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BOOK XIII

CONTAINING THE SPACE OF TWELVE DAYS

CHAPTER I

AN INVOCATION

COME, bright love of fame, inspire my glowing breast: not thee I call, who, over swelling tides of blood and tears, dost beal' the hero on to glory, while sighs of millions waft his spreading sails; but thee, fair, gentle maid, whom Mnesis, happy nymph, first on the banks of Hebrus did produce. Thee, whom Mreonia educated, whom Mantua charmed, and who, on that fair hill which overlooks the proud metropolis of Britain, sat'st, with thy Milton, sweetly tuning the heroic lyre; fill my ravished fancy with the hopes of charming ages yet to come. Foretell me that some tender maid, whose grandmother is yet unborn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of Sophia, she reads the real werth which once existed in my Charlotte, shall from her sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh. Do thou teach me not only to foresee, but to enjoy, nay, even to feed on future praise. Comfort me by a solemn assurance, that when the little parlour in which I sit at this instant shall be reduced to a worse furnished box, I shall be read with honour by those who never knew nor saw me, and whom I shall neither know nor see.

And thou, much plumper dame, whom no airy forms nor phantoms of imagination clothe; whom the well-seasoned beef, and pudding richly stained with plums, delight: thee I call: of whom in a treck-schuyte, in some Dutch canal, the fat ufrow gelt, impregnated by a jolly merchant of Amsterdam, was delivered: in Grub-street school didst thou suck in the elements of thy erudition. Here hast thou, in thy maturer age, taught poetry to tickle not the fancy, but the pride of the patron. Comedy from thee learns a grave and solemn ail'; while tragedy storms aloud, and rends th' affrighted theatres with its thunders. To soothe thy wearied limbs in slumber, Alderman History tells his tedious tale; and, again, to awaken thee, Monsieur Romance performs his surprising

HENRY FIELDING tricks of dexterity. Nor less thy well-fed bookseller obeys thy influence. By thy advice the heavy, unread, folio lump, which long had dozed on the dusty shelf, piece-mealed into numbers, runs nimbly through the nation. Instructed by thee, some books, like quacks, impose on the world by promising wonders; while others turn beaus, and trust all their merits to a gilded outside. Come, thou jolly substance, with thy shining face, keep back thy inspiration, but hold forth thy tempting rewards; thy shining', chinking heap; thy quickly convertible bank-bill, big with unseen riches; thy often-varying stock; the warm, the comfortable house; and, lastly, a fail' portion of that bounteous mother, whose flowing breasts yield redundant sustenance for al,l her numerous offspling, did not some too greedily and wantonly drive their brethren from the teat. Come thou, and if I am too tasteless of thy valuable treasures, warm my healt with the transporting thought of conveying them to others. Tell me, that through thy bounty, the prattling babes, whose innocent play hath often been interrupted by my labours, may one time be amply rewarded for them.

And now, this ill-yoked pair, this lean shadow and this fat substauce, have prompted me to write, whose assistance shall I invoke to direct my pen?

First, Genius; thou gift of Heaven; without whose aid in vain we struggle agaiust the stream of nature. Thou who dost sow the generous seeds which art nourishes, and blings to perfection. Do thou kindly take me by the hand, and lead me through all the p:tazes, the winding labyrinths of nature. Initiate me into all those mysteries which profane eyes never beheld. Teach me, which to thee is no difficult task, to know mankind better than they know themselves. Remove that mist which dims the in~ tellects of mortals, and causes them to adore men for their art, 01' to detest them for their cunning, in deceiving others, when they are, in reality, the objects only of ridicule, for deceiving themselves. Strip off the thin disguise of wisdom from self-conceit, of plenty from avarice, and of glory from ambition. Come, thou that hast inspired thy Aristophanes, thy Lucian, thy Cervantes, thy Rabelais, thy Moliere, thy Shakespear, thy Swift, thy Mal'ivallx, fill my pages with humour; till mankind learn the good-nature to laugh only at the follies of others, and the humility to grieve at their OWll.

And thou, almost the constant attendant on true genius, Humanity, bring all thy tender se~sations. If thou hast already disposed of them all between thy Allen and thy Lyttleton, steal them a little while from their bosoms. Not without these the tender scene is painted. From these alone proceed the noble. disinterested friendship, the melting love, the generous sentiment, the ardent gratitude, the soft compassion, the candid opinion; and all those strong energies of a good mind, which fill the moistened

TOM JONES eyes with tears, the glowing cheeks with blood, and swell the heart with tides of griet~ joy, and benevolence.

And thou, 0 Learning! (for without thy assistance llothing pure, nothing correct, can genius produce) do thou guide my pen. Thee in thy favourite fields, where the limpid, gently-rolling Thames washes thy Etonian banks, in early youth I have worshipped. To thee, at thy birchen altar, with true Spartan devotion, I have sacrificed my blood. Come then, and from thy vast, luxuriant stores, in long antiquity piled up, pour forth the rich profusion. Open thy Mreonian and thy Mantuan coffers, with whatever else inclp,des thy philosophic, thy poetic, and thy historical treasures, whether with Greek or Roman charactet·s thou hast chosen to inscribe the ponderous chests: give me a while that key to all thy treasures, which to thy WarbUl'ton thon hast entrusted.

Lastly, come Experience, long conversant with the wise, the good, the learned, and the polite. Nor with them only, but with every kind of character, from the minister at his levee, to the bailiff in his spunging-house; from the duchess at her drum, to the landlady behind her bar. From thee only can the manners of mankind be known; to which the recluse pedant, however great his parts or extensive his learning may be, hath ever been a stranger.

Come all these, and more, if possible; for arduous is the task I have undertaken; and, without all your assistance, will, I find, be too heavy for me to support. But if you all smile 011 my labours I hope still to bring them to a happy conclusion.

CHAPTER II

WHAT BEFELL MR. JONES ON HIS ARRIVAL IN LONDON

T HE learned Dr. Misaubin used to say, that the propel' direction . to him was To Dr. Misaubin, in tlte W01#; intimating that there were few people in it to whom his great reputation was not known. And, perhaps, upon a very nice examination into the l.nattel', we shall find that this circumstance bears no inconsiderable pal't among the many blessings of grandeur.

The great happiness of being known to posterity .. with the l~opes of which we so delighted ourselves in the preceding chapter, is the portion of few. '1'0 have the several elements which com­ pose our names, as Sydenham expresses it, repeated a thousand years hence, is a gift beyond the power of title and wealth; and is scarce to be purchased, unless by the sword and the pen. But to avoid the scandalons imputation, while we yet live, of being one

•

HENRY FIELDING

tv/Wilt nobody kn01vs (a scandal, by the bye, as old as the days of Homer 1), will always be the envied portion of those, who have a legal title either to honour or estate.

From tllat figure, therefore, which the Irish peer, who brought Sophia to town, hath already made in this history, the reader will conclude, doubtless, it must have been an easy matter to llave discovered his house in London without knowing the palticular street or square which he inhabited, since he must have been one whom cvcnjbody kno7IJs. To say the truth, so it would have been to any of th~se tradesmen who are accustomed to attend the regions of the great; for the doors of the great are generally no less easy to find than it is difficult to get entrance into them, But Jones, as well as Partridge, was an entire stranger in London; and as he happened to alTive first in a quarter of the town, the inhabitants of which have very little intercourse with the householders of Hanover or Grosvenor-square (for he entered through Gray's-inn­ lane), so he rambled about some time before he could even find his way to those happy mansions where fortune segregates from the vulgar those magnanimous heroes, the descendants of ancient Britons, Saxons, or Danes, whose ancestors, being born in better days, by sundry kinds of merit, have entailed riches and honour on their posterity.

Jones, being at length arrived at those terrestrial Elysian fields, would now soon have discovered his lordship's mansion; but the peer unluckily quitted his former house when he went for Ireland; and as he was just entered into a new one, the fame of his equipage had not yet sufficiently hlazed in the neighbourhood; so that, after a successless inquiry till the clock had struck eleven, Jones at last yielded to the advice of Partridge, and retreated to the Bull and Gate in Holborn, that being the inn where he had first alighted, and whel'e he retired to enjoy that kind of repose which usually attends persons in his circmnstances.

Early in the morning he again set forth in pursuit of Sophia; and many a weary step he took to no better purpose than before. At last, whether it was that Fortune relented, 01' whether it was no longer in her power to disappoint him, he came into the very street which was honoured by his lordship's residence; and, being directed to the house, he gave one gentle rap at the door.

The porter, who, from the modesty of the knock, had conceived no high idea of the person approaching, conceived but little bettel' from the appearance of Mr. Jones, who was dressed in a suit of fustian, and had by his side the weapon formerly purchased of the serjeant; of which, though the blade might be composed of well­ tempered steel, the handle was composed only of brass, and that none of the bl·ightest. When Jones, therefore, inquired after the young lady who had come to town with his lordship, this fellow

1 See the ld Odyssey, veT. 175.

'TOM JONES

answered surlily, {( That there wel'e no ladies there!' Jones then desired to see the master of the hOllse; but was informed that his lordship would see nobody that morning. And upon growing morc pressing the porter said, "he had positive orders to let no person in; but if you think proper," said he, U to leave your name, I will acquaint his lordship j and if you call another time you shall know when he will see you."

Jones now declared, "that he had very paltkular business with the young lady, and could not depart without seeing her." Upon which the porter, with no very agreeable voice or aspect, affirmed, (( that there was no young lady in that house, and consequently none could he see;" adding, u sure you are the strangest man I ever met with, for you will not take an answer."

I have often thought that, by the particular description of Cerbcrlts, the pOlter of hell, in the 6th lEneid, Virgil might possibly intend to satirize the palters of the great men in his time; the picture, at least, resembles those who have the h0110ur to attend at the doors of our great men. The pOlter in his lodge answel'S exactly to Cerberus in his den, and, like him, must be appeased by a sop before nccess call be gained to his master. Perhaps Jones might have seen him in that light, and have recollected the passage where the Sibyl, in order to prOCUl'e an entrance fOl' lEneas, presel1ts the keeper of the Stygian avenue with such a sop. Jones, in like manner, now began to offer a bribe to the human Cerberus, which a footma11, overhearing, instantly advanced, and declared, 'fif Mr. Jones would give him the sum proposed, he would conduct him to the lady." Jones instantly agl'eed, and was forthwith conducted to the lodging of Mrs. Fitzpatrick by the very fellow who had attended the ladies thither the day before.

Nothing more aggravates ill success than the neal' approach to good. The gamester, who loses his party at piquet by a Single point, laments his bad luck ten times as much as he who never came within u prospect of the game. So ill it lottery, the pro­ prietors of the next llumbers to that which wins the great prize are apt to account themselves much more unfortunate than their fellow-sufferers. In short, these kinel of hairbreadth missings of happiness look like the insults of FOl'tune, who may be considered as thus playing tricks with us, and wantonly diverting herself at our expense.

Jones, who more than once already had experienced this frolicsome disposition of the heathen goddess, was now again doomed to be tantalized ill the like manner; for he arrived at the door of Mrs. Fitzpatrick about ten minutes after the departure of Sophia. He now addressed himself to the waiting-woman belong­ ing to Mrs. Fitzpatl'ick; who told him the disagreeable news that the lady was gone, but could not tell him whither; and the st\me answer he afterwllrds received from Mrs. Fitzpatrick herself:

•

HENRY FIELDING FOl' as that lady made no doubt but that Mr. Jones was a person detached from her uncle Western, in pursuit of his daughter, so she was too generous to betray her.

Though Jones had never seen Mrs. Fitzpatrick, yet he had heard that a cousin of Sophia was married to a gentleman of that name. This, however, in the present tumult of his mind, never once recurred to his memory; but when the footman, who had conducted him from his lordship's, acquainted him with the great intimacy between the ladies, and with their calling each other cousin, he then recollected the story of the marriage which he had formerly heard; and as he was presently ~onvinced that this was the same woman, he became more surprised at the answer which he had received, and very earnestly desired leave to wait on the lady herself; but she as positively refused him that honour.

J ones, who, though he had never seen a cOUlt, was better bred than most who freqnent it, was incapable of any rude or abrnpt behaviour to a lady, When he had received, therefore, a peremptory denial, he retired for tne present, saying to the waiting-woman, " That if this was an improper hour to wait on her lady, he would return in the afternoon; and that he then hoped to have the honour of seeing her," The civility with which he uttered this, added to the great comeliness of his person, made an impression 011 the waiting-woman, and she could not help answering; « Perhaps, sir, you may;" and, indeed, she afterwards said everything to her mistress, which she thought most likely to prevail on her to admit a visit from the handsome young gentleman; for so she called him.

Jones very shrewdly suspected that Sophia herself was now with her cousin, and was denied to him; which he imputed to her resentment of what had happened at Upton. Having, therefore, despatched Partridge to procure him lodgings, he re­ mained all day in the street, watching the dOOl' where he thought his angel lay concealed; but no person did he see issue forth~ except a servant of the house, and· in the evening he returned to pay his visit to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, which that good lady at last con­ descended to admit.

There is a certain air of natural gentility, which it is neither in the power of dress to give, nor to conceal. Mr, Jones, as hath been before hinted, was possessed of this in a very eminent degree. He met, therefore, with a reception from the lady somewhat different from what his apparel seemed to demand; and after he had paid her his proper respects, was desired to sit down.

The reader will not, I believe, be desirous of knowing all the particulars of this conversation, which ended very little to the satisfaction of POOl' Jones. For though Mrs. Fitzpatrick soon discovered the lover (as all women have the eyes of hawks in those matters), yet she still thought it was such It lover, as a generous

TOM JONES

fl'iend of the lady should not betray her to. In short she suspected this was the very Mr. Blifil, from whom Sophi~ had flown.; and all the answers which she artfully drew from Jones concerning Mr. ~nworthy:'s family, confirmed her in this opinion~ She therefore stl'lctly demed any knowledge concerning the place whither Sophia was gone; nor could Jones obtain more than a permission to wait on her again the next evening.

When Jones was departed, Mrs. Fitzpatrick communicated her suspicion concerning Mr. Blifil to hel' maid; who answered, " Sure, madarn, he is too pretty a man, in my opinion, for any woman in the world to run away from. I had rather fancy it is Mr. Jones." -" Mr. Jones!" said the lady, c, what Jones?" For Sophia had not given the least hint of any such per(lon in all their convel'SIl­ UOll; but Mrs. Honour had been much more communicative, and had ncquainted her sister Abigail with the whole history of Jones, which this now again related to her mistress.

lVlr8. Fitzpatrick no sooner received this information, than she immediately agreed with the opinion of her maid; and, what is very um+ccountable, saw charms in the gallant, happy lovel', which she had overlooked in the slighted squire, "Betty," says she, (I yon are certainly in the right: he is a very pretty fellow, and I don't wondel' that my cousin's maid should tell you so many women are fond of him. I am sorry now I did not inform him whel'c my cousin was; and yet, if he be so terrible a rake as you tell lue, it is a pity she should ever see him any more; for what but her l'uiu call happen from marrying a rake and a beggar against her fi.\thcr's consent? I protest, if he be such a man as the wench described him to you, it is but an office of charity to

,keep her from him; and I am sure it would be unpardonable in , I'

me to do otherwise, who have tasted so bitterly of the misfortunes i' attending such marriages."

I'

Here she was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, which was 110 other than his lordship; and as nothing passed at this visit either new or extraordinary, or any ways material to this history, we shall here put an end to this chapter.

CHAPTER III

A pnOJ&C'l' 01" MRS. l'ITZPATnICK, AND HER VISIT TO LADY

DELLASTON

W I-lEN Mrs. Fitzpatrick retired t~ rest, ~er thoughts were entirely taken up by her c0':lSll1 SophIa und Mr. Jon~s. She was indeed a little offended WIth the former, for the dls­ illgel1uit~ which J she now discovel'ed. In which meditation slle

HENRY FIELDING

had 'not long exercised her imagination before the following conceit suggested itself; that could she possibly become the means of preserving Sophia from this man, and of restoring her to her father, she should, in all human probability, by so great a sel'vice to the family, reconcile to herself both her uncle and her aunt Western.

As this was one of her most favourite wishes, so the hope of success seemed so reasonable, that nothing remained but to consider of proper methods to accomplish her scheme. To attempt to reason the case with Sophia did not appear to her OIle of those methods: for as Betty had reported from Mrs. Honour, that Sophia had a violent inclination to Jones, she conceived that to dissuade her from the match was an endeavour of the same kind, as it wouk!. be very heartily and earnestly to entreat a moth not to fly into a candle.

If the reader will please to remember that the acquaintance which Sophia had with Lady Bellaston was contracted at the house of Mrs. Western, and must have grown at the very time when Mrs. Fitzpatrick lived with this latter lady, he will want 110 information, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick must have been acquainted with her likewise. They were, besides) both equally her distant relations.

After much consideration, therefore, she resolved to go eaJ.'ly in the moming to that lady, and endeavour to see her, unknown to Sophia, and to acquaint her with the whole affair. For she did not in the least doubt, but that the prudent lady, who had often lidiculed romantic love, and indiscreet marriages, in her conversation, would very l'eadily concur in her sentiments C011­ cerning this match, and would lend her utmost assistance to prevent it.

This resolution she accordingly executed; and the next morning before the sun, she huddled on her clothes, and at a very unfashionable, unseasonable, unvisitable hour, went to Lady Bellastou, to whom she got access, without the least knowledge or suspicion of Sophia, who, though not asleep, lay at that time awake in her bed.. with Honour snoring by her side. .

Mrs. Fitzpatrick made many apologies for an early, abrupt visit, at an hour when, she said, t( she should not have thought of disturbing her ladyship, but upon business of the utmost con­ sequence." She then opened the whole affair, told all she had heard from Betty; and did 110t forget the visit which Jones had paid to hel'self the preceding evening.

Lady Bellaston answered with a smile, (( Then you have seen this terrible man, madam; pray, is he so very fine a figure as he is represented? for Etoff entertained me last night almost two hours with him. The wench I believe is in love with him by reputation." Here the reader will be apt to wonder; but the

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TOM JONES

truth is, that MI·S. Etoff, who had the honour to pill and unpin the Lady Bellaston, had received complete information concerning the said Mr. Jones, and had faithfully conveyed the same to her lady last night (or rather that morning) while she was undressing; on which accounts she had been detained in her office above the space of an hour and a halt

The lady indeed, though generally wen enough pleased with the narratives of Mrs. EtoW at those seasons, gave an extraordinary attention to her account of Jones; for Honour had described him as a very handsome fellow, and Mrs. EtoH:, in her hurry, added so much to the beauty of his person. to her report, that Lady Bellaston began to conceive him to be a kind of miracle in nature.

The cUliosity which her woman had inspired was now w:eatly increased by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who spoke as much ilL favour of the person of Jones as she had before spoken in dispraise of his birth, character, and fortune,

When Lady Bellaston had heard the whole, she answered gravely, a Indeed, madam, this is a matter of great consequence. Nothing can certainly be mOl'e commendable than the part you act; !lnd I shall be very glad to have my share in the preserva­ tion of a young lady of so much merit, and f01' whom I have so much esteem."

"Doth not your ladyship think," says Mrs. Fitzpatrick eagerly, "that it would be the best way to write immediately to my uncle, and acquaint him where my cousin is ? "

The lady pondered a little upon this, and thus answered-u Why, 110, madam, I think not. Di Western hath described her brothel' to me to be such 11 brute, that I cannot consent to put any womall under his power who hath escaped from it. I have heard he behaved like a monster to his own wife, for he is one of those wretches who think they have a light to tyrannize over us, and ti'om such I shall ever esteem it the cause of my sex to rescue any woman who is so unfortunate to be uuder their powel'.-The busi­ ness, deal' cousin, will be only to keep Miss Westel'll from seeing this young fellow, till the good company, which she will have an opportunity of meeting here, give her a pl'operer tum."

H If he should find her out, madam/, answered the other, tt Y0ul' ladyship may be assured he will leave nothing wlattempted to come at her."

tt But, madam," replied the lady, "it is impossible he should come hel'e-tllOugh indeed it is possible he may get some intelli­ gence where she is, and then may lurk about the house-I wish therefore I knew his pel'son. Is there no way, madam, by which I could have a sight of him? for, otherwise, you know, cousin, she may contrive to see him here without my knowledge." Mrs. Fitzpatrick allswered, « That he had threatened her with another visit that afternoon, and that, if her ladyship pleased to do her

490

- HENRY FIELDING

the honour of calling upon her then, she would hardly fail of seeing him between six and seven: and if he came eal'lier she would, by some means or other, detain him till her ladyship's al'l'ival."-:-Lady Bellaston replied, (( She would come the moment she could get from dinner, which she supposed would be by seven at farthest j for that it was absolutely necessary she should be acquainted with his person. Upon my word, madam," says she, 'fit was very good to take this care of Miss Western; but common humanity, as well as regard to our family, requh'es it of us both; for it would be a dreadful match indeed."

Mrs. Fitzpatrick failed not to make a proper return to the compliment which Lady Beliaston had bestowed on her cousin, and, after some little immaterial conversation, withdrew; and, getting as fast as she could into her chair, unseen by Sophia or Honour, returned home.

CHAPTER IV

WHICH CONSISTS OF VISITING

M R. JONES had walked within sight of a certain door during the whole day, which, though one of the shortest, appeared to him to be one Ijf the longest in the whole year. At length, the clock having struck five, he returned to Ml'S. Fitzpatrick, who, though it was a full hour earlier than the decent time of visiting, received him very civilly; but still persisted in her ignorance concerning Sophia.

Jones, in asking for his angel, had dropped the word cousin, upon which Mrs. Fitzpatlick said, "Then, sir, you know we are related: and, as we are, you will permit me the right of inquiring into the particulars of your business with my cousin," Here Jones hesitated a good while, and at last answered, (( He had It consider­ able sum of money of hers in his hands, which he desired to deliver to her." He then produced the pocket-book, and acquainted Mrs, Fitzpatrick with the contents, and with the method ill which they came into his hands. He had scarce finished his story, when a most violent noise shook the whole house, To attempt to describe this noise to those who have heard it would be in vain; and to aim at giving any idea of it to those who have never heard the like, would be still more vain: for it may be truly said­

"-----Noll acuta Sic gm1inant Cor!JbanteJ £1'0."

The pl'iests of Cybele do not so rattle their sounding brass, In short, a footman knocked, or rathel' thundered, at the door,

Jones was a little surprised at the soulld, having never heard it

)

'rOM JONES 491 before; but Mrs. Fitzpatrick very calmly said, that, as sorne company were coming, she could not make him ,my answer now; but if he pleased to stay till they were gone, she intimated she had something to say to him.

The door of the room now flew open, and, after pushing in her hoop sideways before her, entered Lady Bel1aston, who having first made a very low courtesy to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and as low a one to Mr. Jones, was ushered to the upper end of the room.

We mention these minute matters for the sake of some country ladies of our acquaintance, who think it contrary to the rules of modesty to bend their knees to a man.

The compltny were hardly well settled, before the arrival of the peer lately mentioned caused a fresh disturbance, and a repetition of ceremonials.

These being over, the cOllversation began to be (as the phrase is) extremely brilliu.nt. However, as nothing passed in it which can be thought material to this history, or, indeed, very material in itselt~ I ohall omit the relation; the rather, as I have known some very fine polite conversation grow extremely dull, when transcribed into books, or repeated on the stagc. Indeed, this mental repast is a dainty, of which those who are excluded from polite assemblies must be contented to remain as ignorant ,LS they must of the severa] dainties of French cookery, which are served only at the tables of the great. To say the trllth, as neither of these are adnpted to evel'J taste~ they might both be often thrown away 011 the vulgar.

Poor Jones was rather a spectator of this elegant scene, than an actor in it; for though, in the short interval before the peel"s arrival, Lady Bellaston first, and afterwards Mrs. Fitzpatrick, had addressed somc of their discourse to him; yet no sooner was the noble lord entered, than he engrossed the whole attention of the two ladies to himself; and as he took no more notice of Jones than if no such person bad becn present, unless by now and then sturing at him, the ladies followed his example.

The company had now stayed so long, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick plainly perceived they all designed to stay out each other. She therefore resolved to rid herself of Jones,lle being the visitant to whom she thought the least ceremony was due. Taking therefore an Oppol'tunity of a cessation of chat, she addressed herself gravely to him, and said, It Sir, I shall not possibly be able to give you an answel' to-night as to that business; but if you please to leave word where I lllAy send to you to-lTIOlTOW--"

Jones had natural, but not artificial good-breeding. Instead thel'efore of communicating the secret of his lodgings to a servant, he acquainted the lady herself with it particularly) and soon after very ceremoniously withdrew.

He was 110 sooner gone than the great personages, who had tn.ken 110 notice of him present, began to take much notice of him

492 HENRY FIELDING

in his absence; but if the reader hath already excused us from relating the more brilliaut part of this conversation, he will surely be very ready to excuse the repetition of what may be called vulgar abuse; though, perhaps, it may be material to our history to mention an observation of Lady Bellaston, who took her leave in a few minutes after him, and then said to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, at her departure, (( I am satisfied. on the account of my cousin; she can be in no danger from this fellow."

Our history shall follow the example of Lady Bellaston, and take leave of the present company, which was now reduced to two persons; between whom, as nothing passed, which in the least concerns us 01' our reader, we shall not suffer ourselves to be diverted by it D.'om matters which must seem of more conse­ quence to all those who are at all interested ill the affairs of our hero.

CHAPTER V

AN ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO MR. JONES AT HIS LODGINGS, WITH

SOME ACCOUNT OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO LODGED THERE, AND

OF THE MISTRESS OF THE HOUSE, AND HER TWO DAUGHTERS

T HE next morning, as early as it was decent, Jones attended at Mrs. Fitzpatrick's door, where he was answered that the lady was not at home; an answer which surprised him the more, as he had walked backwards and forwards in the street from break of day; and if she had gone out, he must have seen her. This answer, however, he was obliged to receive, and not only now, but to five several visits which he made her that day.

To be plain with the reader, the noble peer had from some reason or other, perhaps from a regard for the lady's honour, insisted that she should not see Mr. Jones, whom he looked on as a scrub, any more; and the lady had complied in making that promise to which we now see her so strictly adhere.

But as our gentle reader may possibly have a better opinion of the young gentleman than her ladyship, and may even have some concern, should it be apprehended that, during this unhappy separatioll D.·om Sophia, he took up his residence either at an inll, or in the street; we shall now give an account of his lodging, which was indeed in a very reputable house, and in a very good part of the town.

Mr. Jones, then, had often heal'd Mr. Allworthy mention the gentlewoman at whose house he used to lodge when he was ill town. This person, who, as Jones likewise knew, lived in BOlld­ stl'eet~ was the widow of a clergyman~ and was left by him, at his

l

493 :cused us from , he will surely may be called ) our history to : her leave in a patrick, at her msin; she can

Bellaston, and 7educed to two

in the least ~rselves to be

more COllse­ : affairs of our

,QDGING5, WITH

m l'HERE, AND AUGHTERS

~s attended at red that the jm the more, et from break ~n her. This only now, but

ld from some ldy's honour, looked 011 as making that

ctter opinion en have some ;his unhappy , at an inn, or dgiug, which Id palt of the

mention the .1 he was in ed in Bond­ r him, at his

TOM JONES

decease, in possession of two daughters, and of a complete set of manuscript sermons.

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

Hither Jones had despatched Partridge, and in this house he was provided with a room for himself in the second floor, and with one for Paltridge in the fourth.

The first floor was inhabited by one of those young gentlemen, who, in the last age, were called men of wit and pleasure about town, and properly enough; for as men are usually denominated from their business or profession, so pleasure may be said to have been the only business or profession of those gentlemen to whom fortune had made all useful occupations unnecessary. Play-houses, coffee-houses, and taverns were the scenes of their rendezvous. Wit and humoUl' were the entertainment of their looser hours, and love was the business of their more serious moments. Wine and the muses conspired to kindle the brightest flames in their breasts; nor did they only admire, but some were able to celebrate the beauty they admired, and all to judge of the merit of such compositions.

Such, therefore, were properly called the men of wit and pleasure; but I question whether the same appellation may, with the same propriety, be given to those young gentlemen of our times, who have the same ambition to be distinguished for parts. Wit certainly they have nothing to do with. To give them their due, they soar a step higher than their predecessors, and may be called men of wisdom and vertU (take heed you do not read virtue). Thus at an age when the gentlemen above mentioned employ theil' time in toasting the charms of a woman, 01' in making Bonnets in her praise; in giving their opinion of a play at the theatre, or of a poem at Will's or Button's; these gentlemen are considering the methods to bribe a corporation, or meditating speeches for the House of Commons, or rather for the magazines. But the science of gaming is that which above all others employs their thoughts. These are the studies of their graver hours, while for their amusements they have the vast circle of connoisseurship, painting, music, statuary, and natural philosophy, or rather 1l1matural, which deals in the wonderful, and knows nothing of Nature, except hel' monsters and imperfections.

When Jones had spent the whole day in vain inquiries after Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he returned at last disconsolate to his apartment. Here, while he was venting his grief in private, he heard a violent uproar below stairs; and soon after a female voice begged him for Heaven's sake to come and prevent murder. Jones, who was never backward on any occasion to help the distressed, immediately ran downstairs; when stepping into the dining-room, whence all the noise issued, he beheld the young gentleman of wisdom and venu

HENRY FIELDING 494 ,illst before mentioned, pinned close to the wall by his footman, and a young woman standing by, wringing her hands, and crying out, " He will be murdered! he will be murdered!" and, indeed, the poor gentleman seemed in some dan er of being choked, when Jones flew hastily to his assistance, rescued him, just as he was breathing llis last, from the unmerciful clutches of the enemy.

Though the fellow had received several kicks and cuff.~ from the little gentleman, who had more spirit than strength, he had made it a kind of scruple of conscience to strike his master, and would have contented himself with only choking him; but towards Jones he bore no such respect; he no sooner therefore found himself a little l'oughly handled by his new antagonist, than he gave him one of those punches in the guts which, though the spectators at Broughton'S amphitheatre have such exquisite delight in seeing them, convey but very little pleasure in the feeling.

The lusty youth had no sooner received this blow, than he meditated a most grateful return; and now ensued a combat between Jones and the footman, which was very fierce, but short; for this fellow was no more able to contend with Jones than his mastel' had before been to contend with him.

And now, Fortune, accordulg to her usual custom, reversed the face of affairs. The former victor lay breathless on the ground, and the vanquished gentleman had recovered breath enough to thank Mr. Jones for his seasonable assistance; he received like­ wise the hearty thanks of' the young woman present, who was indeed no other than Miss Naney, the eldest daughter of the house.

The footman, having now recovered his legs, shook his head at Jones, and, with a sagacious look, cried-l< 0 d--n me, I'll have nothing more to do with you; you have been upon the stage, or I'm d--nably mistaken." And indeed we may forgive this his suspicion; for such was the agility and strength of our hem, that he was, perhaps, a match for one of the first-rate boxers, and could, with great ease, have beaten all the muffled 1 graduates of Mr. Broughton'S school.

The master, foaming with wrath, ordered his mall immediately to strip, to which the latter very readily agreed, on condition of

1 Lest posterity should be puzzled by this epithet, I think proper to explain it by an advertisement which was published Feb, I, 1747­

N.B.-Mr. Broughton proposes, with proper assistance, to open an academy at his bonse in the Haymarket, for the instruction of those who are willing to be initiated in the mystery of boxing: where the whole theory and practice of that tnlly British art, with all the various stops, blows, cross-buttocks, etc" incident to combatants, will be fully taught and explained; and that persons of quality and distinction may not be deterred from entering into A (ourse if tli." 'ectures, they will be given with the utmost tenderness and regard to the delicacy of the frame and constitution of' the pupil, for which reason muffies are provided, that will effectually secure them from the inconveniency of black eyes, broken jaws, and bloody noses.

c ~

1

TOM JONES 495 d receiving his wages. This condition was presently complied with, 'J and the fellow was discharged. e And now the young gentleman, whose name was Nightingale,

very strenuously insisted that his deliverer should take part of a bottle of wine with him; to which Jones, after much entreaty, consented, though more out of complacence than inclination; fOl' the uneasiness of his mind fitted him very little for conversation at this time. Miss Nancy likewise, who was the only female then in the house, her mamma and sister being both gone to the play, condescended to favour them with her company.

When the bottle and glasses were on the table the gentleman hegan to relate the occasion of the pl'eceding disturbance.

" I hope, sir," said he to Jones, C( you will not from this accident conclude, that I make a custom of striking my servants, for I assure you this is the first time I have been guilty of it in my remembrance, and I have passed by many provoking faults in this very fellow, befol'e he could provoke me to it; but when you hear what hath happened this evening, you will, I believe, think me excusable. I happened to come home several hours before my usual time, when I found four gentlemen of the cloth at whist by my fire ;-and my Hoyle, sir-my best Hoyle, which cost me a guinea) lying open on the table, with a quantity of porter spilt on one of the most material leaves of the whole book. TIlis, you will allow; was provoking; but I said nothing till the rest of the honest company were gone, and then gave the fellow a gentle rebuke, who, instead of' expressing any concern, made me a pert answer, C That servants must have thei!' diversions as well as other people; that he was sorry for the accident which had happened to the book, but that several of his acquaintance had bought the same for a shilling, and that I might stop as much in his wl1ges, if I pleased: I llOW gave him a severer reprimand than before, when the mscal had the insolence to--In short, he imputed my early coming home to--In short, lle cast It rel1ection~He mentioned the name of a young lady, in a manner-in such a manner that incensed me beyond all patience, and, in my passion, I struck him."

Jones answered, t( That he believed no person living would blame llhn; for my part," said he, U I confess I should, Oll the last­ mentiolled provocll.tioll, have done the same thing."

Our company had not sat long before they were joined by the mother and daughter, at their return from the play. And now they all spent a very cheerful evening together; for all but Jones were lleartily merry, and even he put on as mucll constrained mirth as possible. Indeed, half his llatural flow of animal spirits, joined to the sweetness of his temper, was sufficient to make a most amiable companioll; and notwithstanding the heaviness of his heart> so agreeable did he make himself on the present occasion, that, at their breaking up, the young gentleman earnestly desired his

HENRY FIELDING.

further acquaintance. Miss Nancy was well pleased with him; and the widow, quite charmed with her new lodger, invited him, with the other, next morning to breakfast.

Jones on his part was no less satisfied. As fOl' Miss Nancy, though a very little creature, she was extremely pretty, and the widow had all the charms which can adorn a woman near fifty. As she was one of the most innocent creatures in the world, so she was one of the most cheelful. She never thought, nor spoke, nor wished any ill, and had constantly that desire of pleaSing, which may be called the happiest of all desires in this, that it scarce ever fails of attaining its ends, when not disgraced by affectation. In short, though her power was very small, she: was in her heart one of the warmest friends. She had been a most affectionate wife, and was a most fond and tender mother. As our history doth not, like a newspaper, give great characters to people who never were heard of before, nor will ever be heard of again, the reader may hence conclude, that this excellent woman will hereafter appeal' to be of some importance in our history.

Nor was Jones a little pleased with the young gentleman himself, whose wine he had been drinking. He thought he discerned in him much good sense, though a little too much tainted with town-foppery; but what recommended him most to Jones were some sentiments of great generosity and humanity, which occasionally dropped from him; and particularly many expressions of the highest disinterestedness in the affair of love. On which subject the young gentleman delivered himself in a language which might have very well become an Arcadian shepherd of old, and which appeared very extraordinary when proceeding from the lips of a modern fine gentleman; but he Was only one by imitation, and meant by nature for a much better character.

CHAPTER VI

WHAT ARRIVED WHILE THE COMPANY WERE AT BREAKFAST, WITH SOME

HINTS CONCERNING THE GOVERNMENT OF DAUGHTERS

OUR company brought together in the moming the same good inclinations towards each other, with which they had separated the evening before; but poor Jones was extremely disconsolate; for he had just received information from Partridge, that Mrs. Fitzpatrick had left her lodging, and that he could not learn whither she was gone. This news highly afflicted him, and hi~ countenance, as well as his behaviour, in defiance of all IJi" endeavours to the contrary, betrayed manifest indications of a disOl'dered mind.

1

:n0 l

m,

-,'" t, e y o

TOM JONES 497 The discourse turned at present, as before, on love; and Mr.

Nightingale again expressed many of those warm, generous, and disinterested sentiments upon this subject, which wise and sober men call romantic, but which wise and sober women generally regard in a better light. Mrs. Miller (for so the mistress of the house was called) greatly approved these sentiments; but when the young gentleman appealed to Miss Nancy, she answered only, (t That she believecl the gentleman who had spoke the least was capable of feeling most."

This compliment was so apparently directed to Jones, that we should have been sony had he passed it by unregarded. He made her indeed a very polite answer, and concluded with an oblique hint, that her own silence SUbjected her to a suspicion of the same kind: for indeed she had scarce opened her lips either now or the last evening.

({ I am glad, Nanny," says Mrs. Miller, (I the gentleman hath made the observation; r protest I am almost of his opinion. What can be the matter with you, child? I never saw such an alteration. ·What is become of a.ll your gaiety i' Would you think, sir, I used to call her my little prattler? She hath not spoke twenty words this week."

Here their conversation was intel'l'Upted by the entrance of a maid-servant, who brought a bundle in her hand, which, she said, cc was delivered by a porter for Mr. Jones." She added, "That the man immediately went away, saying, it required 110 answer."

Jones expressed some surprise on this occasion, and declared it must be some mistake; but the maid persisting that she was certain of the name, all the women were desirous of having the bundle immediately opened; which operation was at length performed by little Betsy, with the consent of Mr. Jones: and the contents were found to be a domino, a mask, and a masquerade ticket.

Jones was now more positive than ever in asserting, that these things must have been delivered by mistake; and Mrs. Miller herself expressed some doubt, and said, (( She knew llot what to think." But when Mr. Nightingale was asked, he delivered a very different opinion. "All I can conclude from it, sir," said he, ~'is, that yon are a velY happy man; for I make no doubt but these were sent you by some lady whom you will have the happiness of meeting at the masquerade."

J ones had not a sufficient degree of vanity to entertain any such flattering imagination; nor did Mrs. Miller herself give much assent to what Mr, Nightingale had said, till Miss Nancy having lifted up the domino, a card dropped from the sleeve, in which was -written as follows :­

To MR. JONES. The queen of the fairies sellds you this; Use her favours not amiss.

'T" HENRY FIELDING

Mrs. Miller and Miss Nancy now both agreed with Mr. Night­ ingale; nay, Jones lrimself was almost pel'suaded to be of the same opinion. And as no other lady but Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he thought, knew his lodging, he began to flatter himself with some hopes, tllat it came from her, and that he nright possibly see his Sophia. These hopes had surely very little foundation; but as the conduct of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, in not seeing him according to her promise, and in quitting her lodgings, had been very odd and unaccountable, he conceived some faint hopes, that she (of whom he had formerly heard a very whimsical character) might possibly intend to do him that service in a strange manner, which she declined doing by more ordinary methods. To say the truth, as nothing certain could be concluded from so odd and uncommon an incident, he had the greater latitude to draw what imaginary conclusions from it he pleased. As his temper therefore was naturally sanguine, he indulged it on this occasion, and his imagination worked up a thousand conceits, to favour and SUppOlt his expectations of meeting his dear Sophia in the evening.

Reader, if thou hast any good wishes towards me, I will fully repay them by wishing thee to be possessed of this sanguine disposition of mind; since, after having read much and considered long on that subject of happiness which hath employed so many great pens, I am almost inclined to fix it in the possession of this temper; which puts us, in a manner, out of the reach of Fortllllc, and makes us happy without her assistance. Indeed, the sensations of pleasure it gives are much more constant as well as much keener, than those which that blind lady bestows; nature having wisely contIived, that some satiety and languor should be annexed to all our real enjoyments, lest we should be so taken up by them, as to be stopped from further pursuits. I make no manner of doubt but that, in this light, we may see the imaginary future chancellor just called to the bar, the archbishop in crape, and the prime minister at the tail of an opposition, more truly happy than those who are invested with all the power and profit of those respective offices.

Mr. Jones having now determined to go to the masquerade that evening, Mr. Nightingale offered to conduct him thither. The young gentleman, at the same time, offered tickets to Miss Nancy and her mother; but the good woman would not accept them. She sa.id, (t she did not conceive the harm which some people imagined in a masquerade; but that such extravagant diversions were proper only for persons of quality and fortune, and not for young womel1who were to get their living, and could, at best, hope to be manied to a good tradesman. "__u A tradesman!" cries Nightingale, ((you shan't undervalue my Nancy. There is not a nobleman upon earth above her merit." t( 0 fie! Mr. Nightingale/' answered Mrs. Miller, (( you must not fill the girl's

'I'OM JONES 499 head with such fancies: but if it was her good luck" (says the mother with a simper) "to find a gentleman of your generons way of thinking, I hope she would make a better retul'll to his generosity than to give her mind up to extravagant pleasures. Indeed, whel'e young ladies bring great fortunes themselves, they have some right to insist on spending what is their own; and 011 that account I have heard the gentlemen say, a man has sometimes a better bargain with a poor wife, than with a rich one.--But let my daughters marry whom they will, I shall endeavour to make them blessings to their husbands :--1 beg, therefore; I may hear of no more masquerades. Nancy is, I am certain, too good a girl to desire to go; for she must remember when you cal'1"ied hel' thither last year, it almost turned her head; and she did not return to herself, or to her needle, in a month afterwards."

Though a gentle sigh, which stole from the bosom of Nancy, seemed to argue some secret disapprobation of these sentiments, she did not dare openly to oppose them. For as this good woman had all the tenderness, so she had preserved all the authority of a pal'cnt; and as her indulgence to the desires of her children was restI'ained only by her fears for their safety and future welfar~, so she never suffered those commands which proceeded from such fears to be either disobeyed or disputed. And this the young gentleman, who had lodged two yeal's in the house, knew so well, that he presently acquiesced in the refusal.

Mr. Nightingale, who grew every minute f011cler of Jones, was very desirous of his company that day to dinner at the tavem, where he offered to iutroduce him to some of his acquaintance; but .Jones hegged to be excused, "as his clothes," he said, "were not yet come to town,"

'l'o confess the truth, Mr. Jones was now in a situation, which sometimes happens to be the case of young gentlemen of much better figure than himself. In short, he had not one penny in his pocket; a situation in much greater credit among the ancient philosophers than among the modern wise men who live in Lombard­ street, or those who frequent White's chocolate-house. And, perhaps, the great honours which those philosophers have ascribed to all empty pocket may be one of the reasons of that high contempt in which they are held in the aforesaid street and chocolate-house.

Now if the ancient opinion, that men might live very comfortably on virtue only, be, as the modern wise men just above mentioned pretend to have discovered, a notorious en'or; 11II no less false is, I apprehend, that position of some writers of It romance, that a man can live altogether on love: for howevel' 'f delicious repasts this may afford to some of our senses or appetites, II it is most cedain it can afford none to others. Those, therefore,

....

500 HENRY FIELDING who have placed too great a confidence in such writers, have experienced their errol' 'when it was too late; and have found that love was no more capable of allaying hungel'~ thlln a rose is capable of delighting the ear, or a violin of gratifying the smell.

Notwithstanding, therefore, all the delicacies which love had set before him, namely, the hopes of seeing Sophia at the masquerade; on which, however ill- founded his imag-inatioll might be, he had voluptuously feasted during the whole day, the evening no sooner came than Mr. Jones began to languish for some food of II. grosser kind. Partridge discovered this by intuition, and took the occasion to give some oblique hints concerning the bank-bill; and, when these were rejected with disdain, he collected courage enough once more to mention a return to Mr. Allworthy.

(( Pal'tridge~" cries Jones, "you cannot see my fortune in a more desperate light than 1 flee it myself; and I l)egin heartily to repent that I suffered you to leave a place where you was settled, and to follow me. However, I insist now on your returning home; and for the expense, and trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my account, all the clothes 1 left behind in YOul" care I desire you would take as your own. I am sorry I can make you no other acknowledgment."

He spoke these words with so pathetic an accent, that 1'111'[;­ ridge, among whose vices ill-l1lttul'e or hardness of heart were not llumbered, burst into tears; and after swearing he would not quit him in his distress, he began with the most elll'llCst entreaties to urge his l'etUl'11 home. « For Heaven's sake, sirt suys he, "do but consider; what can your honour do ?-how is it possible you can live in this town without money? Do what you will, HiI', or go wherever you please, I am resolved not to desert yon. Bu t pray, sir, consider-do pray, sir, for your own flake, take it int.o your consideration; und I'm sure," says he, "that your OW11 good sense will bid you return home."

H How often shall I tell thee," Itllswered Jones, (( that I hlLve 110 home to return to? Had I any hopes that Mr. Allwol't.hy's doors would be open to receive me, I want no distress to urge me-nay, there is no other cause upon earth, which could dctain me a moment from flying to his presence; hut, alas! that I aIll for ever hanished from. Hill last words were-O, Partridge, they still ring ill my ears-his last words were, when he gave mc It sum of money-what it was I know not, but considerahle I'm sure it was-his last words were-' I am resolved from this day forward, on no account to converse with you any more: "

Here passion stopped the mouth of Jones, as surprise for n moment did that of Paltlidge; but he SOOl1 recovered the use of speech, and after a short preface, ill which he dechu'ed he hnd no

4:

t

~

1

TOM JONES 501 inquisitiveness in his temper, inquirecl what Jones meant by a considm'ahle sum-he knew not how much-and what was become of the money.

In both these points he now l'eceived full satisfaction; on which be was proceeding to comment, when he was interrupted by a message from Mr. Nightingale, who desired his master's company in his apal'tment.

When the two gentlemen were hoth attired fOl' the masquerade, and Mr. Nightingale had given {)1'ders for chair!! to be sent for, a circumstance of distress occurrell to Joncs, which will appeal' very ridiculous to many of my readers. This was how to procure 11 shilling; but if such readers will reflect a little on what they have themselves felt from the want of a thousand pounds, or, perhaps, of ten 01' twenty, to cxecute It favourite scheme, they will have a perfect idea of what Mr. Jones felt on this occasion. For thLe; sum, therefore, he applied to Partridge, which was the lirst he had perN mitted him to advance, and was the last he intended that poor fellow should ndvance in his service. To say the truth. Pm·tridge had latelv made no oller of this kiml Whether it was that he desired to see the bank-bill broke in upon, 01' that distress should prevail on Jones to return home. 01' ti'om what other motive it proceeded, I wiH not determine.

CHAPTER VII

CON'rAIN1NO T!m w[!Ol.l~ HUMOURS OF ..'I MI\SQUERAOE

Q un cllvaliers now arrived at thut temple, where Heydeggel', the great Arbiter Deliciurum, the great high-priest of pleasure. presides; Imd, like ol;her heathen ptiests, illl}JOSeS on hiF: votaries by the pretended presence of the deity, when ill reality no snch deity is thCi·C.

Mr. Nightingale, baving tllkenll. turn 01' two with his companion, soon left him, and wlllked off with n fernalc, saying, r< Now yon are here, sir, you must beat about for your own game."

Jones begun to entertain strong hopes th:lt his Sophia was present; und these bopes gllVc him morc spirits than the lights, the music, and the company; thougll these are pretty strong nntidotes against the spleen. He now accosted every woman he Haw, whose statUl'c, shape, 01' air bore auy resemblance to his angel. To all of whom he endeaVOllrcd to suy something smart, in order to eng~Lge un answer. by which 1)(:~ might discover that voice whieh he thought it impossible he Hhould mistake. Some of these answcrecl by a question, in a squeakiug voice, Do you know me? Much the greater number said, I dOll't know you, sir, and nothing more,

S02 HENRY FIELDING

Some called him an impertinent fellow; some made him no answer at all; some said, Indeed I don't know your voice, and I shall have nothing to say to you; and many gave him as kind answers as he could wish, but not in the voice he desired to hear.

Whilst he was talking with one of these last (who was in the habit of a shepherdess) a lady in a domino came up to him, and slapping him on the shoulder, whispered him, at the same time, in the ear, " If you talk any longer with that trollop, I will acquaint Miss Western."

Jones no sooner heard that name, than, immediately quitting his former companion, he applied to the domino, begging and entreating her to show him the lady she had mentioned, if she was then in the room.

The mask walked hastily to the upper end of the innermost apartment before she spoke; and then, instead of answering him, sat down, and declared she was tired. Jones sat down by her, and still persisted in his entreaties: at last the lady coldly answered, "I imagined Mr. Jones had been a. more discerning lover, than to suffer any disguise to conceal his mistress £I'om him." « Is she here, then, madam?" replied Jones, with some vehemence. Upon which the lady cried--"':« Hush, sir, you will be observed. I promise you, upon my honour, Miss Western is not here."

Jones, now taking the mask by the hand, fell to entreating her in the most earnest manner, to acquaint him where he might find Sophia: and when he could obtain no direct answer, he began to upbraid her gently for having disappointed him the day before; and concluded, saying, "Indeed, my good fairy queen, I know YOllr majesty very well, notwithstanding the affected disguise of your voice. Indeed, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, it is a little cruel to divert your­ self at the expense of my torments."

The mask answered, (( Though you have so ingeniously dis­ covered me, I must still speak in the same voice, lest I should be known by others. And do you think, good sir, that I have no greater regard for my cousin, than to assist in carrying on an affair between you two, which must end in her ruin, as well as your own? Besides, I promise you, my cousin is not mad enough to consent to her own destruction, if you are so much her enemy as to tempt her to it."

(( Alas, madam!" said Jones, «you little know my heart, when you call me an enemy of Sophia."

(( And yet to ruin anyone," clies the other, <t you will allow, is the act of an enemy; and when by the same act you must know­ ingly and certainly bring ruin on yourself, is it not folly or madness, as well as guilt? Now, sir, my cousin hath very little more than her father will please to give her; very little for one of her fashion -you know him, and you know your own situation."

.Tpnes vowed he had no such design on Sophia, « That he would

I.,

TOM JONES

rather suffer the most violent of deaths than sacrifice her interest to his desires." He said, "he knew how unworthy he was of her, every way, that he had long ago resolved to quit all Buch aspiring thougl1ts, but that some strange accidents had made him desirous to see her once more, when he promised he would take leave of her for ever. No, madam," concluded he, "my love is not of that base kind which seeks its own satisfaction at the expense of what is most dear to its object. I would sacrifice everything to the possession of my Sophia, but Sophia hel·self."

Though the readel' may have already conceived no very sublime idea of the virtue of the lady in the mask; and though possibly she may hereafter appeal' not to deserve one of the first characters of her sex; yet, it is certain, these generous sentiments made a strong impression upon her1 and greatly added to the affection she bad before conceived for our yOUllg hero.

The lady now, after silence of a few moments, said, "She did not see his pretensions to Sophia so much in the light of presump­ tion.. as of imprudence. Young fellows," says she, "can never have too aspiI'ing thoughts, I love ambition in a young man, and I would !lave you cultivate it as much as possible. Perhaps you may succeed with those who are infinitely superior in fOI'tune; nay, I am cOllvinced thel'e are women--but don't you think me a strange creature, Mr. Jones, to be thus giving advice to a man with whom I am so little acquainted, and one with whose behaviour to me I have so little reason to be pleased? "

Here Jones began to apologize, and to hope he had not offended in anything be had said of' her cousin.-To which the mask answered, (( And are you so little versed in the sex, to imagine you can well affront a lady more than by entertaining her with your passion for another woman? If the fairy queen had conceivecl no better opinion of yom gallantry, she would scarce have appointed you to meet her at the masquerade."

Jones hacl never less inclination to an amour than at present; but gallantry to the ladies was among his principles of honour; and he held it as much incumbent on him to accept a challenge to love, as if it had becn a challenge to fight. Nay, his very love to Sophia made it necessary for him to keep well with the lady, as he made 11.0 doubt but she was capable of bringing him into the presence of the other.

He begun therefore to make a very warm answer to her last speech, when a mask, in the character of an old woman, joine<.l them. This mask was one of those ladies who go to a masquerade only to vent i11.nature, by telling people rude truths, and by en­ deavouring, as the phrase is, to spoil as much sport as they are able. This good lady, therefore, having observed Jones, and his friend, whom she well knew, in close consultation together in a comet' of the room, concluded she could nowhere satisfy her spleen

- HENRY FIEJ-<DING

better than by intel'l'Upting them. She attacked them, therefore, and soon drove them from their retirement; nor was she contented with this, but pursued them to every place to which they shifted to avoid her; till Mr. Nightingale> seeing the distress of his friend> at la.st relieved him, and engaged the old woman in another pursuit.

While Jones and his mask were wa.lking together nbout the room, to rid themselves of the teaser, he observed his lady speak to several masks, with the same freedom of acquaintance as if they had been barefaced. He could not help expressing his surplise at this; saying, "Sure, madam, you must have infinite disce1'l1ment, to know people in all disguises." To which the lady answered, "You cannot conceive anything more insipid and childish than a masquerade to the people of fashion, who in general know one another as well here as when they meet in an assembly or a drawing­ room; nor will any woman of condition converse with a pel'son with whom she is not acquainted. In shOlt, the generality of persons whom you see here may more properly be said to kill time in this place than in any other; and generally retire from hence more tired than £i'om the longest sermon. To say the truth, I begin to be in that situation myself; and if I have any faculty at guessing, you are not much better pleased. I protest it would be almost charity in me to go home for your sake." "I know but one chality equal to it," cries Jones, "and that is to suffer me to wait on you home." Sure,"U answered the lady, "you have a strange opinion of me, to imagine, that upon such an acquaintance, I would let you into my doors at this time of night. I fancy you impute the friendship I have shown my cousin to some other motive. Confess honestly; don't you consider this contrived interview as little better than a downright assignation? Are you used, Mr. Jones, to make these sudden conquests?" "I am not used, madam," said Jones," to submit to such sudden conquests; but as you have taken my head by surprise, the rest of my body hath a right to follow; so you must pardon me if I resolve to attend you wherever you go." He accompanied these words with some propel' actions; upon which the lady, after a gentle rebuke, and saying their familiality would be observed, told him, ~(She was going to sup with an acquaintance, whither she hoped he would not follow her; for if you should," said she, « I shall be thought an unaccountable creature, though my Mend indeed is not censorious: yet I hope you won't follow me; I protest I shall not know what to S!Ly if you do."

The lady presently after quitted the masquerade, <md Jones, notwithstanding the severe prohibition he had l'eceived, presumed to attend her. He was now reduced to the same dilemma we have mentioned before, namely, the want of a shilling, and could not re­ lieve it by borrowing as before. He therefore walked boldly on after the chair in which his lady rode) pursued by a grand huz:r,a, from aU the <,hairmen present, who wisely take the best cIne they

TOM JONES

can to discountenance aU walking afoot by their betters. Luckily, however, the gentry who attend at the Opel'a-house were too busy to quit their stations; and as the lateness of the hour prevented him from meeting many of their brethren in the street, he proceeded without molestation, in a dress, which, at another season, would have celtainly raised a mob at his heels,

The lady was set down in a street not far from Hanover-square, where the door being presently opened, she was canied in, and the gentleman, without any ceremony, walked in after her.

Jones and his companion were now together in a very well­ furnished and well~warmed room; when the female, still speaking in her masquerade voice, said she was surprised at her friend, who must absolutely have forgot her appointment; at which, after venting much resentment, she suddenly expressed some apprehension from Jones, and asked him what the world would think of their having been alone together in a house at that time of night? But instead of a direct answer to so important a question, Jones began to be very importunate with the lady to unmask; aud at length having prevailed, there appe~l.1'ed not Mrs. Fitzpabick, but the Lady Bellnston herself..

It would be tedious to give the pal'ticu.}ar conversation, which consisted of very common and ordinary occurrences, and which lasted from two till six o'clock in the morning. It is sufficient to mention all of'it that is anywise material to this history, And this was a promise that the lady would endeavour to find out Sophia, and in a few days bring him to an interview with her, on coni:li­ tion that he would then take his leave of her. When this was thoroughly settled, and a second meeting in the evening appointed at the same place, they sepal'ated; the lady returned to her house, and ,Tones to his lodgings.

CHAPTER VIII

CONTAINING A SCENE OF DIS'l'RESS, WHICH WILL APPEAR VERY

EX'l'RAORDINARY TO MOST OF OUR READERS

JONES having refreshed himself with a few hours' sleep, summoned Partridge to his presence; and delivering hun ~\ bank-note of fifty pounds, ordered hun to go and change it. Partridge received this with sparkling eyes, though, when he came to reflect falthel', it raised in him some suspiCions not very ad­ vantageous to the honour of his master: to these the dreadful idea he had of the masquerade, the disguise in which his master had gone out and l'etul'lled, and his having been abroad all night, contributed. In plain language, the only way he could possibly

HENRY FIELDING506 find to account for the possession of this note was by robbery: and, to confess the truth, the reader, unless he should suspect it was owing to the generosity of Lady Bellaston, can hardly imagine any other.

To clear, therefore, the honour of Mr. Jones, and to do justice to the liberality of the lady, he had really received this present from her, who, though she did not give much into the hackney charities of the age, such as building hospitals, etc., was not, how­ ever, entirely void of that Christian virtue; and conceived (very rightly I think) that a young fellow of merit, without a shilling in the world, was no improper object of this virtue.

Mr. Jones and Mr. Nightingale had been invited to dine this day with Mrs. Miller. At the appointed hour, therefore, the two young gentlemen, with the two girls, attended in the parlour, where they waited from three till almost five before the good woman appeared. She had been out of town to visit a relation, of whom, at her return, she gave the following account.

"I hope, gentlemen, you will pardon my making you wait; I am sure if you knew the occasion-I have been to see a cousin of mine, about six miles off, who now lies in.-It should be a warning to all persons (says she, looking at her daughters) how they marry indiscreetly. There is no happiness in this world without a com­ petency. 0 Nancy! how shall I describe the wretched condition in which I found your poor cousin? she hath scarce lain in a week, and there was she, this dreadful weather, in a cold room, without any cUltains to her bed, and not a bushel of coals in her house to supply her with fire: her second son, that sweet little fellow, lies ill of a quinsy in the same bed with his mother; for there is no other bed in the house. Poor little Tommy! I believe, Nancy, you will never see your favourite any more; for he is really very ill. The rest of the children are in pretty good health: but Molly, I am afraid, will do herself an injury: she is but thirteen years old, Mr. Nightingale, and yet, in my life, I never saw a better nurse: she tends both her mothel' and her brother; and, what is wonderful in a creature so young, she shows all the cheerfulness in the world to her mother; and yet I saw her-I saw the poor child, Mr. Nightingale, turn about, and privately wipe the tears from her eyes." Here Mrs. Miller was prevented, by her own tears, from going on, and there was not, I believe, a person present who did not accompany her in them: at length she a little recovered herself, and proceeded thus: "In all this distress the mother supports her spirits in a surprising manner. The danger of her son sits heaviest upon hel', and yet she endeavours as much as possible to conceal even this concern, on her husband's account. Her grief, however, sometimes gets the better of all her endeavours; for she was always extravagantly fond of this boy, and a most sensible, sweet-tempered creature it is. I protest I was never more affected in my life than

TOM JONES

when I heal'd the little wl'etch, who is hardly yet seven years old, while his mother was wetting him with her tears, beg her to he comforted. ' Indeed, mamma/ cded the child, ~ I shan't die; God Almighty, I'm sure, won't take Tommy away; let heaven be ever so tine a place, I had rather stay here n.nd starve with you and my papa than go to it.' Pardon me, gentlemen, I can't help it " (says she, wiping her eyes), "such sensibility and affection in a child.­ And yet, perhaps, he is least the object of pity; for a day or two will, most probably, place him beyond the reach of all human evils. The father is, indeed, most worthy of compa.ssion. Poor man, his countenance is the very picture of horror, and he looks like one rather dead than alive. Oh Heavens! what a scene did I behold at my :first coming into the room 1 The good creature was lying behind the bolster, supporting at once both his child and his wife. He had nothing on but a thin waistcoat; for his coat was spread over the bed, to supply the want of blankets.-When he rose up at my entrance, I scarce knew him. As comely a man, Mr. Jones, within this fortnight, as you ever beheld; Mr. Nightingale hath seen him. His eyes sunk, his face pale, with a long beard. His body shivering with cold, and worn with hunger too; for my cousin says she can hardly prevail upon him to eat.-He told me himself in a whisper-he told me-I can't repeat it-he said he COUIclllot bear to eat the bread his children wanted. And yet, can you believe it~ gentlemen? in all this misery his wife has as good caudle as if she lay in the midst of the greatest affluence; I tasted it, and I scarce ever tasted bettel'.-The means of procul'ing hel' this, he said, he believed was sent him by an angel from lleaven. I know not what he meant; for I had not spirits enough to ask a single question.

to This was a love-match, as they call it, 011 both sides; that is, a match between two beggars. I must, indeed, say, I never saw a fonder couple; but what is their fondness good for, but to tonnel1t each other?" H Indeed, mamma/' cries Nancy, I have always U looked on my cousin Anderson " (for that was her name) «( as one of the happiest of women." "I am sure," says Mrs. Miller, ((the case at present is much otherwise; for anyone might have dis­ cerned that the tender consideration of each other's suffelings makes the most intolel'able pal't of their calamity, both to the husband and wife. Compared to which, hunger and cold, as they affect their own persons only, are scarce evils. Nay, the very children, the youngest, which is not two years old, excepted, feel in the same manner; for they are a most loving family, and, if they had but a bare competency, would be the happiest people in the world." « I never saw the least sign of misery at her house," replied Nancy; "I am sure my heart bleeds for what you now tell me." _(( 0 child," answered the mother, ( she hath always endeavoul'etl to make the best of everything. They have always heen in great

508 HENRY FIELDING distress; but, indeed, this absolute l'uin hath been brought upon them by others. The poor man was bail for the villain his brother; and about a week ago, the very day before her lying-in, their goods were all carried away, and sold by an execution. He sent a letter to me of it by one of the bailiffs, which the villain never delivered. -What must he think of my suffering a week to pass before he heard of me ? " .

It was not with dry eyes that Jones heard this nal'l'ative; when it was ended he took Mrs. Miller apart with him into another room, and, delivering her his purse, in which was the sum of £50, desired her to send as much of it as she thought propel' to these POOl' people. The look which Mrs. Miller gave Jones, on this occasion, is not easy to be described. She burst into a kind of agony of transport, and cried out_U Good Heavens! is there such a man in the world?"-But recollecting herself, she said, "Indeed I know one such; but can there be another?" H I hope, madam," cries Jones, « there are many who have common humanity; for to relieve such distresses in Oul' fellow·creatures can hardly be called more," Mrs, Miller then took ten guineas, which were the utmost he could prevail with her to accept, and said, « She would find some means of conveying them early the next morning;" adding, "that she had herself done some little matter for the poor people, and had not left them in qui.te so much misery as she found them."

They then returned to the parlour, where Nightingale expressed much concern at the dreadful situation of these wretches, whom indeed he knew; for he had seen them more than once at Mrs. Miller's, He inveighed against the folly of making oneselfliable for the debts of others; vented many bitter execrations against the hrother; and concluded with wishing something could be done for the unfortunate family. (t Suppose, madam," said he, (t you should recommend them to Mr, Allworthy? 01' what think you of a collection? I will give them a guinea with all my heart."

Mrs. Miller made no answer; and Nancy, to whom her mother had whispered the generosity of Jones, turned pale upon the occasion; though, if either of them was angry with Nightingale, it was surely without reason, For the liberality of Jones, if he had known it, was not an example which he had any obligation to follow; and there are thousands who would not have contributed a single halfpenny, as indeed he did not in effect, for he made no tender of anything; and therefore, as the others thought propel' to make no demand, he kept his money in his pocket.

I have, in truth, observed, and shall never have a better opportunity than at present to communicate my observation, that the world are in genel'lll divided into two opinions concel'ning charity, which are the very reverse of each other. One party seems to hold, that all acts of this kind are to be esteemed as voluntary gifts, and, however little you give (if indeed no more

th de th gr th hB

sh an

I sa) pa. un pa. Bu th. lat wi

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do th, qu to ou

W]1

dil 1111. fro agl hir hal his

'rOM JONES

than your goocI wishes), you acquire a great degree of merit in flO doing. Others, on the contrary, appear to be as firmly persuaded, that beneficence is a positive duty, and that whenever the rich fall greatly short of their ability in relieving the distresses of the POOl', their pitiful largesses are so far from being meritorious, that they have only performed their duty by halves, and are in some sense more contemptible than those who have entirely neglected it.

To i'econcile these different opinions is not in my power. I shall only add, that the givers are generally ofthe former sentiment, and the l'eceivers are almost univel'sally inclined to the latter.

CHAPTER IX

WHICH 'l'ltEA1'S 0)' MA'l''l'ERS OF A VERY DIF~'EREN1' lUND FROM

THOSE IN 1'HE PUECreDING CHAP'I'ER

I N the evening Jones met his lady again, l1ud a long conversation again ensued between them: but as it cOllsisted only of the same ordinary occurrences as before, we shall avoid mentioning particulars, which we despair of l'endering agreeable to the reader; unless he is one whose devotion to the fair sex, like that of the papists to their saints, wants to be raised by the help of pictUl:es. But I am so far from desiring to exhibit such pictures to the public, tha.t I would wish to draw a curtain over those that have been lately set torth in certain French novels; very bU1lgling copies of which have been presented us hel'e under the llame of translations.

J ones grew still more and more impatient to see Sophia; and finding, after repeated interviews with Lady Bellastoll} no likeli­ hood of obtaining this by her means (for, 011 the contrary, the lady began to trent even the mention of the name of' Sophia with resentment), he resolved to tly some other method. He made no doubt but that Llldy Bellaston knew where his angel was, so he thought it 11lOst likely that some of her servants should be ac­ quainted with the same l:lecret. Partridge therefore was employed to get acquainted with those servants, in order to fish this secret out of them.

Few situations call he imagined mOl'e uneasy than that to which his poor muster was at presellt reduced; for besides the difficulties he met with in discovering Sophia, besidel:1 the fears he had of having disobliged her, and the assurances he had received from Lady; Bellaston of the resolution which Sophia had taken against him, and of her having purposely concealed herself fi'om him, which he bad sufficient reason to believe might be tl'Ue; he had still a difficulty to combat which it was not in the power of his mistre88 to remove, however kind her inclination might have

fl

510 HENRY FIELDING

been. This was the exposing of' her to be disinherited of all her father's estate, the almost inevitable consequence of their coming together without a consent, which he had no hopes of ever obtaining.

Add to all these the many obligations which Lady Bellaston, whose violent fondness we can no longer conceal, had heaped upon him; so that by her means he was now become one of the best­ dressed men about town; and was not only relieved from those ridiculous distresses we have before mentioned, but was actually raised to a state of affiuence beyond what he had ever known.

Now, though there are many gentlemen who very well reconcile it to their consciences to possess themselves of the whole fOl'tune of a woman, without making her any kind of return; yet to a mind, the proprietor of which doth not deserve to be hanged, nothing is, I believe, more irksome than to support love with gratitude only; especially where iuclination pulls the heart .a contrary way. Such was the unhappy case of Jones; for though the virtuous love he bore to Sophia, and which left very little affection for any other woman, had been entirely out of the question, he could never have been able to have made any adequate return to the generous passion of this lady, who had indeed been once an object of desire, but was now entered at least into the autumn of life, though she wore all the gaiety of youth, both ill her dress and manner; nay, she contrived still to maintain the roses ill her cheeks j but these, like flowers forced on t of season by Art, had llone of that lively blooming freshness with which Nature, at the proper time, bedecks her own productions. She had, besides; a cel'­ tain imperfection, which renders some flowers, though very beautiful to the eye, very improper to be placed in a wilderness of sweets, and what above all others is most disagreeable to the breath of love.

Though Jones sawall these discouragements on the one side, he felt his obligations full as strongly 011 the other; nor did he less plainly discern the ardent passion whence those obligations proceeded, the extreme violence of which if he failed to equal, he well knew the lady would think him ungl'ateful; and, what is worse, he would have thought himself so. He knew the tacit consideration upon which all her favours were conferred; and as his necessity obliged him to accept them, so his honour, he COll­ cluded, forced him to pay the price. This therefore he Tesolved to do, whatever misery it cost him, and to devote himself to her, from that great principle of justice, by which the laws of some countries obUge a debtor, who is 110 otherwise capable of dis­ charging his debt, to become the slave of his creditor.

While he was meditating on these matters, he received the following note from the lady:­

it A very foolish, but a very l)erverse accident hath happened sillce our last meeting, which makes it improper I should see you

inherited of all hel' ce of their coming ~s of ever obtaining. ~h Lady Bellnston, l, had heaped upon Ie one of the best. :lieved from those , but was actually ever known.

very well reconcile the whole fortune return; yet to a ve to be hanged, mpport love with ulls the heart a ones; for though 11 left very little irely out of the lade any adequate had indeed been

at least into the outh, both in hel' Itain the roses ill :ason by Art, had h Nature, at the ad, besides, 11 cer. gh very beautiful erness of sweets, e breath of love. on the one side, leI'; nor did he llose obligations .led to equal, he . ; and, what is knew the tacit IfelTed; and as lonour, he con­ :l he resolved to himself to her, ~ Ill,WB of some capable of dis­ )1'.

e l'eceived the

lath happened should see you

'I'OM JONES SII any more at the usual place. I will, if possible, contrive some other place by to-morrow. In the meantime, adieu."

This disappointment, perhaps, the }'eader may conclude was not very great; but if it was, he was quickly relieved; for in less than an hour afterwards another note was brought him from the same hand, which contained as follows:­

"I have altered my mind since I wrote; a change which, if you are no stranger to the tenderest of all passions, YOIl willllot wonder at. I am now resolved to see you this evening at my own house, whatever may be the consequence. Come to me exactly at seven; I dine abroad, but will be at home by that time. A day, I fiud, to those that sincerely love, seems longer than I imagined.

H If you should accidentally be a few moments before me, bid them show you into the drawing-room."

To confess the truth, Jones was less pleased with this last epistle than he had been with the former) as he was prevented by it from complying with the earnest entreaties of Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now contracted much intimacy and friendship. These entreaties were to go with that young gentleman and his company to a new play, which was to be acted that evening, and which a very large plll'ty had agreed to damn, from some dislike they had takeu to the author, who waS a friend to one of Ml" Nightingale's acquaintance. And this sort of fun, our hero, we are ashamed to confess, would willingly have preferred to the above kind appointment; but his honour got the better of his inclination.

Before we attend him to this intended interview with the lady, we think proper to account for both the preceding notes, as the 1"eadel' may possibly be not a little surprised at the imprudence of Lady Bellaston, in bringing her lover to the very house where her 1'ival was lodged .

First, then, the mistress of the house where these lovers had llitherto met, and who had been for some years a pensioner to that lady, was now become a Methodistj Illld had that very morning waited upon her ladyship, aud after rebuking her very severely for ]1e1' past life~ had positively declared that she would, on no account, be instrumental in carrying on any of her affairs for the future.

The hurry of spirits into which this accident threw the lady made her despair of possibly finding any other convenience to l.neet Jones that evening; but as she began a little to recover from her uneasiness at the disappointment, she set her thoughts to work) when luckily it came into her head to propose to Sophia to go to the play, which was immediately consented to) and a proper lady provided for her companion. Mrs. Honour was likewise despatched with Mrs. EtoW 011 the same errand of pleasure; and

512 HENRY FIELDING thus her own house was left free for the safe reception of Mr. Jones, with whom she promised herself two or three hours of uninterrupted conversation after her return from the place where she dined, which was at a friend's house in a pretty distant part of the toWIl, near her old place of assignation, where she had engaged herself before she was well apprized of the revolution that had happened in the mind and morals of her late confidante.

CHAPTER X

A CHAPTER WHWH, THOUGH SHORT, MAY DRAW TEARS FROM

SOME EYES

M R. JONES was just dressed to wait on Lady Bellaston, when Mrs. Miller rapped at his door; and, being admitted, very earnestly desired his company below stairs, to drink tea in the parlour.

Upon his entrance into the room, she presently introduced a person to him, saying, "This, sir, is my cousin, who hath been so greatly beholden to your goodness, for which he begs to return you his sincerest thanks."

The man had Scarce entered upon that speech which Mrs. Miller had so kindly prefaced, when both Jones and he, looking stedfastIy at each other, showed at once the utmost tokens of surprise. The voice of the latter began instantly to falter; and, instead of finishing his speech, he sunk down into a chair, crying, "It is so, I am convinced it is so I"

" Bless me! what's the meaning of this?" cries Mrs. Miller; "you are not ill, I hope, cousin? Some water, a dram this instant. "

"Be not frighted, madam," cries Jones, "I have almost as much need of a dram as your cousin. We are equally surprised at this unexpected meeting. Your cousin is an acquaintance of mine, Mrs. Miller."

t< An acquaintance!" cries the man.__ tl Oh, Heaven! II U Ay, an acquaintance," repeated Jones, "and an honoured

acquaintance too. When I do not love and honour the man who dares venture everything to preserve his wife and children from instant destruction, may I have a friend capable of disowning me in adversity! "

u Oh, you are an excellent young man;" cries Mrs. MilIer:­ "Yes, indeed, poor Cl'eature! he hath ventured everything.-If he had not had one of the best of constitutions, it must have killed him."

tt Cousin," cries the man, wno had now pretty well recovered

hin he Pe~ sup the hav

a v he per ser'

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YOl

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the see: hal of inb or i

to 1 frie pos

iiieew AM iO • "ii' , TOM JONES

himself, « this is the angel from heaven whom I meant. This is he to whom~ before I saw you, lowed the preservation of my Peggy. He it was to whose genel'osity every comfort, every support which I have procured for her, was owing. He is, indeed, the worthiest, bravest, noblest, of all human beings. 0 cousin, I have obligations to this gentleman of such a nature!"

"Mention nothing of obligations," cries Jones eagerly; (( not a wOl'd, I insist upon it, not a word" (meaning, I suppose, that he would not have him betray the affair of the robbery to any person). « If, by the trifle you have received from me, I have pre­ served a whole family, sure pleasure was never bought so cheap."

" Oh, sir!" cries the man, "I wish you could this instant see my house. If any person had ever a light to the pleasure you mention, I am convinced it is yourself. My cousin tells me she acquainted you with the distress in which she found us. That, sir, is all greatly removed, and chiefly by your goodness.--My children have now a bed to lie on--and they have--they have--eternal blessings reward you for it !--they have bread to eat. My little boy is recovered; my wife is out of danger, and I am happy. All, all owing to you, sir, and to my cousin here, one of the best of women. Indeed, sir, I must see you at my house.-Indeed my wife must see you, and thank you.-My children too must express their gratitude.--Indeed, sir, they are not without a sense of their obligation; but what is my feeling VII'hen I reflect to whom lowe that they are now capable of expressing their gratitude.--Oh, sir, the little hearts which you have warmed had now been cold as ice without your assistance."

Here Jones attempted to prevent the poor man from proceed­ ing; but indeed the overflowing of his own heart would of itself have stopped his words. And now Mrs. Miller likewise began to pour forth thanksgivings, as well in her own name, as in that of her cousin, and concluded with saying, "She doubted not but such goodness would meet a glorious reward,"

Jones answered," He had been sufficiently rewarded already. Y Qur cousin's account, madam," said he, .( llath given me a sensation more pleasing than I have ever known. He must be a Vll'retch who is unmoved at hearing such a story; how transporting then must be the thought of having happily acted a part in this scene! If there are men who cannot feel the delight of giving happiness to others, I sincerely pity them, as they are incapable of tasting what is, in my opinion, a greater honour; a higher interest, and a sweeter pleasure than the ambitious, the avaricious1 or the voluptuouS man can ever obtain."

The hour of appointment being now come, Jones was forced to take a hasty leave, but not before he had heartily shaken his friend by the hand, and desired to see him again as soon as possible; promising that he would himself take the first oppol'­

HENRY FIELDING tunity of visiting him at his own house. He then stepped into his chair, and proceeded to Lady Bellaston's, greatly exulting in the happiness which he had procured to this poor family; nor could he forbear reflecting, without hOlTor, on the dreadful consequences which must have attended them, had he listened rather to the voice of strict justice than to that of mercy, when he was attacked 011 the high road.

Mrs. Miller sung forth the praises of Jones during the whole evening, in which Mr, Andel'son, while he stayed, so passionately accompanied her, that he was often on the very point of mention­ ing the circumstance of the robbery. However, he luckily recollected himself, and avoided an indiscretion which would have been so much the greater, as he knew Mrs. Miller to be extremely strict and nice in her principles. He was likewise well apprized of the loquacity of this lady; and yet such waS his gratitude, that it had almost got the better both of discretion and shame, and made him publish that which would have defamed his own character, rather than omit any circumstances which might do the fullest honour to his benefactor.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH THE READER WILL BE SURPRISED

M R. JONES was rather earlier than the time appointed, and earlier than the lady; whose arrival was hindered, not only by the distance of the place where she dined, but by some other cross accidents very vexatious to one in her situation of mind. He was accordingly shown into the drawing-room, where he had not been many minutes before the door opened, and in came-­ no other than Sophia herself, who had left the play before the end of the first act; for this, as we have already said, being a new play, at which two large parties met, the one to damn, and the other to applaud, a violent uproar, and an engagement between the two parties, had so terrified our heroine, that she was glad to put herself under the protection of a young gentleman who safely conveyed her to her chair.

As Lady Bellaston had acquainted her that she should not be at home till late, Sophia, expecting to find no one in the room, came hastily in, and went directly to a glass which almost fronted her, without once looking towards the upper end of the room, where the statue of Jones now stood motionless.-In this glass it was, after contemplating her own lovely face, that she first discovel'ed the said statue; when, instantly turning about, she perceived the reality of the vision: upon which she gave a viole.nt

SCl'l

abI,

bey llla.~ can the love

see, /fO you par wre hat kn( pur her ask me UnI It tl boc wh, to I YOll kin kin par eXI ans me sue intl of 1 Up

tlla at eye JOI

pre YOt Ld ne, gui of

TOM JONES SIS scream, and scarce preserved herself from fainting, till Jones was able to move to her, and support her in his arms.

To paint the looks or thoughts of either of these lovers is beyond my power. As their sensations, from their mutual sile~ce :may be judged to have been too big for their own utterance, it cannot be supposed that I should be able to express them: and the misfortune is, tlIat few of my readers have been enough in love to feel by their own hearts what passed at this time in theirs.

After a short pause, Jones, with faltering accents, said-" I see, madam, you are surprised." - " Surprised!" answered she; C({ Oh Heavens! Indeed, I am surprised. I almost doubt whether you are the person you seem." -" Indeed," cries he, C( my Sophia, pardon me, madam, for this once calling you so, I am that very -wretched Jones, whom fortune, after so many disappointments, 11.at11, at last, kindly conducted to you. Oh! my Sophia, did you know the thousand torments I have suffered in this long, fruitless pursuit."-" Pursuit of whom r" said SoplIia, a little recollecting herself, and assuming a reserved air.-" Can you be so cruel to ask that question?" cries Jones; "Need I say, of you i''' " Of nle I" answered Sophia: "Hath Mr. Jones, then, any such important business with me ?"-"To some, madam," cries Jones, u this might seem an important business" (giving her the pocket­ book). "I hope, madam, you will find it of the same value as wIlen it was lost." SoplIia took the pocket-book, and was going to speak, when he interrupted her thus :-(, Let us not, I beseech you, lose one of these precious moments which fortune bath so kindly sent us. 0, my Sophia.! I bave business of a much superior kind. Thus, on my knees, let me ask your pardon." _ (t My pardon!" cries she; ,t Sure, sir, after what is past, you cannot expect, after what I have heard."-" I scarce know what I say," answered Jones. C( By Heavens I I scarce wish you should pardon IXle. 0 my Sophia l henceforth never cast away a thought on such a wretch as I am. If any remembrance of me should ever intrude to give a moment's uneasiness to that tender bosom, tbink of my unworthiness; and let the remembrance of what passed at Upton blot me for ever from your mind:'

Sophia stood trembling all this while. Her face was whiter than snow, and her heart was throbbing through her stays. ButJ at the mention of Upton, a blush arose in her cheeks, and her eyes, which before she had scarce lifted up, were turned upon J ones with a glance of disdain. He understood this silent re­ proach, and replied to it thus: "0 my Sophia! my only love! you cannot hate or despise me more for what happened there than .I do myself; but yet do me the justice to think that my heart was never unfaithful to you. That had no share in the folly I was guilty of; it was even then unalterably yours. Though I despaired of possessing you, nay, almost of ever seeing you more, I doated

5I6 HENRY FIELDING still on your charming idea, and could seriously love, no other woman, But if my heart had not been engaged, she, mto w~ose company I accidentally feli at that cursed place, was not an object of serious love, Believe me, my angel, I never have seen her from that day to this; and never intend or desire to see hel' again," Sophia, in her heart, was very glad to hear this; but forcing into her face an air of more coldness than she had yet assumed, "Why," said she, "Mr. Jones, do you take the trouble to make a defence where you are not accused? If I thought it worth while to accuse you, I llave a charge of unpardonable nature indeed." -" What is it, for Heaven's sake?" answered Jones, trembling and pale, expecting to hear of his amour with Lady Bellaston. "Oh," said she, "how is it possible! can every­ thing noble and everything base be lodged together in the same bosom? " Lady Beliaston, and the ignominious circumstance of having been kept, rose again in his mind, and stopped his mouth from any reply. "Could I have expected," proceeded Sophia, "such treatment from you? Nay, from any gentleman, from any man of honour? To have my name traduced in public; in inns, among the meanest vulgar! to have any little favours that my un­ guarded heart may have too lightly betrayed me to grant, boasted of there! nay, even to hear that you had been forced to fly from my love!"

Nothing could equal Jones's surprise at these words of Sophia; but yet, not being guilty, he was much less embarrassed how to defend himself than if she had touched that tender string at which his conscience had been alarmed. By some examination he presently found, that her supposing him guilty of so shocking an outrage against his love, and her reputation, was entirely owing to Partridge's talk at the inns before landlords and servants; for Sophia confessed to him it was from them that she received her intelligence. He had no very great difficulty to make her believe that he was entirely innocent of an offence so foreign to his character; but she had a great deal to binder him from going instantly home, and putting Partridge to death, which he more than once swore he would do. This point being cleared up, they soon found themselves so well pleased with each other, that Jones quite forgot he had begun the conversation with conjuring her to give up all thoughts of him; and she 'Ivas in a temper to have given ear to a petition of a very different nature; for before they were aware they had both gone so far, that he let fall some words that sounded like a proposal of marriage. To which she replied, te That, did not her duty to her father forbid her to follow her own inclinations, ruin with him would be more welcome to her than the most afRuent fortune with another mall." At tbe mention of the word ruin, he started, let drop her hand, which he had held for.some time, and striking his breast with his OWll, ill'ied out, (( Oh,

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Sophia! can I then ruin thee? No; by Heavens, no! I never will act so base a part. Dearest Sophia, whatever it costs me, I will renounce you; I will give you np; I will tear all such hopes from my heart as are inconsistent with your real good. My love I will ever retain, but it shall be in silence; it shall be at a distance from you; it shall be in some foreign land; from whence no voice, no sigh of my despair, shall ever reach and disturb your ears. And when I am dead"-He would have gone on, but was stopped by a flood of tears which Sophia let fall in his bosom, upon which she leaned, without being able to speak one word. He kissed them off, which, for some moments, she allowed him to do without any resistance; but then recollecting herself, gently withdrew out of his arms; and, to turn the discourse fmm a subject too tender, and which she found she could not support, bethought herself to ask him a question she never had time to put to him before, U How he came :into that room?" He began to stammer, and would, in all probability, have raised her suspicions by the answer he was gojng to give, when, at once, the door opened, and in came Lady Bellaston.

Having advanced a few steps, and seeing Jones and Sophia together, she suddenly stopped; when, after a pause of a few Uloments, recollecting herself with admirable presence of mind, she said-though with sufficient indications of surprise both in voice and countenance-it I thought, Miss Western, you had been at the play?"

Though Sophia had no opportunity of learning of Jones by what means he had discovered her, yet, as she had not the least suspicion of the real truth, or that Jones and Lady Bellaston were acquainted, so she was very little confounded; and the less, as the lady had~ in all their conversations on the subject, entirely taken her side against her father. With very little hesitation, therefore, she went through the whole story of what had happened at the play~house.. and the cause of her llasty return.

The length of this nalTative gave Lady Bellaston an oppor­ tunity of rallying her spirits, and of considering in what manner to act. And as the behaviour of Sophia. gave her hopes that Jones bad not betrayed her, she put on an ail' of good humour, and said, U I should not have broke in so abruptly upon you, Miss Western, if I had known you had company."

Lady Bellaston fixed her eyes on Sophia whilst she spoke these "'Words. To which that poor young lady, having her face overspread "'With blushes and confusion, answered, in a stammering voice, {{ I am sure, madam, I shall always think the honour of your ladyship's company--" t( I hope, at least," cries Lady Beliaston, (l I inten'Upt no business."-"No, madam," answered Sophia, Uour business was at an end. Your ladyship may be pleased to remember I have often mentioned the loss of my pocket-book,

SIB HENRY FIELDING which this gentleman, having very luckily found, was So kind to return it to me with the bill in it."

Jones ever since the arrival of Lady Bellaston, had been ready to sink ~ith fear. He sat kicking his heels, playing with his fingers, aud looking more like a fool, if it be possible, than a young booby squire when he is first introduced into a polite assembly. He began however, now to recover himself; and taking a hint from the behaviour of Lady Bellaston, who he saw did not intend to claim any acquaintance with him, he resolved as entirely to affect the stranger on his part. He said, "Ever since he had the pocket-book in his possession, he had used great diligence in inquiring out the lady whose name was writ in it; but never till that day could be so fortunate to discover her."

Sophia had indeed mentioned the loss of her pocket-book to Lady Bellaston; but as Jones, for some reason or other, had never once hinted to her that it was in his possession, she believed not one syllable of what Sophia now said, and wonderfully admired the extreme quickness of the young lady in inventing such an excuse. The reason of Sophia's leaving the play-house met with no better credit; and though she could not account for the meeting between these two lovel's, she was firmly persuaded it was not accid(mtal.

With an affected smile, therefore, she said, ii Indeed, Miss Western, you have had very good luck in recovering your money. Not only as it fell into the hands of a gentleman of honour, but as he happened to discover to whom it belonged. I think you would not consent to have it advertised.-It was great good fortune, sir, that you found out to whom the note belonged."

u Oh, madam;' cries Jones, "it was enclosed in a pocket-book, in which the young lady's name was written."

fl That was very fortunate, indeed," cries the lady :-" And it was no less so, that you heard Miss Western was at my house; for she is very little known."

Jones had at length perfectly recovered his sphits; and as he conceived he had now an opportunity of satisfymg Sophia as to the question she had asked him just before Lady Bellaston came in, he proceeded thus: U Why, madam," answered he, it it was, by the luckiest chance imaginable I made this discovery. I was mentioning what I had found, and the name of the owner, the other night to 'a lady at the masquerade, who told me she believed she knew where I might see Miss Western; and if I would come to her house the next morning she would inform me. I went according to her appointment, but she WaS not at home; nor could I ever meet with her till this morning, when she directed me to your ladyship's house. I came accordingly, and did myself the honour ~ ask for ~our ladyship; and upon my saying that I had very partIcular busmess, a servant showed me into this room; where I had not been long before the young lady returned from the play.J>

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TOM JONES 519 Upon fds men.tioning the masque:ade, he looked very slily at

Lady Bellaston, WIthout any fear of bemg remarked by Sophia; for sbe waS visibly too much confounded to make any observations. 'This hint a little alarmed the lady, and she was silent; when Jones who saw the agitation of Sophia's mind, resolved to take the onl~ :method of relieving her, which was by retiring; but, before he did this, he said, "I believe, madam, it is customary to give some reward on these occasions ;-1 must insist on a very high one for l:l1.y honesty;-it is, madam, no less than the honour of being permitted to pay another visit here."

"Sir;' l'eplied the lady, f( I make no doubt that you are a gentleman, and my doors are never shut to people of fashion."

Jones then, after proper ceremonials, departed, highly to his own satisfaction, and no less to that of Sophia; who was ten-ibly alarmed lest Lady Bellnston should discover what she knew already but too well.

Upon the stairs Jones met his old acquaintance, Mrs. Honour, 'Vho, notwithstanding all she had said against him, was now so well bred to behave with great civility. This meeting proved indeed a lucky circumstance, as he communicated to her the house where he lodged, with which Sophia was unacquainted.

CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH THE THIRTEENTH nOOK rs CONCLUDED

T HE elegant Lord Shaftesbury somewhere objects to telling too much truth: by which it may be fairly inferred, that, in some cases, to lie is not only excusable but commendable.

And surely there are no persons who may so properly challenge a. right to this commendable deviation from truth, as young women in. the affair of love; for which they may plead precept, education, and above all, the sanction, nay, I may say the necessity of custom, by which they are restrained, not from submitting to the honest iJ:.npulses of nature (for that would be a foolish prohibition), but :from owning them.

We are not, therefore, ashamed to say, that our heroine now pursued the dictates of the above-mentioned right honourable philosopher. As she was perfectly satisfied, then, that Lady Bellaston was ignorant of the person of Jones) so she determined to keep her in that ignorance, though at the expense of a little fibbing.

Jones had not been long gone, before Lady Bellaston cried, U Upon my word, a good pretty young fellow; I wonder who be is ; Cor I don't remember ever to have seen his face before."

520 HENRY FIELDING "Nor I neither, madam," cries Sophia. (( I must say he behaved

very handsomely in relation to my note." "Yes; and he is a very handsome fellow," said the lady: r( don't

you think so ? " . "I did not take much notice of him," answered SophIa,

"but I thought he seemed rather awkward, and ungentee1 than otherwise. "

"You are extremely right," cries Lady Bellaston: "you may see, by his manner, that he hath not kept good company. Nay, notwithstanding his returning your note, and refusing the reward, I almost question whether he is a gentleman.--I have always observed there is a something in persons well born, which others can never acquire.--I think I will give orders not to be at home to him."

"Nay, sure, madam," answered Sophia, "one can't suspect after what he hath done ;-besides, if your ladyship observed him, there was an elegance in his discourse, a delicacy, a prettiness of ex­ pression that, that--"

"I confess," said Lady Bellaston, "the fellow hath words-­ And indeed, Sophia, you must forgive me, indeed you must."

"I forgive your ladyship! " said Sophia. " Yes, indeed you must," answered she, laughing; "for I had a

horrible suspicion when I first came into the room--I vow you must forgive it; but I suspected it was Mr. Jones himself."

"Did your ladyship, indeed?" cries Sophia, blushing, and affecting a laugh.

" Yes, I vow I did," answered she. "I can't imagine what put it into my head: for, give the fellow his due, he was genteely dressed; which, I think, deal' Sophy, is not commonly the case with your friend."

"This raillery," cries Sophia, "is a little cruel, Lady Bellaston, after my promise to your ladyship."

"Not at all, child," said the lady ;--" It would have been cruel before; but after you have promised me never to marry with­ out your father's consent, in which you know is implied your giving up Jones, sure you can bear a little raillery on a passion which was pardonable enough in a young girl in the countl'Y, and of which you tell me you have so entirely got the better. What must I think, my dear Sophy, if you cannot bear a little ridicule even 011 his dress? I shall begin to fear you are very far gone indeed; and almost question whether you have dealt ingenuously with me."

"Indeed, madam," cries Sophia, tt your ladysbip mistakes me, if you imagine I had any concern on his account."

"On his account I" answered the lady. (' You must have mistaken me; I went no farther than his dress ;--fo1' I would not injure your taste by any other compal'ison-I don't imagine, my dear Sophy, if yOUl' Mr. Jones had been such a fellow as this-"

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handsome "-­ " Whom, pray?" cried the lady hastily. «Mr. Jones," answered Sophia i-and immediately recollecting

herself, {( Mr. Jones I-no, no; I ask your pardon ;-1 mean the gentleman who was just now here."

C( 0 Sophy! Sophy! n cries the lady; Hthis Mr. Jones, 1 am afraid, still runs in your head."

« Then, upon my honour, madam," said Sophia, t( Mr. Jones is as entirely indifferent to me, as the gentleman who just now left us."

« Upon my honour," said Lady Bellaston, « I believe it. Forgive 1ne, therefore, a little innocent raillery; but I promise you 1 will :never mention his name any more."

And now the two ladies separated, infinitely more to the delight of Sophia than of Lady Bellaston, who would willingly have tormented her rival a little longer, had not business of more import­ ance called her away. As for Sophia, her mind was not perfectly easy under this first practice of deceit; upon which, when she retired to her chamber, she reflected with the highest uneasiness and conscious shame. Nor could the peculiar hardship of her situation, and the necessity of the case, at all reconcile her mind to her conduct; for the frame of her mind was too delicate to bear the thought of having been guilty of a falsehood, however qualified by circumstances. Nor did this thought once suffer her to close hel' eyes during the whole succeeding night.

BOOK XIV

CONTAINING TWO DAYS

CHAPTER I

AN ESSAY TO PROVE THAT AN AUTHOR WILL WRITE THE DETTER Fon

HAVING SOME KNOWLEDGE OF THE SUBJECT ON WHICH HE WIUTES

A s several gentlemen in these times, by the wondelful force of genius only, without the least assistance of learning, perllaps, without being well able to read, have made a considerable figure in the republic ofletters; the modern critics, I am told, have lately begun to assert, that all kind of learning is entirely useless to a writer; and, indeed, no other than a kind of fetters on the natural sprightliness and activity of the imagination, which is thus weighecl down, and prevented from soaring to those high flights which otherwise it would be able to reach.

This doctrine, I am afraid, is at present carried much too far: for why should writing differ so much from all other mts? The nimbleness of a dancing-master is not at all prejudiced by being taught to move; nor doth any mechanic, I believe, exercise his tools the worse by having learnt to use them. For my own part, I cannot conceive that Homer or Virgil would have writ with more fire, if instead of being masters of all the learning of their times, they had been as ignorant as most of the authors of the present age. Nor do I believe that all the imagination, fire, and judgment of Pitt could have produced those orations that have made the senate of England, in these our times, a rival in eloquence to Greece and Rome, if he had not been so well read in the writings of Demosthenes and Cicero, as to have transfelTed their whole spirit into his speeches, and, with their spirit, theil' knowledge too.

I would not here be understood to insist on the same fund of learning in any of my brethren, as Cicero persuades us is necessary to the composition of an orator. On the contrary, very little reading is, I conceive, necessary to the poet, less to the clitic, and the least of all to the politician. For the first, perhaps, Byshe's Art of Poetry, and a few of our modern poets, may suffice; for the

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TOM JONES 52 3 second, a moderate heap of plays; and, for the last, an indifferent collection of political journals.

To say the truth, I require no more than that a man should have some little knowledge of the subject on which he treats, according to the old maxim of law, Quam quisque ndrit artem in ell se exerceat. With this alone a wliter may sometimes do tolerably W"ell; and, indeed, without this, all the other learning in the world will stand him in little stead.

For instance, let us suppose that Homer and VirO'il, Aristotle and Cicero, Thucydides and Livy, could have met all t~gether and have clubbed their several talents to have composed a treati;e on the art of dancing: I believe it will be readily agreed they could :not have equalled the excellent treatise which Mr. Essex hath given us on that subject, entitled, The Rudiments of Genteel Education. And, indeed, should the excellent Mr. Broughton be prevailed on to set fist to paper, and to complete the above-said rudiments, by delivering down the true principles of athletics, I question whether the world will have any cause to lament, that none of the great Wtiters, either ancient or mOdel'll, have ever treated about that noble and useful art.

To avoid a multiplicity of examples in so plain a case, and to come at once to my point, I am apt to conceive, that one reason -w-hy many English writers have totally failed in describing the :manners of upper life, may possibly be, that in reality they know nothing of it.

This is a knowledge unhappily not in the power of many authors to arrive at. Books will give us a very impelfect idea of it; nor -w-ill the stage' a much better: the fine gentleman formed upon .­ reading the former will almost always turn out a pedant, and he -w-ho forms himself upon the latter, a coxcomb.

Nor are the characters drawn from these models better sup­ ported. Vanbrugh and Congreve copied Nature; but they who copy them draw as unlike the present age as Hogarth would do if he was to paint a rout or a drum in the dresses of Titian and of Vandyke. In short, imitation here will not do the business. The picture must be after Nature herself. A true knowledge of the VV"orld is gained only by conversation, and the manners of every rank D111st be seen in order to be known.

N ow it happens that this higher order of mortals is not to be seen, like an the rest of the human species} for nothing, in the streets, shops, and coffee-houses: nor are they shown, like the upper rank of animals, for so much a-piece. In short, this is a sight to VV"hich no persons are admitted without one or other of these qualifications, viz., either birth 01' fOl'tlUle, 01', what is equivalent to both, the honourable profession of a gamester. And, very unluckily fOI' the world, persons so qualified velY seldom care to take upon themselves the ba.d trade of writing; which is genel'ally

/

524 HENRY FIELDING entered upon by tbe lower and poorer sort, as it is a trade which many think requires no kind of stock to set up with.

Hence those strange monsters in lace and embroidery, in silks and brocades, with vast wigs and hoops; which, under the name of lords and ladies, strut the stage, to the great delight of attorneys and their clerks in the pit, and of the citizens and their apprentices in the galleries; and which are no more to be found in real life than the centaur, the chimera, or any other creature of mere fiction. But to let my l'eader into a secret, this knowledge of upper life, though very necessary for preventing mistakes, is no very great resource to a writer whose province is comedy, or that kind of novels which, like this I am writing, is of the comic class.

What Mr. Pope says of women is very applicable to most in this station, who are, indeed, so entirely made up ofform and affectation, that they have no character at all, at least none which appears. I will venture to say the highest life is much the dullest, and affords very little humour or entertainment. The various callings in lower spheres produce the great variety of humorous characters; whereas here, except among the few who are engaged in the pursuit of ambition, and the fewer still who have a relish for pleasure, all is vanity and servile imitation. Dressing and cards, eating and drinking, bowing and courtesying, make up the business of their lives.

Some there are, however, of this rank upon whom passion exercises its tyranny, and hurries them far beyond the bounds which decorum prescribes; of these the ladies are as much distin­ guished by their noble intrepidity, and a eel·tain superior contempt of reputation, from the frail ones of meaner degree, as a virtuous woman of quality is by the elegance and delicacy of her sentiments from the honest wife of a yeoman and shopkeeper. Lady Bellaston was of this intrepid character; but let not my country readers conclude from her, that this is the general conduct of women of fashion, or that we mean to represent them as such. They might as well suppose that every clergyman was represented by Thwackum, or every soldier by ensign Northerton.

There is not, indeed, a greater enol' than that whieh ulliversally prevails among the vulgar, who, borrowing their opinion from some ignorant satirists, have affixed the character of lewdness to these times. On the contrary, I am convinced there never was less of love intrigue carried on among persons of condition than now. Our present women have been taught by their mothers to fix their thoughts only on ambition and vanity, and to despise the pleasures of love as unworthy their regard; and being afterwards, by the care of such mothers, married without having husbands, they seem pretty well confirmed in the justness of those sentiments; whence they content themselves, for the dull remainder of life, with the

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pursuit of more innocent, but I am afraid more childish amuse­ l:nent.s, t?e bare mention of which .w.ould ill suit with the dignity of' thIS hIstory. In my humble OpInIOn, the true characteristic of the present beau monde is rather folly than vice, and the only epithet which it deserves is that of frivolous.

CHAPTER II

CONTAINING LETTERS AND OTHER MATTERS WHICH ATTEND AMOURS

J ONES had not been long at home before he received the following letter:­ (( I was never more surprised than when I found you was gone.

When you left the room I little imagined you intended to have left the house without seeing me again. Your behaviour is all of a piece, and convinces me how much I ought to despise a heart vvhich can doat upon an idiot; thoug'h I know not whether I should not admire her cunning more than her simplicity: wouder­ Ful both! For though she understood not a word of what passed between us, yet she had the skill, the assurance, the-what shall I call it? to deny to my face that she knows you, or ever saw you before.--Was this a scheme laid between you, and have you been base enough to betray me ?--O how I despise her, you, and all the world, but chiefly myself! f01'--1 dare not write '\vhat I should afterwards run mad to read; but remember, I can detest as violently as I have loved."

Jones had but little time given him to reflect on this lettel, before a second was brought him from the same hand; and this, likewise.. we shall set down in the precise words.

(( When you consider the hurry of spilits in which I must have -vvrit, you cannot be surprised at any expressions in my former note.-Yet, perhaps, on reflection, they were rather too warm. At least 1 would, if possible, think all owing to the odious play-house, and to the impertinence of a fool, which detained me beyond my appointment.--How easy is it to think well of those we love! ---Perhaps you desire 1 should think so. 1 have resolved to see you to-night; so come to me immediately.

" P.S.-I have ordered to be at home to none but yourself. Sf P.S.-Mr. Jones will imagine I shall assist him in his defence;

for I believe he cannot desire to impose on me more than I desire to impose on myself.

" P.S.-Come immediately."

526 HENRY FIELDING To the men of intrigue I refer the determination, whether the

angry or the tender letter gave the greatest uneasiness to Jones. Certain it is, he had no violent inclination to pay any more visits that evening, unless to one single person. However, he thought his honour engaged, and had not this been motive sufficient, he would not have ventured to blow the temper of Lady Bellaston into that flame of which he had reason to think it susceptible, and of which he feared the consequence might bea discovery to Sophia, which he dreaded. After some discontented walks therefore about the room, he was preparing to depart, when the lady kindly prevented him, not by another letter, but by her own presence. She entered the room very disordered in her dress, and very discomposed in her looks, and threw herself into a chair, where, having recovered her breath, she said-" You see, sir, when women have gone one length too far, they will stop at none. If any person would have sworn this to me a week ago, I would not have believed it of myself." " I hope, madam," said Jones, "my charm­ ing Lady Bellaston will be as difficult to believe anything against one who is so sensible of the many obligations she hath conferred upon him." "Indeed!" says she," sensible of obligations! Did I expect to hear such cold language from Mr. Jones?" "Pardon me, my dear angel," said he, "if, after the letters I have received, the terrors of your anger, though I know not how I have deserved it"--" And have I then," says she, with a smile, {( so angry a countenance ?-Have I really brought a chiding face with me?" -"If there be honour in man," said he, "I have done nothing to merit your anger.-You remember the appointment you sent me; I went in pursuance." -" I beseech you," cried she, (l do not run through the odious recital.-Answer me but one question, and I shall be easy. Have you not betrayed my honour to hed"-Jones fell upon his knees, and began to utter the most violent protesta­ tions, when Partridge came dancing and capel'ing into the room, like one drunk with joy, crying out, (( She's found I she's found 1­ Here, sir, here, she's here-Mrs. Honour is upon the stairs." "Stop her a moment," cries Jones-" Here, madam, step behind the bed, I have no other room nor closet, nor place on earth to hide you in; sure never was so damned an accident."-" D--n'd indeed!" said the lady, as she went to her place of concealment; and presently afterwards in came Mrs. Honour. "Hey-day!" says she, "Mr. Jones, what's the matter?-That impudent rascal your servant would scarce let me come upE?tairs. I hope he hath not the same reason to keep me from you as he had at Upton.-I suppose you hardly expected to see me; but you have certainly bewitched my lady. Poor dear young lady! To be sure, I loves her as tenderly as if she was my own sister, Lord have mercy upon you, if you don't make her a good husband! and to be sure, if you do not, nothing can be bad enough for you." Jones begged

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TOM JONES

her only to whisp,~l', ~or that there was a lady dying in the next room. "A lady 1 crIes she; "ay, I suppose one of your Iadies.­ o Mr. Jones, there are too many of them in the world; I believe we are got into the house of one, for my Lady Bellaston I darst to say is no better than she should be." -" Hush! hush!" cries Jones, (( every wOl'd is overheard in th e next room." "I don't care a farthing," cries Honour, « I speaks no scaudal of anyone; but to be sure the servants make no scruple of saying as how her lady­ ship meets men at another place-where the house goes undel' the name of a poor gentlewoman; but her ladyship pays the rent, and many's the good thing hesides, they say, she hath of her."-Here Jones, after expressing the utmost uneasiness, offered to stop her mouth :_U I-ley-day! why sure, Mr. Jones, you wiUlet me speak; I speaks no scandal, for I only says what I heard from othel'S-and think I to myself, much good may it do the gentlewoman with her riches, if she comes by it in such a wicked manner. To be sure it is better to be poor and honest." " The servants are villains/' cries Jones, (( and abuse their lady unjustly." -" Ay, to be sure, servants a.re always villains, and so my lady says, and won't hear a word of it."_uNo, I am convinced," says Jones, «my Sophia is above listening to such bllse scandal." a Nay, I believe it is no scandal, neither," cries Honour, ('for why should she meet men at another house ?-It cnl1 never be for any good: for if she had a lawful design of being courted, as to be sure Ilny lady may lawfully give her company to men upon that account: why, where can be the sense?"_" I protest," cries Joneq, (( I can't hear all this of a lady of such honour, and a. relation of Sophia i besides, you will distract the pOOl' lady in the next room.-Let me entreat you to walk with InC downstail's,"-"Nay, sir1 if you won't let me speak, I have done.-Hel'c, sir, is a letter from my young 1'l.dy-what would some men give to have this? But, Mr. Jones, r think you are not over and above generous, and yet I have heard some servants say --but I am sure you will do me the justice to own I never saw tbe colour of your money." Here Jones hastily took the letter, and presently after slipped five pieces into her hand. He then returned a thousand thanks to his deal' Sophia in a whisper, and begged her to leave him to read her letter: she presently departed, not without expressing much grateful sense of his gencl'Osity.

Lady Bcllaston now came from behind the curtain. How shall I describe her rage? Her tongue was at first incapable of utter­ ance; but streams of 'h'e darted from her eyes, and well indeed they might, for her heart was all in a flame. And now as soon as her voice found way, instea.d of expressing any indignation against I-lonou!' or her own servants, she began to attack poor Jones. U You see," said she, (( what I have sacriliecl to you; my reputation, Hly honour-gone for ever! Aud what return have 1 found? Neglected, slighted for a country girl, for an idiot."-" What

HENRY FIELDING

neglect, madam, or what slight," cries Jones, f( have I been guilty of?"-" Mr. Jones," said she, (( it is in vain to dissemble; if you will make me easy, you must entirely give her up; and as a proof of your intention, show me the letter."-""\Vhat letter, madam?" said Jones. "Nay, surely," said she, uyou cannot have the con­ fidence to deny your having received a letter by the hands of that troIlop."-" And can your ladyship," cries he, "ask of me what I must part with my honour before I grant? Have I acted in such a manner by your ladyship? Could I be guilty of betraying this poor innocent girl to you, what security could you have that I should not act the same part by yourself? A moment's reflection will, I am sure, convince you that a man with whom the secrets of a lady are not safe must be the most contemptible of wretches." -« Very well," said she_u I need not insist on your becoming this contemptible wretch in your own opinion; for the inside of the letter could inform me of nothing more than I know already. I see the footing you are upon."-Here ensued a long conversation, which the reader, who is not too curious, will thank me for not inserting at length. It shall suffice, therefore, to inform him, that Lady Bellaston grew more and more pacified, and at length believed, or affected to believe, his protestations, that his meeting with Sophia that evening was merely accidental, and every other matter which the reader already knows, and which, as Jones set before her in the strongest light, it is plain that she had in reality no reason to be angl'y with him.

She was not, however, in her heart perfectly satisfied with his refusal to show her the letter; so deaf are we to the clearest reason, when it argues against our prevailing passions. She was, indeed, well convinced that Sophia possessed the first place in Jones's affec­ tions; and yet, haughty and amorous as this lady was, she submitted at last to bear the second place; or, to express it more properly in a legal phrase, was contented with the possession of that of which another woman had the reversion.

It was at length agreed that Jones should for the future visit at the house: for that Sophia, her maid, and all the servants, would place these visits to the account of Sophia; and that she herself would be considel'ecl as the person imposed upon.

This scheme was contrived by the lady, and highly relished by Jones, ,vho was indeed glad to have a prospect of seeing his Sophia at any rate; and the lady herself was not a little pleased with the imposition on Sophia, which Jones, she thought, could not possibly discover to her for his own sake.

The next day was appointed for the first visit, and then, afte1 proper ceremonials, the Lady Bellaston returned home.

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TOM JONES

CHAPTER III

CONTAINING VARIOUS MA1'TERS

J ONES was no sooner alone than he eagerly broke open his letter, and read as follows :­ "Sm,-It is impossible to express what I have suff'el'ed since you

left this house; und as I have reason to think you intend comhw here again, I have sent Honour, though so late at night, as she tell~ me she knows your lodgings, to prevent you, I charge you, by all the regard you have for me, not to think of visiting here; for it will cer­ tainly be discovered; nay, I almost doubt, from some things which have dropped from her ladyship, that she is not already without some suspicion, Something favourable perhaps may happen; we must wait with patience; but I once more entreat YOll, if you have any Concern for my ease, do not think of returning hither."

This letter administered the same kind of consolation to poor Jones, which Job formerly received fl'om his friends. Besides disappointing all the hopes which he promised to himself from seeing Sophia, he was reduced to an unhappy dilemma, with regard to Lady Bellaston; for there are some certain engagements, which, as he well knew, do very diflicultly admit of any excuse for the failure; and to go, after the strict prohibition from Sophia, he was not to be forced by any human power. At length, after much deliberation, which during that night supplied the place of sleep, ll.e determined to feihrn himself sick: for this suggested itself as the only means of failing the appointed viSit, without incensing Lady Bellnston, which he had more than one reason of desiring to avoid.

The first thing, however, which he did in the moming, WIls, to ,",rite an answer to Sophia, which he enclosed in one to HOllour. I-Ie then despatched another to Lady BelIaston, containing the above-mentioned excuse; and to this he soon received the following answer:­

"I am vexed that I cannot see you here this aftemooll, but morc concerned for the occasion; take great care of yourself, and have the beat advice, and I hope there will be 110 danger.-I am so tormented all this morning with fools, that I have scal'ce a moment's time to write to you. Adieu.

a P.S.-I will endeavour to call on you this evening, at nine.­ Be sure to be alone."

Mr. Jones now received a visit from Mrs. Miller, who, after

530 HENRY FIELDING some formal introduction, began the following speech :_ft I am very sorry, sir, to wait upon you on such an occasion; but I hope you will consider the ill consequence which it must be to the reputation of my poor girls, if my house should once be talked of as a house of ill-fame. I hope you won't think me, therefore, guilty of impertinence, if I beg you not to bring any more ladies in at that time of night. The clock had struck two before one of them went away." _u I do assure you, madam," said Jones, "the lady who was here last night, and who stayed the latest (for the other only brought me a letter), is a woman of very great fashion, and my near relation."-fr I don't know what fashion she is of," answered Mrs. Miller; <I but I am sure no woman of virtue, unless a very Ilear relation indeed, would visit a young gentleman at ten at night, and stay four hours in his room with him alone; besides, sir, the behaviour of her chairmen shows what she was; for they did nothing but make jests all the evening in the entry, and asked Mr. Partridge, in the hearing of my own maid, if madam intended to stay with his master all night; with a great deal of stuff not proper to be repeated. I have really a great respect for you, Mr. Jones, upon your own account; nay, I have a very high obligation to you for your generosity to my cousin. Indeed, I did not know how very good you had been till lately. Little did I imagine to what dreadful courses the poor man's distress had driven him. Little did I think, when you gave me the ten guineas, that you had given them to a highwayman I 0 Heavens I what goodness have yon shown! How have you preserved this family!-The character which Mr. Allworthy hath formerly given me of you was, I find, strictly true.-And indeed, if I had no obligation to you, my obliga­ tions to him are such, that, on his account, I should show you the utmost respect in my power.-Nay, believe me, dear Mr. Jones, if my daughters' and my own reputation were out of the case, I should, for your own sake, be sorry that so pretty a young gentle­ man should converse witll these women; but if you are resolved to do it, I must beg you to take another lodging; for I do not myself like to have such things carried on tmder my roof; but more especially upon the account of my girls, who have little, Heaven. knows, besides their characters, to recommend them." Jones started and changed colour at the name of Allwol'thy. "rndeed~ Mrs. Miller," answered he, a little wal'J:nly, "I do not take this at all kind. I will never bring any slander on your house; but I must insist on seeing what company I please in my own room; and if that gives you any offence, I shall, as Soon as I am able, look for another lodging." -" I am sorry we must part then

J sir," said

she j "but I am convinced Mr. Allworthy himself would never co~e within my doors, if he had the least suspicion of my keeping an III house."_" Very well, madam," said J ones.-" I hope, sir," .said she, "you are not angry; for I would not for the world offend

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out yOt yOt: ans to 1 wal of ~ an I 81 frie fal'l Jor you der Jor nee me If I so 1 you nig hen vel', lne All Mr, I, C is n my say: pen wif tolC leg~ Ieee her con' a'> S tllai put SOln

TOM JONES 53 1 any of Mr. Allworthy's family. I have not slept a wink all night about this matter."-" I am sorry I have disturbed yOUl" rest, madam," said Jones, "but I beg you will send Partridge up to me immediately;" which she promised to do, and then with a very low courtesy retired.

As soon as Partridge arrived, Jones fell upon him in the most outrageous manner. {( How often," said he, "am I to suffer for your folly, or rather for my own in keeping you i' is that tongue of yours resolved upon my destruction?" tf What have I done, sir?" answered affrighted Partridge. t( Who was it gave you authority to mention the story of the robbery, or that the man you saw here was the person?" (( I, sir i''' cries Partridge. "Now don't be guilty of a falsehood in denying it," said Jones. "If I did mention such a matter," answers Partridge, (( I am sure I thought no barm; for I should not have opened my lips, if it had not been to his own friends and relations, who, I imagined, would have let it go no farther." But I bave a much heavier charge against you," cries U Jones, (( than this. How d urst you, after all the precautions I gave you, mention the name of Mr. Allwol'thy in this house? " Partridge denied that he ever had, with many oaths, t( How else," said Jones, (( should Mrs. Miller be acquainted that there was any con­ nection between him and me i' And it is but this moment she told me she respected me on his account." (( 0 Lord, sir," said Partridge, H I desire only to be heard out; and to be sure, never was anything so unfortunate: bear me but out, and you will own how wrongfully you have accused me. When Mrs. Honour came downstairs last night she met me in the entry, and asked me when my master had 11card from Mr. Allworthy; and to be sure Mrs. Miller heard the very words; and the moment Madam Honour was gone, she called 111.e into the parlour to hel', (Mr. Partridge; says she, (wbat Mr. Allworthy is it that the gentlewoman mentioned r is it the great ~1r. Allworthy of Somersetshire?' t Upon my word, madam; says I, f I know nothing of the matter: (Sure: says she, ' your master is not the Mr. Jones I have heard Mr. Allworthy talk of?' 'Upon l.uy word, madam: says I, t I know nothing of the matter: 'Then,' says she, turning to her daughter Nancy, says she, (as sure as ten~ l)cnce this is the very young gentleman, and he agrees eXl1Ctly "\vith the squire's description: The Lord above knows who it was told her: for I am the arl'Untest villain that ever walked upon two legs if ever it came out of my mouth. I promise you, sir, I can l,:cep a secret when I am desired. Nay, s.ir, so far was I from telling IIer anything about Mr. Allworthy, that I told lier the ve1"y direct contr~n"y i for, though I did not contradict it at that moment, yet, as second thoughts, they say, are best, so when I came to consider that somebody must have informed her, thinks I to myself, I will }Jut an end to the story; and so I went back again into the parlour some time afterwards, and says I, upon my word, says I, whoever

J

53 2 HENRY FIELDING

says I, told you that this gentleman was Mr. Jones; that is, says I, that this Mr. Jones was that Mr. Jones, told you a confounded lie: and I beg, says I, you will never mention any such matter, says I; for my master, says I, will think I must have t~ld you so; and I defy anybody in the house ever to say I mentIOned any such word. To be certain, sir, it is a wonderful thing, and I have been thinking with myself ever since, how it was she came to know it ; not but I saw an old woman here t'other day a-begging at the door, who looked as like her we saw in Warwickshire, that caused all that mischief to us. To be sure it is never good to pass by an old woman without giving her something, especially if she looks at you; for all the world shall never persuade me but, that they have a great power to do mischief, and to be sure I shall never see an old woman again, but I shall think to myself, Infandu1n, 1'egina,jubes renovare dolorem."

The simplicity of Partridge set Jones a-laughing, and put a final end to his anger, which had indeed seldom any long duration in his mind; and, instead of commenting on his defence, he told him he intended presently to leave those loelgingsl and ordered him to go and endeavour to get him others.

CHAPTER IV

WHICH WE HOPE WILL BE VERY A'I''1'ENTIVELY PERUSED BY

YOUNG PEOPLE OF BOTH SEXES

PARTRIDGE had no sooner left Mr. Jones than Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now contracted a great intimacy, came to him, and, after a short salutation, said, "So, Tom, I hear you had company very late last night. Upon my soul you are a happy fellow, who have not been in town above a fortnight, and can keep chairs waiting at your door till two in the morning." He then ran on with much commonplace raillery of the same kind, till Jones at last interrupted him, saying, "I suppose you have received all this in­ formation from Mrs. Miller, who hath been up here a little while ago to give me warning. The good woman is afraid, it seems, of the reputation of her daughters." " Oh! she is wonderfully nice," says Nightingale, "upon that account; if you remember, she would not let Nancy go with us to the masquerade." {( Nay, upon my honour, I think she's in the right of it," says Jones: "however, I have taken her at her word, and have sent Pal·tridge to look for another lodging." ({ If you will," says Nightingale, {t we may, I believe, be again together; for, to tell you a secret, which I desire you won't mention in the family, I intend to quit the house to-day." "What, hath Mrs. Miller given you warning too, my friend? II cries

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TOM JONES 533 Jones. It No," answered the other; f( but the rooms are not con. venient enough. Besides, I am grown weary of this palt of the town. I want to be nearer the places of diversion; so I am going to Pall-mall." (( And do you intend to make a secret of your going away?" said Jones. « I promise you," answered Nightingale; (~I don't intend to bilk my lodgings; but I have a private reason for not taking a formal leave." « Not so private," answered Jones; "I promise you, I have seen it ever since the second day of my coming to the house. Here will be some wet eyes on your departure. Poor Nancy, I pity her, faith! Indeed, Jack, you have played the fool with that girl. You have given her a longing, which I am afraid nothing will ever cure her of." Nightingale answered, ~(What the devil would you have me do? would you have me marry her to cure her?" (( No," answered Jones, « I would not have had you make love to her, as you have often done in my presence. I have been astonished at the blindness of her mother ill never seeing it." "Pugh, see it J" cries Nightingale. « What the devil should she see?" '(Why, see," said Jones, (( that you have made her daughter distractedly in love with you. The poor girl cannot conceal it a moment; her eyes are never off' from you, and she always colours every time you come into the room. Indeed, I pity her heartily; for she seems to be one of the best-natured and llOIlestest of human cl'eatures," U And so," answered Nightingale, ..c according to your doctrine, one must not amuse oneself by any common gallantries with women, for fear they should fall in love with us." (( Indeed, Jack," said Jones, (( you wilfully misunderstand me; I do not fancy women are so apt to fall in love; but you have gone far beyond common gallantries." ((What, do you suppose," says Night­ ingale} t( that we have been a-bed together?" UNo) upon my honour," answered Jones, very seriously, « I do not suppose so ill ofyon ; nay, J will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a regular premeditated scheme for the destruction of the quiet of a poor little creature, or llave even foreseen the consequence: for I am sure thou alt a very gooel-natured fellow; and such a one can never be guilty of a cruelty of that kind; but at the same time you have pleased your own vanity, without considering that this pOOl' girl was made a sacrifice to it; and while you have had no design but of amusing an idle hour, you have actually given her reason to flatter herself that you had the most serious designs in her favour. Pl'ithee, Jack, answer me honestly; to what have tended all those elegant and luscious descriptions of happiness arising from violent and mutual 'fondness P all those warm professions of tenderness, and generous disinterested love? Did you imagine she would not apply them? or, speak ingenuously, did not you intend she should?" if Upon Illy soul, Tom," cries Nightingale, "I did not think this was in thee. '1~hou wilt make an admirable parson. So I suppose you would not go to bed to Nancy now, if she would let you?" (( No," cries

534 HENRY FIELDING

Jones, ((may 1 be d--n'd if 1 would." "Tom, Tom," answered Nightingale, it last night; remember last night-­

'When every eye was closed, and the pale moon, And silent stars, shone consciol1s of the theft!"

ULookee, Mr. Nightingale," said Jones, U 1 am no canting hypocrite, nor do 1 pretend to the gift of chastity, mo:e than my neighbours. 1 have been guilty with women, 1 own It; but am not conscious that 1 have ever injured any.-Nor would I, to procure pleasure to myself, be knowingly the cause of misery to any human being."

uWell, well," said Nightingale, "I believe you, and I am con­ vinced you acquit me of any such thing."

u 1 do, from my heart," answered Jones, "of having debauched the girl, but not from having gained her affections."

U If 1 have," said Nightingale, (( I am sorry for it; but time ane1 absence will soon wear off such impressions. I t is a receipt I must take myself; for, to confess the tmth to you-I never liked any girl half so much in my whole life; but 1 must let you into the whole secret, Tom. My father hath provided a match for me with a woman 1 never saw; and she is now coming to town, in order for me to make my addresses to her."

At these words Jones burst into a loud fit of laughtel'; when Nightingale cried-" Nay, prithee, don't turn me into ridicule. The devil take me if I am not half mad about this matter J my poor Nancy J Oh! Jones, Jones, I wish I had a fortune in my own possession. "

u 1 heartily wish you had," cries Jones; "for, if this be t11e case, 1 sincerely pity you both; but surely you don't intend to go away without taking your leave of her? "

(( I would not," answered Nightingale, U undergo the pain of taking leave, for ten thousand pounds; besides, 1 am convinced, instead of answering any good purpose, it would only serve to inRame my poor Nancy the more. I beg, therefore, you would not mention a word of it to-day, and in the evening, or to-morrow morning, 1 intend to depart."

Jones promised he would not; anel said, upon l'eRection, he thought, as he had determined and was obliged to leave her, he took the most pmelent method. He then told Nightingale he should be very glad to lodge in the same house with him; and it was accordingly agreed between them, that Nightingale should procure him either the gl'ouncl floor, or the two pair of stairs; for the young gentleman himself was to occupy that which was between them .

. This Nightingale, of whom we shall be presently obliged to say a httle more, was in the ordinary transactions of life a man of strict honour, and, what is more rare among young gentlemen of the town,

TOM JONES 535 one of strict honesty too; yet in affairs oflove he was somewbatloose in his morals; not that he was even here as void of principle as gentlemen sometimes are, and oftener affect to be; but it is certain he had been guilty of some indefensible treachery to women, and had, in a certain mystery, called making love, practised many deceits, which, if he had used in trade, he would have been counted the greatest villain upon earth.

But as the world, I know not well for what reason, agree to see this treachery in a better light, he was so far from being ashamed of his iniquities of this kind, that he gloried in them, and would often boast of his skill in gaining of women, and his triumphs over their hearts, for which he had before this time received some rebukes from Jones, who always expressed great bitterness against any misbehaviour to the fair part of the species, who, if considered, he said, as they ought to be~ in the light of the dearest friends, were to be cultivated, honoured, and caressed with the utmost love and tenderness; but, if regarded as enemies, were a conquest of which a man ought rather to be ashamed than to value himself upon it

CHAPTER V

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE HISTORY OF MRS. MILLER

J ONES this day eat a pretty good dinner for a sick man, that is to say, the larger half of a shoulder of mutton. In the afternoon he received an invitation from Mrs. Miller to drink tea ; for that good woman, haVing learned, either by means of Partlidge, or by some other means natural or supel"Ilatural, that he had a connection with Mr. Allworthy, could not endure the thoughts of parting with him in an angry manner.

Jones accepted the invitation; and no sooner was the tea-kettle removed, and the girls sent out of the room, than the widow, without much preface, began as follows: "Well, there are very surprising things happen in this world; but certainly it is a wonder­ ful business that I should have a relation of Mr. Allworthy in my house, and never know anything of the matter. Alas! sir, you little imagine what a friend that best of gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, sir, I am not ashamed to own it j it is owing to his goodness that I did not long since perish for want, and leave my poor little wretches, two destitute, helpless, friendless orphans, to the care, or rather to the cruelty, of the world.

tt You must know, sir, though I am now reduced to get my living by letting lodgings, I was bom and bred a gentlewoman. My father was an officer of the army, and died in a considerable rank: but he lived up to his pay; and, as that expired with himJ

T, HENRY FIELDING

his family, at his death, became beggars. We were three sisters. One of us had the good luck to die soon after of the smallpox; a lady was so kind as to take the second out of charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The mother of this lady had been a servant to my grandmother; and, having inherited a vast fortune from her father, which he had got by pawnbroking, was married to a gentle~ man of great estate and fashion. She used my sister so barbarously, often upbraiding her with her birth and poverty, calling her in derision a gentlewoman, that I believe she at length broke the heart of the poor girl. In short, she likewise died within a twelvemonth after my father. Fortune thought proper to provide better for me, and within a month from his decease I was married to a clergyman, who had been my lover a long time befoi'e, and who had been very ill used by my father on that account: for though my poor father could not give any of us a shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately, considered us, and would have had us consider ourselves, as highly as if we had been the richest heiresses. But my dear husband forgot all this usage, and the moment we were become fatherless he immediately renewed his addresses to me so warmly, that I, who always liked, and now more than ever esteemed him, soon complied.. Five years did I live in a state of perfect happiness with that best of men, till at last-Oh! cruel! cruel fortune, that ever separated us, that deprived me of the kindest of husbands and my poor girls of the tenderest parent.-O my poor girls! you never knew the blessing which ye Iost.-I am ashamed, Mr. Jones, of this womanish weakness; but I shall never mention him without tears." "I ought rather, madam," said Jones, "to be ashamed that I do not accompany you." ct Well, sir," continued she, (f I was now left a second time in a much worse condition than before; besides the terrible affliction I was to encounter, I had now two children to provide for; and was, if possible, more penniless than ever; when that great, that good, that glorious man, Mr. Allworthy, who had some little acquaintance with my husband, accidentally heard of my distress, and immediately writ this letter to me. Here, sir, here it is; I put it into my pocket to show it you. This is the letter, sir; I must and will read it to you.

a (MADAM,-I heartily condole with you on your late grievous loss, which your own good sense, and the excellent lessons you must have learned from the worthiest of men, will better enable you to bear than any advice which I am capable of giving. Nor have I any doubt that you, whom I have heard to be the tenderest of mothers, wiU suffer any immoderate indulgence of grief to prevent you from discharging your duty to those poor infants who now alone stand in need of your tenderness. '

f( ( However, as you must be supposed at present to be incapable of much worldly consideration, you will pardon my having ordered a

TOM JONES 537 person to wait on you, and to pay you twenty guineas, which I beg you will accept till I have the pleasure of seeing you, and believe me to be, madam, etc.'

(( This letter, sir, I received within a fortnight after the irre­ parable loss I have mentioned; and within a fortnight afterwards, Mr. Allworthy-the blessed Mr. Allworthy, came to pay me a visit, when he placed me in tIle house where you now see me, gave me a large sum of money to furnish it, and settled an annuity of £50 a-year upon me, which I have constantly received ever since. Judge, then, Mr. Jones, in what regard I must hold a. benefactor, to whom lowe the preservation of my life, and of those dear children, for whose sake alone my life is valuable. Do not, therefore, think me impertinent, Mr. Jones (since I must esteem one for whom I know Mr. Allworthy hath so much value), if I beg you not to converse with these wicked women. You are a young gentleman, and do not know half their artful wiles. Do not be angry with me, sir, for what I said upon account of my house; you must be sensible it would be the ruin of my poor dear girls. Besides, sir, you cannot but be acquainted that Mr. Allworthy himself would never forgive my conniving at such matters, and particularly with you."

"Upon my word, madam," said Jones, (t you need make no farther apology; nor do I in the least take anything ill you have said; but give me leave, as no one can have more value than myself for Mr. Allworthy, to deliver you from one mistake, which, perhaps, would not be altogether for his honour; I do assure you, I am no relation of his."

{{ Alas! sir," answered she, (( I know you are not, I know very well who you are; for Mr. AUworthy hath told me all; but I do assure you, had you been twenty times his son, he could not have expressed more regard for you than he hath often expressed in my presence. You need not be ashamed, sir, of what you are; I promise you no good person will esteem you the less on that account. No, Mr. Jones, the words 'disbonourable birth' are nonsense, as my deal', dear husband used to say, unless the word , dishonourable' be applied to the parents; for the childl'en can dedve no real dishonour from an act of which they are entirely imlQCent."

Here Jones heaved a deep sigh, and then said, C( Since I perceive, madam, you really do know me, and Mr. Allworthy hath thought proper to mention my name to you; and since you have been so explicit with me as to your own affairs, I will acquaint you with some more circumstances concerning myself" And these Mrs. Miller having expressed great desire and curiosity to hear, he began and related to her his whole history, without once mentioning the name of Sophia.

There is a kind of sympathy in honest minds, by means of which

HENRY FIELDING

they give an easy credit to each other. Mrs. Miller believed all which Jones told her to be true, and expressed much pity and COllCel11 for him. She was beginning to comment on the story, but Jones interrupted her; for, as the hour of assignation now drew nigh, he began to stipulate for a second interview with the lady that e:ening, which he promised should be the last at her house; swearmg, at the same time, that she was one of gl'eat distinction, and that nothing but what was entirely innocent was to pass between them; and I do firmly believe he intended to keep his word.

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

As we have said that this lady had a great affection for Jones, and as it must have appeared that she really had so, the l'eader may perhaps wonder at the first failure of her appointment, as she apprehended him to be confined by sickness, a seaSon when friend. ship seems most to require such visits. This behaviour, thel'efore, in tlle lady, may, by some, be condemned as unnatural; but that is not our fault; for our business is only to record truth.

CHAPTER VI

CONTAINING A SCENE WHICH WE DOUBT NOT WILL AFFECT ALL

OUR READERS

MR. JONES closed not his eyes during all the former part of the night; not owing to any uneasiness which he conceived at being disappointed by Lady Bellaston; nor was Sophia herself, though most of his waking hours were justly to be charged to her account, the present cause of dispelling his slumbers. In fact, poor Jones was one of the best-natured fellows alive, and had all that weakness which is called compassion, and which distinguishes this imperfect character from that noble firmness of mind, which rolls a man, as it were, within himself, and like a polished bowl, enables him to run through the world without being once stopped by the calamities which happen to others. He could not help, therefore, compassionating the situation of pOOl' Nancy, whose love for Mr. Nightingale seemed to him so apparent, that he was astonished at the blindness of her mother, who had more than once, the preceding evening, remarked to him the great change in the temper of her daughter, II who from being," she said, "one of the liveliest, merriest girls in the world, was, on a sudden, become all gloom and melancholy."

Sleep, however, at length got the better of all resistance; and now, a.s if he had already been a deity, as the ancients imagined,

j

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TOM JONES 539 and an offended one too, he seemed to enjoy his dear-bought conquest.-To speak simply, and without any metaphor, Mr. Jones slept till eleven the next morning, and would, perhaps, have continued in the same quiet situation much longer, had not a violent uproar awakened him.

Partridge was now summoned, who, being asked what was the matter, answel'ed, "That there was a dreadful hurricane below stairs; that Miss Nancy was in fits; and that the other sister, and the mother, were both crying and lamenting over her." Jones expressed much concern at this news; which Partridge endeavoured to relieve, by saying, with a smile, "he fancied the young lady was in no danger of death; for that Susan" (which was the name of the maid) "had given him to understand, it waS nothing more than a common affair. In short," said he, "Miss Nancy hath had a mind to be as wise as hel' mother; that's all; she was a little hungry, it seems, and so sat down to dinner before grace was said; and so there is a child coming for the Foundling Hospital."-­ ., Prithee, leave thy stupid jesting," cries Jones. "Is the misery of these poor wretches a subject of mirth? Go immediately to Mrs. Miller, and tell her I beg leave-Stay, you will make some blunder; I will go myself; for she desired me to breakfast with her." He then rose and dressed himself as fast as he could; and while he was dressing, Palttidge, notwithstanding many severe rebukes, could not avoid throwing forth certain pieces of brutality, commonly called jests, on this occasion. Jones was no sooner dressed than he walked downstairs, and knocking at the door, was presently admitted by the maid, into the outward parlour, which was as empty of company as it was of any apparatus for eating. Mrs. Miller was in the inner room with her daughter, whence the maid presently brought a message to Mr. Jones, "That her mistress hoped he would ex.cuse the disappointment, but an accident had happened, which made it impossible for her to have the pleasure of his company at breakfast that day; and begged his pardon for not sending him up notice sooner." Jones desired, "She would give herself no trouble about anything so trifling as his disappoint­ ment; that he was heartily sorry for the occasion; and that if he could be of any service to her, she might command him."

He had scarce spoke these words, when Mrs. Miller, who heard them all, suddenly threw open the door, and coming out to him, in a flood of tears, said, "0 Mr. Jones I you al'e certainly one of the best young men alive. I give you a thousand thanks for your l..ind offer of your service; but, alas! sir, it is out of your power to preserve my poor girl.-O my child! my child! she is undone, she is ruined for ever!" "I hope, madam," said Jones, (Cno villain" --" 0 Mr. Jones I said she, (( that villain who yesterday left my lodgings, hath betrayed my poor girl; hath destroyed her.-I know you are a man of honour. You have a good-a noble heart,

.'

HENRY FIELDING 540 Mr. Jones. The actions to which I have been myself a witness could proceed from no other. I will tell you all: nay, indeed, it is impossible, after what hath happened, to keep it a secret. That Nightingale, that barbarous villain, hath undone my daughter. She is-she is-oh I Mr. Jones, my girl is with child by him; and in that condition he hath deserted her. Here! here, sir, is his cruel letter : read it, Mr. Jones, and tell me if such anothel' monster lives."

The letter was I1S follows:

"DEAR NANCy,-As I found it impossible to mention to you what, I am afraid, will be no less shocking to you, than it is to me, I have taken this method to inform you, that my father insists upon my immediately paying my addresses to a young lady of fortune, whom he hath provided for my-I need not write the detested word. Your own good understanding will make you sensible, how entirely I am obliged to an obedience, by which I shall be for ever excluded from your dear arms. The fondness of your mother may encourage you to trust her with the unhappy consequence of our love, which may be easily kept a secret from the world, and for which I will take care to provide, as I will for you. I wish you may feel less on this account than I have suffered; but summon all your fOltitude to your assistance, and forgive and forget the man, whom nothing but the prospect of celtain ruin could have forced to write this letter. I bid you forget me, I mean only as a lover; but the best of friends you shall ever find in your faithful, though unhappy, J. N."

When Jones had read this letter, they both stood silent during a minute, looking at each other; at last he began thus: "I cannot express, madam, how much I am shocked at what I have read; yet let me beg you, in one particular, to take the writer's advice. Consider the reputation of your daughter."--« It is gone, it is lost, Mr. Jones," cried she, «as well as her innocence. She received the letter in a room full of company, and immediately swooning away upon opening it, the contents were known to every one present. But the loss of her reputation, bad as it is, is not the worst; I shall lose my child; she hath attempted twice to destroy herself already; and though she hath been hithetto prevented, vows she will not outlive it; 1101' could I myself outlive any accident of that ~ature.-What then will become of my little Betsy, a helpless mfant orphan? and the pOOl' little wretch will, I believe, break her heart at the miseries with which she sees her sister and myself distracted, while she is ignorant of the cause. 0 'tis the most sensible, and best-natured little thing! The barbarous, cl'Uel--hath destroyed us all. 0 my poor children! Is this the reward of all my cares? Is this the fruit of aU my prospects?

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110

TOM JONES 541 Have I so cheed'u1ly undergone aU the labours and duties of a mother? Have I been so tender of their infancy, so careful of their education? Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself even the conveniences of life, to provide some little sustenance for them, to lose one or both in such a manner?" •• Indeed, madam," said Jones, with tears in his eyes, ({ I pity you from my soul."-" O! Mr. Jones," answered she, "even you, though I know the goodness of your heart, can have no idea of what I feel. The best, the kindest, the most dutiful of children! o my poor Nancy, the darling of my soul I the delight of my eyes! the pride of my heart! too much, indeed, my pride; for to those foolish, ambitious hopes, arising from her beauty, lowe her ruin. Alas I I saw with pleasure the liking which this young man had for her. I thought it an honourable affection; and flattered my foolish vanity with the thoughts of seeing her married to one so much her superior. And a thousand times in my presence, nay, often in yours, he hath endeavoured to soothe and encourage these hopes by the most generous expressions of disinterested love, which he hath always directed to my poor girl, and which I, as well as she, believed to be real. Could I have believed that these were only snares laid to betray the innocence of my child, and for the ruin of us aU?"-At these words little Betsy came running into the room, crying, "Dear mamma, for Heaven's sake come to my sister; for she is in another fit, and my cousin can't hold her." Mrs. Miller immediately obeyed the summons; but first ordered Betsy to stay with Mr. Jones, and begged him to entertain her a few minutes, saying, in the most pathetic voice, (( Good Heaven! let me preserve one of my children at least."

J ones, in compliance with this request, did all he could to comfort the little girl, though he was, in reality, himself very highly affected with Mrs. Miller's story. He told her (( Her sister would be soon very well again; that by taking on in that manner she would not only make her sister worse, but make her mother ill too." "Indeed, sir," says she, (( I would not do anything to hurt them for the world. I would burst my heart rather than they should see me Cl'J.-But my poor sister can't see me cry.-I am afraid she will never be able to see me Cl'J any more. Indeed, I can't part with her; indeed) I can't.-And then pOOl' mamma too .. what will become of her i'-Sbe says she will die too, and leave me: but I am resolved I won't be left behind." ({ And are you not afraid to die, my little Betsy?" said Jones. {( Yes," answered she.. " I was always afraid to die; because I must have left my mamma, and my sister; but I am not afraid of going anywhere with those I love."

J ones was so pleased with this answer, that he eagerly kissed the child; and soon after Mrs. Miller returned, saying, "She thanked Heaven Nancy was now come to herself. And now1

542 HENRY FIELDING tter, 1t1

Betsy," says she, "you may go in, for your sister is 1)0 (') rell( longs to see you." She then turned to Jones, and 11 {:; her apologies for having disappointed him of his breal st;...,c quisi

" I hope, madam," said Jones, "I shall have a more e j assu repast than any you could have provided for me. This" 1 .. fl~~' you, will be the case, if I can do any service to this Ii l; (; c: I ~ of love. But whatever success may attend my endeaV(Hll·~.JI'iwrll' resolved to attempt it. I am very much deceived in Mr. N igb ' ~)() if, notwithstanding what hath happened, he hath not 1n~t<~b. (~l f ness of heart at the bottom, as well as a very violent l-' flee tllli .1 your daughter. If this be the case, I think the picture '-:()n~tl. shall lay before him will affect him. Endeavour, madam" to. C:,.~ ttl ~ yourself, and Miss Nancy, as well as you can. I will go lItHe 11 in quest of Mr. Nightingale; and I hope to bring you good .I'.~ WB.

Mrs. Miller fell upon her knees and invoked all the blcsHlngs Heaven upon Mr. Jones; to which she afterwards added l,h.(~ n~() passionate expressions of gratitude. He then departed ~t;(:t It Mr. Nightingale, and the good woman returned to COIH;(pl 1 daughter, who was somewhat cheered at what her mother told he and both joined in resounding the pmises of Mr. Jones.

CHAPTER VII

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN MR. JONES AND MR. NIGH'l'I:NOAy",E

THE good or evil we confer on others very often.. I het!(l: recoils on ourselves. For as men of a benign <Uspc)!illu: enjoy theil' own acts of beneficence equally with thos<~ to wl,1(l they are done, so there are scarce any natures so entirely clin..i>O/WIl as to be capable of doing injuries, without paying them!'; 01 ves Ilolf pangs for the ruin which they bring on their fellow-crea t u rcS.

Mr. Nightingale, at least, was not such a person. ( ) u tl' contrary, Jones found him in his new lodgings, sitting nH~ln ndlO! by the fire, and silently lamenting the unhappy situation in ''I'ili(: he had placed poor Nancy. He no sooner saw his friend nppl'j than he arose hastily to meet him; and after much congl·n.t.uilLlio said, "Nothing could be more opportune tban this kind visi 1. ; fot' was never more in the spleen in my life."

" I am sorry," answered Jones, " that I bring news very It tIl Owl to relieve you: nay, what I am convinced must, of all otllt'r" ,HhO(~ you the most. However, it is necessary you sbonlcl knuw ii Without further preface, then, I come to you, Mr. Nigh till/.\n/( from a worthy family, which you have involved in misery 1.I.l1 d ruin. Mr, Nightingale changed colour at these words; but ..1 unc! without regarding it, proceeded, in the liveliest manner, to IlIlin

TOM JONES 543 the tragical story with which the reader was acquainted in the last chapter.

Nightingale never once interrupted the narration, though he discovered violent emotions at many parts of it. But when it was concluded, after fetching a deep sigh, he said, U What you tell me, my friend, affects me in the tenderest manner. Sure there never was so cursed an accident as the poor girl's betraying my letter. Her reputation might otherwise have been safe, and the affair might have remained a profound secret; and then the girl might have gone off never the worse; for many such things happen in this town: and if the husband should suspect a little, when it is too late, it will be his wiser conduct to conceal his suspicion both from his wife and the world."

it Indeed, my friend/, answered Jones, (( this could not have been the case with your poor Nancy. You have so entirely gained her affections, that it is the loss of you, and not of her reputation, which affiicts her, and will end in the destruction of her and her family." "Nay, for that matter, I promise you," cries Nightingale, "she hath my affections so absolutely, that my wife, whoever she is to be, will have very little share in them." "And is it possible then," said Jones, rt you can think of deserting her?!' " Why, what can I do? U answered the other. r, Ask Miss Nancy," replied Jones warmly. tt In the condition to which you have reduced her, I &incerely think she ought to determine what reparation you shall make her. Her interest alone, and not yours, ought to be your sole consideration. But if you ask me what you shall do, what can you do less," cries Jones, '( than fulfil the expecta.tions of her family, and her own? Nay, I sincerely tell you, they were mine too, ever since I first saw you together. You will pardon me if I presume on the fi-iendship you have favoured me with, moved as I am with compassion for those poor creatures. But your own heart will best suggest to you, whether you have never intended, by your conduct, to persuade the mother, as well as the daughter, into an opinion, that you designed honourably: and if so, though there may have been no direct promise of marriage in the case, I will lea ve to your own good understanding, how far you are bound to proceed."

"Nay, I must not only confess wha.t you have hinted," said Nightingale; H but I am afraid even that very promise you mention I have given." ff And can you, after owning that," said Jones, "hesitate a moment?" fr Consider, my friend," answered the other; rt I know you are a man of honour, and would advise no one to act contrary to its rules; if there were no other objection, can I, after this publication of her disgrace, think of such an alliance with honour?" "Undoubtedly," replied Jones, "and the very best and truest honour, which is goodness, requires it of you. As you mention a scruple of this kind, you will give me leave to

--r HENRY FIELDING 544 Iexamine it. Can you with honour be guilty of having under false

pretences deceived a young woman and her family, and of having by these means treacherously robbed her of her innocence? Can you, with honour, be the knowing, the wilful occasion, nay, the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being? Can you, with honour, destroy the fame, the peace, nay, probably, both the life and soul too, of this creature? Can honour bear the thought, that this creature is a tender, helpless, defenceless, young woman? A young woman, who loves, who doats on you, who dies for you; who hath placed the utmost confidence in your promises; and to that confidence hath sacrificed everything which is dear to her? Can honour support such contemplations as these a moment?"

"Common sense, indeed;' said Nightingale, ct warrants all you say; but yet you well know the opinion of the world is so contrary to it, that, was I to marry a whore, though my own, I should be ashamed of ever showing my face again."

U Fie upon it, Mr. Nightingale!" said Jones, It do not call her by so ungenerous a name: when you promised to marry her she became your wife; and she hath sinned more against prudence than virtue. And what is this world which you would be ashamed to face but the vile, the foolish, and the profligate? Forgive me if I say such a shame must proceed from false modesty, which always attends false honour as its shadow.-But I am well assured there is not a man of real sense and goodness in the world who would not honour and applaud the action. But, admit no other would, woulclnot your own heart, my friend, applaud it? And do not the warm, rapturous sensations, which we feel from the consciousness of an honest, noble, generous, benevolent action, convey more delight to the mind than the undeserved praise of millions? Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On the one side, see this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl, in the arms of her wretched mother, breathing her last. Hear her breaking heart in agonies, sighing out your name; and lamenting, rather than accusing, the cruelty which weighs her down to destruction. Paint to your imagination the circumstances of her fond despairing parent, driven to madness, or, perhaps, to death, by the loss of her lovely daughter. View the poor, helpless, orphan infant; and when your mind hath dwelt a moment only on such ideas, consider yourself as the cause of all the ruin of this poor, little, worthy, defenceless family. On the other side, consider yourself as relieving them from theu' temporary sufferings. Think with what joy, with what transports that lovely creature will fly to your arms. See her blood returning to her pale cheeks, her fire to her languid eyes, and raptures to her tortured breast. Consider the exultations of her mother, the happiness of all. Think of this little family made by one act of yours completely happy. Think of this alternative, and sure I am mistaken in my friend if it requires any long deliberation whether

TOM JONES 545 he will sink these Wl'etches down for ever, or, by one generous, noble resolution, raise them all fl'om the brink of misery and despah' to the highest pitch of human happiness. Add to this but one consideration more; the consideration that it is your duty so to do -That the misery from which you will relieve these poor people is the misery which you yourself have wilfully brought upon them."

(( 0, my dear niend!" cries Nightingale, (( I wanted not your eloquence to rouse me. I pity poor Nancy from my soul, and would willingly give anything in my power that no familiarities had evel' passed between us, Nay, believe me, I had many struggles with my passion before I could prevail with myself to wdte that cruel letter, which hath caused all the misery in that unhappy family. If I had no inclinations to consult but my own, I would marry her to-morrow morning: I would, by Heaven! but you will easily imagine how impossible it would be to prevail ou my father to consent to such a match; besides, he hath provided another for me; and to-mon'ow, by his express command, I am to wait on the lady."

(( I have not the honour to know your father," said Jones; '" but, suppose he could be persuaded, would you yourself consent to the only means of preserving these poor 'people?" (( As eagerly as I would pursue my happiness;' answered Night' : "for I never shall find it in any other woman.-O, my dear d 1 could you imagine what I have felt within these twelve hours for my poor girl, I am convinced she would not engross all your pity, Passion leads me only to her; and, if I had any foolish scruples of honour, you have fully satisfied them: could my father be induced to comply with my desires, nothing would be wanting to complete my own happiness or that of my Nancy,"

"Then I am resolved to undertake it," said Jones. "You must not be angry with me, in whatever light it may be necessary to set this affah', which, you may depend on it, could not otherwise be long hid from him: for things of this nature make a quick pro­ gress when once they get abroad, as this unhappily hath already. Besides, should any fatal accident follow, as upon my soul I am afraid will, unless immediately prevented, the public would ring of your name in a manner which, if your father hath common humanity, must offend him. If you will therefore tell me where I may find the old gentleman, I will not lose a. moment in the business; which, wbile I pursue, you cannot do a more generous action than by paying a visit to the poor girl. You will find I have not exaggerated in the account I have given of the wretchedness of the family."

Nightingale immediately consented to the proposal; and now, having acquainted Jones with his father's lodging, and the coffee­ house where he would most probably find him, he hesitated a moment, and then said, (( My deal' Tom, you are going to under­

HENRY FIELDING take an impossibility. If you knew my fath~r you would never think of obtaining his consent.--Stay, there IS one. way-supp~se you told him I was already married, it might be eaSIer to reconcIle him to the fact after it was done; and, upon my honour, I am so affected with what you have said, and I love my Nancy so passionately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be the consequence." . .

Jones greatly approved the hmt, and promlsed to pursue ~t. They then separated, Nightingale to visit his Nancy, and Jones III quest of the old gentletnan.

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT PASSED BETWEEN JONES AND OLD MR. NIGH'l'INGALE; WITH THE

ARRIVAL OF A PERsoN NOT YET MENTIONED IN THIS HISTORY

N OTWITHSTANDING the sentiment of the Roman satiI'ist, which denies the divinity of fortune, and the opinion of Seneca to the same purpose; Cicero, who was, I believe, a wiser man than either of them, expressly holds the contrary; and certain it is, there are some incidents in life so very strange and unaccount­ able, that it seems to require more than human skill and foresight in producing them.

Of this kind was what now happened to Jones, who found Mr. Nightingale the elder in so critical a minute, that Fortune, if she was really worthy all the worship she received at Rome, could not have contrived such another. In short, the old gentleman, and the father of the young lady whom he intended for his son, had been hard at it for many hours; and the latter was just now gone, and had left the former delighted with the thoughts that he had succeeded in a long contention, which had been between the two fathers of the future bl'ide and bridegroom; in which both endeavoure(l to overreach the other, and, as it not rarely happens in such cases, both had retreated fully satisfied of having obtained the victory.

This gentleman, whom Mr. Jones now visited, was what they call a man of the world; that is to sav, a man who directs his con­ duct in this world as one who, being fully persuaded there is no other, is resolved to make the most of this. In his early years he had been bred to trade; but, having acquired a very good fortune, he had lately (leclined his business; or, to speak more properly, had changed it from dealing in goods, to dealing only in money, of which he had always a plentiful fund at command, and of which he knew very well how to make a very plentiful advantage, some­ times of the necessities of private men, and sometimes of those of

TOM JONES 547 the public. He had indeed conversed so entirely with money, that it may be almost doubted whether he imagined there was any other thing really existing in the world; this at least may be certainly averred, that he firmly believed nothing else to have any real value.

The reader will, I fancy, allow that Fortune could not have culled out a more improper person for Mr. Jones to attack with any probability of success; nor could the whimsical lady have directed this attack at a more unseasonable time.

As money then was always uppermost in this gentleman'S thoughts, so the moment he saw a stranger within his doors it immediately occun'ed to his imagination, that such stranger was either come to hling him money, or to fetch it from him. And according as one or other of these thoughts prevailed, he conceived a favourable or unfavourable idea of the person who approached him.

Unluckily for Jones, the latter of these was the ascendant at present; for as a young gentleman had visited him the day before, with a bill from his son for a play debt, he apprehended, at the first sight of Jones, that he was come on such another errand. Jones therefore had no sooner told him that he was come on his son's account than the old gentleman, being confirmed in his suspicion, burst forth into an exclamation, "That he would lose his labour." H Is it then possible, sir," answered Jones, "that you can guess my business?" "If I do guess it," replied the other, r( I repeat again to you, you will lose your labour. What, I suppose you are one of those sparks who lead my son iuto all those scenes of riot and debauchery, which will be his destruction? but I shall pay no more of his bills, I promise you. I expect he will quit all such company for the future. If I had imagined otherwise, I should not have provided a wife for him; for I would be instru­ mental in the ruin of nobody." H How, sir," said Jones) "and was this lady of' your providing i' " rr Pray, sir," answered the old gentleman, (( how comes it to be any concern of yours?"-(( Nay, dear sir," replied Jones, (rbe not offended that I interest myself in what regards your son's happiness, for whom I have so great an honour and value. It was upon that very account I came to wait upon you. I can't express the satisfaction you have given me by what you say; for I do assure you yonr son is a person for whom I have the highest honour.-Nay, sir, it is not easy to express the esteem I have for you; who could be so generous, so good, so kind, so indulgent to provide such a match for your son; a woman, who, I dare swear, will make him one of the happiest men upon earth."

There is scarce anything which so happi1y introduces men to our good liking, as having conceived some ala rroat their first appearance; when once those apprehensions begin to vanish we soon forget the fears which they occasioned, and look on ourselves

HENRY FIELDING

as indebted for our present ease to those ve1'Y persons who at first raised our fears.

Thus it happened to Nightingale, who no sooner found that Jones had no demand on him, as he suspected, than he began to be pleased with his presence. C( Pray, good sir," said he, "be pleased to sit down. I do not remember to have ever had the pleasure of seeing you before; but if you are a friend of my son, and have any­ thing to say concerning this young lady, I shall be glad to hear you. As to her making him happy, it will be his own fault if sl;e doth not. I have discharged my duty, in taking care of the mam article. She will bring him a fortune capable of making any reasonable, pl'Udent, sober man, happy." H Undoubtedly," cries Jones, "for she is in herself a fortune; so beautiful, so genteel, so sweet-tempered, and so well-educated; she is indeed a most accomplished young lady; sings admirably well, and hath a most delicate hand at the harpsichord." "I clid not know any of these matters," answered the old gentleman, "for I never saw the lady: but I do not like her the worse for what you tell me; and I am the better pleased with her father for not laying any stress on these qualifications in our bargain. I shall always think it a proof of his understanding. A silly fellow would have brought in these articles as an addition to her fortune; but, to give him his due, he never mentioned any such matter; though to be sure tlley are 110 disparagements to a woman." « I do assme you, sir," cries Jones, "she hath them all in the most eminent degree: for my part, I own I was afraid you might have been a little backward, a little less inclined to the match; for your son told me you had never seen the lady; therefore I came, sir, in that case, to entreat you, to conjure you, as you value the happiness of your son, not to be a verse to his match with a woman who hath not only all the good qualities I have mentioned, but many more."_C( If that was your business, sir/, said the old gentleman, « we are both obliged to you; and you may be perfectly easy; for I give you my word I was very well satisfied with her fortune." C( Sir," answered Jones, (( I honour you every moment more and more. To be so easily satisfied, so very moderate on that account, is a proof of the soundness of your understanding, as well as the nobleness of your mind."--"Not so very moderate, young gentleman~ not so very moderate," answered tbe father.-" Still more and more noble," replied Jones; (( and give me leave to add, sensible: for sure it is little less than madness to consider money as the sole foundation of happiness. Such a woman as this with her little, her nothing of a fortune"-" I find/' cries the old gentle~ man, (( you have a pretty just opinion of money, my friend, or else you are better acquainted with the person of the lady than with her circumstances. Why, pray, what fortune do you imagine this lady to have?" t{ What fortune?" cries Jones, it why, too contempt­

TOM JONES 549 ible a. one to be named for your son."-uWell, well, well," said the other, "perhaps he might have done better."-"That I deny," said Jones, "for she is one of the best of women."-u Ay, ay, but in point of fortune, I mean," answered the other. "And yet, as to that now, how much do you imagine your friend is to have?"­ "How much?" cries Jones, "how much? Why, at the utmost, perhaps £200." " Do you mean to banter me, young gentleman? " said the father, a little angry. "No, upon my soul," answered Jones, " 1 am in earnest: nay, I believe 1 have gone to the utmost farthing. If I do the lady an injury, I ask her pardon." "Indeed you do," cries the father; "I am certain she hath fifty times that sum, and she shall produce fifty to that before I consent that she shall marry my son." "Nay," said Jones, t( it is too late to talk of consent now; if she had not fifty farthings your son is married." "My son married I" answered the old gentleman, with surprise. ,t( Nay," said Jones, « I thought you was unacquainted with it." (' My son married to Miss Banis! " answered he again. t( To Miss Harris! " said Jones; "no, sir; to Miss Nancy Miller, the daughter of Ml·S. Miller, at whose house he lodged; a young lady, who, though her mother is reduced to let lodgings-" « Are you bantering, or are you in earnest ?" cries the fathel', with a most solemn voice. " Indeed, sir/' answered Jones, U I scorn the char­ acter of a banterer. I came to you in most serious earnest, imagining, as 1 find true, that your son had never dared acquaint you with a match so much inferior to him in point of fortune, though the reputation of the lady will suffer it no longer to remain a secret:'

While the father stood like one struck suddenly dumb at this news, a gentleman came into the room, and saluted him by the name of brothel'.

But though these two were in consanguinity so nearly related, they were in their dispositions almost the opposites to each other. The brother who now anived had likewise been bred to b'ade, in wllich he no sooner saw himself worth £6000 than he purchased a small estate with the greatest pmt of it, and retired into the country; where he mal'l'ied the daughter of an unbeneficed clergy­ man; a young lady, who, though. she had neither beauty nor fortune, had recommended herself to his choice entirely by her good humour, of which she possessed a very la.rge share.

With this woman he had, during twenty-five years, lived a life more resembling the model which certain poets ascribe to the golden age, than any of those patterns which are furnished by the present times. By her he had four children, but none of them arrived at maturity, except only one daughter, whom, in vulgar language, he and his wife had spoiled; that is, had educated with the utmost tenderness and fondness, which she returued to such a degree, that she had actually refused a. very extraordinary match

HENRY FIELDING550 with a gentleman a little tUl'l1ed of forty, because she could not bling herself to part with her parents.

The young lady whom Mr. Nightingale had intended for his son was a near neigllbour of his brother, and an aquaintance of his niece; and in reality it was upon the account of his proj ected match that he was now come to town; not, indeed, to forward, but to dissuade his brothel' from a purpose which he conceived would inevitably ruin his nephew; for he foresaw no other event from 11 union with Miss Harris, notwithstanding the largeness of her fortune, as neither her person nor mind seemed to him to promise any kind of matrinlOnial felicity: for she was very tall, very thin, very ugly, very affected, very silly, and very ill-natured.

His brother, therefore, no sooner mentioned the marriage of his nephew with Miss Miller, than he expressed the utmost satisfac~ tion j and when the father had very bitterly reviled his son, anel pronounced sentence of beggary upon him, the uncle begall in the following manuel' :

« If you was a little cooler, brother, I would ask you whether you love your son for his sake or for your own. You would answer, I suppose, and so I suppose you think, for his sake; and doubtless it is his happiness which you intended in the marriage you pl'oposed for him.

(( Now, brother, to prescribe rules of happiness to others hath always appeared to me very absurd, and to insist on doing this, very tyrannical. It is a vulgar errol', I know; but it is, nevertheless, an en·or. And if this be absurd in other things, it is mostly so in the affair of marriage, the happiness of which depends entirely 011 the affection which subsists between the parties,

"I have therefore always thought it unreasonable in parents to desire to choose for their children on this occasion; since to force affection is an impossible attempt; nay, so much doth love abhor force, that I know not whether, through an unfortunate but un­ curable perverseness in our natures, it may not be even impatient of persuasion.

(. It is, however, true that, though a parent will not, I think, wisely presclibe, he ought to. be consulted on this occasion; and, in strictness, perhaps, should at least have a negative voice. My nephew, therefore, lawn, in marrying, without asking your aclvice, hath been guilty of a fault. But, honestly speaking, brothel', have you not a little promoted this fault? Have not your frequent declarations on this subject given him a moral certainty of Y0ul' refusal, where there was any deficiency in point of fortune? Nay, doth not your present anger arise solely from that deficiency? And if he hath failed in his duty here, did you not as much exceed that authority when you absolutely bargained with him for a woman, without his knowledge, whom you yourself never saw, and whom, if you had seen and known as well as I, it must have been

TOM JONES 55 I madness in you to have ever thought of bringing her into your family?

u Still I own my nephew in a fault; but surely it is not an unpardonable fault. He hath acted indeed without your consent, in a matter in which he ought to have asked it, but it is in a matter in which his interest is principally concemed; you yourself must and will acknowledge that you consulted his interest only, and if he unfortunately differed fl·om you, and hath been mistaken in his notion of happiness, will you, brothel', if you love yoUl' Bon, carry him still wider from the point? 'Vill you inCl'ease the ill conse­ quences of his simple choice? Will you endeavour to make all event certain misery to him, which may accidentally prove so? In a w01'd, brother, because he hath put it out of your power to make !lis circumstances as affluent as you would, will you distress them as much as you can ?,.

By the force of the true Catholic faith St. Anthony won upon the fishes. Orpheus and Amphion went a little farther, and by the charms of music enchanted things merely inanimate. Wonder­ ful, both! but neither history nor fable llave ever yet ventured to record an instance of anyone, who, by force of argument and reason, hath triumphed over habitual avarice.

Mr. Nightingale, the father, instead of attempting to answer his brother, contented himself with only observing, that tlley had always differed in their sentiments concerning the education of their children. (t I wish," said he, tt brother, you would have confined your care to your own daughter, and never have troubled yourself with my son, who hath, I believe, as little profited by your precepts, as by your example." For young Nightingale was his uncle's godson, and had lived more with him than with his father. So that the uncle had often declared he loved his nephew almost equally with his own child.

Jones fell into raptures with this good gentleman; and when, after much persuasion, they found the father grew still more and more irl'itated, instead of appeased, Jones conducted the uncle to his nephew at the house of Mrs. Miller,

CHAPTER IX

CONTAINING STRANGE MATTERS

A T his return to his lodgmgs, Jones found the situation of affah's greatly altered fmill what they had been in at his departure, The mother, the two daughters, and young Mr. Nightingale, were now sat down to supper together, when the uncle was, at his own desire, introduced without any ceremony into the company, to all

HENRY FIELDING SS2 of whom he was well known; for he had several times visited his nephew at that house.

The old gentleman immediately walked up to Miss Nancy, saluted and wished her joy, as he did afterwards the mother and the other sister; and lastly, he paid the proper compliments to his nephew, with the same good humour ahd courtesy, as if his nephew had married his equal or superior in fortune, with all the previous requisites first performed.

Miss Nancy and her supposed husband both turned pale, and looked rather foolish than otherwise upon the occasion; but Mrs. Miller took the first opportunity of withdrawing; anel, having sent for Jones into the dining-room, she threw herself at his feet, and in a most passionate flood of tears, called him her good angel, the preserver of her poor little family, with many other respectful and endearing appellations, and made him every acknowledgment which the highest benefit can extract from the most grateful heart.

After the first gust of her passion was a little over, which she declared, if she had not vented, would have burst her, she pro­ ceeded to inform Mr. Jones that all matters were settled between Mr. Nightingale and her daughter, and that they were to be married the next morning; at which Mr. Jones having expressed much pleasure, the poor woman fell again into a fit of joy and thanksgiving, which he at length with difficulty silenced, and prevailed on her to return with him back to the company, whom they found in the same good humour in which they had left them.

This little society now passed two or three very agreeable hours together, in which the uncle, who was a very great lover of lIis bottle, had so well plied his nephew, that this latter, though not drunk, began to be somewhat flustered; and now Mr. Nightingale, taking the old gentleman with him upstairs into the apartment he had lately occupied, unbosomed himself as follows :­

(( As you have been always the best and kindest of uncles to me, and as you have shown such unparalleled goodness in forgiving this match, which to be sure may be thought a little improvident, I should never forgive myself if I attempted to deceive you in anything." He then confessed the truth, and opened the whole affair.

"How, Jack?" said the old gentleman, "and are you really then not married to this young woman?" tt No, upon my honour," answered Nightingale, U I have told you the simple truth." C'My dear boy," cries the uncle, kissing him, U I am heartily ct}ad to hellr it. I never was better pleased in my life. Ifyou had b~ell married I should have assisted you as much as was in my power to have made the best of a bad matter i but there is a great difference between consider.ing . a thing which is already done and in'ecoverable, and that whlCh IS yet to do. Let your reason have fair play Jack and you will see this match in so foolish and preposterous a'light,' that

TOM JONES 553 there will be no need of any dissuasive arguments." tt How, sir? " replies young Nightingale, U is there this difference between having already done an act, and being in honour engaged to do it ? " " Pugh!" said the uncle, "honour is a creature of the world's making, and the world hath the power of a creator over it, and may govern and dil'ect it as they please. Now you well know how trivial these breaches of contract are thought; even the grossest make but the wonder and conversation of a day. Is there a man who afterwards will be more backward in giving you his sister, or daughter? 01' is there any sister 01' daughter who would be more backward to receive you? Honour is not concerned in these engagements." H Pardon me, dear sir;' cries Nightingale, "I can never think so; and not only honour, but conscience and humanity, are concerned. I am well satisfied, that, was I now to disappoint the young creature, her death would be the con~ sequence, and I should look upon myself as her murderer; nay, as her murderer by the cruellest of all methods, by breaking her heart." ct Break her heart, indeed! no, no, Jackt cries the uncle, it the hearts of women are not so soon broke; they are tough, boy, they are tough." "But, sir," answered Nightingale, tr my own affections are engaged, and I never could be happy with any other woman. How often have I heard you say, that children should be always suffered to choose for tllemselves, and that yon would let my cousin Harriet do so ? " n Why, ay," replied the old gentleman, U so I would have them; bnt then I would have them choose wisely. -Indeed, Jack, you must and shall leave the girl,"__t( Indeed, uncle," cries the other, it I must and will have her." {( You will, young gentleman;" said the nncle; (t I did not expect such a wOl'd ft'om you. I should not wonder if you had used such language to your father, who hath always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the distance which a tJI'll.llt preserves over his subjects; but I, who have lived with you upon an equal footing, might surely expect better usage: but I lmow how to account for it all: it is all owing to your prepostel'OUS education, in which I have had too little share. There is my daughter, now, whom I have brought up as my friend, never doth anything without my advice, 110r ever refuses to take it when I give it her." U You have never yet given her advice in an affair of' this kind," said Nightingale; t( for I am greatly mistaken in my cousin, if she would be very ready to obey even your most positive commands ill abandoning her inclinations." "Don't abuse my girl," answered the old gentleman with some emotion; "don't abuse my Harriet. I have brought her up to have no inclinations contrary to my own. By suffering her to do whntever she pleases, I have inured her to a habit of being pleased to do whatever I like." tc Pardon me, sir," said Nightingale, "I have not the least design to reflect on my cousin, foJ' whom I have the greatest esteem i and indeed I am

554 HENRY FIELDING convinced you will never put her to so severe a trial, or lay such hard commands on her as you would do on me.-But, dear sir, let us return to the company; for they will begin to be uneasy at our long absence. I must beg one favour of my dear uncle, which is that he would not say anything to shock the poor girl or her mother." u Oh! you need not fear me," answered he, U I under­ stand myself too well to affront women; so I will readily grant you that favour; and in return I must expect another of you." f< There are but few of your commands, sir," said Nightingale, "which I shall not very cheerfully obey." H Nay, sir, I ask nothing," said the uncle, "but the honour of your company home to my lodging, that I may reason the case a little more fully with you; for I would, if possible, have the satisfaction of preserving my family, notwith­ standing the headstrong folly of my brother, who, in his own opinion, is the wisest man in the world."

Nightingale, who well knew his uncle to be as headstrong as his father, submitted to attend him home, and then they both returned back into the room, where the old gentleman promised to carry himself with the same decorum which he had before maintained.

CHAPTER X

A SHORT CHAPTER, WHICH CONCLUDES THE BOOK

T HE long absence of the uncle and nephew had occasioned some disquiet in the minds of all whom they had left behind them; and the more, as, during the preceding dialogue, the uncle had more than once elevated his voice, so as to be heard downstairs; wllich, though they could not distinguish what he said, had caused some evil foreboding in Nancy and her mother, and, indeed, even in Jones himself.

When the good company, therefore, again assembled, there was a visible alteration in all their faces; and the good llilmour which, at their last meeting, universally shone forth in every countenance, was now changed into a much less agreeable aspect. It was a change, indeed, common enough to the weather in this climate, from sunshine to clouds, from June to .December.

This alteration was not, however, greatly remarked by any present; for as they were all now endeavouring to conceal their own thoughts, and to act a part, they became all too busily engaged in the scene to be spectators of it. Thus neither the uncle nor nephew saw any symptoms of suspicion in the mother or daughter; nor did the mother or daughter remark the overacted complacence of the old man, nOl' the counterfeit satisfaction which grinned in the featUl'es of the young one.

TOM JONES sss Something like this, I believe, frequently happens, where the

whole attention of two Mends being engaged in the part which each is to act, in order to impose on the other, neither sees nor suspects the al'ts practised against himself; and thus the thrust of both (to bon'ow no improper metaphor on the occasion) alike takes place.

From the same reason it is no unusual thing for both parties to be overl'eached in a bargain, though the one must be always the greater loser; as was he who sold a blind horse, and received a bad note in payment.

Our company in about half an hour broke np, and the uncle carried off his nephew; but not before the latter had assured Miss Nancy, in a whisper, that he would attend her early in the morning, and fulfil all his engagements.

Jones, who was the least concerned in this scene, saw the most. He did indeed suspect the velY fact; for, besides observing the great alteration in the behaviour of the uncle, the distance he assumed, and his overstrained civility to Miss Nancy; the carrying off a bridegroom from his bride at that time of night was so extraordinary a proceeding that it could be accounted for only by imagining that young Nightingale had revealed the whole truth, which the apparent openness of his temper, and his being flustered with liquor, made too probable,

While he was reasoning with himself, whether he should acquaint these poor people with his suspicion, the maid of the house informed him that a gentlewoman desired to speak with him. --He went immediately out, and, taking the candle fl'om the maid, ushered his visitant upstairs, who, in the person of Mrs. Honour, acquainted him with such dreadful news conceming his Sophia, that he immediately lost all consideration for every other person; and his whole stock of compassion was entirely swallowed up in reflections on his own misery, and on that of his unfortunate angel.

What this dreadful matter was, the reader will be informed, after we have first related the many preceding steps which pro­ duced it, and those will be the subject oCthe following book.