado pre⯑vented two Wenches from diſturbing his Honour in the middle of the Night. ‘'Heyday!' ſays he, 'I be⯑lieve they got into your Chamber whether I would or no, for here lies the Muff of one of them on the Ground.'’ Indeed, as Jones returned to his Bed in the Dark, he had never perceived the Muff on the Quilt, and in leaping into his Bed he had tumbled it on the Floor. This Partridge now took up, and was going to put into his Pocket, when Jones deſired to ſee it. The Muff was ſo very remarkable, that our Heroe might poſſibly have recollected it without the Information annexed. But his Memory was not put to that hard Office, for at the ſame Inſtant he ſaw and read the Words Sophia Weſtern upon the Paper which was pinned to it. His Looks now grew frantic in a Moment, and he eagerly cried out, ‘'Oh Heavens, how came this Muff here!' 'I know no more than your Honour,' cried Partridge; 'but I ſaw it upon the Arm of one of the Women who would have diſ⯑turbed you, if I would have ſuffered them.' 'Where are they?'’ cries Jones, jumping out of Bed, and [258] laying hold of his Clothes. ‘'Many Miles off, I be⯑lieve,' by this Time,'’ ſaid Partridge. And now Jones, upon further Enquiry, was ſufficiently aſſured that the Bearer of this Muff was no other than the lovely Sophia herſelf.

The Behaviour of Jones on this Occaſion. His Thoughts, his Looks, his Words, his Actions, were ſuch as Beggar all Deſcription. After many bitter Execrations on Partridge, and not fewer on himſelf, he ordered the poor Fellow, who was frightened out of his Wits, to run down and hire him Horſes at any rate; and a very few Minutes afterwards, having ſhuffled on his Clothes, he haſtened down Stairs to execute the Orders himſelf, which he had juſt before given.

But before we proceed to what paſſed on his Arri⯑val in the Kitchen, it will be neceſſary to recur to what had there happened ſince Partridge had firſt left it on his Maſter's Summons.

The Serjeant was juſt marched off with his Party when the two Iriſh Gentlemen aroſe and came down Stairs; both complaining, that they had been ſo often waked by the Noiſes in the Inn, that they had never once been able to cloſe their Eyes all Night.

The Coach, which had brought the young Lady and her Maid, and which, perhaps, the Reader may have hitherto concluded was her own, was indeed a re⯑turned Coach belonging to Mr. King of Bath, one of the worthieſt and honeſteſt Men that ever dealt in Horſe-fleſh, and whoſe Coaches we heartily recom⯑mend to all our Readers who travel that Road. By which Means they may, perhaps, have the Pleaſure of riding in the very Coach, and being driven by the very Coachman, that is recorded in this Hiſtory.

The Coachman having but two Paſſengers, and hearing Mr. Maclachlan was bound to Bath, offered to carry him thither at a very moderate Price. He was induced to this by the Report of the Oſtler, who [259] ſaid, that the Horſe which Mr. Maclachlan had hired [...]rom Worceſter, would be much more pleaſed with re⯑ [...]rning to his Friend there, than to proſecute a long [...]ourney; for that the ſaid Horſe was rather a two⯑ [...]gged than a four-legged Animal.

Mr. Maclachlan immediately cloſed with the Pro⯑poſal of the Coachman, and, at the ſame Time, per⯑ [...]aded his Friend Fitzpatrick to accept of the fourth [...]lace in the Coach. This Conveyance the Soreneſs [...]f his Bones made more agreeable to him than a Horſe, [...]nd being well aſſured of meeting with his Wife at [...]ath, he thought a little Delay would be of no Con⯑ [...]equence.

Maclachlan, who was much the ſharper Man of the [...]wo, no ſooner heard that this Lady came from Cheſ⯑ [...]r, with the other Circumſtances which he learned [...]rom the Oſtler, than it came into his Head that ſhe [...]ight poſſibly be his Friend's Wife; and preſently ac⯑ [...]uainted him with this Suſpicion, which had never [...]nce occurred to Fitzpatrick himſelf. To ſay the [...]ruth, he was one of thoſe Compoſitions which Na⯑ [...]re makes up in two great a Hurry, and forgets to at any Brains in their Head.

Now it happens to this ſort of Men, as to bad [...]ounds, who never hit off a Fault themſelves; but no [...]oner doth a Dog of Sagacity open his Mouth, than [...]ey immediately do the ſame, and without the Guide [...] any Scent, run directly forwards as faſt as they are [...]le. In the ſame Manner, the very Moment Mr. Maclachlan had mentioned his Apprehenſion, Mr. Fitzpatrick inſtantly concurred, and flew directly up [...]airs to ſurprize his Wife before he knew where ſhe [...]as; and unluckily (as Fortune loves to play Tricks [...]ith thoſe Gentlemen who put themſelves entirely un⯑ [...]r her Conduct) ran his Head againſt ſeveral Doors [...]d Poſts to no Purpoſe. Much kinder was ſhe to [...], when ſhe ſuggeſted that Simile of the Hounds, [...] before inſerted, ſince the poor Wife may, on theſe, [260] Occaſions, be ſo juſtly compared to a hunted Hare. Like that little wretched Animal ſhe pricks up her Ears to liſten after the Voice of her Purſuer; like her, flies away trembling when ſhe hears it; and like her, is generally overtaken and deſtroyed in the End.

This was not however the Caſe at preſent; for af⯑ter a long fruitleſs Search, Mr. Fitzpatrick returned to the Kitchen, where, as if this had been a rea [...] Chace, entered a Gentleman hallowing as Hunter do when the Hounds are at Fault. He was juſt a lighting from his Horſe, and had many Attendants a [...] his Heels.

Here, Reader, it may be neceſſary to acquaint the [...] with ſome Matters, which, if thou doſt know already thou art wiſer than I take thee to be. And this Infor⯑mation thou ſhalt receive in the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII. In which are included the Adventures that happened a the Inn at Upton.

IN the firſt Place then, this Gentleman juſt arrive [...] was no other Perſon than Squire Weſtern himſelf who was come hither in Purſuit of his Daughter; an [...] had he fortunately been two Hours earlier, he had no [...] only found her, but his Neice into the Bargain; fo [...] ſuch was the Wife of Mr. Fitzpatrick, who had ru [...] away with her five Years before, out of the Cuſtod [...] of that ſage Lady Madam Weſtern.

Now this Lady had departed from the Inn muc [...] about at the ſame Time with Sophia: For having bee [...] waked by the Voice of her Huſband, ſhe had ſent u [...] for the Landlady, and being by her apprized of th [...] Matter, had bribed the good Woman, at an extra⯑vagant Price, to furniſh her with Horſes for her e [...] ⯑cape. Such Prevalence had Money in this Family and tho' the Miſtreſs would have turned away he [261] Maid for a corrupt Huſſy, if ſhe had known as much [...]s the Reader, yet ſhe was no more Proof againſt Corruption herſelf than poor Suſan had been.

Mr. Weſtern and his Nephew were not known to one another; nor indeed would the former have tak⯑en any Notice of the latter, if he had known him; for this being a ſtolen Match, and conſequently an unnatural one in the Opinion of the good Squire, he had, from the Time of her committing it, abandoned he poor young Creature, who was then no more than Eighteen, as a Monſter, and had never ſince ſuffered her to be named in his Preſence.

The Kitchen was now a Scene of univerſal Con⯑fuſion, Weſtern enquiring after his Daughter, and Fitzpatrick as eagerly after his Wife, when Jones en⯑tered the Room, unfortunately having Sophia's Muff in his Hand.

As ſoon as Weſtern ſaw Jones, he ſet up the ſame Holla as is uſed by Sportſmen when their Game is in View. He then immediately run up and laid hold of Jones, crying, 'We have got the Dog Fox, I warrant the Bitch is not far off.' The Jargon which followed for ſome Minutes, where many ſpoke different Things at the ſame Time, as it would be very difficult to diſcribe, ſo would it be no leſs unpleaſant to read.

Jones having, at length, ſhaken Mr. Weſtern off, and ſome of the Company having interfered between them, our Heroe proteſted his Innocence as to know⯑ing any thing of the Lady; when Parſon Supple ſtep⯑ped up, and ſaid, ‘'It is Folly to deny it; for why the Marks of Guilt are in thy Hands. I will myſelf aſſeverate and bind it by an Oath, that the Muff thou beareſt in thy Hand belonged unto Madam Sophia; for I have frequently obſerved her, of later Days, to bear it about her.' 'My Daughter's Muff!' cries the Squire, in a Rage. 'Hath he [262] got my Daughter's Muff! Bear Witneſs, the Goo [...] are found upon him. I'll have him before a Juſti [...] of Peace this Inſtant. Where is my Daughter, Vi [...] ⯑lain?' 'Sir,' ſaid Jones, 'I beg you would [...] ⯑pacified. The Muff, I acknowledge, is the youn [...] Lady's; but, upon my Honour, I have never ſee her.'’ At theſe Words Weſtern loſt all Patienc [...] and grew inarticulate with Rage.

Some of the Servants had acquainted Fitzpatric [...] who Mr. Weſtern was. The good Iriſhman there fore thinking he had now an Opportunity to do a Act of Service to his Uncle, and by that Means mig [...] poſſibly obtain his Favour, ſtept up to Jones, an [...] cried out, ‘'Upon my Conſcience, Sir, you may [...] aſhamed of denying your having ſeen the Gentle⯑man's Daughter before my Face, when you kno [...] I found you there upon the Bed together.'’ The turning to Weſtern, he offered to conduct him imme⯑diately to the Room where his Daughter was; which Offer being accepted, he, the Squire, the Parſon, and ſome others, aſcended directly to Mrs. Waters Chamber, which they entered with no leſs Violence than Mr. Fitzpatrick had done before.

The poor Lady ſtarted from her Sleep with a much Amazement as Terror, and beheld at her Bed ſide a Figure which might very well be ſuppoſed [...] have eſcaped out of Bedlam. Such Wildneſs an [...] Confuſion were in the Looks of Mr. Weſtern; wh [...] no ſooner ſaw the Lady, than he ſtarted back, ſhow⯑ing ſufficiently by his Manner, before he ſpoke, th [...] this was not the Perſon ſought after.

So much more tenderly do Women value their Re⯑putation than their Perſons, that tho' the latter ſeem⯑ed now in more Danger than before, yet as the for⯑mer was ſecure, the Lady ſcreamed not with ſuch Vi⯑olence as ſhe had done on the other Occaſion. How⯑ever, ſhe no ſooner found herſelf alone, than ſhe a⯑bandoned all Thoughts of further Repoſe, and as ſh [...] [263] had ſufficient Reaſon to be diſſatisfied with her pre⯑ſent Lodging, ſhe dreſſed herſelf with all poſſible Ex⯑pedition.

Mr. Weſtern now proceeded to ſearch the whole Houſe, but to as little Purpoſe as he had diſturbed poor Mrs. Waters. He then returned diſconſolate into the Kitchen, where he found Jones in the Cuſ⯑tody of his Servants.

This violent Uproar had raiſed all the People in the Houſe; tho' it was yet ſcarcely Day-light. Among theſe was a grave Gentleman, who had the Honour to be in the Commiſſion of the Peace for the County of Worceſter. Of which Mr. Weſtern was no ſooner informed, than he offered to lay his Complaint be⯑fore him. The Juſtice declined executing his Office, as he ſaid he had no Clerk preſent, nor no Book about Juſtice Buſineſs. And that he could not carry all the Law in his Head about ſtealing away Daugh⯑ters, and ſuch Sort of Things.

Here Mr. Fitzpatrick offered to lend him his Aſſiſ⯑tance; informing the Company that he had been him⯑ſelf bred to the Law. (And indeed he had ſerved three Years as Clerk to an Attorney in the North of Ireland, when chuſing a genteeler Walk in Life, he quitted his Maſter, came over to England, and ſet up that Buſineſs, which requires no Apprenticeſhip, namely, that of a Gentleman, in which he had ſucceeded as hath been already partly mentioned.)

Mr. Fitzpatrick declared that the Law concerning Daughters was out of the preſent Caſe; that ſteal⯑ing a Muff was undoubtedly Felony, and the Goods being found upon the Perſon, were ſufficient Evidence of the Fact.

The Magiſtrate, upon the Encouragement of ſo learned a Coadjutor, and upon the violent Interceſ⯑ſion of the Squire, was at length prevailed upon to ſeat himſelf in the Chair of Juſtice, where being placed, upon viewing the Muff which Jones ſtill held [264] in his Hand, and upon the Parſon's ſwearing it to be the Property of Mr. Weſtern, he deſired Mr. Fitzpa⯑trick to draw up a Commitment, which he ſaid h [...] would ſign.

Jones now deſired to be heard, which was at laſt with Difficulty, granted him. He then produced th [...] Evidence of Mr. Partridge, as to the finding it; but what was ſtill more, Suſan depoſed that Sophia her⯑ſelf had delivered the Muff to her, and had ordered her to convey it into the Chamber where Mr. Jones had found it.

Whether a natural Love of Juſtice, or the extraor⯑dinary Comelineſs of Jones, had wrought on Suſa [...] to make the Diſcovery, I will not determine; but ſuch were the Effects of her Evidence that the Ma⯑giſtrate throwing himſelf back in his Chair, declare [...] that the Matter was now altogether as clear on th [...] Side of the Priſoner, as it had before been againſt him; with which the Parſon concurred, ſaying, The Lord forbid he ſhould be inſtrumental in committing an innocent Perſon to Durance. The Juſtice then aroſe, acquitted the Priſoner, and broke up the Court.

Mr. Weſtern now gave every one preſent a hearty Curſe, and immediately ordering his Horſes, departed in purſuit of his Daughter, without taking the lea [...] Notice of his Nephew Fitzpatrick, or returning any Anſwer to his Claim of Kindred, notwithſtanding al [...] the Obligations he had juſt received from that Gen⯑tleman. In the Violence, moreover, of his Hurry and of his Paſſion, he luckily forgot to demand th [...] Muff of Jones: I ſay luckily; for he would have died on the Spot rather than have parted with it.

Jones likewiſe, with his Friend Partridge, ſet for ward the Moment he had paid his Reckoning, in Que [...] of his lovely Sophia, whom he now reſolved never more to abandon the Purſuit of. Nor could he bring him ſelf even to take Leave of Mrs. Waters; of whom [265] he deteſted the very Thoughts, as ſhe had been, tho' [...]ot deſignedly, the Occaſion of his miſſing the hap⯑pieſt Interview with Sophia, to whom he now vowed [...]ternal Conſtancy.

As for Mrs. Waters, ſhe took the Opportunity of he Coach which was going to Bath; for which Place he ſet out in Company with the two Iriſh Gentlemen, he Landlady kindly lending her her Clothes; in [...] for which ſhe was contented only to receive a⯑ [...]out double their Value, as a Recompence for the [...]oan. Upon the Road ſhe was perfectly reconciled [...] Mr. Fitzpatrick, who was a very handſome Fellow, [...]nd indeed did all ſhe could to conſole him in the Ab⯑ [...]nce of his Wife.

Thus ended the many odd Adventures which Mr. Jones encountered at his Inn at Upton, where they [...], to this Day, of the Beauty and lovely Behaviour [...]f the charming Sophia, by the Name of the Somer⯑ [...]ſhire Angel.

CHAP. VIII. In which the Hiſtory goes backward.

BEFORE we proceed any farther in our Hiſtory, it may be proper to look a little back, in order account for the extraordinary Appearance of Sophia [...]nd her Father at the Inn at Upton.

The Reader may be pleaſed to remember, that in [...]e Ninth Chapter of the Seventh Book of our Hiſ⯑ [...]ry, we left Sophia, after a long Debate between [...]ove and Duty, deciding the Cauſe, as it uſually, I [...]elieve, happens, in Favour of the Former.

This Debate had ariſen, as we have there ſhewn, [...]om a Viſit which her Father had juſt before made [...]r, in order to force her Conſent to a Marriage with Blifil; and which he had underſtood to be fully im⯑ [...]ied in her Acknowledgment, that ſhe neither muſt, [...] could refuſe any abſolute Command of his.

[266] Now from this Viſit the Squire retired to his Even⯑ing Potation, overjoyed at the Succeſs he had had with his Daughter; and as he was of a ſocial Diſpoſi⯑tion, and willing to have Partakers in his Happineſs, the Beer was ordered to flow very liberally into the Kitchen; ſo that before Eleven in the Evening, there was not a ſingle Perſon ſober in the Houſe, except on⯑ly Mrs. Weſtern herſelf, and the charming Sophia.

Early in the Morning a Meſſenger was diſpatched to ſummon Mr. Blifil: For tho' the Squire imagined that young Gentleman had been much leſs acquainted than he really was, with the former Averſion of hi [...] Daughter; as he had not, however, yet received he [...] Conſent, he longed impatiently to communicate it to him, not doubting but that the intended Bride herſelf would confirm it with her Lips. As to the Wedding it had the Evening before been fixed, by the Mal [...] Parties, to be celebrated on the next Morning ſav [...] one.

Breakfaſt was now ſet forth in the Parlour, where Mr. Blifil attended, and where the Squire and his Siſter likewiſe were aſſembled; and now Sophia was order⯑ed to be called.

O, Shakeſpear, had I thy Pen! O, Hogarth, ha [...] I thy Pencil! then would I draw the Picture of th [...] poor Serving-Man, who with pale Countenance ſtaring Eyes, chattering Teeth, faultering Tongue and trembling Limbs,

entered the Room, and declared,—That Madam So⯑phia was not be found.

‘[267] 'Not to be found!' cries the Squire, ſtarting from his Chair; 'Zounds and D—nation! Blood and Fury! Where, when, how, what,—Not to be found! where?'’

‘'La! Brother,' ſaid Mrs. Weſtern,' with true poli⯑tical Coldneſs, 'you are always throwing yourſelf in⯑to ſuch violent Paſſions for nothing. My Niece, I ſuppoſe, is only walked out into the Garden. I pro⯑teſt you are grown ſo unreaſonable, that it is impoſſi⯑ble to live in the Houſe with you.'’

‘'Nay, nay,' anſwered the Squire, returning as ſuddenly to himſelf, as he had gone from himſelf; 'if that be all the Matter, it ſignifies not much; but, upon my Soul, my Mind miſgave me, when the Fellow ſaid ſhe was not to be found.'’ He then gave Orders for the Bell to be rung in the Garden, and ſat himſelf contentedly down.

No two Things could be more the Reverſe of each other than were the Brother and Siſter, in moſt In⯑ſtances; particularly in this, That as the Brother never foreſaw any Thing at a Diſtance, but was moſt ſagacious in immediately ſeeing every Thing the Mo⯑ment it had happened; ſo the Siſter eternally foreſaw at a Diſtance, but was not ſo quick-ſighted to Objects before her Eyes. Of both theſe the Reader may have obſerved Examples: And, indeed, both their ſeveral Talents were exceſſive: For as the Siſter often fore⯑ſaw what never came to paſs, ſo the Brother often ſaw much more than was actually the Truth.

This was not however the Caſe at preſent. The ſame Report was brought from the Garden, as before had been brought from the Chamber, that Madam Sophia was not to be found.

The Squire himſelf now ſallied forth, and begun to [...]oar forth the Name of Sophia as loudly, and in as [...]oarſe a Voice, as whileom did Hercules that of Hylas: And as the Poet tells us, that the whole Shore eccho⯑ed back the Name of that beautiful Youth; ſo did the [268] Houſe, the Garden, and all the neighbouring Fields, reſound nothing but the Name of Sophia, in the hoarſe Voice of the Men, and in the ſhrill Pipes of the Wo⯑men; while Echo ſeemed ſo pleaſed to repeat the beloved Sound, that if there is really ſuch a Perſon, I believe Ovid hath belied her Sex.

Nothing reigned for a long Time but Confuſion; 'till at laſt the Squire having ſufficiently ſpent his Breath, returned to the Parlour, where he found Mrs. Weſtern and Mr. Blifil, and threw himſelf, with the utmoſt Dejection in his Countenance, into a great Chair.

Here Mrs. Weſtern began to apply the following Conſolation:

‘'Brother, I am ſorry for what hath happened; and that my Niece ſhould have behaved herſelf in a Manner ſo unbecoming her Family; but it is all your own Doings, and you have no Body to thank but yourſelf. You know ſhe hath been educated always in a Manner directly contrary to my Ad⯑vice, and now you ſee the Conſequence. Have I not a thouſand Times argued with you about giving my Niece her own Will? But you know I never could prevail upon you: And when I had taken ſo much Pains to eradicate her headſtrong Opinions, and to rectify your Errors in Policy, you know ſhe was taken out of my Hands; ſo that I have nothing to anſwer for. Had I been truſted entirely with the Care of her Education, no ſuch Accident as this had ever befallen you: So that you muſt comfort yourſelf by thinking it was all your own Doings; and, indeed, what elſe could be expected from ſuch Indulgence?'—’

‘"Zounds! Siſter,' anſwered he,' 'you are e⯑nough to make one mad. Have I indulged her? Have I given her her Will?—It was no longer ago than laſt night Night that I threatened, if ſhe diſ⯑obeyed me, to confine her to her Chamber upon [269] Bread and Water, as long as ſhe lived.—You would provoke the Patience of Job.'’

‘"Did ever Mortal hear the like?" replied ſhe. 'Brother, if I had not the Patience of fifty Jobs, you would make me forget all Decency and Deco⯑rum. Why would you interfere? Did I not beg you, did I not entreat you to leave the whole Con⯑duct to me? You have defeated all the Operations of the Campaign by one falſe Step. Would any Man in his Senſes have provoked a Daughter by ſuch Threats as theſe? How often have I told you, that Engliſh Women are not to be treated like Cira⯑ [...]eſſian ^* Slaves. We have the Protection of the World: We are to be won by gentle Means only, and not to be hectored, and bullied, and beat into Compliance. I thank Heaven, no Salique Law go⯑verns here. Brother, you have a Roughneſs in your Manner which no Woman but myſelf would bear. I do not wonder my Niece was frightned and terrified into taking this Meaſure; and to ſpeak honeſtly, I think my Niece will be juſtified to the World for what ſhe hath done. I repeat it to you again, Brother, you muſt confort yourſelf by re⯑membering that it is all your own Fault. How often have I adviſed—’'Here Weſtern roſe haſtily from his Chair, and, venting two or three horrid Im⯑precations, ran out of the Room.

When he was departed, his Siſter expreſſed more Bitterneſs (if poſſible) againſt him, than ſhe had done while he was preſent; for the Truth of which ſhe appealed to Mr. Blifil, who, with great Complaiſance, acquieſced entirely in all ſhe ſaid; but excuſed all the faults of Mr. Weſtern, ‘'as they muſt be conſidered,' he ſaid, 'to have proceeded from the too inordinate Fondneſs of a Father, which muſt be allowed the Name of an amiable Weakneſs.'’ ‘'So much the [270] more inexcuſable,' anſwer'd the Lady,; 'for whom doth he ruin by his Fondneſs, but his own Child?'’ To which Blifil immediately agreed.

Mrs. Weſtern then began to expreſs great Confuſi⯑on on the Account of Mr. Blifil, and of the Uſage [...] which he had received from a Family to which he in⯑tended ſo much Honour. On this Subject ſhe treated the Folly of her Niece with great Severity; but con⯑cluded with throwing the whole on her Brother, who ſhe ſaid, was inexcuſable to have proceeded ſo far without better Aſſurances of his Daughter's Conſent [...] ‘'But he was (ſays ſhe) always of a violent, head⯑ſtrong Temper; and I can ſcarce forgive myſelf for all the Advice I have thrown away upon him.'’

After much of this Kind of Converſation, which, perhaps, would not greatly entertain the Reader, was it here particularly related, Mr. Blifil took his Leave and returned home, not highly pleaſed with his Diſap⯑pointment; which, however, the Philoſophy which he had acquired from Square, and the Religion infuſed into him by Thwackum, together with ſomewhat elſe taught him to bear rather better than more paſſionate Lovers bear theſe Kinds of Evils.

CHAP. IX. The Eſcape of Sophia.

IT is now Time to look after Sophia; whom the Reader, if he loves her half ſo well as I do, will rejoice to find eſcaped from the Clutches of her paſ⯑ſionate Father, and from thoſe of her diſpaſſionate Lover.

Twelve Times did the iron Regiſter of Time bea [...] on the ſonorous Bell-metal, ſummoning the Ghoſts to riſe, and walk their nightly Round.—In plaine Language, it was Twelve o' Clock, and all the Fa⯑mily, as we have ſaid, lay buried in Drink and Sleep except only Mrs. Weſtern, who was deeply engaged in reading a political Pamphlet, and except our He⯑roine, [271] who now ſoftly ſtole down Stairs, and hav⯑ing unbarred and unlocked one of the Houſe Doors, ſallied forth, and haſtened to the Place of Appoint⯑ment.

Notwithſtanding the many pretty Arts, which La⯑dies ſometimes practiſe, to diſplay their Fears on eve⯑ry little Occaſion, (almoſt as many as the other Sex uſes to conceal theirs) certainly there is a Degree of Courage, which not only becomes a Woman, but is often neceſſary to enable her to diſcharge her Duty. It is, indeed, the Idea of Fierceneſs, and not of Bra⯑very, which deſtroys the Female Character: For who can read the Story of the juſtly celebrated Arria, without conceiving as high an Opinion of her Gentle⯑neſs and Tenderneſs, as of her Fortitude? At the ſame Time, perhaps, many a Woman who ſhrieks at a Mouſe, or a Rat, may be capable of poiſoning a Huſband; or, what is worſe, of driving him to poi⯑ſon himſelf.

Sophia, with all the Gentleneſs which a Woman can have, had all the Spirit which ſhe ought to have. When, therefore, ſhe came to the Place of Appoint⯑ment, and inſtead of meeting her Maid, as was agreed, ſaw a Man ride directly up to her, ſhe neither ſcream⯑ed out, nor fainted away: Not that her Pulſe then beat with its uſual Regularity; for ſhe was at firſt, under ſome Surprize and Apprehenſion: But theſe were relieved almoſt as ſoon as raiſed, when the Man pulling off his Hat, aſked her, in a very ſubmiſſive Manner, ‘'If her Ladyſhip did not expect to meet another Lady?' And then proceeded to inform her, that he was ſent to conduct her to that Lady.'’

Sophia could have no poſſible ſuſpicion of any Falſ⯑hood in this Account: She therefore mounted reſo⯑lutely behind the Fellow, who conveyed her ſafe to a Town about Five Miles diſtant, where ſhe had the Satisfaction of finding the good Mrs. Honour: For as the Soul of the Waiting-woman was wrapt up in [272] thoſe very Habiliments which uſed to enwrap her Bo⯑dy, ſhe could by no Means bring herſelf to truſt them out of her Sight. Upon theſe, therefore, ſhe kept Guard in Perſon, while ſhe detached the aforeſaid Fellow after her Miſtreſs, having given him all pro⯑per Inſtructions.

They now debated what Courſe to take, in order to avoid the Purſuit of Mr. Weſtern, who, they knew, would ſend after them in a few Hours. The Lon⯑don Road had ſuch Charms for Honour, that ſhe was deſirous of going on directly; alledging, that as So⯑phia could not be miſſed till Eight or Nine the next Morning, her Purſuers would not be able to overtake her, even though they knew which Way ſhe had gone. But Sophia had too much at Stake to venture any Thing to Chance; nor did ſhe dare to truſt too much to her tender Limbs, in a Conteſt which was to be decided only by Swiftneſs. She reſolved therefore, to travel acroſs the Country, for at leaſt Twenty or Thirty Miles, and then to take the direct Road to London. So having hired her Horſes to go Twenty Miles one Way, when ſhe intended to go Twenty Miles the other, ſhe ſet forward with the ſame Guide, behind whom ſhe had ridden from her Father's Houſe; the Guide having now taken up behind him, in the Room of Sophia, a much heavier, as well as much leſs lovely Burthen; being, indeed, a huge Portman⯑teau, well ſtuffed with thoſe outſide Ornaments, by Means of which the fair Honour hoped to gain many Conqueſts, and, finally, to make her Fortune in Lon⯑don City.

When they had gone about Two hundred Paces from the Inn, on the London Road, Sophia rode up to the Guide, and, with a Voice much fuller of Ho⯑ney than was ever that of Anacreon, though his Mouth is ſuppoſed to have been a Bee-hive, begged him to take the firſt Turning which led towards Bri⯑ſtol.

[273] Reader, I am not ſuperſtitious, nor any great Be⯑liever in modern Miracles. I do not therefore, deliver the following as a certain Truth; for, indeed, I can ſcarce credit it myſelf: But the Fidelity of an Hiſtori⯑an obliges me to relate what hath been confidently aſ⯑ſerted. The Horſe, then, on which the Guide rode, is reported to have been ſo charmed by Sophia's Voice, that he made a full Stop, and expreſt an Unwillingneſs to proceed any farther.

Perhaps, however, the Fact may be true, and leſs miraculous then it hath been repreſented; ſince the natural Cauſe ſeems adequate to the Effect: For as the Guide at that Moment deſiſted from a conſtant Appli⯑cation of his armed right Heel, (for, like Hudibras, he wore but one Spur) it is more than poſſible, that this Omiſſion alone might occaſion the Beaſt to ſtop, eſpecially as this was very frequent with him at other Times.

But if the Voice of Sophia had really an Effect on the Horſe; it had very little on the Rider. He an⯑ſwered ſomewhat ſurlily, ‘'That Meaſter had ordered him to go a different Way, and that he ſhould loſe his Place, if he went any other than that he was ordered.'’

Sophia finding all her Perſuaſions had no Effect, be⯑gan now to add irreſiſtible Charms to her Voice; Charms, which according to the Proverb, makes the old Mare trot, inſtead of ſtanding ſtill; Charms! to which modern Ages have attributed all that irreſiſtible Force, which the Ancients imputed to perfect Oratory. In a Word, ſhe promiſed ſhe would reward him to his utmoſt Expectation.

The Lad was not totally deaf to theſe Promiſes; but he diſliked their being indefinite: For tho' perhaps he had never heard that Word, yet that in Fact was his Objection. ‘'He ſaid, Gentlevolks did not conſider the Caſe of poor Volks; that he had like to have been turned away the other Day, for riding about the Coun⯑try [274] with a Gentleman from Squire Allworthy's, who; did not reward him as he ſhould have done.'’

‘'With whom? ſays Sophia eagerly—With a Gentleman from Squire Allworthy's, repeated the Lad, 'the Squire's Son, I think, they call 'un.'—'Whither? which Way did he go? ſays Sophia. Why a little o' one Side o' Briſtol, about twenty Miles off,'’ anſwered the Lad.—Guide me,' ſays Sophia ‘'to the ſame Place, and I'll give thee a Guinea, or two, if one is not ſufficient.' 'To be certain, ſaid the Boy, it is honeſtly worth two, when your La⯑dyſhip conſiders what a Risk I run; but, however, if your Ladyſhip will promiſe me the two Guineas, I'll e'en venture: To be certain it is a ſinful Thing to ride about my Maſter's Horſes; but one Com⯑fort is, I can only be turned away, and two Guineas will partly make me Amends.'’

The Bargain being thus ſtruck, the Lad turned a⯑ſide into the Briſtol Road, and Sophia ſet forward in Purſuit of Jones, highly contrary to the Remonſtran⯑ces of Mrs. Honour, who had much more Deſire to ſee London, than to ſee Mr. Jones: For indeed ſhe was not his Friend with her Miſtreſs, as he had been guilty of ſome Neglect in certain pecuniary Civilities, which are by Cuſtom due to the Waiting-gentlewo⯑man in all Love Affairs, and more eſpecially in thoſe of a clandeſtine Kind. This we impute rather to the Careleſſneſs of his Temper, than to any Want of Generoſity; but perhaps ſhe derived it from the latter Motive. Certain it is that ſhe hated him very bitterly on that Account, and reſolved to take every Oppor⯑tunity of injuring him with her Miſtreſs. It was therefore highly unlucky for her, that ſhe had gone to the very ſame Town and Inn whence Jones had ſtarted and ſtill more unlucky was ſhe, in having ſtumbled on the ſame Guide, and on this accidental Diſcovery which Sophia had made.

[275] Our Travellers arrived at Hambrook ^* at the Break of Day, where Honour was againſt her Will charged to enquire the Rout which Mr. Jones had taken. Of this, indeed, the Guide himſelf could have informed them; but Sophia, I know not for what Reaſon, ne⯑ver aſked him the Queſtion.

When Mrs. Honour had made her Report from the Landlord, Sophia, with much Difficulty, pro⯑cured ſome indifferent Horſes, which brought her to the Inn, where Jones had been confined rather by the Misfortune of meeting with a Surgeon, than by hav⯑ing met with a broken Head.

Here Honour being again charged with a Commiſ⯑ſion of Enquiry, had no ſooner applied herſelf to the Landlady, and had deſcribed the Perſon of Mr. Jones, than that ſagacious Woman began, in the vul⯑gar Phraſe, to ſmell a Rat. When Sophia therefore entered the Room, inſtead of anſwering the Maid, the Landlady addreſſing herſelf to the Miſtreſs, began the following Speech. ‘'Good-lack-a-day! why there now, who would have thought it! I proteſt the lovelieſt Couple that ever Eyes beheld. I⯑fackins, Madam, it is no Wonder the Squire run on ſo about your Ladyſhip. He told me indeed you was the fineſt Lady in the World, and to be ſure ſo you be. Mercy on him, poor Heart, I bepitied him; ſo I did, when he uſed to hug his Pillow, and call it his dear Madam Sophia.—I did all I could to diſſuade himſelf from going to the Wars; I told him there were Men enow that were good for nothing elſe but to be killed, that had not the Love of ſuch fine Ladies.'’ ‘'Sure,' ſays Sophia, 'the good Woman is diſtracted.’ ‘'No, no,' cries the Landlady, 'I am not diſtracted.' 'What doth your Ladyſhip think I don't know then? I aſſure you he told me all.'’ ‘What ſaucy Fellow," cries Honour, 'told you any Thing of my Lady?"’ [276] ‘No ſaucy Fellow,' anſwered the Landlady, 'but the young Gentleman you enquire after, and a very pretty young Gentleman he is, and he loves Madam Sophia Weſtern to the Bottom of his Soul.'’ ‘'He love my Lady! I'd have you to know, Woman,' ſhe is Meat for his Maſter.’—‘'Nay, Honour,' ſaid Sophia, interrupting her, 'don't be angry with the good Woman, ſhe intends no Harm.'’ ‘'No, marry don't I,'’ anſwered the Landlady, embol⯑dened by the ſoft Accents of Sophia, and then launch⯑ed into a long Narrative too tedious to be here ſet down, in which ſome Paſſages dropt, that gave a little Offence to Sophia, and much more to her Waiting-woman, who hence took Occaſion to abuſe poor Jones to her Miſtreſs the Moment they were alone together, ſaying, ‘'that he muſt be a pitiful Fellow, and could have no Love for a Lady, whoſe Name he would thus proſtitute in an Ale-houſe.'’

Sophia did not ſee his Behaviour in ſo very diſad⯑vantageous a Light, and was perhaps more pleaſed with the violent Raptures of his Love (which the Landlady exaggrated as much as ſhe had done every other Circumſtance) than ſhe was offended with the reſt; and indeed ſhe imputed the whole to the Extrava⯑gance, or rather Ebullience of his Paſſion, and to the Openneſs of his Heart.

This Incident, however, being afterward revived in her Mind, and placed in the moſt odious Colours by Honour, ſerved to heighten and give Credit to thoſe unlucky Occurrences at Upton, and aſſiſted the Wait⯑ing-woman in her Endeavours to make her Miſtreſs depart from that Inn without ſeeing Jones.

The Landlady finding Sophia intended to ſtay no longer than till her Horſes were ready, and that with⯑out either eating or drinking, ſoon withdrew; when Ho⯑nour began to take her Miſtreſs to Taſk (for indeed ſhe uſed great Freedom) and after a long Harangue, in which ſhe reminded her of her Intention to go to [277] London, and gave frequent Hints of the Impropriety of purſuing a young Fellow, ſhe at laſt concluded with this ſerious Exhortation: ‘'For Heaven's Sake, Madam, conſider what you are about, and whither you are a going.'’

This Advice to a Lady who had already rode near forty Miles, and in no very agreeable Seaſon, may ſeem fooliſh enough. It may be ſuppoſed ſhe had well conſidered and reſolved this already; nay, Mrs. Honour, by the Hints ſhe threw out, ſeemed to think ſo; and this I doubt not is the Opinion of many Rea⯑ders, who have, I make no Doubt, been long ſince well convinced of the Purpoſe of our Heroine, and have heartily condemned her for it as a wanton Baggage.

But in reality this was not the Caſe. Sophia had been lately ſo diſtracted between Hope and Fear, her Duty and Love to her Father her Hatred to Blifil, her Compaſſion, and (why ſhould we not confeſs the Truth) her Love for Jones; which laſt the Behaviour of her Father, of her Aunt, of every one elſe, and more particularly of Jones himſelf, had blown into a Flame, that her Mind was in that confuſed State, which may be truly ſaid to make us ignorant of what we do, or whither we go, or rather indeed indifferent as to the Conſequence of either.

The prudent and ſage Advice of her Maid, pro⯑duced, however, ſome cool Reflection; and ſhe at length determined to go to Glouceſter, and thence to proceed directly to London.

But unluckily, a few Miles before ſhe entered that Town, ſhe met the Hack-Attorney, who, as is be⯑forementioned, had dined there with Mr. Jones. This Fellow being well known to Mrs. Honour, ſtopt and ſpoke to her; of which Sophia at that Time took little Notice, more than to enquire who he was.

But having had a more particular Account from Honour of this Man afterwards at Glouceſter, and hear⯑ing of the great Expedition he uſually made in travelling, [278] for which (as hath been before obſerved) he was par⯑ticularly famous; recollecting likewiſe, that ſhe had overheard Mrs. Honour inform him, that they were going to Glouceſter, ſhe began to fear leſt her Father might, by this Fellow's Means, be able to trace her to that City; wherefore if ſhe ſhould there ſtrike into the London Road, ſhe apprehended he would certainly b [...] able to overtake her. She therefore altered her Re⯑ſolution; and having hired Horſes to go a Week Journey, a Way which ſhe did not intend to travel ſhe again ſet forward after a light Refreſhment, con⯑trary to the Deſire and earneſt Entreaties of her Maid and to the no leſs vehement Remonſtrances of Mrs. Whitefield, who from good Breeding, or perhaps from good Nature (for the poor young Lady appeared much fatigued) preſs'd her very heartily to ſtay that Evening at Glouceſter.

Having refreſhed herſelf only with ſome Tea, an [...] with lying about two Hours on the Bed, while he [...] Horſes were getting ready, ſhe reſolutely left Mrs. Whitefield's about eleven at Night, and ſtriking di⯑rectly into the Worceſter Road, within leſs than four Hours arrived at that very Inn where we laſt ſaw he [...] ▪

Having thus traced our Heroine very particularl [...] back from her Departure, till her Arrival at Upton we ſhall in a very few Words, bring her Father to th [...] ſame Place; who having received the firſt Scent from the Poſt-boy, who conducted his Daughter to Ha [...] ⯑brook, very eaſily traced her afterwards to Glouceſter whence he purſued her to Upton, as he had learn Mr. Jones had taken that Rout (for Partridge, to [...] the Squire's Expreſſion, left every where a ſtro [...] Scent behind him) and he doubted not in the leaſt b [...] Sophia travelled, or, as he phraſed it, ran the ſam [...] Way. He uſed indeed a very coarſe Expreſſion which need not be here inſerted; as Fox-hunter who alone would underſtand it, will eaſily ſuggeſt to themſelves.

CHAP. I. a Cruſt for the Critics.

IN our laſt initial Chapter, we may be ſuppoſed to have treated that formidable Set of Men, who are called Critics, with more Freedom than be⯑comes us; ſince they exact, and indeed gene⯑rally receive, great Condeſcention from Authors. We ſhall in this, therefore, give the Reaſons of our Conduct to this auguſt Body; and here we ſhall per⯑haps place them in a Light, in which they have not hitherto been ſeen.

This Word Critic is of Greek Derivation, and ſignifies Judgment. Hence I preſume ſome Perſons who have not underſtood the Original, and have ſeen the Engliſh Tranſlation of the Primative, have con⯑cluded that it meant Judgment in the legal Senſe, [280] in which it is frequently uſed as equivalent to Con⯑demnation.

I am the rather inclined to be of that Opinion as the greateſt Number of Critics hath of late Year been found amongſt the Lawyers. Many of theſe Gentlemen, from Deſpair, perhaps, of ever riſing to the Bench in Weſtminſter-hall, have placed them ſelves on the Benches at the Playhouſes, where they have exerted their judicial Capacity, and have given Judgment, i. e. condemned without Mercy.

The Gentlemen would perhaps be well enough pleaſed, if we were to leave them thus compared to one of the moſt important and honourable Offices in the Commonwealth, and if we intended to apply to their Favour we would do ſo; but as we deſign to deal very ſincerely and plainly too with them, we muſt remind them of another Officer of Juſtice of a much lower Rank; to whom, as they not only pronounce but execute their own Judgment, they bear likewiſe ſome remote Reſemblance.

But in reality there is another Light in which theſe modern Critics may with great Juſtice and Propriety be ſeen; and this is that of a common Slanderer. If a Perſon who prys into the Characters of others, with no other Deſign but to diſcover their Faults, and to publiſh them to the World, deſerves the Title of a Slanderer of the Reputations of Men; why ſhould not a Critic, who reads with the ſame male-volent View, be as properly ſtiled the Slanderer of the Reputation of Books?

Vice hath not, I believe, a more abject Slave; So⯑ciety produces not a more odious Vermin; nor can the Devil receive a Gueſt more worthy of him, no [...] poſſibly more welcome to him, than a Slanderer. The World, I am afraid, regards not this Monſter with half the Abhorrence which he deſerves, and I am more afraid to aſſign the Reaſon of this criminal Le⯑nity ſhewn towards him; yet it is certain that the [281] Thief looks innocent in the Compariſon; nay, the Murderer himſelf can ſeldom ſtand in Competition with his Guilt: For Slander is a more cruel Weapon than a Sword, as the Wounds which the former gives are always incurable. One Method, indeed, there is of killing, and that the baſeſt and moſt execrable of all, which bears an exact Analogy to the Vice here diſclaimed againſt, and that is Poiſon. A Means of Revenge ſo baſe, and yet ſo horrible, that it was once wiſely diſtinguiſhed by our Laws from all other Mur⯑ders, in the peculiar Severity of the Puniſhment.

Beſides the dreadful Miſchiefs done by Slander, and the Baſeneſs of the Means by which they are ef⯑fected, there are other Circumſtances that highly ag⯑ [...]ravate its atrocious Quality: For it often proceeds [...]rom no Provocation, and ſeldom promiſes itſelf any Reward, unleſs ſome black and infernal Mind may [...]ropoſe a Reward in the Thoughts of having pro⯑ [...]ured the Ruin and Miſery of another.

Shakeſpear hath nobly touched this Vice, when he [...]ays,

With all this my good Reader will doubtleſs agree; [...]t much of it will probably ſeem too ſevere, when [...]pplied to the Slander of Books. But let it here be [...]onſidered, that both proceed from the ſame wicked Diſpoſition of Mind, and are alike void of the Ex⯑ [...]uſe of Temptation. Nor ſhall we conclude the In⯑ [...]y done this Way to be very ſlight, when we con⯑ [...]der a Book as the Author's Offspring, and indeed [...] the Child of his Brain.

[282] The Reader who hath ſuffered his Muſe to conti⯑nue hitherto in a Virgin State, can have but a ver [...] inadequate Idea of this Kind of paternal Fondneſs To ſuch we may parody the tender Exclamation o [...] Macduff. Alas! Thou haſt written no Book. Bu [...] the Author whoſe Muſe hath brought forth, will fe [...] the pathetic Strain, perhaps will accompany me wi [...] Tears (eſpecially if his Darling be already no more while I mention the Uneaſineſs with which the b [...] Muſe bears about her Burden, the painful Labour with which ſhe produces it, and laſtly, the Care, th [...] Fondneſs, with which the tender Father nouriſhes h [...] Favourite, till it be brought to Maturity, and produce [...] into the World.

Nor is there any paternal Fondneſs which ſeems le [...] to ſavour of abſolute Inſtinct, which may ſo well b [...] reconciled to worldly Wiſdom as this. Theſe Chil⯑dren may moſt truly be called the Riches of their Fa⯑ther; and many of them have with true filial Piety fe [...] their Parent in his old Age; ſo that not only the Affection, but the Intereſt of the Author may b [...] highly injured by theſe Slanderers, whoſe poiſono [...] Breath brings his Book to an untimely End.

Laſtly, The Slander of a Book is, in Truth, th [...] Slander of the Author: For as no one can call and ther Baſtard, without calling the Mother a Whore, neither can any one give the Names of ſad Stuff horrid Nonſence, &c. to a Book, without calling the Author a Blockhead; which tho' in a moral Sen [...] it is a preferable Appellation to that of Villain, perhaps rather more injurious to his worldly Intere [...] ▪

Now however ludicrous all this may appear ſome, others, I doubt not, will feel and acknowledg [...] the Truth of it; nay, may, perhaps, think I have not treated the Subject with decent Solemnity; b [...] ſurely a Man may ſpeak Truth with a ſmiling Cour⯑tenance. In reality, to depreciate a Book maliciou [...] ⯑ly, or even wontonly, is at leaſt a very ill-nature [283] Office; and a moroſe ſnarling Critic, may, I believe, [...]e ſuſpected to be a bad Man.

I will therefore endeavour in the remaining Part of this Chapter, to explain the Marks of this Cha⯑racter, and to ſhew what Criticiſm I here intend to [...]obviate: For I can never be underſtood, unleſs by the very Perſons here meant, to inſinuate, that there are no proper Judges of Writing, or to endeavour to exclude from the Commonwealth of Literature any of thoſe noble Critics, to whoſe Labours the learned World are ſo greatly indebted. Such were Ariſtotle, Horace, and Longinus among the Ancients, Dacier and Boſſu among the French, and ſome perhaps a⯑mong us; who have certainly been duly authorized to execute at leaſt a judicial Authority in Foro Literario.

But without aſcertaining all the proper Qualifica⯑tions of a Critic, which I have touched on elſewhere, I think I may very boldly object to the Cenſures of any one paſt upon Works which he hath not him⯑ſelf read. Such Cenſurers as theſe, whether they ſpeak from their own Gueſs or Suſpicion, or from the Report and Opinion of others, may properly be ſaid to ſlander the Reputation of the Book they condemn.

Such may likewiſe be ſuſpected of deſerving this Character, who without aſſigning any particular Faults, condemn the whole in general deformatory Terms; ſuch as vile, dull, da—d Stuff, &c. and particularly by the Uſe of the Monoſyllable LOW; a Word which becomes the Mouth of no Critic who is not RIGHT HONOURABLE.

Again, tho' there may be ſome Faults juſtly aſſign⯑ed in the Work, yet if thoſe are not in the moſt eſſential Parts, or if they are compenſated by greater Beauties, it will ſavour rather of the Malice of a Slan⯑lerer, than of the Judgment of a true Critic, to paſs [...] ſevere Sentence upon the whole, merely on account of ſome vicious Part. This is directly contrary to he Sentiments of Horace.

For as Martial ſays, Aliter, non fit, Avite, Liber▪ No Book can be otherwiſe compoſed. All Beauty o [...] Character, as well as of Countenance, and indeed o [...] every Thing human, is to be tried in this Manner. Cruel indeed would it be if ſuch a Work as this Hiſ⯑tory, which hath employed ſome Thouſands of Hours in the compoſing, ſhould be liable to be condemned becauſe ſome particular Chapter, or perhaps Chapters may be obnoxious to very juſt and ſenſible Objections. And yet nothing is more common than the moſt ri⯑gorous Sentence upon Books ſupported by ſome Ob⯑jections, which if they were rightly taken (and that they are not always) do by no Means go to the Me⯑rit of the whole. In the Theatre eſpecially, a ſingle Expreſſion which doth not coincide with the Taſte of the Audience, or with any individual Critic of that Audience, is ſure to be hiſſed; and one Scene which ſhould be diſapproved, would hazard the whole Piece. To write within ſuch ſevere Rules as theſe, is as impoſſible, as to live up to ſome ſplenetic Opi⯑nions; and if we judge according to the Sentiments of ſome Critics, and of ſome Chriſtians, no Author will be ſaved in this World, and no Man in the next.

CHAP. II. The Adventures which Sophia met with, after her leaving Upton.

OUR Hiſtory, juſt before it was obliged to turn about, and travel backwards, had mentioned the [285] Departure of Sophia and her Maid from the Inn; we [...]hall now therefore, purſue the Steps of that lovely [...]reature, and leave her unworthy Lover a little long⯑er to bemoan his Ill-Luck, or rather his Ill Con⯑ [...]uct.

Sophia having directed her Guide to travel through [...]ye-Roads croſs the Country, they now paſſed the [...]vern, and had ſcarce got a Mile from the Inn, when [...]e young Lady looking behind her, ſaw ſeveral Horſes coming after on full Speed. This greatly [...]armed her Fears, and ſhe called to the Guide to [...]ut on as faſt as poſſible.

He immediately obeyed her, and away they rode full Gallop. But the faſter they went, the faſter [...]ere they followed; and as the Horſes behind were [...]omewhat ſwifter than thoſe before, ſo the former [...]ere at length overtaken. A happy Circumſtance [...]r poor Sophia; whoſe Fears, joined to her Fatigue, [...]ad almoſt overpowered her Spirits; but ſhe was now [...]ſtantly relieved by a female Voice, that greeted [...]er in the ſofteſt Manner, and with the utmoſt Civi⯑ [...]y. This Greeting, Sophia, as ſoon as ſhe could [...]ecover her Breath, with like Civility, and with the [...]igheſt Satisfaction to herſelf, returned.

The Travellers who joined Sophia, and who had [...]iven her ſuch Terror, conſiſted, like her own Com⯑pany, of two Females and a Guide. The two Par⯑ [...]es proceeded three full Miles together before any [...]ne offered again to open their Mouths; when our [...]eroine having pretty well got the better of her Fear; [...]ut yet being ſomewhat ſurprized that the other ſtill [...]ontinued to attend her, as ſhe purſued no great Road, [...]d had already paſſed through ſeveral Turnings, [...]coſted the ſtrange Lady in a moſt obliging Tone; [...]d ſaid, ‘'She was very happy to find they were both travelling the ſame Way.'’ The other, who [...]e a Ghoſt, only wanted to be ſpoke to, readily [...]ſwered, ‘'That the Happineſs was entirely hers; [286] that ſhe was a perfect Stranger in that Country and was ſo overjoyed at meeting a Companion o [...] her own Sex, that ſhe had perhaps been guilty o [...] an Impertinence which required great Apology, i [...] keeping Pace with her.'’ More Civilities paſſe [...] between theſe two Ladies; for Mrs. Honour had no [...] given Place to the fine Habit of the Stranger, an [...] had fallen into the Rear. But tho' Sophia had grea [...] Curioſity to know why the other Lady continued [...] travel on through the ſame Bye-Roads with herſelf nay, tho' this gave her ſome Uneaſineſs; yet Fea [...] or Modeſty, or ſome other Conſideration, reſtraind her from aſking the Queſtion.

The ſtrange Lady now laboured under a Difficult which appears almoſt below the Dignity of Hiſtory [...] mention. Her Bonnet had been blown from h [...] Head not leſs than five Times within the laſtt Mile [...] nor could ſhe come at any Ribbon or Handkerchi [...] to tye it under her Chin. When Sophia was inform⯑ed of this, ſhe immediately ſupplied her with a Hand⯑kerchief for this Purpoſe; which while ſhe was pu [...] ⯑ling from her Pocket, ſhe perhaps too much neglect⯑ed the Management of her Horſe, for the Beaſt no [...] unluckily making a falſe Step, fell upon his Four Legs, and threw his Fair Rider from his Back.

Tho' Sophia came Head foremoſt to the Groun [...] ſhe happily received not the leaſt Damage; and t [...] ſame Circumſtances which had perhaps contributed her Fall, now preſerved her from Confuſion; [...] the Lane which they were then paſſing was narr [...] and very much overgrown with Trees, ſo that t [...] Moon could here afford very little Light, and w [...] moreover, at preſent, ſo obſcured in a Cloud, tha [...] was almoſt perfectly dark. By theſe Mens t [...] young Lady's Modeſty, which was extremely delica [...] eſcaped as free from Injury as her Limbs, and ſhe w [...] once more reinſtated in her Saddle, having receiv [...] no other Harm than a little Fright by her Fall.

[287] Day-light at length appeared in its full Luſtre; and [...]ow the two Ladies, who were riding over a Com⯑mon Side by Side, looking ſtedfaſtly at each other, at [...]he ſame Moment both their Eyes became fixed; both their Horſes ſtopt, and both ſpeaking together, with [...]qual Joy pronounced, the one the Name of Sophia, [...]e other that of Harriet.

This unexpected Encounter ſurprized the Ladies [...]uch more than I believe it will the ſagacious Reader, who muſt have imagined that the ſtrange Lady could [...] no other than Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the Couſin of Miſs Weſtern, whom we before-mentioned to have ſallied [...]om the Inn a few Minutes after her.

So great was the Surprize and Joy which theſe two [...]ouſins conceived at this Meeting (for they had for⯑ [...]erly been moſt intimate Acquaintance and Friends, [...]d had long lived together with their Aunt Weſtern) at it is impoſſible to recount half the Congratulations [...]hich paſſed between them, before either aſked a ve⯑ [...] natural Queſtion of the other, namely, whither ſhe as going.

This at laſt, however, came firſt from Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick; but eaſy and natural as the Queſtion may [...]m, Sophia, found it difficult to give it a very ready [...]tain Anſwer. She begged her Couſin therefore ſuſpend all Curioſity till they arrived at ſome Inn, which I ſuppoſe,' ſays ſhe, 'can hardly be far [...]iſtant; and believe me, Harriet, I ſuſpend as much Curioſity on my Side; for indeed I believe our Aſtoniſhment is pretty equal.

The Converſation which paſſed between theſe La⯑ [...]s on the Road, was, I apprehend, little worth re⯑ [...]ng; and leſs certainly was that between the two [...]aiting-women: For they likewiſe began to pay [...]ir Compliments to each other. As for the Guides, [...]y were debarred from the Pleaſure of Diſcourſe, one being placed in the Van, and the other oblig⯑ [...] to bring up the Rear.

[288] In this Poſture they travelled many Hours, till they came into a wide and well-beaten Road, which as they turned to the Right, ſoon brought them to a very fair promiſing Inn; where they all alighted: But ſo fatigued was Sophia, that as ſhe had ſat her Horſe during the laſt five or ſix Miles with great Difficulty ſo was ſhe now incapable of diſmounting from him without Aſſiſtance. This the Landlord, who had hold of her Horſe, preſently perceiving, offered to lift her in his Arms from her Saddle; and ſhe too readily accepted the Tender of his Service. In⯑deed Fortune ſeems to have reſolved to put Sophia to the Bluſh that Day. and the ſecond malicious At⯑tempt ſucceeded better than the firſt; for my Land⯑lord had no ſooner received the young Lady in hi [...] Arms, than his Feet, which the Gout had lately very ſeverely handled, gave way, and down he tum⯑bled; but at the ſame Time, with no leſs Dexterity than Gallantry, contrived to throw himſelf under hi [...] charming Burthen, ſo that he alone received any Bruiſe from the Fall; for the greateſt Injury which happened to Sophia, was a violent Shock given to he [...] Modeſty, by an immoderate Grin which, at her riſing from the Ground, ſhe obſerved in the Countenance of moſt of the Bye-Standers. This made her ſuſ⯑pect what had really happened, and what we ſhall not here relate, for the Indulgence of thoſe Reader who are capable of laughing at the Offence given to a young Lady's Delicacy. Accidents of this Kind w [...] have never regarded in a comical Light; nor wil [...] we ſcruple to ſay, that he muſt have a very inade⯑quate Idea of the Modeſty of a beautiful young Wo⯑man, who would wiſh to ſacrifice it to ſo paultry Satisfaction as can ariſe from Laughter.

This Fright and Shock, joined to the violent Fa⯑tigue which both her Mind and Body had undergone, al⯑moſt overcame the excellent Conſtitution of Sophia, an [...] [289] ſhe had ſcarce Strength ſufficient to totter into the [...]n, leaning on the Arm of her Maid. Here ſhe was no ſooner ſeated than ſhe called for a Glaſs of Water; but Mrs. Honour, very judiciouſly, in my Opinion, changed it into a Glaſs of Wine.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick hearing from Mrs. Honour, that Sophia had not been in Bed during the two-laſt Nights, and obſerving her to look very pale and wan with her Fatigue, earneſtly entreated her to refreſh herſelf with ſome Sleep. She was yet a Stranger to her Hiſtory, or her Apprehenſions; but had ſhe known both, ſhe would have given the ſame Advice; for Reſt was vi⯑ [...]bly neceſſary for her; and their long Journey through [...]ye-Roads ſo entirely removed all Danger of Purſuit, [...]hat ſhe was herſelf perfectly eaſy on that Account.

Sophia was eaſily prevailed on to follow the Coun⯑ſel of her Friend, which was heartily ſeconded by [...]er Maid. Mrs. Fitzpatrick likewiſe offered to bear [...]er Couſin Company, which Sophia, with much Complaiſance, accepted.

The Miſtreſs was no ſooner in Bed, than the Maid [...]repared to follow her Example. She began to make many Apologies to her Siſter Abigail for leaving her [...]lone in ſo horrid a Place as an Inn; but the other [...]opt her ſhort, being as well inclined to a Nap as herſelf, and deſired the Honour of being her Bed⯑ [...]ellow. Sophia's Maid agreed to give her a Share of [...]er Bed, but put in her Claim to all the Honour. So [...]fter many Curt'ſies and Compliments, to Bed toge⯑ [...]er went the Waiting-women, as their Miſtreſſes [...]d done before them.

It was uſual with my Landlord (as indeed it is with [...]e whole Fraternity) to enquire particularly of all [...]oachmen, Footmen, Poſtboys, and others, into the [...]ames of all his Gueſts: what their Eſtate was, and [...]here it lay. It cannot therefore be wondered at, [...]at the many particular Circumſtances which attend⯑ [...] our Travellers, and eſpecially their retiring all to [290] Sleep at ſo extraordinary and unuſual an Hour as ten in the Morning, ſhould excite his Curioſity. As ſoon therefore as the Guides entered the Kitchen, he began to examine who the Ladies were, and whence they came; but the Guides, tho' they faithfully re⯑lated all they knew, gave him very little Satisfaction. On the contrary, they rather enflamed his Curioſity than extinguiſhed it.

This Landlord had the Character, among all his Neighbours, of being a very ſagacious Fellow. He was thought to ſee farther and deeper into Things than any Man in the Pariſh, the Parſon himſelf not excepted. Perhaps his Look had contributed not a little to pro⯑cure him this Reputation; for there was in this ſome⯑thing wonderfully wiſe and ſignificant, eſpecially when he had his Pipe in his Mouth; which, indeed, he ſeldom was without. His Behaviour likewiſe, greatly aſſiſted in promoting the Opinion of his Wiſ⯑dom. In his Deportment he was ſolemn, if not ſullen; and when he ſpoke, which was ſeldom, he always delivered himſelf in a ſlow Voice; and though his Sentences were ſhort, they were ſtill interrupted with many Hum's and Ha's, Ay, Ays, and other Expletives: So that though he accompanied his Words with certain explanatory Geſtures, ſuch as ſhaking, or nodding the Head, or pointing with his Forefinger he generally left his Hearers to underſtand more than he expreſſed; nay, he commonly gave them a Hint that he knew much more than he thought proper to diſcloſe. This laſt Circumſtance alone, may, indeed very well account for his Character of Wiſdom, ſince Men are ſtrangely inclined to worſhip what they do not underſtand. A grand Secret, upon which ſevera [...] Impoſers on Mankind have totally relied for the Suc⯑ceſs of their Frauds.

This politic Perſon now taking his Wife aſide aſked her, 'What ſhe thought of the Ladies lately 'arrived?' 'Think of them!' ſaid the Wife, 'why [291] what ſhould I think of them?' 'I know,' anſwer⯑ed he, 'what I think. The Guides tell ſtrange Stories. One pretends to be come from Glouceſter, and the other from Upton; and neither of them, for what I can find, can tell whither they are go⯑ing. But what People ever travel acroſs the Coun⯑try from Upton hither, eſpecially to London? And one of the Maid-Servants, before ſhe alighted from her Horſe, aſked, if this was not the London Road? Now I have put all theſe Circumſtances together, and whom do you think I have found them out to be?' 'Nay, anſwered ſhe, you know I never pretend to gueſs at your Diſcoveries.'.—'It is a good Girl,' replied he, chucking her under her Chin; 'I muſt own you have always ſubmitted to my Knowledge of theſe Matters. Why then, de⯑pend upon it; mind what I ſay,—depend upon it, they are certainly ſome of the Rebel Ladies, who, they ſay, travel with the young Chevalier; and have taken a round about Way to eſcape the Duke's Army. 'Huſband, quoth the Wife, 'you have certainly hit it; for one of them is dreſt as fine as any Prin⯑ceſs; and, to be ſure, ſhe looks for all the World like one.—But yet, when I conſider one Thing. When you conſider,' cries the Landlord contemp⯑ [...]ouſly—'Come, pray let's hear what you con⯑ſider.'—Why, it is,' anſwered the Wife, that ſhe is too humble to be any very great Lady; for while our Betty was warming the Bed, ſhe called her nothing but Child, and my Dear, and Sweet⯑heart; and when Betty offered to pull off her Shoes and Stockings, ſhe would not ſuffer her, ſaying, ſhe would not give her the trouble.'

‘'Pugh! anſwered the Huſband, This is no⯑thing. Doſt think, becauſe you have ſeen ſome great Ladies rude and uncivil to Perſons below them, that none of them know how to behave themſelves when they come before their inferiors? [292] I think I know People of Faſhion when I ſee them. I think I do. Did ſhe not call for a Glaſs of Wa⯑ter when ſhe came in? Another Sort of Woman would have called for a Dram; you know they would. If ſhe be not a Woman of very great Quality, ſell me for a Fool; and, I believe, thoſe who buy me will have a bad Bargain. Now, would a Woman of her Quality travel without a Footman, unleſs upon ſome ſuch extraordinary Oc⯑caſion? Nay, to be ſure, Huſband, cries ſhe, you know theſe Matters better than I, or moſt Folk.'’ I think I do know ſomething, ſaid he. ‘To be ſure, anſwered the the Wife, 'the poor little Heart looked ſo piteous, when ſhe ſat down in the Chair, I proteſt I could not help having a Compaſſion for her almoſt as much as if ſhe had been a poor Bo⯑dy. But what's to be done, Huſband? If an ſhe be a Rebel, I ſuppoſe you intend to betray her up to the Court. Well, ſhe's a ſweet-tempered, good-humoured Lady, be ſhe what ſhe will, and I ſhall hardly refrain from crying when I hear ſhe is hanged or beheaded. Pooh, anſwered the Huſ⯑band?—But as to what's to be done is not ſo eaſy a Matter to determine. I hope, before ſhe goe [...] away, we ſhall have the News of a Battle: for i [...] the Chevalier ſhould get the better, ſhe my gain u [...] Intereſt at Court, and make our Fortunes without betraying her. Why that's true, replied the Wife; and I heartily hope ſhe will have it in her Power. Certainly ſhe's a ſweet good Lady; i [...] would go horribly againſt me to have her come to any Harm. Pooh, cries the Landlord, Wo⯑men are always ſo tender-hearted. Why you would not harbour Rebels, would you? No, certainly, anſwered the Wife; and as for betraying her, come what will on't, Nobody can blame us. It is what any body would do in our Caſe.'’

While our politic Landlord, who had not, we ſee undeſervedly the Reputation of great Wiſdom among [293] his Neighbours, was engaged in debating this Matter with himſelf, (for he paid little Attention to the Opi⯑nion of his Wife) News arrived that the Rebels had given the Duke the Slip, and had got a Day's March towards London; and ſoon after arrived a famous Ja⯑ [...]ite Squire, who, with great Joy in his Counte⯑nance, ſhook the Landlord by the Hand, ſaying, All's our own, Boy, ten thouſand honeſt Frenchmen are landed in Suffolk. Old England for ever! Ten thouſand French, my brave Lad! I am going to tap away directly.'

This News determined the Opinion of the wiſe Man, and he reſolved to make his Court to the young Lady, when ſhe aroſe; for he had now (he ſaid) diſ⯑covered that ſhe was no other than Madam Jenny Ca⯑meron herſelf.

CHAP. III. A very ſhort Chapter, in which however is a Sun, a Moon, a Star, and an Angel.

THE Sun (for he keeps very good Hours at this Time of the Year) had been ſome Time retired to reſt, when Sophia aroſe greatly refreſhed by her Sleep; which, ſhort as it was, nothing but her extreme Fa⯑tigue could have occaſioned; for tho' ſhe had told her Maid, and perhaps herſelf too, that ſhe was per⯑fectly eaſy, when ſhe left Upton, yet it is certain her Mind was a little affected with that Malady which is attended with all the reſtleſs Symptoms of a Fever, and is perhaps the very diſtemper which Phyſicians mean (if they mean any thing) by the Fever on the Spirits.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick likewiſe left her Bed at the ſame Time, and having ſummoned her Maid, immediately dreſſed herſelf. She was really a very pretty Wo⯑man, and had ſhe been in any other Company but that of Sophia, might have been thought beautiful; but when Mrs. Honour of her own accord attended (for her Miſtreſs would not ſuffer her to be awaked) [294] and had equipped our Heroine, the Charms of Mrs. Fitzpatrick who had performed the Office of the Morning Star, and had preceded greater Glories, ſhar⯑ed the Fate of that Star, and were totally eclipſed the Moment thoſe Glories ſhone forth.

Perhaps Sophia never looked more beautiful than ſhe did at this Inſtant. We ought not therefore to condemn the Maid of the Inn for her Hyperb [...]le who when ſhe deſcended, after having lighted the Fire declared, and ratified it with an Oath, that if ever there was an Angel upon Earth, ſhe was now above Stairs.

Sophia had acquainted her Couſin with her Deſign to go to London; and Mrs. Fitzpatrick had agreed to accompany her; for the arrival of her Huſband a [...] Upton had put an End to her Deſign of going to Bath or to her Aunt Weſtern. They had therefore no ſooner finiſhed their Tea, than Sophia propoſed to ſe [...] out, the Moon then ſhining extremely bright, and as for the Froſt ſhe defied it; nor had ſhe any of thoſe Apprehenſions which many young Ladies would have felt at travelling by Night; for ſhe had, as we have before obſerved, ſome little Degree of natural Cou⯑rage; and this her preſent Senſations, which bor⯑dered ſomewhat on Deſpair, greatly encreaſed. Be⯑ſides, as ſhe had already travelled twice with Safety by the Light of the Moon, ſhe was the better embol⯑dened to truſt to it a third Time.

The Diſpoſition of Mrs. Fitzpatrick was more t [...] ⯑morous: for tho' the greater Terrors had conquere [...] the leſs, and the Preſence of her Huſband had drive [...] her away at ſo unſeaſonable an Hour from Upton, ye [...] being now arrived at a Place where ſhe thought her⯑ſelf ſafe from his Purſuit, theſe leſſer Terrors of know not what, operated ſo ſtrongly, that ſhe earneſtly entreated her Couſin to ſtay till the next Morning, an [...] not expoſe herſelf to the Dangers of travelling by Night.

Sophia, who was yielding to an Exceſs, when ſh [...] could neither laugh nor reaſon her Couſin out of theſe [295] Apprehenſions, at laſt gave Way to them. Perhaps indeed, had ſhe known of her Father's Arrival at Upton, it might have been more difficult to have per⯑ſuaded her; for as to Jones, ſhe had, I am afraid no great Horror at the Thoughts of being overtaken by him; nay, to confeſs the Truth, I believe ſhe rather wiſhed than feared it; though I might honeſtly enough have concealed this Wiſh from the Reader, as it was one of thoſe ſecret ſpontaneous Emotions of the Soul, to which the Reaſon is often a Stranger.

When our young Ladies had determined to remain all that Evening in their Inn, they were attended by the Landlady, who deſired to know what their Lady⯑ſhips would be pleaſed to eat. Such Charms were there in the Voice, in the Manner, and in the af⯑fable Deportment of Sophia, that ſhe raviſhed the Landlady to the higheſt Degree; and that good Wo⯑man, concluding that ſhe had attended Jenny Cameron, became in a Moment a ſtaunch Jacobite, and wiſhed heartily well to the young Pretender's Cauſe, from the great ſweetneſs and Affability with which ſhe had been treated by his ſuppoſed Miſtreſs.

The two Couſins began now to impart to each other their reciprocal Curioſity, to know what extraordi⯑nary Accidents on both ſides occaſioned this ſo ſtrange and unexpected meeting. At laſt Mrs. Fitzpatrick, having obtained of Sophia a Promiſe of communi⯑cating likewiſe in her Turn, began to relate what the Reader, if he is deſirous to know her Hiſtory, may read in the enſuing Chapter.

CHAP. IV. The Hiſtory of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

MRS. Fitzpatrick, after a Silence of a few Mo⯑ments, fetching a deep Sigh, thus began:

‘'It is natural to the Unhappy to feel a ſecret Con⯑cern in recollecting thoſe Periods of their Lives [296] which have been moſt delightful to them. The Re⯑membrance of paſt Pleaſures affects us with a kind of tender Grief, like what we ſuffer for departed Friends; and the Ideas of both may be ſaid to haunt our Imaginations.'’

‘'For this Reaſon, I never reflect without Sorrow on thoſe Days (the happieſt far of my Life) which we ſpent together, when both were under the Care of my Aunt Weſtern. Alas? why are Miſs Grave⯑airs, and Miſs Giddy no more. You remember, I am ſure, when we knew each other by no other Names. Indeed you gave me the latter Appella⯑tion with too juſt Cauſe. I have ſince experienced how much I deſerved it. You, my Sophia, was always my Superior in every thing, and I heartily hope you will be ſo in your Fortune. I ſhall never for⯑get the wiſe and matronly Advice you once gave me when I lamented being diſappointed of a Ball, though you could not be then fourteen Years old.—O my Sophy, how bleſt muſt have been my Situation, when I could think ſuch a Diſappointment a Misfortune and when indeed it was the greateſt I had ever known.'’

‘'And yet, my dear Harriet,' anſwered Sophia it was then a ſerious Matter with you. Comfort yourſelf therefore with thinking, that whatever you now lament may hereafter appear as triffling and contemptible as a Ball would at this Time.'’

‘'Alas, my Sophia,' replied the other Lady, 'you yourſelf will think otherwiſe of my preſent Situ⯑ation; for greatly muſt that tender Heart be altered if my Misfortunes do not draw many a Sigh, nay many a Tear, from you. The Knowledge of this ſhould perhaps deter me from relating what I am convinced will ſo much affect you.'’—Here Mrs. Fitzpatrick ſtopt, till at the repeated Entreaties o [...] Sophia, ſhe proceeded.

‘'Though you muſt have heard much of my Mar⯑riage, yet as Matters may probably have been miſ [297] repreſented, I will ſet out from the very Com⯑mencement of my unfortunate Acquaintance with my Huſband; which was at Bath, ſoon after you' left my Aunt, and returned home to your Father.’

‘'Among the gay young Fellows, who were at this Seaſon at Bath, Mr. Fitzpatrick was one. He was handſome, degagé, extremely gallant, and in his Dreſs exceeded moſt others. In ſhort, my Dear, if you was unluckily to ſee him now, I could deſcribe him no better than by telling you he was the very Reverſe of every Thing which he is: For he hath ruſticated himſelf ſo long, that he is become an abſolute wild Iriſhman. But to pro⯑ceed in my Story; the Qualifications which he then poſſeſſed ſo well recommended him, that though the People of Quality at this Time lived ſeparate from the reſt of the Company, and excluded them from all their Parties, Mr. Fitzpatrick found Means to gain Admittance. It was perhaps no eaſy Matter to avoid him; for he required very little or no In⯑vitation; and as being handſome and genteel, he found it no difficult Matter to ingratiate himſelf with the Ladies, ſo, he having frequently drawn his Sword, the Men did not care publickly to affront him. Had it not been for ſome ſuch Reaſon, I believe he would have been ſoon expelled by his own Sex; for ſurely he had no ſtrict Title to be prefer⯑red to the Engliſh Gentry; nor did they ſeem inclin⯑ed to ſhew him any extraordinary Favour. They all abuſed him behind his Back, which might proba⯑bly proceed from Envy; for he was well received,' and very particularly diſtinguiſhed by the Women.’

‘'My Aunt, tho' no Perſon of Quality herſelf, as ſhe had always lived about the Court, was enrolled in that Party: For by whatever Means you get into the Polite Circle, when you are once there, it is ſufficient Merit for you that you are there. This Obſervation, young as you was, you could ſcarce [298] avoid making from my Aunt, who was free, or re⯑ſerved, with all People, juſt as they had more o [...]' leſs of this Merit.’

‘'And this Merit, I believe, it was, which prin⯑cipally recommended Mr. Fitzpatrick to her Fa⯑vour. In which he ſo well ſucceeded, that he was always one of her private Parties. Nor was h [...] backward in returning ſuch Diſtinction; for he ſoon grew ſo very particular in his Behaviour to her, tha [...] the Scandal Club firſt began to take Notice of it and the better diſpoſed Perſons made a Match be⯑tween them. For my own Part, I confeſs, I made no Doubt but that his Deſigns were ſtrictly honour⯑able, as the Phraſe is; that is, to rob a Lady of he Fortune by Way of Marriage. My Aunt was, conceived, neither young enough nor handſome enough, to attract much wicked Inclination; but' ſhe had matrimonial Charms in great Abundance.’

‘'I was the more confirmed in this Opinion from the extraordinary Reſpect which he ſhewed to my ſelf from the firſt Moment of our Acquaintance. This I underſtood as an attempt to leſſen, if poſſible that Diſinclination which my Intereſt might be ſup⯑poſed to give me towards the Match; and I know no but in ſome Meaſure it had that Effect: for as I was well contented with my own Fortune, and of all People the leaſt a Slave to intereſted Views, ſo could not be violently the Enemy of a Man with whoſe Behaviour to me I was greatly pleaſed; and the more ſo, as I was the only Object of ſuch Re⯑ſpect; for he behaved at the ſame Time to many' Women of Quality without any Reſpect at all.’

‘'Agreeable as this was to me, he ſoon changed i [...] into another Kind of Behaviour, which was per⯑haps more ſo. He now put on much Softneſs and Tenderneſs, and languiſhed and ſighed abundantly. At Times indeed, whether from Art or Nature will not determine, he gave his uſual looſe to Gaye [299] ty and Mirth; but this was always in general Com⯑pany, and with other Women; for even in a Coun⯑try Dance, when he was not my Partner, he became grave and put on the ſofteſt Look imaginable, the Moment he approached me. Indeed he was in all Things ſo very particular towards me, that I muſt have been blind not to have diſcovered it. And, and, and’—‘'And you was more pleaſed ſtill, my dear Harriet,' cries Sophia; 'you need not be aſhamed, added ſhe ſighing, 'for ſure there are ir⯑reſiſtible Charms in Tenderneſs, which too many Men are able to affect.'’ ‘'True,' anſwered her Cou⯑ſin, 'Men who in all other Inſtances want common 'Senſe, are very Machiavels in the Art of Loving. I wiſh I did not know an Inſtance.—Well, Scandal now began to be as buſy with me as it had before been with my Aunt, and ſome good Ladies did not ſcruple to affirm that Mr. Fitzpatrick had an In⯑trigue with us both.'’

‘'But what may ſeem aſtoniſhing; my Aunt never ſaw, nor in the leaſt ſeemed to ſuſpect that which was viſible enough, I believe, from both our Be⯑haviours. One would indeed think, that Love quite puts out the Eyes of an old Woman. In Fact, they ſo greedily ſwallow the Addreſſes which are made to them, that like an outragious Glutton, they are not at Leiſure to obſerve what paſſes amongſt others at the ſame Table. This I have obſerved in more Caſes than my own; and this was ſo ſtrong⯑ly verified by my Aunt, that tho' ſhe often found us together at her Return from the Pump, the leaſt: canting Word of his, pretending Impatience at her Abſence effectually ſmothered all Suſpicion. One Artifice ſucceeded with her to Admiration. This was his treating me like a little Child, and never calling me by any other Name in her Preſence, but that of pretty Miſs. This indeed did him ſome Diſſer⯑vice with your humble Servant; but I ſoon ſaw [300] through it, eſpecially as in her Abſence he behaved to me, as I have ſaid, in a different Manner. How⯑ever, if I was not greatly diſobliged by a Conduct of which I had diſcovered the Deſign, I ſmarted ve⯑ry ſeverely for it: For my Aunt really conceived me to be what her Lover (as ſhe thought him) call⯑ed me, and treated me, in all Reſpects, as a perfect Infant. To ſay the Truth, I wonder ſhe had not in⯑ſiſted on my again wearing Leading-ſtrings.'’

‘'At laſt, my Lover (for ſo he was) thought pro⯑per, in a moſt ſolemn Manner, to diſcloſe a Secret which I had known long before. He now placed all the Love which he had pretended to my Aunt to my Account. He lamented the Encouragement ſhe had given him in very pathetic Terms, and made a high Merit of the tedious Hours, in which he had undergone her Converſation.—What ſhall I tell you, my dear Sophia?—Then I will con⯑feſs the Truth. I was pleaſed with my Man. I was pleaſed with my Conqueſt. To rival my Aunt delighted me; to rival ſo many other Women charmed me. In ſhort, I am afraid, I did not behave as I ſhould do, even upon the very firſt De⯑claration.—I wiſh I did not almoſt give him poſi⯑tive Encouragement before we parted.'’

‘'The Bath now talked loudly, I might almoſt ſay, roared againſt me. Several young Women affected to ſhun my Acquaintance, not ſo much, perhaps, from any real Suſpicion, as from a Deſire of baniſhing me from a Company, in which I too much engroſſed their favourite Man. And here I cannot omit expreſſing my Gratitude to the Kindneſs intended me by Mr. Naſh; who took me one Day aſide, and gave me Advice, which if I had follow⯑ed, I had been a happy Woman.'’ ‘"Child," ſays he, 'I am ſorry to ſee the Familiarity which ſubſiſts between you and a Fellow who is altogether un⯑worthy of you, and I am afraid will prove your [301] Ruin. As for your old ſtinking Aunt, if it was to be no Injury to you, and my pretty Sophia Weſtern (I aſſure you I repeat his Words) I ſhould be hear⯑tily glad, that the Fellow was in Poſſeſſion of all that belongs to her. I never adviſe old Women: For if they take it into their Heads to go to the De⯑vil, it is no more poſſible, than worth while to keep them from him. Innocence and Youth and Beauty are worthy a better Fate, and I would ſave them from his Clutches. Let me adviſe you there⯑fore, dear Child; never ſuffer this Fellow to be particular with you again." '—Many more Things he ſaid to me, which I have now forgotton, and indeed I attended very little to them at that Time: For Inclination contradicted all he ſaid, and beſides I could not be perſuaded, that Women of Quality would condeſcend to Familiarity with ſuch a Perſon as he deſcribed.'’

‘'But I am afraid, my Dear, I ſhall tire you with a Detail of ſo many minute Circumſtances. To be conciſe therefore, imagine me married; imagine me with my Huſband, at the Feet of my Aunt, and then imagine the maddeſt Woman in Bedlam in a raving Fit, and your Imagination will ſuggeſt to you no more than what really happened.'’

‘'The very next Day, my Aunt left the Place, partly to avoid ſeeing Mr. Fitzpatrick or my ſelf, and as much perhaps to avoid ſeeing any one elſe; for, tho' I am told ſhe hath ſince denied every thing ſtoutly, I believe ſhe was then a little confounded at her Diſappointment. Since that Time, I have written to her many Letters; but never could ob⯑tain an Anſwer, which I muſt own ſits ſomewhat the heavier, as ſhe herſelf was, tho' undeſignedly, the Occaſion of all my Sufferings: For had it not been under the Colour of paying his Addreſſes to her, Mr. Fitzpatrick would never have found ſufficient Opportunities to have engaged my Heart, which, [302] in other Circumſtances, I ſtill flatter myſelf would not have been an eaſy Conqueſt to ſuch a Perſon. Indeed, I believe, I ſhould not have erred ſo groſ⯑ly in my Choice, if I had relied on my own Judg⯑ment; but I truſted totally to the Opinion of others, and very fooliſhly took the Merit of a Man for granted, whom I ſaw ſo univerſally well received by the Women. What is the Reaſon, my Dear, that we who have Underſtandings equal to the wiſeſt and greateſt of the other Sex ſo often make Choice of the ſillieſt Fellows for Companions and Favourites? It raiſes my Indignation to the higheſt Pitch, to re⯑flect on the Numbers of Women of Senſe who have been undone by Fools.'’ Here ſhe pauſed a Moment; but Sophia making no Anſwer, ſhe pro⯑ceeded as in the next Chapter.

CHAP. V. In which the Hiſtory of Mrs. Fitzpatrick is continued.

‘'WE remained at Bath no longer than a Fort⯑night after our Wedding: For as to any Reconciliation with my Aunt, there were no Hopes; and of my Fortune, not one Farthing could be touched till I was at Age, of which I now wanted more than two Years. My Huſband therefore was reſolved to ſet out for Ireland; againſt which I re⯑monſtrated very earneſtly, and inſiſted on a Pro⯑miſe which he had made me before our Marriage, that I ſhould never take this Journey againſt my Conſent; and indeed I never intended to conſent to it; nor will any Body, I believe, blame me for that Reſolution; but this, however, I never men⯑tioned to my Huſband, and petitioned only for the Reprieve of a Month; but he had fixed the Day, and to that Day he obſtinately adhered.'’

‘'This was the Letter Word for Word. Gueſs, my dear Girl, gueſs how this Letter affected me. You prefer the Niece on account of her Ready Money! [304] If every one of theſe Words had been a Dagger, I could with Pleaſure have ſtabbed them into his Heart; but I will not recount my frantic Behavi⯑our on the Occaſion. I had pretty well ſpent my Tears before his return home; but ſufficient Re⯑mains of them appeared in my ſwollen Eyes. He threw himſelf ſullenly into his Chair, and for a long Time we were both ſilent. At length in a haughty Tone, he ſaid, "I hope, Madam, your Servants have packed up all your Things; for the Coach will be ready by Six in the Morning." My Patience was totally ſubdued by this Provoca⯑tion, and I anſwered, No, Sir, there is a Letter ſtill remains unpacked, and then throwing it on the Table, I fell to upbraiding him with the moſt bitter Language I could invent.'’

‘'Whether Guilt, or Shame, or Prudence, re⯑ſtrained him, I cannot ſay; but tho' he is the moſt paſſionate of Men, he exerted no Rage on this Occaſion. He endeavoured on the contrary to pa⯑cify me by the moſt gentle Means. He ſwore the Phraſe in the Letter to which I principally objected was not his, nor had he ever written any ſuch. He owned indeed the having mentioned his Mar⯑riage and that Preference which he had given to myſelf, but denied with many Oaths the having aſſigned any ſuch Reaſon. And he excuſed the having mentioned any ſuch Matter at all, on account of the Straits he was in for Money, ariſing, he ſaid, from his having too long neglected his Eſ⯑tate in Ireland. And this, he ſaid, which he could not bear to diſcover to me, was the only Reaſon of his having ſo ſtrenuouſly inſiſted on our Journey. He then uſed ſeveral endearing Expreſſions, and concluded by a very fond Careſs, and many violent Proteſtations of Love.'’

‘'There was one Circumſtance, which, tho' he did not appeal to it, had much Weight with me in [305] his Favour, and that was the Word Jointure in the Taylor's Letter, whereas my Aunt never had been married, and this Mr. Fizpatrick well knew.—As I imagined therefore that the Fellow muſt have in⯑ſerted this of his own Head, or from Hearſay, I perſuaded myſelf he might have ventured likewiſe on that odious Line on no better Authority. What Reaſoning was this, my Dear? Was I not an Ad⯑vocate rather than a Judge?—But why do I men⯑tion ſuch a Circumſtance as this, or appeal to it for the Juſtification of my Forgiveneſs!—In ſhort, had he been guilty of twenty Times as much, half the Tenderneſs and Fondneſs which he uſed, would have prevailed on me to have forgiven him. I now made no farther Objections to our ſetting out, which we did the next Morning, and in a lit⯑tle more than a Week arrived at the Seat of Mr. Fitzpatrick.'’

‘'Your Curioſity will excuſe me from relating any Occurrences which paſt during our Journey: For it would indeed be highly diſagreeable to travel it over again, and no leſs ſo to you to travel it over with me.'’

‘'This Seat then, is an ancient Manſion-Houſe; If I was in one of thoſe merry Humours, in which you have ſo often ſeen me, I could deſcribe it to you ridiculouſly enough. It looked as if it had been formerly inhabited by a Gentleman. Here was Room enough, and not the leſs Room on ac⯑count of the Furniture: For indeed there was very little in it. An old Woman who ſeemed coeval with the Building, and greatly reſembled her whom Chamont mentions in the Orphan, received us at the Gate, and in a Howl ſcarce human, and to me un⯑intelligible, welcomed her Maſter home. In ſhort, the whole Scene was ſo gloomy and melancholy, that it threw my Spirits into the loweſt Dejection; which my Huſband diſcerning, inſtead of relieving, encreaſed, by two or three malicious Obſervations. [306] There are good Houſes, Madam," ſays he, " [...] you find, in other Places beſides England; b [...] perhaps you had rather be in a dirty Lodging [...] Bath.'’

‘'Happy, my Dear, is the Woman, who in an [...] State of Life, hath a cheerful good-natured Com⯑panion to ſupport and comfort her; but why do reflect on happy Situations only to aggravate m [...] own Miſery! My Companion, far from clearing up the Gloom of Solitude, ſoon convinced me that I muſt have been wretched with him in an [...] Place, and in any Condition. In a Word, he wa [...] a ſurly Fellow, a Character you have perhaps ne⯑ver ſeen: For indeed no Woman ever ſees it ex⯑emplified, but in a Father, a Brother, or a Huſband and tho' you have a Father, he is not of that Cha⯑racter. This ſurly Fellow had formerly appear⯑ed to me the very Reverſe, and ſo he did ſtill t [...] every other Perſon. Good Heaven! how is it poſ⯑ſible for a Man to maintain a conſtant Lie in h [...] Appearance abroad and in Company, and to conten [...] himſelf with ſhewing diſagreeable Truth only a home? Here, my Dear, they make themſelves Amends for the uneaſy Reſtraint which they put o [...] their Tempers in the World; for I have obſerve [...] the more merry and gay, and good-humoured m [...] Huſband hath at any Time been in Company, th [...] more ſullen and moroſe he was ſure to be at ou [...] next private Meeting. How ſhall I deſcribe hi [...] Barbarity? To my Fondneſs he was cold and in⯑ſible. My little comical Ways, which you, m [...] Sophy, and which others have called ſo agreeable he treated with Contempt. In my moſt ſeriou [...] Moments he ſung and whiſtled; and whenever was thoroughly dejected and miſerable, he was an⯑gry, and abuſed me: for though he was never pleaſ⯑ed with my good Humour, nor aſcribed it to my Satisfaction in him; yet my low Spirits always of [307] fended him, and thoſe he imputed to my Repen⯑tance of having (as he ſaid) married an Iriſhman.'’

‘'You will eaſily conceive, my dear Graveairs; (I aſk your Pardon, I really forgot myſelf) that when a Woman makes an imprudent Match in the Senſe of the World; that is, when ſhe is not an arrant Proſtitute to pecuniary Intereſt, ſhe muſt ne⯑ceſſarily have ſome Inclination and Affection for her Man. You will as eaſily believe that this Affection may poſſibly be leſſened; nay, I do aſſure you, Contempt will wholly eradicate it. This Contempt I now began to entertain for my Huſband, whom I now diſcover to be—I muſt uſe the Expreſſion—an errant Blockhead. Perhaps you will wonder I did not make this Diſcovery long before; but Wo⯑men will ſuggeſt a thouſand Excuſes to themſelves for the Folly of thoſe they like: Beſides, give me Leave to tell you, it requires a moſt penetrating Eye to diſcern a Fool through the Diſguiſes of Gayety and Good-breeding.'’

‘'It will be eaſily imagined, that when I once de⯑ſpiſed my Huſband, as I confeſs to you I ſoon did, I muſt conſequently diſlike his Company; and in⯑deed I had the Happineſs of being very little trou⯑bled with it; for our Houſe was now moſt elegantly furniſhed, our Cellars well ſtocked, and Dogs and Horſes provided in great Abundance. As my Gen⯑tleman therefore entertained his Neighbours with great Hoſpitality, ſo his Neighbours reſorted to him with great Alacrity; and Sports and Drinking con⯑ſumed ſo much of his Time, that a ſmall Part of his Converſation, that is to ſay, of his Ill-humours, fell to my Share.'’

‘'Happy would it have been for me, if I could as eaſily have avoided all other diſagreeable Company; but alas! I was confined to ſome which conſtantly tormented me; and the more, as I ſaw no Proſpect of being relieved from them. Theſe Companions [308] were my own racking Thoughts, which plagued and in a Manner haunted me Night and Day. I this Situation I paſt through a Scene, the Horror of which can neither be painted nor imagined Think, my Dear, figure, if you can, to yourſelf what I muſt have undergone. I became a Mother by the Man I ſcorned, hated, and deteſted. I we [...] through all the Agonies and Miſeries of a Lying-i [...] (ten Times more painful in ſuch a Circumſtance than the worſt Labour can be, when one endures for a Man one loves,) in a Deſert, or rather indeed a Scene of Riot and Revel, without a Friend, with⯑out a Companion, or without any of thoſe agree⯑able Circumſtances which often alleviate, and per⯑haps ſometimes more than compenſate the Suffer⯑ings of our Sex at this Seaſon.'’

CHAP. VI. In which the Miſtake of the Landlord throws Sophia into a dreadful Conſternation.

MRS. Fitzpatrick was proceeding in her Narra⯑tive, when ſhe was interrupted by the Entrance of Dinner, greatly to the Concern of Sophia: For the Misfortunes of her Friend had raiſed her Anxiety and left her no Appetite, but what Mrs. Fitzpatrick was to ſatisfy by her Relation.

The Landlord now attended with a Plate under hi [...] Arm, and with the ſame Reſpect in his Countenance and Addreſs, which he would have put on, had th [...] Ladies arrived in a Coach and Six.

The married Lady ſeemed leſs affected with he own Misfortunes than was her Couſin: For the for⯑mer eat very heartily, whereas the latter could hardl [...] ſwallow a Morſel. Sophia likewiſe ſhewed mor [...] Concern and Sorrow in her Countenance than appear⯑ed in the other Lady; who having obſerved the [...] Symptoms in her Friend, begged her to be comforted [309] ſaying, 'Perhaps all may yet end better than either you or I expect.

Our Landlord thought he had now an Opportunity [...]o open his Mouth, and was reſolved not to omit it. I am ſorry, Madam,' cries he, 'that your Lady⯑ſhip can't eat; for to be ſure you muſt be hungry after ſo long faſting. I hope your Ladyſhip is not uneaſy at any Thing: For as Madam there ſays, all may end better than any body expects. A Gentleman who was here juſt now, brought ex⯑cellent News, and perhaps ſome Folks who have given other Folks the ſlip may get to London be⯑fore they are overtaken, and if they do, I make no Doubt, but they will find People who will be very ready to receive them.

All Perſons under the Apprehenſion of Danger, [...]onvert whatever they ſee and hear into the Objects of that Apprehenſion. Sophia therefore immediately [...]oncluded from the foregoing Speech, that ſhe was [...]nown and purſued by her Father. She was now [...]ruck with the utmoſt Conſternation, and for a few [...]linutes deprived of the Power of Speech; which [...]e no ſooner recovered, than ſhe deſired the Land⯑ [...]ord to ſend his Servants out of the Room, and then [...]ddreſſing herſelf to him, ſaid; 'I perceive, Sir, you know who we are; but I beſeech you;—nay, I am convinced, if you have any Compaſſion or Goodneſs, you will not betray us.

‘'I betray your Ladyſhip,' quoth the Landlord! No; (and then he ſwore ſeveral hearty Oaths) 'I would ſooner be cut in ten thouſand Pieces. I hate all Treachery. I! I never betrayed any one in my Life yet, and I am ſure I ſhall not begin with ſo ſweet a Lady as your Ladyſhip. All the World would very much blame me if I ſhould, ſince it will be in your Ladyſhip's Power ſo ſhortly to re⯑ward me. My Wife can Witneſs for me, I knew [310] 0your Ladyſhip the Moment you came into the Houſe: I ſaid it was your Honour, before I lifted you from your Horſe, and I ſhall carry the Bruiſes I got in your Ladyſhip's Service to the Grave; but what ſignified that, as long as I ſaved your Lady⯑ſhip. To be ſure ſome People this Morning would have thought of getting a Reward; but no ſuch▪ Thought ever entered into my Head. I would ſooner ſtarve than take any Reward for betraying your Ladyſhip.'’

‘'I promiſe you, Sir, ſays Sophia, if it be ever in my Power to reward you, you ſhall not loſe by your Generoſity.'’

‘'Alack-a-day, Madam!' anſwered the Landlord, in your Ladyſhip's Power! Heaven put it as much into your Will. I am only afraid your Honour will forget ſuch a poor Man as an Innkeeper; but if your Ladyſhip ſhould not; I hope you will remember what Reward I refuſed—refuſed [...] that is I would have refuſed, and to be ſure it may be called refuſing; for I might have had it certain⯑ly, and to be ſure you might have been in ſome Houſes;—but for my Part, I would not me⯑thinks for the World have your Lady-ſhip wrong me ſo much, as to imagine I ever thought of be⯑traying you, even before I heard the good News. What News pray?' ſays Sophia, ſomewhat ea⯑gerly.'’

‘'Hath not your Ladyſhip heard it then?' cries the Landlord, nay, like enough: For I heard it only a few Minutes ago; and if I had never heard it, may the Devil fly away with me this Inſtant, if I would have betrayed your Honour; no, if I would, may I—Here he ſubjoined ſeveral dreadful Execrations which Sophia at laſt interrupted, and begged to know what he meant by the News.'’—He was going to an⯑ſwer, when Mrs. Honour came running into the Room, all pale and breathleſs, and cried out, 'Ma⯑dam, [311] we are all undone, all ruined, they are come, they are come!' Theſe Words almoſt froze up the [...]ood of Sophia; but Mrs. Fitzpatrick aſked Ho⯑ [...]ur, who are come?—'Who? anſwered ſhe, why the French; ſeveral hundred thouſands of them are land⯑ed, and we ſhall be all murdered and raviſhed.'

As a Miſer, who hath in ſome well-built City a Cottage value twenty Shillings, when at a Diſtance [...]e is alarmed with the News of a Fire, turns pale and [...]embles at his Loſs; but when he finds the beau⯑ [...]ful Palaces only are burnt, and his own Cottage re⯑tains ſafe, he comes inſtantly to himſelf and ſmiles this good Fortune: Or as (for we diſlike ſomething [...] the former Simile) the tender Mother, when ter⯑ [...]fied with the Apprehenſion that her darling Boy is towned, is ſtruck ſenſeleſs and almoſt dead with Conſternation; but when ſhe is told that little Maſter [...] ſafe, and the Victory only with twelve hundred [...]ave Men gone to the Bottom, Life and Senſe again [...]eturn, maternal Fondneſs enjoys the ſudden Relief [...]rom all its Fears, and the general Benevolence which a another Time would have deeply felt the dreadful [...]aſtrophe, lies faſt aſleep in her Mind.

So Sophia, than whom none was more capable of [...]derly feeling the general Calamity of her Country, [...]nd ſuch immediate Satisfaction from the Relief [...]f thoſe Terrors ſhe had of being overtaken by her [...]ther, that the Arrival of the French ſcarce made my Impreſſion on her. She gently chid her Maid [...] the Fright into which ſhe had thrown her; and [...], 'ſhe was glad it was no worſe; for that ſhe had feared ſomebody elſe was come.'

‘'Ay, ay,' quoth the Landlord ſmiling, 'her Lady⯑ſhip knows better things; ſhe knows the French are our very beſt Friends, and come over hither only for our good. They are the People who are to make old England flouriſh again. I war⯑rant [312] her Honour thought the Duke was coming [...] and that was enough to put her into a Fright. I was going to tell your Ladyſhip the News.—His Honour's Majeſty, Heaven bleſs him, hath given the Duke the ſlip; and is marching as faſt as he can to London, and ten thouſand French are landed to join him on the Road.'’

Sophia was not greatly pleaſed with this News, nor with the Gentleman who related it; but as ſhe ſtill imagined he knew her (for ſhe could not poſſibly have any Suſpicion of the real Truth) ſhe durſt no ſhew any Diſlike. And now the Landlord, having removed the Cloth from the Table, withdrew; but at his Departure frequently repeated his Hopes of be⯑ing remembered hereafter.

The Mind of Sophia was not at all eaſy under the Suppoſition of being known at this Houſe; for ſhe ſtill applied to herſelf many Things which the Land⯑lord had addreſſed to Jenny Cameron; ſhe therefore ordered her Maid to pump out of him by what Means he had become acquainted with her Perſon, and who had offered him the Reward for betraying her; ſhe likewiſe ordered the Horſes to be in Readineſs by four in the Morning, at which Hour Mrs. Fitzpatrick pro⯑miſed to bear her Company, and then compoſing herſelf as well as ſhe could, ſhe deſired that Lady to continue her Story.

CHAP. VII. In which Mrs. Fitzpatrick concludes her Hiſtory.

WHILE Mrs. Honour, in Purſuance of the Commands of her Miſtreſs, ordered a Bowl of Punch, and invited my Landlord and Landlay to partake of it, Mrs. Fitzpatrick thus went on with her Relation.

‘'Moſt of the Officers who were quartered at a Town in our Neighbourhood were of my Huſ⯑band's [313] Acquaintance. Among theſe was a Lieu⯑tenant, a very pretty Sort of Man, and who was married to a Woman who was ſo agreeable both in her Temper and Converſation, that from our firſt knowing each other, which was ſoon after my Ly⯑ing-in, we were almoſt inſeparable Companions; for I had the good Fortune to make myſelf equal⯑ly agreeable to her.'’

‘'The Lieutenant who was neither a Sot nor a Sportſman, was frequently of our Parties; indeed he was very little with my Huſband, and no more than good-Breeding conſtrained him to be, as he lived almoſt conſtantly at our Houſe. My Huſ⯑band often expreſſed much diſſatisfaction at the Lieutenant's preferring my Company to his; he was very angry with me on that Account, and gave me many a hearty Curſe for drawing away his Companions; ſaying, "I ought to be d—ned for having ſpoiled one of the prettieſt Fellows in the World, by making a Milk-ſop of him.'’

‘'You will be miſtaken, my dear Sophia, if you imagine that the Anger of my Huſband aroſe from my depriving him of a Companion; for the Lieu⯑tenant was not a Perſon with whoſe Society a Fool could be pleaſed; and if I ſhould admit the Poſſi⯑bility of this, ſo little Right had my Huſband to place the Loſs of his Companion to me, that I am convinced it was my Converſation alone which in⯑duced him ever to come to the Houſe. No, Child, it was Envy, the worſt and moſt rancorous Kind of Envy, the Envy of Superiority of Underſtand⯑ing. The Wretch could not bear to ſee my Con⯑verſation preferred to his, by a Man of whom he could not entertain the leaſt Jealouſy. O my dear Sophy, you are a Woman of Senſe; if you marry a Man, as is moſt probable you will, of leſs Ca⯑pacity than yourſelf, make frequent Trials of his [314] Temper before Marriage, and ſee whether he can bear to ſubmit to ſuch a Superiority.—Promiſe me Sophy, you will take this Advice; for you will hereafter find its Importance.' 'It is very likely I ſhall never marry at all,' anſwered Sophia; 'I think, at leaſt, I ſhall never marry a Man in whoſe Underſtanding I ſee any Defects before Marriage; and I promiſe you I would rather give up my own, than ſee any ſuch afterwards.'—'Give up your Underſtanding!' replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick, 'Oh fie, Child, I will not believe ſo meanly of you. Eve⯑ry thing elſe I might myſelf be brought to give up; but never this. Nature would not have allotted this Superiority to the Wife in ſo many Inſtances, if ſhe intended we ſhould have all ſurrendered it to the Huſband. This indeed Men of Senſe never expect of us; of which the Lieutenant I have juſt mentioned was one notable Example; for tho' he had a very good Underſtanding, he always acknow⯑ledged (as was really true) that his Wife had a bet⯑ter. And this, perhaps, was one Reaſon of the Hatred my Tyrant bore her.'’

‘'Before he would be ſo governed by a Wife,' he ſaid, eſpecially ſuch an ugly B—(for indeed ſhe was not a regular Beauty, but very agreeable, and extremely genteel) he would ſee all the Women up⯑on Earth at the Devil, which was a very uſual Phraſe with him.'’ ‘He ſaid, 'he wondered what I could ſee in her to be ſo charmed with her Company: ſince this Woman, ſays he, 'hath come among us, there is an End of your beloved Reading, which you pretended to like ſo much, that you could not afford Time to return the Viſits of the Ladies, in this Country; and I muſt confeſs I had been guil⯑ty of a little Rudeneſs this Way; for the Ladies there are at leaſt no better than the mere Country Ladies here, and I think, I need make no other [315] Excuſe to you for declining any Intimacy with them.'’

‘'This Correſpondence however continued a whole Year, even all the while the Lieutenant was quartered in that Town; for which I was contented to pay the Tax of being conſtantly abuſed in the Manner a⯑bove-mentioned by my Huſband; I mean when he was at home; for he was frequently abſent a Month at a Time at Dublin, and once made a Journey of two Months to London; in all which Journeys I thought it a very ſingular Happineſs that he never once deſired my Company; nay, by his frequent Cenſures on Men who could not travel, as he phraſed it, with⯑out a Wife tied up to their Tail, he ſufficiently inti⯑mated that had I been never ſo deſirous of accom⯑panying him, my Wiſhes would have been in vain; but, Heaven knows, ſuch Wiſhes were very far from my Thoughts.'’

‘'At length my Friend was removed from me, and I was again left to my Solitude, to the tor⯑menting Converſation with my own Reflections, and to apply to Books for my only Comfort. I now read almoſt all Day long.—How many Books do you think I read in three Months?' 'I can't gueſs, indeed, Couſin,' anſwered Sophia.—'Per⯑haps half a Score!' 'Half a Score! half a thou⯑ſand, Child,' anſwered the other. 'I read a good deal in Daniel's Engliſh Hiſtory of France; a great deal in Plutarch's Lives; the Atalantis, Pope's Homer, Dryden's Plays, Chillingworth, the Coun⯑teſs. D' Anois, and Lock's Human Underſtanding.'’

‘'During this Interval I wrote three very ſuppli⯑cating, and, I thought, moving Letters to my Aunt; but as I received no Anſwer to any of them, my Diſdain would not ſuffer me to continue my Application.'’—‘Here ſhe ſtopt, and looking ear⯑neſtly at Sophia, ſaid, 'Methinks my Dear, I read ſomething in your Eyes which reproaches me of a [316] Neglect in another Place, where I ſhould have met with a kinder Return.'’ ‘'Indeed, dear Harriet,' anſwered Sophia, your Story is an Apology for any Neglect; but indeed I feel that I have been guilty of a Remiſſneſs, without ſo good an Excuſe.—Yet pray proceed; for I long, tho' I tremble, to hear the End.'’

Thus then Mrs. Fitzpatrick reſumed her Narra⯑tive. ‘'My Huſband now took a ſecond Journey to England, where he continued upwards of three Months. During the greater Part of this Time, I led a Life which nothing but having led a worſe, could make me think tolerable; for perfect Soli⯑tude can never be reconciled to a ſocial Mind, like mine, but when it relieves you from the Company of thoſe you hate. What added to my Wretch⯑edneſs, was the Loſs of my little Infant: Not that I pretend to have had for it that extravagant Tenderneſs of which I believe I might have been capable under other Circumſtances; but I reſolved, in every Inſtance, to diſcharge the Duty of the ten⯑dereſt Mother, and this Care prevented me from feeling the Weight of that, heavieſt of all Things, when it can be at all ſaid to lie heavy on our Hands.'’

‘'I had ſpent full ten Weeks almoſt entirely by my⯑ſelf, having ſeen no body all that Time, except my Servants, and a very few Viſitors, when a young Lady, a Relation of my Huſband, came from a diſtant Part of Ireland to viſit me. She had ſtaid once before a Week at my Houſe, and I then gave her a preſſing Invitation to return; for ſhe was a very agreeable Woman, and had improved good natural Parts by a proper Education. Indeed ſhe was to me a moſt welcome Gueſt.'’

‘'A few Days after her Arrival, perceiving me in very low Spirits, without enquiring the Cauſe, which indeed ſhe very well knew, the young Lady fell to compaſſionating my Caſe. She ſaid, 'Tho' Polite⯑neſs [317] had prevented me from complaining of my Huſband's Behaviour to his Relations, yet they all were very ſenſible of it, and felt great Concern upon that Account; but none more than herſelf;" and after ſome general Diſcourſe on this Head, which I own I could not forbear Countenancing; at laſt, after much previous Precaution, and en⯑joined Concealment, ſhe communicated to me, as a profound Secret—that my Huſband kept a Miſtreſs.'’

‘'You will certainly imagine, I heard this News with the utmoſt Inſenſibility—Upon my Word, if you do, your Imagination will miſlead you. Contempt had not ſo kept down my Anger to my Huſband; but that Hatred roſe again on this occa⯑ſion. What can be the Reaſon of this? Are we ſo abominably ſelfiſh, that we can be concerned at others having the Poſſeſſion even of what we deſpiſe? Or are we not rather abominably vain, and is not this the greateſt Injury done to our Vanity? What think you, Sophia?'’

‘'I don't know, indeed,' anſwered Sophia, 'I have never troubled myſelf with any of theſe deep Contemplations; but I think the Lady did very ill in communicating to you ſuch a Secret.'’

‘'And yet, my Dear, this Conduct is natural,' re⯑plied Mrs. Fitzpatrick; 'and when you have ſeen and read as much as myſelf, you will acknowledge it to be ſo.'’

‘'I am ſorry to hear it is natural,' returned Sophia; for I want neither Reading nor Experience, to con⯑vince me, that it is very diſhonourable and very ill⯑natur'd: Nay, it is ſurely as ill-bred to tell a Huſ⯑band or Wife of the Faults of each other, as to tell them of their own.'’

‘'Well,' continued Mrs. Fitzpatrick, 'my Huſband at laſt returned; and if I am thoroughly acquainted with my own Thoughts, I hated him now more [318] than ever; but I deſpiſed him rather leſs: For cer⯑tainly nothing ſo much weakens our Contempt, as an Injury done to our Pride or our Vanity.'’

‘'He now aſſumed a Carriage to me, ſo very dif⯑ferent from what he had lately worn, and ſo nearly reſembling his Behaviour the firſt Week of our Mar⯑riage, that had I now had any Spark of Love re⯑maining, he might, poſſibly, have rekindled my Fondneſs for him. But though Hatred may ſuc⯑ceed to Contempt, and may, perhaps, get the better of it, Love, I believe, cannot. The Truth is, the Paſſion of Love is too reſtleſs to remain con⯑conted, without the Gratification which it receives from its Object; and one can no more be inclined to love without loving, than we can have Eyes without ſeeing. When a Huſband, therefore, ceaſes to be the Object of this Paſſion, it is moſt probable ſome other Man—I ſay, my dear, if your Huſ⯑band grows indifferent to you—if you once come to deſpiſe him—I ſay,—that is,—if you have the Paſſion of Love in you—Lud! I have be⯑wildered myſelf ſo—but one is apt, in theſe abſtracted Conſiderations, to loſe the Concatena⯑tion of Ideas, as Mr. Locke ſays.—In ſhort the Truth is—In ſhort, I ſcarce know what it is; but, as I was ſaying, my Huſband returned, and his Behaviour, at firſt, greatly ſurprized me; but he ſoon acquainted me with the Motive, and taught me to account for it. In a Word, then, he had ſpent and loſt all the ready Money of my Fortune; and as he could mortgage his own Eſtate no deeper, he was now deſirous to ſupply himſelf with Caſh for his Extravagance, by ſelling a little Eſtate of mine, which he could not do without my Aſſiſ⯑tance; and to obtain this Favour was the whole and ſole Motive of all the Fondneſs which he now put on.'’

‘[319] 'With this I peremptorily refuſed to comply. I told him, and I told him truly, that had I been poſſeſſed of the Indies at our firſt Marriage, he might have commanded it all: For it had been a conſtant Maxim with me, that where a Woman diſpoſes of her Heart, ſhe ſhould always depoſite her Fortune; but as he had been ſo kind, long ago, to reſtore the former into my Poſſeſſion, I was re⯑ſolved, likewiſe, to retain what little remained of the latter.'’

‘'I will not deſcribe to you the Paſſion into which theſe Words, and the reſolute Air in which they were ſpoken, threw him: Nor will I trouble you with the whole Scene which ſucceeded between us. Out came, you may be well aſſured, the Story of the Miſtreſs; and out it did come, with all the Embelliſhments which Anger and Diſdain could be⯑ſtow upon it.'’

‘'Mr. Fitzatrick ſeemed a little Thunder-ſtruck with this, and more confuſed than I had ſeen him; tho' his Ideas are always confuſed enough, Heaven knows. He did not, however, endeavour to ex⯑culpate himſelf; but took a Method which almoſt equally confounded me. What was this but Re⯑crimination! He affected to be jealous;—he may, for ought I know, be inclined enough to Jealouſy in his natural Temper: Nay, he muſt have had it from Nature, or the Devil muſt have put it into his Head: For I defy all the World to caſt a juſt Aſperſion on my Character: Nay, the moſt ſcan⯑dalous Tongues have never dared cenſure my Re⯑putation. My Fame, I thank Heaven, hath been always as ſpotleſs as my Life; and let Falſhood itſelf accuſe that, if it dare. No, my dear Grave⯑airs, however provoked, however ill treated, how⯑ever injured in my Love, I have firmly reſolved never to give the leaſt Room for Cenſure on this Account.—And yet, my dear, there are ſome [320] People ſo malicious, ſome Tongues ſo venomous, that no Innocence can eſcape them. The moſt un⯑deſigned Word, the moſt accidental Look, the leaſt Familiarity, or moſt innocent Freedom, will be miſconſtrued, and magnified into I know not what, by ſome People. But I deſpiſe, my dear Grave⯑airs, I deſpiſe all ſuch Slander. No ſuch Malice, I aſſure you, ever gave me an uneaſy Moment. No, no, I promiſe you, I am above all that.—But where was I; O let me ſee, I told you, my Huſband was jealous—And of whom pray?—Why of whom but the Lieutenant I mentioned to you before. He was obliged to reſort above a Year and more back, to find an Object for this unaccountable Paſſion, if, indeed, he really felt any ſuch, and was not an errant Counterfeit, in order to abuſe me.'’

‘'But I have tired you already with too many Par⯑ticulars. I will now bring my Story to a very ſpeedy Concluſion. In ſhort, then, after many Scenes very unworthy to be repeated, in which my Couſin engaged ſo heartily on my Side, that Mr. Fitzpatrick at laſt turned her out of Doors; when he found I was neither to be ſoothed nor bullied into Compliance, he took a very violent Method indeed. Perhaps you will conclude he beat me; but this, tho' he hath approached very near to it, he never actually did. He confined me to my Room, with⯑out ſuffering me to have either Pen, Ink, Paper, or Book; and a Servant every Day made my Bed, and brought me my Food.'’

‘'When I had remained a Week under this Impri⯑ſonment, he made me a Viſit, and, with the Voice of a Schoolmaſter, or, what is often much the ſame, a Tyrant, aſked me, "If I would yet comply?" I anſwered very ſtoutly, "That I would die firſt." Then ſo you ſhall, and be d—n'd," cries he; for you ſhall never go alive out of this Room.'’

‘[321] 'Here I remained a Fortnight longer; and, to ſay the Truth, my Conſtancy was almoſt ſubdued, and I began to think of Submiſſion; when one Day in the Abſence of my Huſband, who was gone abroad for ſome ſhort Time, by the greateſt good Fortune in the World, an Accident happened.—I—at a Time when I began to give Way to the utmoſt Deſpair—every Thing would be excuſable at ſuch a Time—at that very Time I received—But it would take up an Hour to tell you all Particulars—In one Word, then, (for I will not tire you with Circumſtances) Gold, the common Key to all Pad⯑locks, opened my Door, and ſet me at Liberty.'’

‘'I now made Haſte to Dublin, where I immedi⯑ately procured a Paſſage to England; and was pro⯑ceeding to Bath, in Order to throw myſelf into the Protection of my Aunt, or of your Father, or of any Relation who would afford it me. My Huſ⯑band overtook me laſt Night, at the Inn where I lay, and which you left a few Minutes before me; but I had the good Luck to eſcape him, and to follow you.'’

‘'And thus, my Dear, ends my Hiſtory: A tragi⯑cal one, I am ſure, it is to myſelf; but, perhaps, I ought rather to apologize to you for its Dulneſs.' Sophia heaved a deep Sigh, and anſwered, 'Indeed, Harriet, I pity you from my Soul;—But what could you expect? Why, why, would you marry an Iriſhman?'’

‘'Upon my Word,' replied her Couſin, 'your Cen⯑ſure is unjuſt. There are, among the Iriſh, Men of as much Worth and Honour, as any among the Engliſh: Nay, to ſpeak the Truth, Generoſity of Spirit is rather more common among them. I have known ſome Examples there too of good Huſbands: and, I believe, theſe are not very plenty in England. Aſk me, rather, what I could expect when I married a Fool; and I will tell you a ſolemn [322] Truth; I did not know him to be ſo.'’—‘'Can no Man,' ſaid Sophia, in a very low and altered Voice, do you think, make a bad Huſband, who is not a Fool?'’ ‘'That,' anſwered the other, 'is too general a Negative; but none, I believe, is ſo likely as a Fool to prove ſo. Among my Acquaintance, the ſillieſt Fellows are the worſt Huſbands; and I will venture to aſſert, as a Fact, that a Man of Senſe rarely be⯑haves very ill to a Wife, who deſerves very well.'’

CHAP. VIII. A dreadful Alarm in the Inn, with the Arrival of an unexpected Friend of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

SOPHIA now at the Deſire of her Couſin, related—not what follows, but what hath gone be⯑fore in this Hiſtory: For which reaſon the Reader will, I ſuppoſe, excuſe me, for not repeating it over again.

One Remark, however, I cannot forbear making on her Narrative, namely, that ſhe made no more mention of Jones, from the Beginning to the End, than if there had been no ſuch Perſon alive. This I will neither endeavour to account for, nor to excuſe. Indeed, if this may be called a Kind of Diſhoneſty, it ſeems the more inexcuſable, from the apparent Openneſs and explicit Sincerity of the other Lady.—But ſo it was.

Juſt as Sophia arrived at the Concluſion of her Sto⯑ry, there arrived in the Room where the two Ladies were ſitting, a Noiſe, not unlike, in Loudneſs, to that of a Pack of Hounds juſt let out from their Ken⯑nel; nor, in Shrillneſs, to Cats when caterwauling; or to Screech-Owls; or, indeed, more like (for what Animal can reſemble a human Voice) to thoſe Sounds, which, in the pleaſant Manſions of that Gate, which ſeems to derive its Name from a Dupli⯑city of Tongues, iſſue from the Mouths, and ſome⯑times [323] from the Noſtrils of thoſe fair River Nymphs, yeleped of old the Napaeae, or the Naiades; in the vulgar Tongue tranſlated Oyſter-Wenches: For when, inſtead of the antient Libations of Milk and Honey and Oil, the rich Diſtillation from the Juniper-Berry, or, perhaps, from Malt, hath, by the early Devotion of their Votaries, been poured forth into great Abun⯑dance, ſhould any daring Tongue, with unhallowed Licenſe prophane; i. e. depreciate the delicate fat Milton Oyſter, the Plaice ſound and firm, the Floun⯑der as much alive as when in the Water, the Shrimp as big as a Prawn, the fine Cod alive but a few Hours ago, or any other of the various Treaſures, which thoſe Water Deities, who fiſh the Sea and Rivers, have committed to the Care of the Nymphs, the an⯑gry Naiades lift up their immortal Voices, and the prophane Wretch is ſtruck deaf for his Impiety.

Such was the Noiſe, which now burſt from one of the Rooms below; and ſoon the Thunder, which [...]ong had rattled at a Diſtance, began to approach nearer and nearer, 'till, having aſcended by Degrees up Stairs, it at laſt entered the Apartment where the Ladies were. In ſhort, to drop all Metaphor and Figure, Mrs. Honour having ſcolded violently below Stairs, and continued the ſame all the Way up, came [...]n to her Miſtreſs in a moſt outrageous Paſſion, cry⯑ing out, 'What doth your Ladyſhip think? Would you imagine, that this impudent Villain, the Ma⯑ſter of this Houſe, hath had the Impudence to tell me, nay, to ſtand it out to my Face, that your Ladyſhip is that naſty, ſtinking Wh—re, (Jenny Cameron they call her) that runs about the Country with the Pretender? Nay, the lying, fancy Villain, had the Aſſurance to tell me, that your Ladyſhip had owned yourſelf to be ſo: But I have clawed the Raſcal; I have left the Marks of my Nails in his impudent Face. My Lady!' ſays I, ‘'you fancy Scoundrel: My Lady is Meat for no Preten⯑ders. [324] She is a young Lady of as good Faſhion, and Family, and Fortune, as any in Somerſetſhire. Did you never hear of the great Squire Weſtern, Sirrah? She is his only Daughter; ſhe is,—and Heireſs to all his great Eſtate. My Lady to be called a naſty Scotch Wh—re by ſuch a Varlet—To be ſure, I wiſh I had knocked his Brains out with the Punch-bowl.'’

The principal Uneaſineſs with which Sophia was af⯑fected on this Occaſion, Honour had herſelf cauſed, by having in her Paſſion diſcovered who ſhe was. However, as this Miſtake of the Landlord ſufficiently accounted for thoſe Paſſages which Sophia had before miſtaken, ſhe acquired ſome Eaſe on that Account; nor could ſhe upon the whole, forbear ſmiling. This enraged Honour, and ſhe cried, ‘'Indeed, Madam, I did not think your Ladyſhip would have made a [...] laughing Matter of it. To be called Whore by ſuch an impudent low Raſcal. Your Ladyſhip may be angry with me, for ought I know, for taking your Part, ſince proferred Service, they ſay, ſtinks; but to be ſure I could never bear to hear a Lady of mine called Whore.—Nor will I bear it. I am ſure your Ladyſhip is as virtuous a Lady as ever ſat Foot on Engliſh Ground, and I will claw any Villain's Eyes out who dares for to offer to preſume for to ſay the leaſt Word to the contrary. No body ever could ſay the leaſt ill of the Character of any Lady that ever I waited upon.'’

Hinc illae Lachrymae; in plain Truth, Honour had as much Love for her Miſtreſs as moſt Servants have, that is to ſay—But beſides this, her Pride obliged her to ſupport the Character of the Lady ſhe waited on; for ſhe thought her own was in a very cloſe Manner connected with it. In Proportion as the Character of her Miſtreſs was raiſed, hers likewiſe, as ſhe con⯑ceived, was raiſed with it; and, on the contrary, ſhe thought the one could not be lowered without the other.

[325] On this Subject, Reader, I muſt ſtop a Moment to tell thee a Story. ‘'The famous Nell Gwynn, ſtepping one Day from a Houſe where ſhe had made a ſhort Viſit in her Coach, ſaw a great Mob aſſem⯑bled, and her Footman all bloody and dirty; the Fellow being aſked, by his Miſtreſs, the Reaſon of his being in that Condition, anſwered, 'I have been fighting, Madam, with an impudent Reſcal who called your Ladyſhip a Wh—re. 'You Block⯑head,' replied Mrs. Gwynn, 'at this Rate you muſt fight every Day of your Life; why, you Fool, all the World knows it.'’ ‘"Do they?" cries the Fellow, in a muttering Voice, after he had ſhut the Coach Door, 'they ſhan't call me a Whore's Foot⯑man for all that.'’

Thus the Paſſion of Mrs. Honour appears natural enough, even if it were to be no otherwiſe accounted for; but in reality, there was another Cauſe of her Anger; for which we muſt beg Leave to remind our Reader of a Circumſtance mentioned in the above Si⯑mile. There are indeed certain Liquors, which be⯑ing applied to our Paſſions, or to Fire, produce Ef⯑fects the very Reverſe of thoſe produced by Water, as they ſerve to kindle and inflame, rather than to ex⯑tinguiſh. Among theſe, the generous Liquor called Punch is one. It was not therefore without Reaſon, that the learned Dr. Cheney uſed to call drinking Punch pouring liquid Fire down your Throat.

Now Mrs. Honour had unluckily poured ſo much of this liquid Fire down her Throat, that the Smoke of it began to aſcend into her Pericranium, and blinded the Eyes of Reaſon which is there ſuppoſed to keep her Reſidence, while the Fire itſelf from the Stomach eaſily reached the Heart, and there inflamed the no⯑ble Paſſion of Pride. So that upon the whole, we ſhall ceaſe to wonder at the violent Rage of the Wait⯑ing-woman; tho' at firſt Sight we muſt confeſs the Cauſe ſeems inadequate to the Effect.

[326] Sophia and her Couſin both, did all in their Power to extinguiſh theſe Flames which had roared ſo loudly all over the Houſe. They at length prevailed; or, to carry the Metaphor one Step farther, the Fire hav⯑ing conſumed all the Fuel which the Language affords, to wit, every reproachful Term in it, at laſt went out of its own Accord.

But tho' Tranquillity was reſtored above Stairs, it was not ſo below; where my Landlady highly reſent⯑ing the Injury done to the Beauty of her Huſband, by the Fleſh-Spades of Mrs. Honour, called aloud for Re⯑venge and Juſtice. As to the poor Man who had principally ſuffered in the Engagement, he was perfect⯑ly quiet. Perhaps the Blood which he loſt might have cooled his Anger: For the Enemy had not only applied her Nails to his Cheeks, but likewiſe her Fiſt to his Noſtils, which lamented the Blow with Tears of Blood in great Abundance. To this we may add Reflections on his Miſtake; but indeed nothing ſo ef⯑fectually ſilenced his Reſentment, as the Manner in which he now diſcovered his Error; for as to the Be⯑haviour of Mrs. Honour, it had the more confirmed him in his Opinion: but he was now aſſured by a Per⯑ſon of great Figure, and who was attended by a great Equipage, that one of the Ladies was a Woman of Faſhion, and his intimate Acquaintance.

By the Orders of this Perſon, the Landlord now aſcended, and acquainted our fair Travellers, that a great Gentleman below deſired to do them the Honour of waiting on them. Sophia turned pale, and trem⯑bled at this Meſſage, tho' the Reader will conclude it was too civil, notwithſtanding the Landlord's Blun⯑der, to have come from her Father; but Fear hath the common Fault of a Juſtice of Peace, and is apt to con⯑clude haſtily from every ſlight Circumſtance, without examining the Evidence on both Sides.

To eaſe the Reader's Curioſity, therefore, rather than his Apprehenſions, we proceed to inform him, [327] that an Iriſh Peer had arrived very late that Evening at the Inn in his Way to London. This Nobleman hav⯑ing ſallied from his Supper at the Hurricane before commemorated, had ſeen the Attendant of Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick, and upon a ſhort Enquiry was informed, that her Lady, with whom he was very particularly ac⯑quainted was above. This Information he had no ſooner received, than he addreſſed himſelf to the Land⯑lord, pacified him, and ſent him up Stairs with Com⯑pliments rather civiler than thoſe which were deli⯑vered.

It may perhaps be wondered at, that the Waiting-woman herſelf was not the Meſſenger employed on this Occaſion; but we are ſorry to ſay, ſhe was not at preſent qualified for that, or indeed for any other Office. The Rum (for ſo the Landlord choſe to call the Diſ⯑tillation from Malt) had baſely taken the Advantage of the Fatigue which the poor Woman had undergone, and had made terrible Depredations on her noble Fa⯑culties, at a Time when they were very unable to re⯑ſiſt the Attack.

We ſhall not deſcribe this tragical Scene too fully; but we thought ourſelves obliged by that hiſtoric In⯑tegrity which we profeſs, ſhortly to hint a Matter which we would otherwiſe have been glad to have ſpared. Many Hiſtorians indeed, for Want of this In⯑tegrity, or of Diligence, to ſay no worſe, often leave the Reader to find out theſe little Circumſtances in the Dark, and ſometimes to his great Confuſion and Per⯑plexity.

Sophia was very ſoon eaſed of her cauſeleſs Fright by the Entry of the noble Peer, who was not only an intimate Acquaintance of Mrs. Fitzpatrick; but in reality a very particular Friend of that Lady. To ſay Truth, it was by his Aſſiſtance, that ſhe had been enabled to eſcape from her Husband; for this Noble⯑man had the ſame gallant Diſpoſition with thoſe re⯑nowned Knights, of whom we read in heroic Story, [328] and had delivered many an impriſoned Nymph from Durance. He was indeed as bitter an Enemy to the ſavage Authority too often exerciſed by Huſbands and Fathers, over the young and lovely of the other Sex, as ever Knight Errant was to the barbarous Power of Enchanters: nay, to ſay Truth, I have often ſuſpected that thoſe very Enchanters with which Romance every where abounds, were in reality no other than the Huſbands of thoſe Days: and Matri⯑mony itſelf was perhaps the enchanted Caſtle in which the Nymphs were ſaid to be confined.

This Nobleman had an Eſtate in the Neighbourhood of Fitzpatrick, and had been for ſome Time acquainted with the Lady. No ſooner therefore did he hear of her Confinement, than he earneſtly applied himſelf to procure her Liberty; which he preſently effected, not by ſtorming the Caſtle, according to the Example of ancient Heroes; but by corrupting the Governor, in Conformity with the modern Art of War; in which Craft is held to be preferable to Valour, and Gold is found to be more irreſiſtible than either Lead or Steel.

This Circumſtance, however, as the Lady did not think it material enough to relate to her Friend, we would not at that Time impart it to the Reader. We rather choſe to leave him a while under a Suppoſition, that ſhe had found, or coined, or by ſome very ex⯑traordinary, perhaps ſupernatural Means, had poſſeſ⯑ſed herſelf of the Money with which ſhe had bribed her Keeper, than to interrupt her Narrative by giv⯑ing a Hint of what ſeemed to her of too little Impor⯑tance to be mentioned.

The Peer after a ſhort Converſation, could not forbear expreſſing ſome Surprize at meeting the La⯑dy in that Place, nor could he refrain from telling her, he imagined ſhe had been gone to Bath. Mrs. Fitz⯑patrick very freely anſwered, ‘'That ſhe had been prevented in her Purpoſe by the Arrival of a Perſon [329] ſhe need not mention. In ſhort,' ſays ſhe, 'I was overtaken by my Huſband (for I need not af⯑fect to conceal what the World knows too well al⯑ready.) I had the good Fortune to eſcape in a moſt ſurprizing Manner, and am now going to London with this young Lady, who is a near Relation of mine, and who hath eſcaped from as great a Ty⯑rant as my own.'’

His Lordſhip concluding that this Tyrant was like⯑wiſe a Huſband, made a Speech, full of Compliments to both the Ladies, and as full of Invectives againſt his own Sex; nor indeed did he avoid ſome oblique Glances at the matrimonial Inſtitution itſelf, and at the unjuſt Powers given by it to Man over the more ſenſible, and more meritorious Part of the Species. He ended his Oration with an Offer of his Protecti⯑on, and of his Coach and Six, which was inſtantly accepted by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and at laſt, upon her Perſuaſions, by Sophia.

Matters being thus adjuſted, his Lordſhip took his Leave, and the Ladies retired to Reſt, where Mrs. Fitzpatrick entertained her Couſin with many high Encomiums on the Character of the noble Peer, and enlarged very particularly on his great Fondneſs for his Wife; ſaying, ſhe believed he was almoſt the only Perſon of his Rank, who was entirely conſtant to the Marriage Bed. ‘'Indeed, added ſhe, my dear Sophy, that is a very rare Virtue amongſt Men of Condi⯑tion. Never expect it when you marry; for, be⯑lieve me, if you do, you will certainly be deceiv⯑ed.'’

A gentle Sigh ſtole from Sophia at theſe Words, which perhaps contributed to form a Dream of no very pleaſant Kind; but as ſhe never revealed this Dream to any one, ſo the Reader cannot expect to ſee it re⯑lated here.

CHAP. IX. The Morning introduced in ſome pretty Writing. A Stage Coach. The Civility of Chambermaids. The heroic Temper of Sophia. Her Generoſity. The Return to it. The Departure of the Company, and their Arrival at London; with ſome Remarks for the Uſe of Travellers.

THOSE Members of the Society, who are born to furniſh the Bleſſings of Life, now began to light their Candles, in order to purſue their daily La⯑bours, for the Uſe of thoſe who are born to enjoy theſe Bleſſings. The ſturdy Hind now attends the Levee of his Fellow Labourer the OX; the cunning Artificer, the diligent mechanic ſpring from their hard Mattreſs; and now the bonny Houſe-maid begins to repair the diſordered Drum-Room, while the riotous Authors of that Diſorder, in broken interrupted Slum⯑bers, tumble and toſs, as if the Hardneſs of Down diſquieted their Repoſe.

In ſimple Phraſe, the Clock had no ſooner ſtruck Seven, than the Ladies were ready for their Journey, and at their Deſire, his Lordſhip and his Equipage were prepared to attend them.

And now a Matter of ſome Difficulty aroſe; and this was how his Lordſhip himſelf ſhould be convey⯑ed: For tho' in Stage Coaches, where Paſſengers are properly conſidered as ſo much Luggage, the inge⯑nious Coachman ſtows half a Dozen with perfect Eaſe into the Place of four: for well he contrives that the fat Hoſteſs, or well-fed Alderman, may take up no more Room than the ſlim Miſs, or taper Maſ⯑ter; it being the Nature of Guts, when well ſqueez⯑ed, to give Way, and to lie in a narrow Compaſs; yet in theſe Vehicles which are called, for Diſtinction⯑ſake, Gentlemens Coaches, tho' they are often larger [331] than the others, this Method of packing is never at⯑tempted.

His Lordſhip would have put a ſhort End to the Difficulty, by very gallantly deſiring to mount his Horſe; but Mrs. Fitzpatrick would by no Means conſent to it. It was therefore concluded that the Abigails ſhould by Turns relieve each other on one of his Lordſhip's Horſes, which was preſently equip⯑ped with a Side-Saddle for that Purpoſe.

Every thing being ſettled at the Inn, the Ladies diſcharged their former Guides, and Sophia made a preſent to the Landlord, partly to repair the Bruiſe which he had received under herſelf, and partly on Account of what he had ſuffered under the Hands of her enraged Waiting-woman. And now Sophia firſt diſcovered a Loſs which gave her ſome Uneaſineſs; and this was of the hundred Pound Bank Bill which her Father had given her at their laſt Meeting; and which, within a very inconſiderable Trifle, was all the Treaſure ſhe was at preſent worth. She ſearched e⯑very where, and ſhook and tumbled all her Things to no Purpoſe, the Bill was not to be found: And ſhe was at laſt fully perſuaded that ſhe had loſt it from her Pocket when ſhe had the Misfortune of tumbling from her Horſe in the dark Lane, as before recorded. A Fact that ſeemed the more probable, as ſhe now recollected ſome Diſcompoſure in her Pockets which had happened at that Time, and the great Difficulty with which ſhe had drawn forth her Handkerchief the very Inſtant before her Fall, in order to relieve the Diſtreſs of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

Misfortunes of this Kind, whatever Inconvenien⯑cies they may be attended with, are incapable of ſub⯑duing a Mind in which there is any Strength, with⯑out the Aſſiſtance of Avarice. Sophia therefore, tho' nothing could be worſe timed than this Accident, at ſuch a Seaſon, immediately got the better of her Con⯑cern, and with her wonted Serenity and Cheerfulneſs [332] of Countenance, returned to her Company. His Lordſhip conducted the Ladies into the Vehicle, as he did likewiſe Mrs. Honour, who, after many Ci⯑vilities, and more Dear Madams, at laſt yielded to the well-bred Importunities of her Siſter Abigail, and ſubmitted to be complimented with the firſt Ride in the Coach; in which indeed ſhe would afterwards have been contented to have purſued her whole Jour⯑ney, had not her Miſtreſs, after ſeveral fruitleſs In⯑timations, at length forced her to take her Turn on Horſeback.

The Coach now having received its Company, began to move forwards, attended by many Servants, and by two led Captains, who had before rode with his Lordſhip, and who would have been diſmiſſed from the Vehicle upon a much leſs worthy Occaſion, than was this of accommodating two Ladies. In this they acted only as Gentlemen; but they were rea⯑dy at any Time to have performed the Office of a Footman, or indeed would have condeſcended lower, for the Honour of his Lordſhip's Company, and for the Convenience of his Table.

My Landlord was ſo pleaſed with the Preſent he had received from Sophia, that he rather rejoiced in than regretted his Bruiſe, or his Scratches. The Reader will perhaps be curious to know the Quantum of this Preſent, but we cannot ſatisfy his Curioſity. Whatever it was, it ſatisfied the Landlord for his bo⯑dily Hurt; but he lamented he had not known before how little the Lady valued her Money; ‘'For to be ſure,' ſays he, 'one might have charged every Ar⯑ticle double, and ſhe would have made no Cavil at the Reckoning.'’

His Wife however was far from drawing this Con⯑cluſion; whether ſhe really felt any Injury done to her Huſband more than he did himſelf, I will not ſay; certain it is, ſhe was much leſs ſatisfied with the Ge⯑neroſity of Sophia. Indeed,' cries ſhe, 'my Dear, [333] the Lady knows better how to diſpoſe of her Money than you imagine. She might very well think we ſhould not put up ſuch a Buſineſs without ſome Sa⯑tisfaction, and the Law would have coſt her an in⯑finite deal more than this poor little Matter, which I wonder you would take.' 'You are always ſo bloodily wiſe,' quoth the Huſband, 'It would have coſt her more, would it? Doſt fancy I don't know that as well as thee? But would any of that more, or ſo much, have come into our Pockets? Indeed, if Son Tom the Lawyer had been alive, I could have been glad to have put ſuch a pretty Buſineſs into his Hands. He would have got a good Picking out of it; but I have no Relation now who is a Lawyer, and why ſhould I go to Law for the Be⯑nefit of Strangers? Nay, to be ſure,' anſwered ſhe, you muſt know beſt.' 'I believe I do,' replied [...]e. 'I fancy when Money is to be got, I can ſmell it out as well as another. Every body, let me tell you, would not have talked People out of this. Mind that, I ſay, every body would not have ca⯑joled this out of her, mind that.' The Wife then [...]oined in the Applauſe of her Huſband's Sagacity; [...]nd thus ended the ſhort Dialogue between them on his Occaſion.

We will therefore take our Leave of theſe good People; and attend his Lordſhip and his fair Com⯑panions, who made ſuch good Expedition, that they performed a Journey of ninety Miles in two Days, [...]nd on the ſecond Evening arrived in London, without having encountered any one Adventure on the Road worthy the Dignity of this Hiſtory to relate. Our Pen, therefore, ſhall imitate the Expedition which deſcribes, and our Hiſtory ſhall keep Pace with the Travellers who are its Subject. Good Writers will [...]ndeed do well to imitate the ingenious Traveller in his Inſtance, who always proportions his Stay at any Place, to the Beauties, Elegancies, and Curio⯑ſities, [334] which it affords. At Eſhur, at Stowe, at Wil⯑ton, at Eaſtbury, and at Prior's Park, Days are too ſhort for the raviſhed Imagination; while we admire the wonderous Power of Art in improving Nature. In ſome of theſe, Art chiefly engages our Admirati⯑on; in others, Nature and Art contend for our Ap⯑plauſe; but in the laſt, the former ſeems to triumph. Here Nature appears in her richeſt Attire, and A [...] ⯑dreſſed with the modeſteſt Simplicity, attends he [...] benignant Miſtreſs. Here Nature indeed pours forth the choiceſt Treaſures which ſhe hath laviſhed on this World; and here human Nature preſents you with an Object which can be only exceeded in the other.

The ſame Taſte, the ſame Imagination, which luxuriouſly riots in theſe elegant Scenes, can be a⯑muſed with Objects of far inferior Note. Th [...] Woods, the Rivers, the Lawns of Devon and of Dor⯑ſet, attract the Eye of the ingenious Traveller, an⯑retard his Pace, which Delay he afterwards compen⯑ſates by ſwiftly ſcouring over the gloomy Heath o [...] Bagſhot, or that pleaſant Plain which extends itſelf Weſtward from Stockbridge, where no other Object than one ſingle Tree only in ſixteen Miles preſent itſelf to the View, unleſs the Clouds, in Compaſſion to our tired Spirits, kindly open their variegated Man⯑ſions to our Proſpect.

Not ſo travels the Money-meditating Tradeſman the ſagacious Juſtice, the dignified Doctor, the warm clad Grazier, with all the numerous Offspring of Wealth and Dulneſs. On they jogg, with equa [...] Pace, through the verdant Meadows, or over the barre [...] Heath, their Horſes meaſuring four Miles and a hal [...] per Hour with the utmoſt Exactneſs; the Eyes of th [...] Beaſt and of his Maſter being alike directed forwards and employed in contemplating the ſame Objects i [...] the ſame manner. With equal Rapture the good Ri⯑der ſurveys the proudeſt Boaſts of the Architect, an [335] thoſe fair Buildings, with which ſome unknown Name hath adorned the rich Cloathing Town; where heaps of Bricks are piled up as a Kind of Monument, to ſhew that Heaps of Money have been piled there be⯑fore.

And now, Reader, as we are in Haſte to at⯑tend our Heroine, we will leave to thy Sagacity to apply all this to the Boeotian Writers, and to thoſe Authors who are their Oppoſites. This thou wilt be abundantly able to perform without our Aid. Be⯑ [...]ir thyſelf therefore on this Occaſion; for tho' we will always lend thee proper Aſſiſtance in difficult Places, as we do not, like ſome others, expect thee to uſe the Arts of Divination to diſcover our Mean⯑ing: yet we ſhall not indulge thy Lazineſs where nothing but thy own Attention is required, for thou art highly miſtaken if thou doſt imagine that we in⯑tended, when we begun this great Work, to leave thy Sagacity nothing to do, or that without ſometimes exerciſing this Talent, thou wilt be able to travel through our Pages with any Pleaſure or Profit to thyſelf.

CHAP. X. Containing a Hint or two concerning Virtue, and a few more concerning Suſpicion.

OUR Company being arrived at London, were ſet down at his Lordſhip's Houſe, where while they refreſhed themſelves after the Fatigue of their [...]ourney, Servants were diſpatched to provide a Lodg⯑ing for the two Ladies; for as her Ladyſhip was [...]ot then in Town, Mrs. Fitzpatrick would by no [...]leans conſent to accept a Bed in the Manſion of [...]he Peer.

Some Readers will perhaps condemn this extra⯑ordinary Delicacy, as I may call it, of Virtue, as too [...]ice and ſcrupulous; but we muſt make Allowances [336] for her Situation, which muſt be owned to have been very tickliſh: and when we conſider the Malice of cenſorious Tongues, we muſt allow, if it was a Fault, the Fault was an Exceſs on the right Side, and which every Woman who is in the ſelf-ſame Situation will do well to imitate. The moſt formal Appear⯑ance of Virtue, when it is only an Appearance, may perhaps, in very abſtracted Conſiderations, ſeem to be rather leſs commendable than Virtue itſelf without this Formality; but it will however be always more commended; and this, I believe, will be granted by all, that it is neceſſary, unleſs in ſome very par⯑ticular Caſes, for every Women to ſupport either the one or the other.

A Lodging being prepared, Sophia accompanied her Couſin for that Evening; but reſolved early in the Morning to enquire after the Lady, into whoſe Protection, as we have formerly mentioned, ſhe had determined to throw herſelf, when ſhe quitted her Father's Houſe. And this ſhe was the more ea⯑ger in doing, for ſome Obſervations ſhe had made during her Journey in the Coach.

Now as we could by no Means fix the odious Cha⯑racter of Suſpicion on Sophia, we are almoſt afraid to open to our Reader the Conceits which filled he Mind concerning Mrs. Fitzpatrick; of whom ſhe certainly entertained at preſent ſome Doubts; which as they are very apt to enter into the Boſoms of th [...] worſt of People, we think proper not to mention more plainly, till we have firſt ſuggeſted a Word o [...] two to our Reader touching Suſpicion in general.

Of this there have always appeared to me to b [...] two Degrees. The firſt of theſe I chuſe to deriv [...] from the Heart, as the extreme Velocity of its Diſ⯑cernment ſeems to denote ſome previous inward Impulſe, and the rather, as this ſuperlative Degre [...] often forms its own Objects; ſees what it is not [337] and always more than really exiſts. This is that quick-ſighted Penetration, whoſe Hawk's Eyes no Symptom of Evil can eſcape; which obſerves not only upon the Actions, but upon the Words and Looks of Men; and as it proceeds from the Heart of the Obſerver, ſo it dives into the Heart of the Ob⯑ſerved, and there eſpies Evil, as it were, in the firſt Embryo; nay ſometimes before it can be ſaid to be conceived. An admirable Faculty, if it were infal⯑lible; but as this Degree of Perfection is not even claimed by more than one mortal Being, ſo from the Fallibility of ſuch acute Diſcernment have ariſen many ſad Miſchiefs and moſt grievous Heart-akes to Innocence and Virtue. I cannot help therefore re⯑garding this vaſt Quickſightedneſs into Evil, as a vici⯑ous Exceſs, and a very pernicious Evil in itſelf. And I am the more inclined to this Opinion, as I am afraid it always proceeds from a Bad Heart, for the Rea⯑ſons I have above-mentioned, and for one more, namely, becauſe I never knew it the Property of a good one. Now from this Degree of Suſpicion I entirely and abſolutely acquit Sophia.

A ſecond Degree of this Quality ſeems to ariſe from the Head. This is indeed no other than the Faculty of ſeeing what is before your Eyes, and of drawing Concluſions from what you ſee. The for⯑mer of theſe is unavoidable by thoſe who have any Eyes, and the latter is perhaps no leſs certain and neceſſary a Conſequence of our having any Brains. This is altogether as bitter an Enemy to Guilt, as the former is to Innocence, nor can I ſee it in an un⯑amiable Light, even though, through human Fallibi⯑lity, it ſhould be ſometimes miſtaken. For Inſtance, if a Huſband ſhould accidentally ſurprize his Wife in the Lap or in the Embraces of ſome of thoſe pretty young Gentlemen who profeſs the Art of Cuckol⯑dom, I ſhould not highly, I think, blame him for [338] concluding more than what he ſaw, from the Fami⯑liarities which he really had ſeen, and which we are at leaſt favourable enough to, when we call them in⯑nocent Freedoms. The Reader will eaſily ſuggeſt great Plenty of Inſtances to himſelf; I ſhall add but one more, which however unchriſtian it may be thought by ſome, I cannot help eſteeming to be ſtrict⯑ly juſtifiable; and this is a Suſpicion that a Man is⯑capable of doing what he hath done already, and tha [...] it is poſſible for one who hath been a Villain once, to act the ſame Part again. And to confeſs the Truth, of this Degree of Suſpicion, I believe, Sophia was guil⯑ty. From this Degree of Suſpicion ſhe had, in Fact, conceived an Opinion, that her Couſin was really not better than ſhe ſhould be.

The Caſe it ſeems, was this: Mrs. Fitzpatrick wiſely conſidered, that the Virtue of a young Lady is, in the World, in the ſame Situation with a poor Hare, which is certain, whenever it ventures abroad, to meet its Enemies: For it can hardly meet any other. No ſooner therefore was ſhe determined to take the firſt Opportunity of quitting the Protection of her Huſband, than ſhe reſolved to caſt herſelf un⯑der the Protection of ſome other Man; and whom could ſhe ſo properly chuſe to be her Guardian as a Perſon of Quality, of Fortune, of Honour; and who, beſides a gallant Diſpoſition which inclines Men to Knight-Errantry; that is, to be the Champions of Ladies in Diſtreſs, had often declared a violent Attachment to herſelf, and had already given her all the Inſtances of it in his Power.

But as the Law hath fooliſhly omitted this Office of Vice-Huſband, or Guardian to an eloped Lady and as Malice is apt to denominate him by a more diſagreeable Appellation; it was concluded that his Lordſhip ſhould perform all ſuch kind Offices to the Lady in ſecret, and without publickly aſſuming the Character of her Protector. Nay, to prevent any other [339] Perſon from ſeeing him in this Light, it was agreed that the Lady ſhould proceed directly to Bath, and that his Lordſhip ſhould firſt go to London, and thence ſhould go down to that Place by the Advice of his Phyſicians.

Now all this Sophia very plainly underſtood, not from the Lips or Behaviour of Mrs. Fitzpatrick; but from the Peer, who was infinitely leſs expert at re⯑taining a Secret, than was the good Lady; and per⯑haps the exact Secrecy which Mrs. Fitzpatrick had obſerved on this Head in her Narrative, ſerved not a little to heighten thoſe Suſpicions which were now riſen in the Mind of her Couſin.

Sophia very eaſily found out the Lady ſhe ſought, for indeed there was not a Chairman in Town to whom her Houſe was not perfectly well known; and as ſhe received, in Return of her firſt Meſſage, a moſt preſſing Invitation, ſhe immediately accepted it. Mrs. Fitzpatrick indeed did not deſire her Couſin to ſtay with her with more earneſtneſs than Civility required. Whether ſhe had diſcerned and reſented the Suſpicion above-mentioned, or from what other Motive it a⯑roſe, I cannot ſay; but certain it is, ſhe was full as deſirous of parting with Sophia, as Sophia herſelf could be of going.

The young Lady, when ſhe came to take Leave of her Couſin, could not avoid giving her a ſhort Hint of Advice. She begged her, for Heaven's Sake, to take Care of herſelf, and to conſider in how dan⯑gerous a Situation ſhe ſtood; adding, ſhe hoped ſome Method would be found of reconciling her to her Huſband. ‘'You muſt remember, my Dear, ſays ſhe, the Maxim which my Aunt Weſtern hath ſo often repeated to us both; That whenever the Ma⯑trimonial Alliance is broke, and War declared be⯑tween Husband and Wife, ſhe can hardly make a diſ⯑advantageous Peace for herſelf on any Conditions. [340] Theſe are my Aunt's very Words, and ſhe hath had a great deal of Experience in the World.'’ Mrs. Fitzpatrick anſwered, with a contemptuous Smile, ‘'Never fear me, Child, take Care of yourſelf; for you are younger than me. I will come and viſit you in a few Days; but, dear Sophy, let me give you one Piece of Advice: Leave the Character of Graveairs in the Country; for, believe me it will ſit very aukwardly upon you in this Town.'’

Thus the two Couſins parted, and Sophia repaired directly to Lady Bellaſton, where ſhe found a moſt hearty, as well as moſt polite Welcome. The La⯑dy had taken a great Fancy to her when ſhe had ſeen her formerly with her Aunt Weſtern. She was indeed extremely glad to ſee her, and was no ſooner acquaint⯑ed with the Reaſons which induced her to leave the Squire and fly to London, than ſhe highly applauded her Senſe and Reſolution; and after expreſſing the higheſt Satisfaction in the Opinion which Sophia had declared ſhe entertained of her Ladyſhip, by chuſing her Houſe for an Aſylum, ſhe promiſed her all the Protection which it was in her Power to give.

As we have now brought Sophia into ſafe Hands, the Reader will, I apprehend, be contented to depoſite her there a while, and to look a little after other Per⯑ſonages, and particularly poor Jones, whom we have left long enough to do Penance for his paſt Offences, which, as is the Nature of Vice, brought ſufficient Puniſhment upon him themſelves.

CHAP. I. Shewing what is to be deemed Plagiariſm in a modern Author, and what is to be conſidered as lawful Prize.

THE learned Reader muſt have obſerved, that in the Courſe of this mighty Work, I have often tranſlated Paſſages out of the beſt antient Authors, without quoting the Original, or without taking the leaſt Notice of the Book from whence they were borrowed.

This Conduct in Writing is placed in a proper Light by the ingenious Abbe Bannier, in his Preface to his Mythology, a Work of great Erudition, and of equal Judgment. ‘'It will be eaſy,' ſays he, 'for the Reader to obſerve, that I have frequently had greater Regard to him, than to my own Reputa⯑tion: For an Author certainly pays him a conſider⯑able [342] Compliment, when, for his Sake, he ſup⯑preſſes learned Quotations that come in his Way, and which would have coſt him but the bare Trou⯑ble of tranſlating.'’

To fill up a Work with theſe Scraps may indeed be conſidered as a downright Cheat on the learned World, who are by ſuch Means impoſed upon to buy a ſecond Time in Fragments and by Retail what they have already in Groſs, if not in their Memories, up⯑on their Shelves; and it is ſtill more cruel upon the Illiterate, who are drawn in to pay for what is of no manner of Uſe to them. A Writer who intermixes great Quaintity of Greek and Latin with his Works, deals by the Ladies and fine Gentlemen in the ſame paultry Manner with which they are treated by the Auctioneers, who often endeavour ſo to confound and mix up their Lots, that, in order to purchaſe the Com⯑modity you want, you are obliged at the ſame Time to purchaſe that which will do you no Service.

And yet as there is no Conduct ſo fair and diſinte⯑reſted, but that it may be miſunderſtood by Ignorance, and miſrepreſented by Malice, I have been ſome⯑times tempted to preſerve my own Reputation, at the Expence of my Reader, and to tranſcribe the Origi⯑nal, or at leaſt to quote Chapter and Verſe, when⯑ever I have made Uſe either of the Thought or Ex⯑preſſion of another. I am indeed in ſome Doubt that I have often ſuffered by that contrary Method; and that by ſuppreſſing the original Author's Name, I have been rather ſuſpected of Plagiariſm, than re⯑puted to act from the amiable Motive above-aſſigned by that juſtly celebrated Frenchman.

Now to obviate all ſuch Imputations for the future, I do here confeſs and juſtify the Fact. The Ancients may be conſidered as a rich Common, where every Perſon who hath the ſmalleſt Tenement in Parnaſſus hath a free Right to fatten his Muſe. Or, to place it in a clearer Light, we Moderns are to the Antients [343] what the Poor are to the Rich. By the Poor here I mean, that large and venerable Body which, in En⯑gliſh, we call The Mob. Now, whoever hath had the Honour to be admitted to any Degree of Intima⯑cy with this Mob, muſt well know that it is one of their eſtabliſhed Maxims, to plunder and pillage their rich Neighbours without any Reluctance; and that this is held to be neither Sin nor Shame among them. And ſo conſtantly do they abide and act by this Max⯑im, that in every Pariſh almoſt in the Kingdom, there is a Kind of Confederacy ever carrying on againſt a certain Perſon of Opulence called the Squire, whoſe Property is conſidered as Free-Booty by all his poor Neighbours; who, as they conclude that there is no Manner of Guilt in ſuch Depredations, look upon it is a Point of Honour and moral Obligation to con⯑ceal, and to preſerve each other from Puniſhment on all ſuch Occaſions.

In like Manner are the Ancients, ſuch as Homer, Virgil, Horace, Cicero, and the reſt, to be eſteemed among us Writers, as ſo many wealthy Squires, from whom we, the Poor of Parnaſſus, claim an imme⯑morial Cuſtom of taking whatever we can come at. This Liberty I demand, and this I am as ready to al⯑low again to my poor Neighbours in their Turn. All profeſs, and all I require from my Brethren, is to maintain the ſame ſtrict Honeſty among ourſelves, which the Mob ſhew to one another. To ſteal from one another, is indeed highly criminal and indecent; for this may be ſtrictly ſtiled defrauding the Poor ſometimes perhaps thoſe who are poorer than our⯑ſelves) or to ſee it under the moſt opprobrious Colours, robbing the Spittal.

Since therefore upon the ſtricteſt Examination, my own Conſcience cannot lay any ſuch pitiful Theft to my Charge, I am contented to plead guilty to the for⯑mer Accuſation; nor ſhall I ever ſcruple to take to my ſelf any Paſſage which I ſhall find in an ancient Author [344] to my Purpoſe, without ſetting down the Name of the Author from whence it was taken. Nay, I abſo⯑lutely claim a Property in all ſuch Sentiments the Moment they are tranſcribed into my Writings, and I expect all Readers henceforward to regard them as purely and entirely my own. This Claim however I deſire to be allowed me only on Condition, that I preſerve ſtrict Honeſty towards my poor Brethren, from whom if ever I borrow any of that little of which they are poſſeſſed, I ſhall never fail to put their Mark upon it, that it may be at all Times ready to be reſtored to the right Owner.

The Omiſſion of this was highly blameable in one Mr. Moore, who having formerly borrowed ſome Lines of Pope and Company, took the Liberty to tranſcribe ſix of them into his Play of the Rival Modes. Mr. Pope however very luckily found them in the ſaid Play, and laying violent Hands on his own Property, transferred it back again into his own Works; and for a further Puniſhment, impriſoned the ſaid Moore in the loathſome Dungeon of the Dunciad, where his unhappy Memory now remains, and eternally will remain, as a proper Puniſhment for ſuch his un⯑juſt Dealings in the poetical Trade.

CHAP. II. In which, tho' the Squire doth not find his Daughter, ſomething is found which puts an End to his Purſuit.

THE Hiſtory now returns to the Inn at Upton, whence we ſhall firſt trace the Footſteps of Squire Weſtern; for as he will ſoon arrive at an End of his Journey, we ſhall have then full Leiſure to attend our Heroe.