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BOOK XV

IN WHICH THE HISTORY ADVANCES ABOUT TWO DAYS

CHAPTER I

TOO SHORT TO NEED A PREFACE

T HERE are a set of religious, or rather moral writers, who teach that virtue is the certain road to happiness, and vice to misery, in this world. A very wholesome and comfortable doctrine, and to which we have but one objection, namely, that it is not true.

Indeed, if by virtue these writers mean the exercise of those ~dipaI :ID:tlle~ which like good housewives stay at hOIne, and

ind only the business of their own family, I shall very readily concede the point; for so surely do all these contribute and lead to happiness, that I could almost wish, in violation of all the ancient and modem sages, to call them rather by the name of wisdom. than by that of virtue; for, with regard to this life, no system, I conceive, was ever wiser than that of the ancient Epicureans, who held this wisdom to constitute the chief good; nor foolisher than that of their opposites, those modem epicures, who place all felicity in the abundant gratification of every sensual appetite.

But if by virtue is meant (as I almost think it ought) a certain f;elative qt;tality, which is always busying itself without-doors, and ~ems as much interested in pursuing the good of others as its own;

I cannot so easily agree that this is the surest way to human happiness; because I am afraid we must then include poverty and contempt, with all the mischiefs which backbiting, envy, and ingratitucle can bring on mankind, in our idea of happiness; nay, sometimes perhaps we shall be obliged to wait upon the said happiness to a jail; since many by the above virtue have brought themselves thither.

I have not now leisure to enter upon so large a field of speculation, as here seems opening upon me; my design was to wipe off a doctrine that lay in my way; since, ,while Mr. Jones was acting the most virtuous part imaginable in labouring to preserve his fellow-creatures from destruction, the devil, or some other evil

656

TOM JONES 557 spirit, one perhaps clothed in human flesh, was hard at work to make him completely miserable in the ruin of his Sophia.

This therefore would seem an exception to the above rule, it indeed it was a rule; but as we have in our voyage through life seen so many other exceptions to it, we choose to dispute the doctrine on which it is founded, which we don't apprehend to be Christian, which we are convinced is not true, and which is indeed destructive of one of the noblest arguments that reason alone can furnish for the belief of immortality.

But as the reader's curiosity (if he hath any) must be now awake, and hungry, we shall provide to feed it as fast as we can.

CHAPTER II

IN WHICH IS OPENED A VERY BLACK DESIGN AGAINST SOPHIA

I REMEMBER a wise old gentleman who used to say, "When children are doing nothing, they are doing mischief." I will not enlarge this quaint saying to the most beautiful part of the creation in general; but so far I may be allowed, that when the effects of female jealousy do not appear openly in their proper colours of rage and fury, we may suspect that mischievous passion to be at work plivately, and attempting to undermine, what it doth not attack above-ground.

This was exemplified in the conduct of Lady Bellaston, who, under all the smiles which she wore in her countenance, concealed much indignation against Sophia; and as she plainly saw that this young lady stood between her and the full indulgence of her desires, she resolved to get rid of her by some means or other j nor was it long before a very favourable opportunity of accomplishing this presented itself to her.

The reader may be pleased to remember, that when Sophia was thrown into that consternation at the play-house, by the wit and humour of a set of young gentlemen who call themselves the town, we informed him, that she had put herself under the protec­ tion of a young nobleman, who had very safely conducted her to her chair.

This nobleman, who frequently visited Lady Bellaston, had more than once seen Sophia there, since her arrival in town, and had conceived a very great liking to her; which liking, as beauty never looks more amiable than in distress, Sophia had in this fright so increased, that he might now, without any great impropriety, be said to be actually in love with her.

It may easily be believed, that he would not suffer so handsome an occasion of improving his acquaintance with the beloved object

~o DAYS

ra, WllO teaoh and vice to

1ble doctrine l~ is not tru~: ~lse of those t home, ~nil very readUy ute and lead [ the ancient

of wisdom; 10 system,J ureans, whb olisher thljll, ~ all fellcl~r

. t) a certam . :-doors, and as its own; to human

loverty Ull,ll . envy, and 'uess j nay, I the said 'e brought·

a field of gIl was to Jones was ) preserve other evil

55 8 HENRY FIELDING as now offered itseI£ to elapse, when even good breeding alone might have prompted him to pay her II. visit.

The next morning therefore, after this accident, he waited on Sophia, with the usual compliments, and hopes that she had received no harm from her last night's adventure.

As love, like fire, when once thoroughly kindled, is soon blown into a flame, Sophia in a very short time completed her conquest. Time now flew away unperceived, and the noble lord had been two hours in company with the lady, before it entered into his head that he had made too long a visit. Though this circumstance alone would have alarmed Sophia, who was somewhat more a mistress of computation at present; she had indeed much more pregnant evidence from the eyes of her lover of what passed within his bosom; nay, though he did not make any declaration of his passion, yet many of his expressions were ra er too warm, and too tender, to have been imputed to complacence, even in the age when such complacence was in fashion; the very reverse of which is well known to be the reigning mode at present.

Lady Bellaston had been apprized of his lordship's visit at his first arrival; and the length of it very well satisfied her, that things went as she wished, and as indeed she had suspected the second time she saw this young couple together. This business, she rightly, I think, concluded, that she should by no means forward by mixing in the company while they were together; she therefore ordered her servants, that when my lord was going, they should tell him she desired to speak with him; and employed the intelmediate time in meditating how best to accomplish a scheme, which she made no doubt but his lordship would very readily embrace the execution of.

Lord Fellamar (for that was the title of this young nobleman) was no sooner introduced to her ladyship, than she attacked him in the following strain: t( Bless me, my lord, are you here yet? I thought my Sel'vants had made a mistake, and let you go away; and I wanted to see you about an affair of some impol·tance." "Indeed, Lady Bellaston," said he, I don't wonder you areU astonished at the length of my visit; for I have stayed above two hours, and I did not think I had stayed above half-a-one."--u What am I to conclude from thence, my lord?" said she. (, The company

squir

up iJ (Yent, '" COUS]. If I " uNa neitl child can I mat< her, mad. hone in e; mad ima~ « Inl 101'& acce asha cone blus to c hav« ofb stru I 1'a you prO! Wall

this say war eire POSI slIm I01'c1 warmust be very agreeable which can make time slide away so very .~

deceitfully."--u Upon my honour," said he, "the most agreeable on ,iiI ever saw. Pray tell me, Lady Bellaston, who is this blazing star pan

which you have produced among us all of a sudden? " __u What » rep] b1azing star, my lord?" said she, affecting a sw-prise. "I mean," th1'l said he, "the lady I saw here the other day, whom I had last erie 11ight in my arms at the play-house, and to whom I have been making aITe that unreasonable visit."--" 0, my cousin Western I H said she; and U why, that blazing star, my lord, is the daughter of a country booby ope

ident, he hat she had

Idled, is Soonb!o1\1\ )leted her conquest. ~ lord had beent\f ered into his h,G

this eire eill somewhat

:ndeed much ll\O~ IVhat passed within 'pen declaratioriof :her too warm ab\t )e, even in th~ age ! reverse ofwhicH .. dahip's visit at hls ~d her, that thi~~ ~ected the seconij ~lness, s1le rightlY, orward by mixmg ~herefore ol~lered r should tell him the intermediate heme, which slle' lily embrace the,

~oung nobleman) Ile attacked hilll 'ou here yet r '~ , t you go awat;, npol·l:ance."-,_'' vonder you af¢', ayed above tWQ ae."-"Wh~ti; "The compatiy ~e away so very , most agreeabJ~ Ilis blazing star , r " __11 What e. II I mean!'

/,

om I ltnd laSt ,', " 'e been making," ~n 1 " said she;;:, country booby::"

TOM JONES 559 squire, and hath been in town about a fortnight, for the first time." --" Upon my soul," said he, rc I should swear she had been bred up in a court; for besides her beauty, I never saw anything so genteel, so sensible, so polite."--" 0 brave!" cries the lady (( my cousin hath you, I find."--" Upon my honour," answer~ he, f( I wish she had; for I am in love with her to distraction."-­ "Nay, my lord," said she, "it is not wishing yourself very ill neither, for she is a very great fortune: I assure you she is an only child, and her father's estate is a good £3000 a-year." "Then I can assure you, madam," _answered the lord, "I think her the best match in England." "Indeed, my lord," replied she, ((if you like her, I heartily wish you had her." (( If you think so kindly of me, madam," said he, It as she is a relation of yours, will you do me the honour to propose it to her father?" "And are you really then in earnest?" cries the lady, with an affected gravity. "I hope, madam," answered he, "you have a better opinion of me, than to imagine I would jest with your ladyship in an affair of this kind." (( Indeed, then," said the lady, "I will most readily propose your lordship to her father; and I can, I believe, assure you of his Joyful acceptance of the proposal; but there is a bar, which I am almost ashamed to mention; and yet it is one you will never be able to conquer. You have a rival, my lord, and a rival who, though I blush to name him, neither you, nor all the world, will ever be able to conquer." "Upon my word, Lady Bellaston," cries he, "you have struck a damp to my heart, which hath almost deprived me of being." « Fie, my lord," said she, (( I should rather hope I had struck fire into you. A lover, and talk of damps in your heart! I rather imagined you would have asked your rival's name, that you might have immediately entered the lists with him." II I promise you, madam," answered he, II there are very few things I would not undertake for your charming cousin; but pray, who is this happy man? "-"Why, he is," said she, "what I am sorry to say most happy men with us are, one of the lowest fellows in the world. He is a beggar, a bastard, a foundling, a fellow in meaner circumstances than one of your lordship's footmen." If And is it possible," cried he, II that a young creature with such perfections should think of bestowing herself so unworthily?" If Alas! my lord," answered she, "consider the country-the bane of all young women is the country. There they learn a set of romantic notions of love, and I know not what folly, which this town and good com­ pa.'1y can scarce eradicate in a whole winter," (( Indeed, madam," replied my lord, If your cousin is of too immense a value to be thrown away; such nlin as this must be prevented." If Alas! " cries she, (( my lord, how can it be prevented? The family have aheady done all in their power; but the girl is, I think, intoxicated, and nothing less than ruin will content her And to deal more openly with you, I expect every day to hear she is run away with

4 '!O-.'

560 HENRY FIELDING him." (I What you tell me, Lady Bellaston," answered his lordship, "affects me most tenderly, and only raises my compassion, instead of lessening my adoration of your cousin. Some means must be found to preserve so inestimable a jewel. Hath your ladyship endeavoured to reason with her?" Here the lady affected a laugh, and cried," My dear lord, sure you know us better than to talk of reasoning a young woman out of her inclinations? These in­ estimable jewels are as deaf as the jewels they wear: time, my lord, time is the only medicine to cure their folly; but this is a medicine which I am certain she will not take; nay, I live in hourly horrors on her account. In short, uothing but violent methods will do." (( What is to be done?" cries my lord; tf what methods are to be taken ?-Is there any method upon earth ?-Oh I Lady Bellaston I there is nothing which I would not undertake for such a reward." --(( I really know not," answered the lady, after a pause j and then pausing again, she cried out-" Upon my soul, I am at my wit's end on this girl's account.-If she can be preserved, something must be done immediately; and, as I say, nothing but violent methods will do.--If your lordship hath l'eally this attachment to my cousin (and to do her justice, except in this silly inclination, of which she will soon see her folly, she is every way deserving), I think there may be one way, indeed, it is a very disagreeable one, and what I am almost afraid to think of.-It reguires a great spirit, I promise you." ({lam not conSCious, madam," said he, U of any defect there j nor am I, I hope, suspected of any such. It must be an egregious defect indeed, which could make me backward on this occasion." (( Nay, my lord," answered she, {( I am so far from doubting you, I am much more inclined to doubt my own courage; for I must run a monstrous risk. In short, I must place such a confidence in your honour as a wise woman will SCarce ever place in a man on any consideration." In tllis point likewise my lord very well satisfied her; for his l'eputation was extremely clear, and common fame did him no more than justice, in speaking well of him. -(tWIll, then," said she, "my lord,-I-I vow, I can't bear the apprehension of it.-No, it must not be.--At least every other method shall be tried. Can you get rid of your engagements, and dine here to-day? Your lordship will have an opportunity of seeing a little more of Miss Western.-I promise you we have no time to lose. Here will be nobocly but Lady Betty, and Miss Eagle, and Colonel Hampsted, and Tom Edwards; they will all go soon-anc1 I shall be at home to nobody. Then your lordship may be a little more explicit. Nay, I will contrive some method to convince you of her attachment to this fellow." My lord made proper compliments, accepted the invitation, and then they pal-ted to dress, it being now past three in the morning, or to reckon by the old style, in the afternoon.

answered his I 1y compassion Some means '

Bath your ItdyafFected a Litlgh

i etter than tOialk'i ' iinations? 'wear: time but this is a' live in hourly nt metllods : methods )11 J Lady ~ for such a I after a 9oul,1 am at reserved, lOUling but ~lly this 8ttacllliiflYif :11ls Billy 'ery way rydisagr Juires a great ," said he tl, 7 suoh. It le backward I am so far t my own , , must place " 11 s~aro~ eVer pIac~" t lIkeWIse mylot4 :tl'emely olea1', /jWlf~ ,", 1 speaking wen9f' vow, I oan'tbel!r.,> ----ilt least ' 'our engagem ~. an oppo ruse you We P' .Betty, and i they will all oUr lordship some method

lord

TOM JONES 56r

CHAPTER III

A FURTHER EXPLANATION OF THE FOREGOING DESIGN

T HOUGH the reader may have long since concluded Lady .Bellaston to be a member (and no inconsiderable one) of the great world; she was in reality a very considerable member of the little world; by which appellation was distlllguished a very worthy and honourable society which not long since flourished in this kingdom.

Among other good principles upon which this society was founded, there was one very remarkable; for, as it was a rule of an honourable club of heroes, who assembled at the close of the late war, that all the members should every day fight once at least; so 'twas in this, that every member should, within the twenty-four hours, tell at least one merry fib, which was to be propagated by all the brethren and sisterhood.

Many idle stories were told about this society, which from a certain quality may be, perhaps not unjustly, supposed to have come from the society themselves. As, that the devil was the president; and that he sat in person in an elbow-chair at the upper end of the table; but, upon very strict inquiry, I find there is not the least truth in any of those tales, and that the assembly con­ sisted in reality of a set of very good sort of people, and the fibs which they propagated were of a harmless kind, and tended only to produce mirth and. good humour.

Edwards was likewise a member of this comical society. To him therefore Lady Bellaston applied as a proper instrument for her purpose.. and furnished him with a fib, which he was to vent whenever the lady gave him her cue; and this was not to be till the evening, when all the company but Lord Fellamar and himself were gone, and while they were engaged in a rubber at whist.

To this time then.. which WaS between seven and eight in the evening, we will convey our reader; when Lady Bellaston, Lord Fellamar, Miss Western, and Tom, being engaged at whist.. and in the last game of their rubbers.. Tom received his cue from Lady .Bellaston.. which was, "I protest.. Tom.. you are grown intolerable lately; you used to tell us all the news of the town.. and now you know 110 more of the world than if you lived out of it."

Mr. Edwards then began as follows: "The fault is not mine, madam: it lies in the dulness of the age, that doth nothing worth talking of.--O la! though now I think on't there hath a terrible accident befallen poor Colonel Wilcox.--Poor Ned.--You know him, my lord .. everybody knows him; faith! I am very much con­ cerned for him."

"What is it, pray?" says Lady Bellaston.

. ­ HENRY FIELDING

"Why, he hath killed a man this morning in a duel, that's all." His lordship, who was not in the secret, asked gravely, whom

he bad killed? To which Edwards answered, (( A young fellow we none of us know; a Somersetshire lad just came to tOWIl, one Jones his name is; a near relation of one Mr. Allworthy, of whom your lordship I believe hath heard. I saw the lad lie deaa in a coffee­ house.-Upon my soul, he is one of the finest corpses I ever saw iu my life! "

Sophia, who had just began to deal as Tom had mentioned that a man was killed, stopped her hand, and listened with attention (for all stories of that kind affected her), but no sooner had he arrived at the latter part of the story than she began to deal again; and having dealt three cards to one, and seven to another, and ten to a third, at last dropped the rest from her hand, and fell back 'in her chail·.

The company behaved as usnally on these occasions. The usual disturbance ensued, the usual assistance was summoned, and Sophia at last, as it is usual, returned again to life, and was soon after, at her earnest desire, led to her own apartment; where, at my lord's request, Lady Bellaston acquainted her 'with the truth, attempted to carry it off as a jest of her own, and comforted her with repeated assurances, that neither his lordship nor Tom, though she had taught him the story, were in the true secret of the affair.

There was no farther evidence necessary to convince Lord Fellamar how justly the case had been represented to him by Lady Bellaston; and now, at her return into the mom, a scheme was laid between these two noble persons, which, though it appeared in no very heinous light to his lordship (as he faithfully promised, and faithfully resolved too, to make the lady all the subsequent amends in his power by marriage), yet many of our readers, we doubt not, will see with just detestation.

The next evenilig at seven was appointed for the fatal purpose, when Lady Bellaston undertook that Sophia should be alone, and his lordship should be introduced to her. The whole family were to be regulated for the purpose, most of the servants despatched out of the house; and for Mrs. Honour, who, to prevent suspicion, was to be left with her mistress till his lordship's arrival, Lady BelIaston herself was to engage her in an apartment as distant a.s possible from the scene of the intended mischief, and out of the hearing of Sophia.

Matters being thus a.greed on, his lordship took his leave, and her ladyship retired to rest, highly pleased with a project, of which she had no reason to doubt the success, and which promised so effectually to remove Sophia from being any further obstruction to hel' amour with Jones, by a means of which she should never appeal' to be guilty, even if the fact appeared to the world; but this she made no doubt of preventing by huddling up a ma1'riage,

"

t r I t

'I'OM JONES

to which she thought the ravished Sophia would easily be brought to consent, and at which all the rest of her family would rejoice.

But affairs were not in so quiet a situation in the bosom of the other conspirator; his mind was tossed in all the distracting anxiety so nobly described by Shakespear­

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing, And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream j The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, sulrers then The nature of an illsurrectlon."_

Though the violenee of his passion had made him eagerly embl'!lce the first hint of this design, especially as it came from a relation of the lady, yet when that friend to reflection, a pillow, had placed the action itself in all its natural black colours befol'e his eyes, with all the consequences which must, and those which might probably attend it, his resolution began to abate, or rather indeed to go over to tbe other side; and after a long conflict, which lasted a whole night, between honour and appetite, the former at length prevailed, and he determined to wait on Lady Bellastoll) and to relinquish the design.

Lady I3ellaston was in bcd, though very late in the morning, and Sophia sitting by her bed~side, when the servan~ acquainted her that I.ord Fellll.mar was below in the parlour; upon which her ladyship desired him to stay, and that she would see him presently i but the servant was no soonel' departed than poor Sophia began to entreat 11el' cousin not to encourage the visits of that odious lord (so she called himl though'a little unjustly) upon 1101' account. ((I BCC his design," said she; tt for he made dowmight love to me yesterday morning; but as I am resolved never to admit it, I beg your ladYl:lhip not to leave us alone together any more, and to order the servants that, if lle inquires for me, I may be always denied to him."

(( La I childl" says Lady BellastonJ rt you country girls have nothing but: sweethearts in your head; you fancy every man who is civil to YOlt is making love. He is one of the most gallant young fcHows about town) and I am convinced mellns no more than a little gallantry. Make love to you indeed I I wish with nJI my heart he would, and you must be an arrant mad woman to refuse him."

(( But as I shall cel'l:ainly be that mad woman," cries Sophia) (( I hope bis visits sha.llllot be intruded upon me."

It 0 child!" said Lady Bellnston, ft you need not be so fearful; if you resolve to run away with that Jones, I know no person who can hinder you."

If Upon my honour, madam," cries Sophia, (( your ladyship

•

HENRY FIELDING

injures me. I will never run away with any man; nor will I ever marry contrary to my father's inclinations."

" Well Miss Western," said the lady, "if you are not in a humour ~ see company this morning, you 'may retire to your own apartment; for I am not frightened at his lordship, and must send for him up into my dressing-room."

Sophia thanked her ladyship, and withdrew; and presently afterwards Fellamar was admitted upstaiIos.

CHAPTER IV

BY WHICH IT WILL APPEAR HOW DANGEROUS AN ADVOCATE A LADY IS

WHEN SHE APPLIES HER ELOQUENCE TO AN ILL PUDPOSE

W HEN Lady Bellaston heard the young lord's scruples, she treated them with the same disdain with w11ich one of those sages of the law, called Newgate solicitors, treats the qualms of conscience in a yOWlg witness. (( My dear lord," said she, U you certainly want a cordial. I must send to Lady Edgely for one of her best drams. Fie upon it I have more resolution. Al'e you fl'igbtened by the word rape? Or are you apprehensive--r Well I if the story of Helen was modern, I should think it unnatural. I mean the behaviour of Paris, not the fondness of the lady; for all women love a man of spirit. There is another story of the Sabine ladies-and that too, I thank Heaven, is very ancient, Your lordship, perhaps, will admire my reading; but I think Mr. Hook tells us, they made tolerable good wives afterwards. I fancy few of my tnal'1'ied acquaintance were ravished by their husbands," "Nay, dear Lady Bellaston," cried he, f( don't ridicule me in this manner." a Why, my gootl lord," answered she, U do you thin}t any woman in England would not laugh at you in her heart) whatever prudery she might weal' in her countenance ?--You f01'ce me to use a strange kind of language, and to betray my sex mos~ abominably; but I am contented with knowing my intentions are good, and that I am endeavouring to sel've my cousin; for I think you will make her a husband notwithstanding this; or, upon my soul} I would not even persuade her to fling herself away upon a.n empty title. She should not upbraid me hereafter with having lost a man of sphit; for that his enemies allow this pOOl' young fellow to be."

Let those who have had the satisfaction of hearing }'eflections of this kind from a wife or a mistress, declare whether they are a.t all sweetened by coming from a female tongue. Certain it is, they sunk deeper into his lordship than anything which Demosthenes 01' Cicero could have said on the occasion,

l; nor will 1eVer

I'ou are no~ in' . t' ae Ire to Your ow 'dsllip, and mu~~

'; and presently

OCATE A LAllY lS 1 PURPOSE

I' 1,s BOrup es, she I which one ot ~ats the qualms said she, (( YO\l

:Igely for oneo! ~ion. Are you rve_? Well! ; unnatural. I e lady i for all of the Sabine . mcient. Yout lnk Mr. Hook

I fancy few· :ir husbands," :Ie me in this do you think eart, whatever u force me to ny sex most ntentions are ; for I think or, upon my

way upon an with having· poor young

g reBections 'they are at in it is, they )emostllen~

TOM JONES

Lady Bella,ston, perceiving she had fired the young lord's pride, began now, lIke a true orator, to rouse other passions to its assistance. « My lord," says she, in a graver voice, "you will be pleased to remember, you mentioned this matter to me first; for I would not appear to you in the light of one who is endeavouring to put off my cousin upon you. Fourscore thousand pounds do not stand in need of an advocate to recommend them." "Nol' doth Miss Western," said he, "require any recommendation from her fortune; for, in opinion, no woman ever had half her charms." "Yes, yes, my I ' replied the lady, looking in the glass, "there have been women with more than half her charms, I assure you; not that I need lessen her on that account: she is a most delicious girl, that's certain; and within these few hours she will be in the arms of one, who surely doth not deser~e her, though I will give him his due, I believe he is truly a man of spirit."

"I hope so, madam," said my lord i "though I must own he doth not deserve her; for, unless Heaven or your ladyship dis­ appoint me, she shall within that time be in mine."

" Well spoken, my lord;' answered the lady; "I promise you no disappointment shall happen from my side; and within this week I am convinced I shall call your lordship my cousin in public."

The remainder of this scene consisted entirely of raptures, excuses, and compliments, very pleasant to have heard from the parties; but rather dull when related at second hand. Here, therefore, we shall put an end to this dialogue, and hasten to the fatal hour when everything was prepared for the destruction of poor Sophia.

But this being the most tragical matter in our whole history, we shall treat it in a chapter by itself.

CHAPTER V

CONTAINING SOME MATTERS WHICH MAY AFFECT, AND OTHERS WHICH

MAY SURPRISE, THE READER

T HE clock had now struck seven, and poor Sophia, alone and melancholy, sat reading a tragedy. It was the Fatal Marriage; and she was now come to that part where the pOOl distressed Isabella disposes of her wedding-ring.

Here the book dropped from her hand, and a shower of tears ran down into her bosom. In this situation she had continued a minute, when the door opened, and in came Lord Fellamar. Sophia started from her chair at his entrance; and his lordship advancing fOl'Wards, and making a low bow, said, "I am afraid, Miss Western, I break in upon you abruptly." It Indeed, my lord," says she, C( I

566 HENRY FIELDING must own myself a little surprised at this unexpected visit." « If this visit be unexpected, madam," answered Lord Fellamar, (C my eyes must have been very faithless interpreters of my heart, when last I had the honour of seeing you; for surely you could not otherwise have hoped to detain my heart in your possession, without receiving a visit from its owner." Sophia,. confu:cd as she was, answered this bombast (and very properly I thlllk) With II. look {)f inconceivable disdain. My lord then made another Ilnd a longer speech of the same sort. Upon which Sophia) tl'em~ling, said, "Am I really to conceive your lordship to be out of. yo~: senses? Sure, my lord, there is no other excuse for such behavlOur. "I am indeed madam, in the situation you suppose," cries his lordshi~; (C ana'sure you will pardon the effects of a frenzy which you yourself have occasioned; for love hath so totally deprived me of reason, that I am scarce accountable for any of my actioIls." (f Upon my word, my lord," said Sophia, « I neithei' understand your words nor your behaviour." "Suffer me then, madam," cries he, « at your feet to explain both, by laying open my soul to you, and declaring that I doat on you to the highest degree of distraction. o most adorable, most divine creature I what language can express the sentiments of my heart?" « I do assure you.. my lord," said Sophia, « I shall not stay to hear any more of tllis." « Do not," cries he, (( think of leaving me thus cruelly; could you know huH the torments which I feel, that tender bosom must pity what those eyes have caused." Then fetching /l deep sigh, and laying hold of her hand, he ran on for some minutes in a strain which would be little more pleasing to the reader than it was to the lady; and at last concluded with a declaration, (( That if he was master of the world, he would lay it at her feet." Sophia. then.. forcibly pulling away her hand from his, answered with much spirit, « I promise you, sir, your world and its master I should spurn from me with equal contempt." She then offered to go i and Lord Fellamar, again laying hold of her hand, said, {f Pardon me, my beloved nngeJ, freecloms which nothing but despair could have tempted me to take.--Believe me, could I have had any hope that my title and fortune, neither of them inconsiderable, unless when comp/lred with your worth, would have beell accepted, I had.. in the humblest manner, presented them to your acceptance.--But I cannot lose you.-By Heaven, I will sooner part with my soul I-You are, you must, you shall be only mine." f( My lord," says she, ( r entreat you to desist from a vain pursuit; for, upon my bonour, I will never heal' you on this subject. Let go my hand" my lord j fol' I am resolved to go from you this moment j nor will I ever see you more." (( Then, madam," cries his lordship "I must mltke the best use of this moment i for I cannot live n~r will I live without

" (Wh d ' you. - at 0 you mean, my lord?" said Sophia' "I will raise the family." « I have no fear, madam," answered 'he, "but

I

ted visit." 11 If . Fellamar, II my my heart, when you could not

rour possession confused as Bh~ .nk) with a look a~other and a ~}lIa, trembling be out of you: Jcll behaviour" lose," cries hk a frenzy which y deprived me f my actions." nderstllnd your am," cries he ul to you, and of distraction. ~e Can express my lord;' said " it Do not II

J rou know half ty wl1at those Inying hold of dch would be lady; and at naster of the rcibly pulling ;, "1 promise rom me with ,rd Fellatnar

J

eloved angel, npted me to my title and :n compared he humblest cannot lose

:ou are, you "1 entreat

lour, 1 will 1y lord; for :ver see you Gmake the ive without ,a; (, I will d he, (( but

TOM JONES

of !osing yO?, an~ that I ar;; resolved to prevent, the only way WhiCh deSPaIr pomts to me. -He then caught her in his arms: upon which she screamed so loud, that she must have alarmed some one to her assistance, had not Lady Bellaston taken care to remove all ears.

But a more lucky circumstance happened for poor Sophia' another noise now broke forth, which almost drowned her cries; for now the whole house rang with, 'f Where is she? D--n me I'll unkennel her this instant. Show me hei' chamber, I say~ Where is my daughter? I know she's in the house, and I'll see her if she's above-ground. Show me where she is."-At which last words the door flew open, and in came Squire Western, with his parson and a set of myrmidons at his heels.

How miserable must have been the condition of poor Sophia, when the enraged voice of her father was welcome to her ears! Welcome indeed it was, and luckily did he come; for it was the only accident upon earth which could have preserved the peace of her mind from being for ever destroyed.

Sophia, notwithstanding her fright, pr~sently knew her father's voice; and his lordship, notwithstanding his passion, knew the voice of reason, which peremptorily assured him, it was not now a time for the perpetration of his villainy. Hear therefore, the voice approach, and hearing likewise whose it was r as the squire more than once roared forth the word daughter, so Sophia, in the midst of her struggling, cried out upon her father), he thought proper to relinquish his prey, having only disordered her handkerchief, and with his rude lips committed violence on her lovely neck.

If the reader's imagination doth not assist me, I shall never be able to describe the situation of these two persons when Westero came into the room. Sophia tottered into a chair, where she sat disordered, pale, breathless, bursting with indignation a,t Lord Fellamar; a:ffi:ighted, and yet more rejoiced, at the arrival of her father.

His lordship sat down near her, with the bag of his wig hanging over one of his shoulders, the rest of his dress being somewhat disordered, and rather a greater proportion of linen than is usual appearing at his bosom. As to the I'est, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, and ashamed.

As to Squire Western, he happened at this time to be overtaken by an enemy, which very frequently pursues, and seldom fails to overtake, most of the country gentlemen in this kingdom. He was, literally speaking, drunk; which circumstance, together with his natural impetuosity, could pI'oduce no other effect than his running immediately up to his daughter, upon whom he fell foul with his tongue in the most inveterate manner; nay, he had probably committed violence with his hands, had not the parson interposed, saying, .. For Heaven's sake, sir, animadvert that you

~-~

-------------------------------------------~--------------------------~;~a~,~ij~~~~.~

HENRY FIELDING

are in the house of a great lady. Let me beg you to mitigate your wrath, it should minister a fulness of satisfaction that you have

rnifound your daughter; for as to revenge, it belonpeth not unto us. SoI discem great contrition in the countenance of the young lady. yoI stand assured if you will forgive her, she will repent her of all , " past offences, and retmn unto her duty. thThe strength of the parson's arms had at first been of more

service than the strength of his rhetoric. However, his last words tixwrought some effect, and the squire ans,;ered, "I'll forgee hel: if thshe wull ha' un. If wot ha' un, Sophy, III forgee thee all. Why

dost unt speak? Shat ha' un! d--n me, shat ha' un ! Why dost L~unt answer? \Vas ever such a stubborn tuoad?" Bl"Let me entreat you, sir, to be a little more moderate," said upthe parson; "you frighten the young lady so, that you deprive her hoof all power of utterance." th"Power of mine a-," answered the squire. ff You take her inpart then, you do? A pretty parson, truly, to side with an un­ thdutiful child! Yes, yes, I will gee you a living with a pox. I'll

gee un to the devil sooner." " I humbly crave your pardon," said the parson; "I assure your

worship I meant no such matter." My Lady Bellaston now entered the room, and came up to the m:

squire, who no sooner saw her, than, resolving to follow the instruc­ so: tions of his sister, he made her a very civil bow, in the rural xnanner,

laland paid her some of his best compliments. He then immediately proceeded to his complaints, and said, "There, my lady cousin; there stands the most undutiful child in the world; she hankers th

la]after a beggarly rascal, and won't marry one of the greatest xnatches in all England, that we have provided for her."

"Indeed, cousin Western," answered the lady, {( I am persuaded af: dElyou wrong my cousin. I am sure she hath a better understanding. ofI am convinced she will not refuse what she must be sensible is so

much to her advantage." to This was a wilful mistake in Lady Bellaston, for she well knew

whom Mr. Western meant; though perhaps she thought he would bl; easily be reconciled to his lordship'S proposals. Sil

"Do you hear there," quoth the squire, tt what her ladyship says? All your family are for the match. Come, Sophy, be a good UI girl, and be dutiful, and make your father happy." Itt

"If my death will make you happy, sir," answered Sophia, rEi "you will shortly be so." all

"It's a lie, Sophy; it's a d--n'd lie, and you know it" said the squire. ,

"Indeed, Miss Western," said Lady Bellaston, ttyou injure your father; he hath nothing in view but your interest in this Inatch; and I and all your friends must acknowledge the highest honour done to your family in the proposal."

I to tnitigate your )}1 that you have fS etI1 not unto \Is

the young lad~: :epent her of all

~t bh~enI of lUore ~r, 18 ast words 11 forgee herU thee all. Why un! WhYdost

moderate;' said you deplive her

, {(You takeh':er

Ie with an Ua" [th a pox. I'll

((1 aSSure your

'l.Ule up to the ::>w the instruc­ : rural manner :n immediatel; r lady cousin. I; sIle hank~ eatest matches

am persuaded nderstanding. , sensible is sO

he well knew ght he would

her ladyship ~y, be a good

ered Sophia,

ow it/' said

L inj ure your this match; 'hest honoul'

TOM JONES 569 (( Ay, all of us," quoth the squire; C( nay, it was no proposal of

mine. She knows it was her aunt proposed it to me first.-Come, Sophy, once more let me beg you to be a good girl, and gee me your consent before your cousin."

(( Let me give him your hand, cousin," said the lady. (( It is the fashio11 now-a-days to dispense with time and long courtships."

" Pugh! " said the squire, (( what signifies time; won't they have time enough to court afterwards r People may court very well after they have been a-bed together."

As Lord Fellamar was very well assured that he Was meant by Lady Bellaston, so, never haVing heard nor suspected a word of Blifil, he made no doubt of his being meant by the father. Coming up, therefore, to the squu'e, he said, ((Though I have not the honour, sir, of being personally known to you, yet, as I find I have the happiness to have my proposals accepted, let me intercede, sir, in behalf of the young lady, that she may not be more solicited at this time."

{( You intercede, sU'I" said the squire; t( why, who the devil are you?"

« Sir, I am Lord Fellamar," answered he, C( and am the happy man whom I hope you have done the honour of accepting for a son-in-law."

« You are a son of a b--," replied the squire, « for all yOUI" laced coat. You my son-in-law, and be d--n'd to you!"

"I shall take more from you, sir, than from any man," answered: the lord; (( but I must inform you that I am not used to heal' such language without resentment."

"Resent my a--," quoth the squire. (( Don't think I am an'aid of such a fellow as thee art! because hast got a spit there dangling at thy side. Lay by your spit, and I'll give thee enough of meddling with what doth not belong to the~ I'll teach you to father-in-law me. I'll lick thy jacket."

"It's very well, sir," said my lord, (( I shall make no disturbance before the ladies. I am very well satisfied. Your humble servant, sir; Lady Bellaston, your most obedient."

His lordship was no sooner gone, than Lady Bellaston, coming up to Mr. Western, said, "Bless me, sir, what have you done? You know not whom you have affi'onted; he is a nobleman of the first rank and fortune, and yesterday made proposals to your daughter; and such as I am sure you must accept with the highest pleasme."

« Answer for yourself, lady cousin," said the squire, I willU have nothing to do with any of your lords. My daughter shall have an honest country gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her-and she shall ha' un.-I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your ladyship with all my heart." Lady Bellaston made a civil speech upon the word trouble; to which the squire answel'ed­ «Why, that's kind-and I would do as much for your ladyship.

--~

HENRY FIELDING 570 To be sure relations should do for one another. So I wish your ladyship a good-l t.-Come, madam, you must go along with me by fair means, or I have you carried down to the coach."

Sophia said she would attend him without force; but begged to go in a chair, for she said she should not be able to ride any other way.

"Plithee," cries the squire, (( wout unt persuade me canst not ride in a coach, wouldst? That's a pretty thing surely I No, no, I'll never let thee out of my sight any more till art married, that I promise thee." Sophia told him, she saw he was resolved to break her heart. it 0 break thy heart and be d--n'd," quoth he, "if a good husband will break it. I don't value a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b-- upon earth." He then took violent hold of her hand; upon which the parson once more inter­ fered, begging him to use gentle methods. At that the squire thundered out a curse, and bid the parson hold his tongue, saying, H At'nt in pulpit now? when art a got up there I never mind what dost say; but I won't be priest-ridden, nor taught how to behave myself by thee. I wish your ladyship a good-night. Come along, Sophy; be a good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha' un, d--n me, shat ha' un! "

Mrs. Honour appeared below stairs, and with a low curtsey to the squire offered to attend her mistress; but he pushed her away, saying, "Hold, madam, hold, you come no more near my house." H And will you take my maid away from me? " said Sophia. (( Yes, indeed, madam, will I," cries the squire: u you need not fear being without a servant; I will get you another maid, and a better maid than this, who, I'd lay five pounds to a crown, is no more a maid than my grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shall contrive no more escapes, I promise you." He then packed up his daughter and the parson into the hackney coach, after which he mounted himself, and ordered it to drive to his lodgings. In the way thither he suffered Sophia to be quiet, and entertained himself with reading a lecture to the parson on good manners, and a proper behaviour to' his betters.

It is possible he might not so easily have carried off his daughter from Lady Bellaston, had that good lady desired to have detained her; but, in reality, she was not a little pleased with the confine­ ment into which Sophia. was going; and as her project with Lord Fellamal' had failed of success, she was well contented that otller violent methods were now going to be used in favour of another man.

TOM JONES 571

CHAPTER VI

BY WHAT MEANS THE SQUIRE CAME TO DISCOVER HIS DAUGHTER

T HOUGH the reader, in many histories, is obliged to digest much more unaccountable appearances than this of Mr. Western, without any satisfaction at an; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever it is in our power, we shall now proceed to show by what method the squire discovered where his daugIlter was.

In the third chapter, then, of the [thirteenth] book, we gave a hint (for it is not our custom to unfold at any time more than is necessary for the occaSion) that Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous of reconciling her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probable opportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from committing the same crime which had drawn on herself the angel' of her family. After much deliberation, therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Western where her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following letter, which we shall give the reader at length, for more reasons than one.

t( HONOURED MADAM,-ff The occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a letter of mine agreeable to my dear aunt, for the sake of one of ber nieces, though I have little reason to hOl)C it will be 80 on the account of another.

t( Without more apology, as I was comirg to throw my unhappy self at your feet, r met, by the strangest accident in the "World, my cousin Sophy, whose history you Ilre better acquainted with than myself, though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is ill danger of running into the same fatal mischief, which, by foolishly and ignol'antIy refUSing your most wise and prudent advice, 1 have unfortunately brought on myself.

r'In short, r have seen the man, nay, I was most part of yester­ day in his company, and a charming young fellow I promise you he is. By what accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you now; but I have this morning changed my lodgings to avoid him, lest he should by my means discover my cousin; for he doth not yet know where she is, and it is advisable he should not, till my uncle hath secured her.--No time therefore is to be lost; and I need only infol"ID you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen~ and who hath, I tind, a design of concealing her from her family. You know, madam, she is a strange woman; but nothing could misbecome me more than to presume to give any hint to one of your great understanding and great knowledge of the world, besides barely informing you of the matter of fact.

572 HENRY FIELDING « I hope, madam, the care which I have shown on this occasion

for the good of my family will recommend me again to the favour of a lady who hath always exerted so much zeal for the honour and true interest of us all; and that it may be a means of restoring me to your friendship, which hath made so great a part of my former, and is so necessary to my future happiness.-I am, with the utmost respect honoured madam, your most dutiful obliged niece, and most

, H F " obedient humble servant, ARRIET • ITZPA'l'RICK.

Mrs. Western was now at her brother's house, where she had resided ever since the flight of Sophia, in order to administer comfort to the poor squire in his affliction. Of this comfort, which she doled out to him in daily portions, we have formerly given a specimen.

She was noW standing with her back to the fire, and, with a pinch of snuff in her hand, was dealing forth this daily allowance of comfort to the squire, while he smoked his afternoon pipe, when she received the above lette!'; which she had no sooner read than she delivered it to him, saying, "There, sir, there is an account of your lost sheep. Fortune hath again restored her to you, and if you will be governed by my advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her."

The squire had no sooner read the letter than he leaped from his chair, threw his pipe into the fire, and gave a loud huzza for joy. He then summoned his servants, called for his boo~s, and ordered the Chevalier and several other horses to be saddled, and that parson Supple should be immediately sent for. HaVing done this, he turned to his sister, caught her in his arms, and gave her a close embrace, saying, "Zounds! you don't seem pleased jane would imagine you was sorry I have found the girl."

"Brother," answered she, u the deepest politicians, who see to the bottom, discover often a very different aspect of affairs, from what swims on the surface. It is true, indeed, things do look rather less desperate than they did formerly in Holla.nd, when Lewis the Fourteenth was at the gates of Amsterdam; but there is a delicacy required in this matter, which you will piLl'don me, brother, if I suspect you want. There is a decorum to be used with a woinan of figure, such as Lady Bellaston, brother, which requires a knowledge of the wodd, superior, I am afraid, to yours."

«Sister;' cries the squire, (( I know you have no opinion of my parts; but I'll show you on this occasion who is a fool. Knowledge, quotha I I have not been in the country so long without havillg some knowledge of wan'ants and the law of the land. I know I may take my own wherever I can find it. Show me my own daughter, and if I don't know how to come at her, I'll suffer you to call me a fool as long as I live. There be justices of peace in London, as well as in other places."

TOM JONES S73 ~~ I protest," cries she, ({ you make me tremble for the event of

this matter, which, if you will proceed by my advice, you may bring to so good an issue. Do you really imagine, brother, that the house of a woman of figure is to be attacked by wan'ants and brutal justices of the peace? I will inform you how to proceed, As Soon as you anive in town, and have got yourself into a decent dress (fm' indeed, brother, you have none at present fit to appear in), you must send your compliments to Lady Bellaston, and desire leave to wait on her. When you are admitted to her presence, as you certainly will be, !lnd have told her your story, and have made proper use of my name (for I think you just know one another only by sight, though you are relations), I am confident she will -w-ithdraw her protection from my niece, who hath certainly imposed Upon her. This is the only method.-Justices of peace, indeed! do you imagine any such event can !l.l'l'ive to a woman of figure in a civilized nation r "

(( D-n their figures," cries the squire i "a pretty civilized nation, truly, where women are above the law. And what must I stand sending a parcel of compliments to a confounded whore, that keeps away a daughter from her own natural father? I tell you; sister) I am not so ignorant as yon think me--I know you W()ul<l have women above the law, but it is all a lie i I heard his lordship say at 'size, that no 011e is above the law. But this of Yllurs is Hanover law, I suppose."

(( Mr. Westel'n," sakI she, (' I think you daily improve in ign.orance.--I protest you are grown an arrant bear:'

(( No more a bear than yourself, sister Western;' said the squire.-u Pox! you may talk of your civility an you will, I am su.re you never show allY to me. I nm no bear, no, nor no dog neither) though I know somebody, that is something that begins "W'ith a b; but pox! I will show you I have got more good lnanners than some folks."

(t Mr. Western," answered the ladYl Uyou may SllY what you please,j'e VOltS mespl·ise de tout mcm cccur. I sball not thel'cfore be an.gry.--13esides, as my cousin; with that odious Irish 11ame, j u.stly says, I have that l'egard for t1le honoul' amI true interest of :r.ny family, and that concern for my niece, who is a. part of it, that I have resolved to go to town myself upon this occasion; for indeed, indeed, brother, you are not a fit minister to be employed a t a polite court.-Gl'ecnland-G1'eenland should always be the scene of the tra.montane negotiation:'

c'I thank Heaven," cries the squire, it I don't understand you no"W". You are got to your Hanoverian linguo. Howcvel', I'll show you I scorn to be behind-hand in civility with you; and as you are not angry for what I have said, so I am not angry for what you have said. Indeed, I have always thought it a folly for relations to q ua:l"rel; and if they do now and then give a hasty word, why,

574 HENRY FIELDING

people should give and take; for my part, I never bear malice; tel and I take it very kind of you to go up to London; for I never m! was there but twice in my life, and then I did not stay above a do fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can't be expected to know we much of the streets and the folks in that time. I never deniecl to that you know'd all these matters better than 1. For me to trt dispute that would be all as one as for you to dispute the manage­ fit. ment of a pack of dogs, 01' the finding a hare sitting, with me."­ ha "Which I promise you," says she, U I never will." -" Well, and I tOl promise yout returned he, « that I never will dispute the t'other." on

Here then a league was struck (to bol'1'oW a phrase from the reI lady) between the contending parties; and now the parson arriv­ cal ing, and the horses being ready, the squire departed, having yo' promised his sister to follow her advice, and she prepared to follow de' him the next day. m)

But having communicated these matters to the parson on the ha~ road, they both agreed that the prescribed formalities might very he: well be dispensed with; and the squire, having changed his mind, art proceecled in t7nner we have already' seen. no'

shl a-a y01

CHAPTER VII qlll dOl

IN wHren VARIOUS MISFORTUNES BEFELL POOR JONES ttl ITI}

A FFAIRS were in the aforesaid situation when Mrs. Honour '( "VI arrived at Mrs. Miller's, and called Jones out from the thE company, as we have before seen, with whom, whe~ she found her- H( self alone, she began as follows :- " ,,}

({ 0, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are hOJ undone, sir, and my poor lady's undone, and I am undone." « Hath ag! anything happened to Sophia?" cries Jones, staring like a mad­ In man. « All that is bad," cries Honour: "Oh, I shall never get gel such another lady! Oh that I should ever live to see this day!" y01 At these words Jones tumed pale as ashes, trembled, and stammered; be. but Honour went on-" O! Mr. Jones, I have lost my lady for lad ever." « How? what.! for Heaven's sake, tell me. 0, my dear tw Sophia! " " You may well call her so," said Honour; « she was so the dearest lady to me. I shall never have such another place." m: --« D--n YOUl' place!" cries Jones; "where is-what-what is sa: become of my Sophia?" « Ay, to be sure," cries she, rc servants as' may be d--n'd. It signifies nothing what becomes of them, at though they al'e turned away, and l'Uined ever so much. To be is sure they are not flesh and blood like other people. No, to be it sure, it signifies nothing what becomes of them." « If you have m any pity, any compassion," cries Jones, "I beg you will instantly tc

TOM JONES 575 tell me what hath happened to Sophia?" "To be sure, I have more pity for you than you have for me," answered Honour;" 'c I don't d-n you because you have lost the sweetest lady in the world. To be sure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied too: for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mis­ tress--" (( What hath happened? " cries Jones, in almost a raving fit. oc What ?-What?" said Honour: ('Why, the worst that could have happened both for you and for me.-Her father is come to town, and hath carried her away from us both." Here Jones fell on his knees in thanksgiving that it was no worse. (( No worse 1 " repeated Honour; "what coUld be worse for either of us? He carried her off, swearing she should marry Mr. Blifil; that's for your comfort; and, for poor me, I am turned out of doors." " In­ deed, Mrs. Honour," answered Jones, "you frightened me out of my wits. I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident had happened to Sophia; something, compared to which, even seeing her married to Blifil would be a trifle; but while there is life there are hopes, my dear Honour. Women in this land of liberty can­ not be married by actual brutal force." "To be sure, sir," said slle, "that's true. There may be some hopes for you; but alack­ a-day! what hopes are there for pOOl' me? And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I suffer all this upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me is for taking YOUl' part, as I have done, against Mr. Blifil." "Indeed, Mrs. Honour," answered he, c( I am sensible of my obligations to you, and will leave nothing in l.ny power undone to make you amends." " Alas I sir," said she, CCwhat can make a servant amends for the loss of one place but tIle getting another altogether as good?" "Do not despair, Mrs. Honour," said Jones, "I hope to reinstate you again ill the same." H Alack-a-day, sil'," said she, (( how can I flatter myself' with such hopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so set against me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure I now hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good~natured gentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves you as dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it; because as why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, must see it; for, poor clear lady, she can't dissemble: and if two people who loves one another a'n't happy, why who should be so? .Happiness don't always depend upon what people has; besides, Illy lady has enough for both. To be sure, therefol'e, as one may say, it would be all the pity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay, I aln convineed, fol' my part, you will meet together at last; for, if it is to be, there is no preventing it. If a mal'riage is xnade in heaven, all the justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be sure I wishes that parson Supple had but a little IllOl'e spirit, to tell the squire of his wickedness in endeavouring to fOl'ce his daughter contrary to her liking; but then his whole

HENRY FIELDING day

dependence is on the squire; and so the poor gentleman, though com he is a very religious good sort of man, and talks of the badness of day such doings behind the squire's back, yet he dares not say his soul hoW is his own to his face. To be sure I never saw him make so bold you as just now; I was afeared the squire would have struck him. I the: would not have your honour be melancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you are sure of my lady, and that I am will certain you may be; for she never will be brought to consent to or(le marry any other man. Indeed, I am terribly afeared the squire miss will do her a mischief in his passion, for he is a prodigious passion­ expc ate gentleman; and I am afeared too the pOOl' lady will be brought , to break her heart, for she is as tender-hearted as a chicken. It kne, is pity, methinks, she had not a little of my courage. If I was in to c( love with a young man, and my father offered to lock me up, I'd impE tear his eyes out but I'd come at him; but then there's a great I an fortune in the case, which it is in her father's power either to give you her or not; that, to be sure, may make some difference." faith

Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the foregoing Ado) harangue, or whether it was for want of -any vacancy in the dis­ 1 course, I cannot determine; but he never once attempted to hold answer, nor did she once stop till Partridge came running into the passi room, and informed him that the great lady was upon the stairs. only

Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones was now mad, reduced. Honour knew nothing of any acquaintance that subsisted with between him and Lady Bellaston, and she was almost the last was person in the world to whom he would have communicated it. In J this hurry and distress, he took (as is common enough) the worst able course, and, instead of exposing her to the lady, which would have com] been of little consequence, he chose to expose the lady to her; he give: therefore resolved to hide Honour, whom he had but just time to as oj convey behind the bed, and to draw the curtains. kind

The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged on account tion of his poor landlady and her family, the terrors occasioned by Mrs.

WOlll Honour, and the confusion into which he was thrown by the sudden asto) al'l'ival of Lady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts rldi( out of his head; so that it never once occurred to his memory to give act the part of a sick man j which, indeed, neither the gaiety of his dress, nor the freshness of his countenance, would have at all

mar if i'

supported. colo He received her ladyship therefore rather agreeably to hel' agai

desires than to her expectations, with all the good hUluour he could the muster in his countenance, and without any real or affected appear­ anl ance of the least disorder.

Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than she squatted nor utb

herself down on the bed: "So, my dear Jones," said she, "you find nothulg can detain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be dru angry with you, that I have neither seen nor heard from you all

577 ltIem&n n , th ' wlOugh

e badness of not say his soul III make So bold struck him. I despair; thiu sg and that I., t ~rn

• 0 consent to ,red the sq";, t• • -6 l~OUS paSSion. 'fIll be brought !l chicken. .It ~. If! wasiIl ck x;te up,!'d h~re s a great elther to give

:::!:e. jJ

he. foregoing y In the dis. lttempted to ning into the the stairs. les was now hat subsisted lost the last cated it. In 'h) the worst t would have ~ to her; he just time to

l on accolUlt iled by Mrs. 'the sudden ~r thoughts memory to e gaietyof have at all

bly to her 11' lIe could ed appear.

; squatted she, u you Ight to be m you all

TOM JONES

day; for I perceive your distemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I suppose you have not sat in your chamber all day dressed up like a fine lady to see company after a lying-in' but however, don't think I intend to scold you; for I never will giv~ you an excuse for the cold behaviour of a husband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife."

((Nay, Lady Bellaston," said Jones, "I am sure your ladyship will not upbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who, my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an appointment last night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and wish, and sigh, and languish?"

H Do not m~ntion it, my dell:r Mr. Jones," crie~ s?e. « If you knew the occaSIOn, you would pIty me. In short, It 18 impossible to conceive what women of condition are obliged to suffer from the impertinence of fools, in order to keep up the farce of the world. I am glad, however, all your languishing and wishing have done you no harm; for you never looked better in your life. Upon my faith! Jones, you might at this instant sit for the picture of Adonis."

There are certain words of provocation which men of honour hold can properly be answered only by a blow. Among lovers possibly there may be some expressions which can be answered only by a kiss. Now the compliment which Lady Bellaston now made Jones seems to be of this kind, especially as it was attended with a look, in which the lady conveyed more soft ideas than it was possible to express with her tongue.

Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the most disagree­ able and distressed situations imaginable j for, to carryon the comparison we made use of before, though the provocation was given by the lady, Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to ask it, in the presence of a third person; seconds in this kind of duels not being according to the law of arms. As this objec­ tion did not occur to Lady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman being there but herself, she waited some time in great astonishment for an answer from Jones, who~ conscious of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at a distance, and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none at all. Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet more tragical, than this scene would have been if it had lasted much longer. The lady had already changed colour two or three times; had got up from the bed and sat down again, while Jones was wishing the ground to sink under him, or the house to fall on his head, when an odd accident freed him from an embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, nor the politics of a Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utter disgrace.

This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk; or rather, in that state of drunkenness which deprives men

578 HENRY FIELDING of the use of their reason without depriving them of the use of their limbs.

Mrs. Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was smoking his pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he anived at Mr. Jones's chamber-door without any intelTuption. This he burst open, and was enteling without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat and ran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale never came far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.

Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that in which himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in, often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones, however, prevailed over him, and delivered bim into the hands of Partlidge, whom the noise on the stairs soon sum. moned to bis master's assistance.

And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own apartment, where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady Bellaston venting an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at the same time saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast agitation, which in a lady of a tender constitution would have been an hysteric fit.

In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the . two men, of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heard Nightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attempted to retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusion she found already occupied by anotber.

"Is this usage to be borne, Mr. Jones?" cries the lady.­ (( Basest of men ?--What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me ? " t( Wretch I" cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place of concealment--U Marry come up !--Wretch for­ sooth ?--as poor a wretch as I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer can say."

Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge of Mrs. Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would have done, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the most unfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing himself to Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protesta­ tions of innocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of her reason, which she llad as ready as any woman in the world, especially on such occasions, calmly replied: t, Sir, you need make no apologies, I see now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs. Honour: but now I do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am sure she is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions upon my visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be in my power to be much more bereafter."

Mrs. Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate.

ae wisl bee me be aIm you thil lal bay prol lad~ tor on maj imll to a

whi talc

Mr! she you Jon obt nex furt

00 ack and sud the is p

SOD

tlu gel noi

579 1 of the Use of

: P~rtridge wu arrlved at Mr

I he burst open" lS started fro~ :ffectualIYI that ~o see Who Was

tment for that 'ly insisted on : from his own fered him into .irs soon sum.

n to his own nce he heard ; a very loud nto a chair in [tution would

between the the issue, as

1e to his own ng, which to tl1er. , the lady.­ lave exposed nt rage from ·Wretch for. this is more

olfthe edge lUant would msele as the , addressing rl protesta. covered the nan in the r, you need not at 6rst ling wrong of too good )U i I have ) be much

passionate.

TOM JONES

Hearing, therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone she like­ wise softened hers.-" I'm sure, madam," says she,' (( I have been always ready to acknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure I never had so good a friend as your latlyship--and to be sure, now I see it is your ladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue off for very mad.-I constructions upon your ladyship-to be sure it doth not become a servant as I am to think about such a great lady-I mean I was a servant: for iI).deed I am nobody's servant now, the more miserable wretch is me.-I have lost the best mistress--" Here Honour thought fit to produce a shower of tears.-" Don't cry, child," says the good lady; (( ways perhaps may be found to make you amends. Come to me to-morrow morning." She then took up her fan which lay on the ground, and without even looking at Jones walked very majestically out of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence of women of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to in circumstances of this nature.

Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which she absolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking any notice of him as he stood bowing before her.

At his return upstairs, a long dialogue passed between him and Mrs. Honour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she had undergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady; on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last found means to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise of most inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavour to find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedings of the squire.

Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of Mrs. Honour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps acknowledge from experience) is often a very valuable possession: and that not only to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to such as whisper it about till it come to the ears of every one except the ignorant person who pays for the supposed concealing of what is publicly known.

CHAPTER VIII

SHORT AND SWEET

N OTWITHSTANDING all the obligations she had received from Jones, Mrs. Miller could not forbear in the morning some gentle remonstrances for the hurricane which had happened the preceding night in his c~amber. ~hese were, howev:er, so gentle and so friendly, professmg, and mdeed t~uly, to rum at nothing more than the real good of Mr. Jones himself, that he,

101

HENRY FIELDING

far from being offended, thankfully received the admonition of the good woman, expressed much concern for what had passed, excused it as well as he could, and promised never more to bring the same disturbances into the house.

But though Mrs. Miller did not refrain from a short expostula­ tion in private at their first meeting, yet the occasion of his being summoned downstairs that morning was of a much more agreeable kind, being indeed to perform the office of a father to Miss Nancy, and to give her in wedlock to Mr. Nightingale, who was now ready dressed, and full as sober as many of my readers will think a man ought to be who receives a wife in so imprudent a manner.

And here perhaps it may be propel' to account for the escape which this young gentleman had made from his nncle, and for his appearance in the condition in which we have seen him the night before.

Now when the uncle had arrived at his lodgings with his nephew, partly to indulge his own inclinations (for he dearly loved h!s bottle), and partly to disqualifY his nephew from the immediate execution of his purpose, he ordered wine to be set on the table; with which he so briskly plied the young gentleman, that this latter, who, though not much used to drinking, did not detest it so as to be guilty of disobedience or want of complacence by refusing, was soon completely finished.

Just as the uncle had obtained this victory, and,waspreparing a bed for his nephew, a messenger arrived with a piece of news, which so entirely disconcerted and shocked him1 that he in a moment lost all consideration for his nephew, and his whole mind became entirely taken up with his own concerns.

This sudden and afflicting news was no less than that his daughter had taken the opportunity of almost the first moment of his absence, and had gone off with a neighbouring young clergy­ man; against whom, though her father could have had but one objection, namely, that he was worth nothing1 yet she had never thought propel' to communicate her amour even to that father; and so artfully had she managed, that it had never been once suspected by any, 1;ill now that it was consummated.

Old Mr. Nightingale no sooner received this account, than in the utmost confusion he ordered a post-chaise to be instantly got ready, and, havwg recommended his nephew to the care of a servant, he <dh'ectlY,left the house, scarce knowing what he did, nor whither he went.

The uncle thus departed, when the servant came to attend the nephew to bed, had waked him for that purpose, and had at last made him sensible that, his uncle was gone, he1 instead of accepting the kind offices tendered him, insisted on a chair being called; with this the servant, who had received no strict orders to the contrary, readily complied; and, thus being conducted back to the

ho as

Nl qu

Cc aD

of

W( ap reI aft du rei th th

tn lJU ha gr no th ou m. lal

pe wI to' th to

1 tl

, n

TOM JONES 58rnonition of the ' Jassed, excused bring the same

10rt expostula. )Il of his being 110re agreeahl

M' eo ISS Naney vas 110W ready l tllink a man nner, ~r the escape ,~, and for hiB 11m the night

:1gs With his dearly loved

Ie immediate )Il the table' m, tllat thi~ ; detest it so by refusing,

'is preparin~ lce of news; !tt he in a whole mind

n that his momentof

llng clergy.. leI but one had never

19.t father; been once

:1t, than in !tantly got care of a

It he did,

~ttend the lad at last accepting 19 called; rs to the ,ok to the I

house of Mrs, Miller, he had staggered up to Mr, Jones's chamber, as hath been before recounted.

This bar of the uncle being now removed (though young Nightingale knew not as yet in what manner), and all parties being quickly ready, the mother, Mr. Jones, Mr. Nightingale, and his love, stepped into a hackney-coach, which conveyed them to Doctors' Commons; where Miss Nancy was, in vulgar language, soon made an honest woman, and the poor mother became, in the purest sense of the word, one of the happiest of all human beings.

And now Mr. Jones, having seen his good offices to that poor woman and her family brought to a happy conclusion, began to apply himself to his own concerns; but here, lest many of my readers should censure his folly for thus troubling himself with the affairs of others, and lest some few should think he acted more disinterestedly than indeed he did, we think proper to assure our reader, that he was so far from being unconcerned in this matter, that he had indeed a very considerable interest in bringing it to that final consummation.

To explain this seeming paradox at once, he was one who could truly say with hi~ in Terence, Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum-; puto. He was never an indifferent spectator of the misery or . happiness of anyone; and he felt either the one or the other in J, great proportion as he himself contributed to either. He could not, therefore, be the instrument of raising a whole family from the lowest state of wretchedness to the highest pitch of joy with­ out conveying great felicity;to himself; more perhaps than wol'ldly men often purchase to the-"mselves by undergoing the most severe labour, and often by wading through the deepest iniquity.

Those l'eaders who are of the same complexion with him will pel-haps think this short chapter contains abundance of matter; while others may probably wish, short as it is, that it had been totally spared as impertinent to the main design, which I suppose they conclude is to bring Mr. Jones to the gallows, or, if pOSSible, to a more deplorable catastrophe.

CHAPTER IX

CONTAINING LOVE-LETTERS OF SEVERAL ,SORTS

M R. JONES, at his return home, found the following letters lying on his table~ which he luckily opened in the order they were sent.

LETTER I (( Surely I am under some strange infatuation; ! cannot keep

my resolutions a moment, however strongly made or Justly founded.

.

HENRY FIELDING

Last night I resolved never to see you more; this moming I am willing to hear if you can, as you say, clear up this affair. And yet I know that to be impossible. I have said everything to myself which you can invent.--Perhaps not. Perhaps your invention is stronger. Come to me, theretore, the moment you receive this. If you can forge an excuse I almost promise you to believe it. Betrayed too--I will think no more.--Come to me directly. --This is the third letter I have writ, the two former are burnt--I am almost inclined to burn this too--I wish I may preserve my senses.--Come to me presently."

LETTER II

(t If you ever expect to be forgiven, or even suffered within my doors, come to me this instant."

LETTER III "I now find you was not at home when my notes came to

your lodgings. The moment you receive this let me see you ;-­ I shall not stir out; nor shall anybody be let in but yourself. Sure nothing can detain you long."

Jones had just read over these three billets when Mr. Night­ ingale came into the room. it Well, Tom," said he, (t any news from Lady Bellaston, after last night's adventure?" (for it was now no secret to anyone in that house who the lady was). ((The Lady Bellaston ?" answered Jones very gravely.--tt Nay, dear Tom," cries Nightingale, "don't be so reserved to your friends. Though I was too drunk to see her last night, I saw her at the masquerade. Do you think I am ignorant who the queen of the fairies is?" "And did you really then know the lady at the masquerade?" said Jones. "Yes, upon my soul, did I," said Nightingale," and have given you twenty hints of it since, though you seemed always so tender on that point, that I would not speak plainly. I fancy, my friend, by your extreme nicety in this matter, you are not so well acquainted with the character of the lady as with her person. Don't be angry, Tom, but upon my honour, you are not the first young fellow she hath debauched.. Her reputation is in no danger, believe me."

Though Jones had no reason to imagine the lady to have been of the vestal kind when his amour began, yet, as he was thoroughly ignorant of the town, and had very little acquaintance in it, he had no knowledge of that character which is vulgarly called a demirep; that is to say, a woman who intligues with eve1'Y man she likes, under the name and appearance of virtue; and who, though some over-nice ladies will not be seen with her, is visited (as they term

it) 1 ",ha, acqu sctU] nece and 001

1 etfer tittl, of SJ cone high WOlI

an 0 any the

to s uB, my hav. so e mys tion will that poss gull beU 1 ill dist an· ans1 Thf her perl and tho boo crif har sail iug firs is

TOM JONES

it) by the whole town, in short, whom eVCl'ybody knows to be -w-hat nobody calls her.

When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was perfectly a.cquainted with his intrigue, and began to suspect that s() scrupulous a delicacy as he had hitherto observed was not quite necessal'y on the occasion, he gave a latitude to his friend's tongue, and desired him to speak plainly what he knew, or had ever heard of the lady.

Nightingale, who, in many other instances, was rather too effeminate ill his disposition, had a pretty strong inclination to tittle-tattle. He had no sooner, therefore, received a full libel·ty of speaking from Jones, than he entered upon a long narrative concerning tlle lady; which, as it contained many particulars highly to her dishonour, we have too great a tenclemcss for all -W-omen of condition to repeat, We would cautiously avoid giving an opportunity to the future commentators on our works, of making a.ny malicious application and of fm'cing us to be, agaulst; our willJ the author of scandal, which never entered into our head.

Jones, having very attentively heartl all tha~ Nightingale had to say, fetched a deep sigh; which the other, obsel'ving, cried, U Hey-day! why, thou art not in love, I hope I Had I imagined r.n.y stol'jes woulcl have affected you,) I promise you should never l'1ave heard them," ff OhJ my dear friend I" cries Jones, It I am so entangled with this woman, that I know not how to extricate myself. In love, indeed 1 no, my friend, bu~ I am under oblign­ tions to her, and very great ones. Since you know so muchJ I -w-ill be very explicit with you. It is owing, perhaps, solely to hel', that I have not, before this, wanted a bit of bread. How can r possibly desert such a woman? and yet I must desert her, or be guilty of the blackest treachery to one who deserves infinitely better of me than she can; a woman, my Nightinga.le, for whom I llave a passion which few can have an idea of. I am half distracted with doubts how to nct." It And is this other) pray, an honourable mistl'ess?" cries Nightingale, fl Honourable J" answered Jones; ((no brea.th ever yet durst sully her reputation. Tll.e sweetest air is not purer, the limpid sl:ream not clearer, than her honour. She is all over, both in mind and body, consummate perfection, She is the most beautiful creature ill the universe: and yet she is mistress of such noble, elevated qualities, that, though she is never from mr thoughtsJ r scarce ever think of her beauty but when I see it.' _t( And can you, my good fIiend/, cries Nigbtulgale, (t with suell an engagement as this upon your hands, hesitate a moment about quitting such 11.-" "Hold/' said Jones, 'fno more abuse of ber: r detest the thought of ingratitude." " Pooh I" answered the otherJ "you are not the first upon whom she hath conferred obligations of this kind. She is remarkably liberal where she likes; though, let me tell you,

1

HENRY:FIELDING her favours are so prudently bestowed, that they should rather raise a man's vanity than his gratitude." In short, Nightingale proceeded so far on this head, and told his friend so many stories of the lady, which he swore to the truth of, that he entirely removed all esteem for her from the breast of Jones; and his gratitude was lessened in proportion. Indeed, he began to look on all the favours he had received rather as wages than benefits, which depreciated not only her, but himself, too, in his own conceit, and put him quite out of humour with both. From this disgust, his mind, by a natural transition, turned towards Sophia; her virtue, her purity, her love to him, her sufferings on his account, filled all his thoughts, and made his commerce with Lady Bellaston appear still more odious. The result of all was, that, though his turning himself out of her service, in which light he now saw his affair with her, would be the loss of his bread; yet he determined to quit her, if he could but find a handsome pretence: which being communicated to his friend, Nightingale considered a little, and then said, " I have it, my boy! I have found out a sure method; propose marriage to her, and I would venture hanging upon the success." " Marliage ?" cries Jones. (( Ay, propose malTiage," answered Nightingale, "and she will declare off in a moment. I knew a young fellow whom she kept formerly, who made the offer to her in earnest, and was presently turned off for his pains."

Jones declared he could not venture the experiment. "Perhaps," said he, "she may be less shocked at this proposal from one man than from another. And if she should take me at my word, where am I then? caught in my own trap, and undone for ever." "No;" answered Nightingale, {( not if I can give you an expedient by which you may at any time get out of the trap." __" What expedient can that be?" replied Jones. « This," answered Nightingale. t< The young fellow I mentioned, who is one of the most intimate acquaintances I have in the world, is so angry with her for some ill offices she hath since done him, that I am sure he would, without any difficulty, give you a sight of her letters; upon which you may decently break with her; and declare off before the knot is tied, if she should really be willing to tie it, which I am convinced she will not."

After some hesitation, Jones, upon the strength of this assurance, consented; but, as he swore he wanted the confidence to propose the matter to her face, he wrote the following letter, which Nightingale dictated:­

" MADAl\[,-« I am extremely concerned, that, by an unfortunate engagement abroad, I should have missed receiving the honour of your ladyship's commands the moment they came; and the delay which I must now suffer of vindicating myself to your ladyship greatly adds to this misfortune. 0, Lady Bellaston! what a terror

have perv not hone the I lass gen~ _Ii oblie

its CI legal posel then entil who) your whic uphr

" mort

J

at tl conft base cont, passi I ha: cont: the I so fa pray tiom and And the:

you

ilould rather Nightingale many stories he entirely es j and his gan to look lan benefits, IWn conceit ;his disgust) 'h' )lOp la; her lis account y Bellasto~ though his lOW saw his ietermined Mch being little, and 'e method;

upon the marriage," oment. I e the offer ns." :periment, l proposal lke me at :d undone give you

;he trap." " This,"

1, who is lrld, is so ffi, that I it of her er i and e willing

of this nfidence ~ letter,

Irtunate moUl' of ,e delay ~dyship 1 terror

TOM JONES

have I been in for fear your reputation should be exposed by these perverse accidents! There is one only way to secure it. I need not name what that is. Only permit me to say, that as your honour is as dear to me as my own, so my sole ambition is to have the glory of laying my liberty at your feet; and believe me when I assure you, I can never be made completely happy without you generously bestow on me a legal light of calling you mine for ever. -I am, madam, with most profound respect, your ladyship's most obliged, obedient, humble servant, THOMAS JONES."

To this she presently returned the following answer:

" SIR,-When I read over your serious epistle, I could, from its coldness and formality, have sworn that you already had the legal right you mention; nay, that we had for many years com­ posed that monstrous animal a husband and wife. Do you really then imagine me a fool? or do you fancy yourself capable of so entirely persuading me out of my senses, that I should deliver my whole fortune into your power, in order to enable you to support your pleasures at my expense? Are these the proofs of love which I expected? Is this the return for--? but I scorn to upbraid you, and am in great admiration of your profound respect.

"P.S. I am prevented from revising :--Perhaps I have said more than I meant.--Come to me at eight this evening."

Jones, by the advice of his privy-council, replied:

"MADAM,-It is impossible to express how much I am shocked at the suspicion you entertain of me. Can Lady Bellaston have conferred favours on a man whom she could believe capable of so base a design? or can 'she treat the most solemn tie of love with contempt? Can you imagine, madam, that if the violence of my passion, in an unguarded moment, overcame the tenderness which I have for your honour, I would think of indulging myself in the continuance of an intercourse which could not possibly escape long the notice of the world; and which, when discovered, must prove so fatal to your reputation? If such be your opinion of me, I must pray for a sudden opportunity of returning those pecuniary obliga­ tions, which I have been so unfortunate to receive at your hands; and for those of a more tender kind, I shall ever remain, etc." And so concluded in the very words with which he had concluded the former letter.

The lady answered as follows:

" I see you are a villain! and I despise you from my soul. If you come here I shall not be at home."

HENRY FIELDING

Though Jones was well satisfied with his deliverance from a thraldom which those who have ever experienced it will, I apprehend, allow to be none of the lightest, he was not, howevel', perfectly easy in his mind. There was in this scheme too much of fallacy to satisfy one who utterly detested every species of falsehood or dishonesty: nor would he, indeed, have submitted to put it in practice, had he not been involved in a distressful situation, where he was obliged to be guilty of some dishonour, either to the one lady or the other; and smely the reader will allow, that every good principle, as well as love, pleaded strongly in favour of Sophia.

Nightingale highly exulted in the success of his stratagem, upon which he received many thanks and much applause from his friend. He answered, "Dear Tom, we have conferred very different obligations on each other. To me you owe the regaining your libelty; to you lowe the loss of mine. But if you are as happy in the"ene instance as I am in the other, I promise you we are the two happiest fellows in England,."

The two gentlemen were now summoned down to dimler, where Mrs. Miller, who performed herself the office of cook, had exerted her best talents to celebrate the wedding of her daughter. This joyful circumstance she ascribed principally to the friendly behaviour of Jones, her whole soul was fired with gratitude towards him, and all her looks, words, and actions were so busied in expressing it, that her daughter, and even her new son-in-law, were very little objects of her consideration.

Dinner was just ended when Mrs. Miller received a letter; but as we have had letters enow in this chapter, we shall communicate its contents in our next.

CHAPTER X

CONSISTING PARTLY OF FACTS, AND PARTLY OF OBSERVATIONS UPON

'I'HEM

T HE letter, then, which arrived at the end of the preceding chapter was from Mr. AliwOlthy, and the purpOlt of it was) his intention to come immediately to town, with his nephew BUtil, and a desjre to be accommodated with his usual lodgings, which were the first floor for himself, and the second for his nephew.

The cheerfulness which had before displayed itself in the countenance of the poor woman was a little clouded on this occasion. This news did indeed a good deal disconcert her, To requite so disinterested a match with her daughter, by presently turning her new son-in-law out of doors, appeared to her very unjustifiable on the one hand; and on the other, she could scarce

bear the ( whicl ferriI dia-Ill peopl llot ( const eVe!') tongt both there alwa) ever for tJ noW, oppOl vente then to hn Mrs..

B remal

T, wouk conte disch. satisf short' as a I

M uneas Boone distrl " As at a canIl'

retul' 'cons! insta

'1 bega perh

TOM JONES

bear the thoughts of making any excuse to Mr. Allworthy, after all the obligations received from him, for depriving him of lodgings "Which were indeed strictly his due; for that gentleman, in con­ ferring all his numberless benefits on others, acted by a rule diametlically opposite to what is practised by most generous people. He contrived, on all occasions, to hide his beneficence, uot only from the world, but even from the object of it. He constantly used the words Lend and Pay, instead of Give; and by every other method he could invent, always lessened with his tongue the favours he conferred, while he was heaping them with both his hands. When he settled the annuity of £60 a-year, therefore, on Mrs. Miller, he told her, ((it was in consideration of always having her first-floor when he was in town (which he scarce ever intended to be), but that she might let it at any other time, for that he would always scnd her a month's wal'lling." He was :now, however, hurried to town so suddenly, that he had no 0ppol'tunity of giving such notice; and this hurry probably pre­ 'Vented him; when he wrote for his lodgings, adding, if they were then empty; for he would most certainly have been well satisfied to have relinquished them, 011 a less sufficient excuse than what Mrs. Miller could now have made.

But there are a sort of persons, who, as Pl'ior excellently well :remarks, direct their conduct by something

tl Deyond the fix'd and settled rules Of vice and virtue ill the schools, Deyond the letter of the law."

To these it is so far from being sufficient that their defence "W"ould acquit them at the Old Bailey, that they are not even contented, though conscienceJ the severest of all judges, shouW discharge them. Nothing ShOl't of the fair and 1101l()ul'able will satisfy the (leBeaey of their minds j and if any of their nctions fall shorl:; of this mark, they mope and pine, are as uneasy and l'estIess as a murderer, who is afraid of a ghost, or of the hangman.

Mrs. Miller was one of these. She could not conceal her uneasiness at this letter; with the contents of which she had no sooner acquainted the company, and given some hints of her clistress~ tlHl.11 JonesJ her good angel, presently relieved her Illlxiety. """ As for myself, nlada.m;' said he, U my lodging is at your service at a moment's wanling; and Mr. Nightingale, I am sure, as he cannot yet prepare a house fil; to receive his l!ldy~ will consent to return to his new lodging, whither Mrs. Nightingale will certainly 'consent to go." With which proposal both husband and wife instantly agreed.

The reader will easily believeJ tllllt the cheeks of Ml'S. Miller began again to glow with additiona.l gratitude to Jones; butl perhaps, it may be mOl'e difficult to persuade him, tha.t Mr. Jones

58 8 HENRY FIELDING

having in his last speech called her daughter Mrs. Nightingale (it being the first time that agl'e~le sound had ever reached her ears), gave the fond moth~J."""'more satisfaction, and warmed her heart more towards Jones; than his having dissipated her present anxiety.

The next day was then appointed for the removal of the new­ married couple, and of Mr. Jones, who was likewise to be provided for in the same house with his friend. And now the serenity of the company was again restored, and they passed the day in the utmost cheerfulness, all except Jones, who, though he outwardly accompanied the rest in their mirth, felt many a bitter pang on the account of his Sophia, which were not a little heightened by the news of Mr. Blifil's coming to town (for he clearly saw the intention of his journey); and what greatly aggravated his concern was, that Mrs. Honour, who had promised to inquire after Sophia, and to make her report to him early the next evening, had dis­ appointed him.

In the situation that he and his mistress were in at this time, there were scarpe any grounds for him to hope that he should hear any good news; yet he was as impatient to see Mrs. Honour as if he had expected she would bring him a letter with an assignation in it from Sophia, and bore the disappointment as ill. Whether this impatience arose from that natural weakness of the human mind, which makes it desirous to know the worst, and renders unceltainty the most intolerable of pains; or whether he still flattered himself with! some secret hopes, we will not determine. But that it might be the last, whoever has loved cannot but know. For of all the powers exercised by this passion over our minds, one of the most wonderful is that of supporting hope in the midst of despair. Difficulties, improbabilities, nay, impossibilities, are quite overlooked by it; so that to any man extremely in love, may be applied what Addison says of Cresar,

"The Alps, and Pyrenreana, sink before him!"

Yet it is equally true, that the same passion will sometimes make mountains of molehills, and produce despair in the midst of hope; but these cold fits last not long in good constitutions. Which temper Jones was now in, we leave the reader to guess, having no exact information about it; but this is certain, that he had spent two hours in expectation, when, being unable any longer to conceal his uneasiness, he retired to his room; where his anxiety had almost made him frantic, when the following letter was brought him from Mrs. Honour, with which we shall present the reader verbatim et literatim.

rc SIR,-(( I shud sartenly haf kaled on you a cordin too mi prommiss ha.ddunt itt bin that hur lashipp prevent mee; for to bee

sur, ~ orne, so as her 12 witho best. bee v any t: for it ouest: servaJ ure OJ for UI tolde I shU! anys plase it me boddi waye. sad, f cuestj misel: matal mi OIl belivl

V step, than' whicl made Soph: waul! herse impl~ be Ie passi~

VI thou! he II Fortt matc thrOl' situa'

:ghtingale;(11 reache~hel Wal'med;hel I hel' present

of the lie". be Pl"(lvided

e serenity of ~ day in the le outWardly ter pangoU dghtene\lby .rly saw the . his concern fter Sopbk, 19, haddJs.

.t this time, should hear lonour as.H

the human nd renders er he still determine. ; but know. minds, one Ie midst of 3, are quite 'e, maybe

mes make t of bope; s. Which having nQ had spent to conceal x:iety had 9 brought be reader

n too mi or to bee

TOM JONES

sur, Sir, you nose very well that evere persun must luk furst at ome, and sartenly such anuther offar mite not have ever hapned so as I shud ave bin justly to blam, had I not excepted of it whel; her lashipp was so veri kind as to offal' to mak mee hur one uman without mi ever askin any such thing, to be sur shee is won of thee best ladis in thee wUl'ld, and pepil who sase to the kontrari must bee veri wiket pepil in thare harts. To bee sur if ever I ave sad any thing of that kine it as bin thru ignorens, and I am hartili sorri for it. I nose your onul' to be a genteelman of more onur and onesty, if I ever said ani such thing, to repete it to hurt a pore sel'van~ that as alwais add thee gl'atest respect in thee wurId for ure onur .. To be sur won shud kepe wons tung within wons teeth, for no boddi nose what may hapen; and to bee sur if ani boddi ad tolde mee yesterday, tha~ I shud haf bin in so gud a plase to day, I shud not haf beleeved It; for to be sur I never was a memd of any such thing, nor shud I ever have soft after ani other bodi's plase; but as her lashipp wass so kine of her one a cord too give it mee without askin, to be sur Mrs. Etoff herself, nor no other boddi can blam mee for exceptin such a thing when it fals in mi waye. I beg ure Onur not to menshion ani thing of what I lmf sad, for I wish ure Onul' all thee gud luk in the wurld i and I don't cuestion butt thatt u will haf Madani Sofia in the end; butt ass to miself ure onur nose I kant bee of ani farder sarvis to u in that matar, nou bein under thee cumand off anuther parson, and nott mi one mistress, I begg ure Onur to say nothing of what past, and belive me to be, sir, ure Onur's umble servant to cumand till deth,

"HONOUR BLACKMORE."

Various were the conjectures which Jones entertained on this step of Lady Bellaston; who, in reality, had little falther design than to secure within her own house the repository of a secret, which she chose should make no farther progress than it had made already; but mostly, she desired to keep it from the ears of Sophia; for though that young lady was almost the only one who would never have repeated it again, her ladyship could not persuade herself of this; since, as she now hated pOOl' Sophia with most implacable hatred, she conceived a reciprocal hatred to herself to be lodged in the tender breast of our heroine, where no such passion had ever yet found an entrance.

While Jones waS terrifying himself with the apprehension of a thousand dreadful machinations, and deep political designs, which he imagined to be at the bottom of the promotion of Honour, Fortune, who hitherto seems to have been an utter enemy to his match with Sophia, tried a new method to put a final end to it, by throwing a temptation in his way, which in his present desperate situation it seemed unlikely he should be able to resist.

-_# . "'-­ HENRY FIELDING

CHAPTER XI

CONTAINING CURIOUS, BUT NOT UNPRECEDENTED MATTER

T HERE was a lady, one Ml·s'. Hunt, who had often seen Jones at the house where h~ lodged, being intimately acquainted with the women there!""iind indeed a very great friend to Mrs. Miller. Her age)VaS about thirty, for she owned six-and-twenty; her face and petson very good, only inclining a little too much to be fat. She had been mal'l'ied young by her relations to an old Turkey merchant, who, having got a great fortune, had left off trade. With him she lived without reproach, but not without pain, in a state of great self-denial, for about twelve yeal's; and her virtue was rewarded by his dying and leaving hel' vel'y rich. The first year of her widowhood was just at an end, and sIle had passed it in a good deal of retirement, seeing only a few particular friends, and dividing her time between her devotions and novels, of which she was always extremely fond. Very good health, a very warm constitution, and a good deal of religion, made it absolutely necessary for her to marry again; and she resolved to

. please herself in her second husband, as she had done her friends Iin the first. From her the following billet was bl'ought to 1Jones:­

"SIR,-From the first clay I saw you, I doubt my eyes have told you too plainly that you were not indifferent to me; but

,neither my tongue nor my hand should have ever avowed it, had not the ladies of the family where you are lodged given me such a character of you, and told me such proofs of your virtue and good­ ness, as convince me you are not only the most agreeable~ but the most worthy of men. I have also the satisfaction to hear from them, that neither my person, understanding, or character are disagreeable to you, I have a fortune sufficient to make us both happy, but which cannot make me so without you, In thus dis~ posing of myself, I know I shall incur the censure of the world; but if I did not love you more than I fear the world, I should not be worthy of you. One only difficulty stops me: I am informed you are engaged in a commerce of gallantry with a woman of fashion. If you think it worth while to sacrifice that to the possession of me, I am yours; if not, forget my weakness" and let this remain an eternal secret between you and

"ARABELLA HUNT."

At the reading of this, Jones was put into a violent flutter. His fortune was then at a very low ebb, the source being stopped from which hitherto he had been supplied. Of all he had received

fl."(

ve Sll~

he sul p~

pl."J CO)

re~

we th} Ye Wl in to .. de' tbt of:

J to: foIl

ba~ nn( prot; tb~ tio) thE! hel do :my EVI

Ina: her bre ser1

bis and of 1 fiftj

TOM JONES 59! from Lady Bel1aston, not above five guineas remained; and that very morning he had been dunned by a tradesman for twice that sum. His honourable mistress was in the hauds of her father, and he lmd scarce any hopes ever to get her out of them again. To be subsisted at her expense, from that little fortune she had inde­ pendent of her father, went much against the delicacy both of his pride amI his love. This lady'S fortune would have been exceeding convenient to him, Ilnd he could have no objection to her in any respect. On the contrary, he liked her as well as he did any woman except Sophia. But to abandon Sophia, and marry another, that was impossible; he could not think of it upon any account. Yet why should he not, since it was plain she could not be his? Would it not be kinder to her, thlln to continue her longer engaged in a hopeless passion for him ? Ought he not to do so in friendship to her? This notion prevailed some moments, and he had almost detel'mined to be false to her from a high point of honour: but that refinement was not able to stand very long against the voice of nature, which cded in his hen.l't that such fl'iendship Was b'eason to love. At last he caned for pen, ink) Ilnd paper, and writ as follows to Mrs. Hunt:­

it MADAM,-It would be but I!. poor return to the favour you have done me to sacrifice any gll.llantt·y to the possession of you, nnd I would certainly do it, though I were not disengaged, as at present 1 am, from anyatrair of that Idn(l. But I should not be the honest man you think me, if I did not tell you that my affec­ tions Ilre engaged to n.nother, who is n woman of virtue) and one that I never ca.11 leave, though it is probable I Bhn.11 nevel' possess her. God fOl'bid that, in retum of your kindness to me, I should do you such an injury as to give you my hond when I cannot give my heart. No; I had much rather starve tban bo guilty of that. Even though my mistress were married to Illlothel', I would not marry you unless my heart had entirely effaced all impreSSions of her. Be assured thaI: ,our secret was not more sufe in your own breast, than in that 0 your most ob1igecl~ anel grateful humble servant, T. JONES."

When our hero had finished und san.t this letter) he went to his scrutore, took out Miss Western's muH:, kissed it several times, and then strutted some turns about his room) with more satisfaction of mind than ever any Irishman felt in carrying off a fortune of fifty thousand p01Ulds.

592 HENRY FIELDING

CHAPTER XII

.A DISCOVERY MADE DY PARTRlDGE

W HILE Jones was exulting in the consciousness of his integrity, Partridge came capering into the room, as was his custom when he brought, 01' fancied he brought, any good tidings. He had been despatched that morning by his master, with orders to endeavour, by the servants of Lady Bellaston, 01' by any other means, to discover whither Sophia had been conveyed; and he now returned, and with a joyful countenance told our hero that he had fOlmd the lost bird. ({ I have seen, sir," says he, « Black George, the gamekeeper, who is one of the servants whom the squire hath brought with him to town. I knew him presently, though I have not seen him these several years; but you know, sir, he is a very remarkable man, 01', to use a purer pbrase, he hath a most remarkable beard, the largest and blackest I ever saw. It was some time, however, before Black George could recollect me." (( Well, but what is your good news?" cries Jones; "what do you know of my Sophia i' " "You shall know presently, sil'," answerecl Partridge. (( I am coming to it as fast as I can. You are so impatient, sir, you would come at the infinitive mood before you can get to the imperative. As I was saying, sir, it was some time before he recollected my face." _" Confound your face!" cries Jones, cr what of my Sophia?" "Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "I know nothing more of Madam Sophia than what I am going to tell you; and I should have told you all before this if you had not interrupted me; but if you look so angry at me you will frighten all of it out of my head, or, to use a purer phrase, out of my memory. I never saw you look so angry since the day we left Upton, which I shall remember if I was to live a thousand years." --"Well, pray go on your own way," said Jones: "you are resolved to make me mad, I find." " Not for the world," answered Partridge, "I have suffered enough for that already; which, as I said, I shall bear in my remembrance the longest day I have to live." (C Well, but Black George?" cries Jones. f( Wen, sir, as I was saying, it was a long time before he could recollect me; for, indeed, I am very much altered since I saw bim. Non sum Cjllalis eram. I have had troubles in the world, and nothing alters a man so much as grief. I have heard it will change the colour of a man's hair in a night. However, at last, know me he did, that's sure enough; for we are both of an age, and were at the same charity school. George was a great dunce, but no matter for that; all men do not thrive in the world according to tbeir learning. I am sure I have reason to say so; but it will be all one a thousand years hence. Well, sir, where was I (--O-well. we no sooner

593

is ~tegrity, IllS custom

:lings, He h orders to any other

d; nnd he hel'o that

he, "Black whom the presently, you know; ie, be hath . )1:' saw. It )llect me." ~lat do you answered

rau are so )e£ore you some time ~e!" cries Partridge, n going to )u had not II fl'igh ten mt of my y we left nd years." "you are answered

Ihich, as I I have to 1, sir, as I Gme; for, BUm qualis ers a man ,lour of II Hd, that's the same . for that; mingo I tllOusand 10 sooner

TOM JONES

knew each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand, we agreed to go to an ale-house and take a pot, and by good luck the beer was some of the best I have met with since I have been in town. Now, sir, I am coming to the point; for no sooner did I name you, and told him that you and I came to town together, and had lived together ever since, than he called for another pot, and swore he would drink to your health; and indeed he drank your health so heartily that I was overjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left in the world; and after we had emptied that pot I said I would be my pot too, and so we drank another to your health; and then I made haste home to tell you the news."

re What news?" cries Jones, "you have not mentioned a word of my Sophia!" re Bless me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed, we mentioned a great deal about young Madam Western, and George told me all; that Mr. Biltil is coming to town in order to be manied to her. He had best make haste, then, says I, or somebody will have her before he comes; and, indeed, says I, Mr. Seagrim, it is a thousand pities somebody should not have her; for he certainly loves her above all the women in the world. I would have both you and she know, that it is not for her fortune he follows her; for I can assure you, as to matter of that, there is another lady, one of much greater quality and fortune than she

\ can pretend to, who is so fond of somebody that she comes after I him day and night." Vi Here Jones fell into a passion with Partridge, for having, as ];lIe said, betrayed him; but the poor fellow answered, he had inentioned no name: "Besides, sir," said he, "I can assure you George is sincerely your friend, and wished Mr. Bilfil at the devil more than once; nay, he said he would do anything in his power upon earth to serve you; and so I am convinced he will. Betray you, indeed! why, I question whether you have a better friend than George upon earth, except myself, or one that would go farther to serve you." . "Well," says Jones, a little pacified, u you say this fellow, who, I believe, indeed, is enough inclined to be my friend, lives in the same house with Sophia?"

"In the same house!" answered Parbidge; "why, sir, he is lone of the servants of the family, and very well dressed I promise 'you he is; if it was not for his black beard you would hardly know him."

! "One service then at least he may do me," says Jones; « sure. :he can certainly convey a letter to my Sophia."

(( You have hit the nail ad unguem;' Clies Partddge; "how came I not to think of it? I will engage he shall do it upon the

!very first mentioning." I "Well, then," said Jones, (( do you leave me at present, and

594

q

HENRY FIELDING I will write a letter, which you shall deliver to him to~morrow morning j for I suppose yon know where to find him."

tf 0 yes, sir," answered Partridge, U I shall certainly find him again j there is no fear of that. The liquor is too good for him to stay away long. I make no doubt but he will be there every day he stays in town."

rt So you don't know the street, then~ where my Sophia is lodged?" cries Jones.

(t Indeed, sir, I do," says Partridge. (t What is the name of the street?" cries Jones. t( The name, sir? why, here, sir, just by," answered Partridge,

ct not above a street or two off. I don't, indeed, know the very name; for, as he K'ever told me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put some suspicion into his head. No, no, sir, let me alone for that. I am too cunning for that, I promise you."

HThou art most wonderfully cnnning, indeed," replied Jones; tf however, I will write to my charmer, since I believe you will be cunning enough to find him to-morrow at the ale-house."

And now, having dismissed the sagacious Partridge, Mr. Jones sat himself down to write, in which employment we shall leave him for a time. And here we put an end to the fifteenth book.