 Book 3, Chapter 11, 12, and 13, of Joseph Andrews. Chapter 11, containing the exhortations of Parson Adams to his friend in affliction, calculated for the instruction and improvement of the reader. Joseph no sooner came perfectly to himself, than, perceiving his mistress gone, he bewailed her loss with groans which would have pierced any heart, but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of a certain composition not unlike flint in its hardness and other properties, for you may strike fire from them, which will dart through the eyes, but they can never distill one drop of water the same way. His own poor youth was of a softer composition, and at those words, oh my dear Fanny, oh my love, shall I never, never see thee more. His eyes overflowed with tears, which would have become any but a hero. In a word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related. Mr. Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to Joseph, began thus in a sorrowful tone, you cannot imagine, my good child, that I entirely blame these first agonies of your grief. For when misfortunes attack us by surprise, it must require infinitely more learning than you are master of to resist them. But it is the business of a man and a Christian to summon reason as quickly as he can to his aid, and she will presently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted, therefore, my child. I say be comforted. It is true you have lost the prettiest, kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one with whom you might have expected to have lived in happiness, virtue and innocence, by whom you might have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have been the delight of your youth and the comfort of your age. You have not only lost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence, which lust and power can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas of horror, which might drive you to despair. Oh, I shall run mad, cries Joseph, oh, that I could but command my hands to tear my eyes out and my flesh off. If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad you can't, answered Adams. I have stated your misfortune as strongly as I possibly can. But on the other side, you are to consider, you are a Christian, that no accident happens to us without divine permission, and that it is the duty of a man and a Christian to submit. We did not make ourselves but the same power which made us, rules over us, and we are absolutely at his disposal. He may do with us what he pleases, nor have we any right to complain. A second reason against our complaint is our ignorance, for, as we know, not future events, so neither can we tell to what purpose any accident tends, and that which at first threatens us with evil, may in the end produce our good. I should indeed have said our ignorance is twofold, but I have not at present time to divide properly, for, as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimately directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung. You are a man, and consequently a sinner, and this may be a punishment to you for your sins. Indeed, in this sense, it may be esteemed as a good, yea, as the greatest good which satisfies the anger of heaven, and averts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction. Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves demonstrates the folly and absurdity of our complaints. For whom do we resist? Or against whom do we complain? But a power from those whose shafts no armor can guard us, no speed can fly, a power which leaves us no hope, but in submission. Oh, sir, cried Joseph, all this is very true and very fine, and I could hear you all day if I was not so grieved at heart, as now I am. Would you take physics, says Adams, when you are well and refuse it when you are sick? Is not comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not to those who rejoice or those who are at ease? Oh, you have not spoken one word of comfort to me yet, returned Joseph. No, cries Adams. What am I then doing? What can I say to comfort you? Oh, tell me, cries Adams, that Fanny will escape back to my arms, that they shall again enclose that lovely creature with all her sweetness, all her untainted innocence about her. Why, perhaps you may, cries Adams, but I can't promise you what's to come. You must, with perfect resignation, wait the event, if she be restored to you again. It is your duty to be thankful, and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you are wise and truly know your own interest, you will peaceably and quietly submit to all the dispensations of providence, being thoroughly assured that all the misfortunes how great so ever, which happened to the righteous, happened to them for their own good. Nay, it is not your interest only, but your duty to abstain from immoderate grief, which if you indulge, you are not worthy the name of a Christian. He spoke these last words with an accent a little severer than usual, upon which Joseph begged him not to be angry, saying, he mistook him if he thought he denied it was his duty, for he had known that long ago. What signifies knowing your duty if you do not perform it? answered Adams. Your knowledge increases your guilt. O Joseph, I never thought you had this stubbornness in your mind. Joseph replied, he fancied he and misunderstood him, which I assure you, says he, you do, if you imagine I endeavor to grieve, upon my soul I don't. Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then proceeded to enlarge on the folly of grief, telling him all the wise men and philosophers, even among the heathens, had written against it, quoting several passages from Seneca, and the consolation, which was not Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works, and concluded, all by hinting that immoderate grief, in this case, might in sense that power which alone could restore him his fanny. This reason, or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of his mistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, and for a moment abated his agonies, but when his fears sufficiently set before his eyes the danger that poor creature was in. His grief returned again with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least assuage it. Though it may be doubted in his behalf whether Socrates himself could have prevailed any better. They remained some time in silence, and groans and sighs issued from them both. At length Joseph burst out with the following soliloquy. Yes, I may bear my sorrows like a man, but I must also feel them as a man. I cannot but remember such things were, and were, most dear to me. Adams asked him what stuff that was, he repeated, to which he answered they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play. I, there is nothing but hedonism to be learned from plays, replied he. I never heard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the conscious lovers, and I must own in the latter there are some things almost solemn enough for a sermon. But we shall now leave them a little and inquire after the subject of their conversation. CHAPTER XII More adventures which we hope will as much please as surprise the reader. After the facetious dialogue which passed between the poet and the player, nor the grave and truly solemn discourse of Mr. Adams, will, we conceive, make the reader sufficient amends for the anxiety which he must have felt on the account of poor Fanny, whom we left in so deplorable a condition. We shall therefore now proceed to the relation of what happened to that beautiful and innocent virgin after she fell into the wicked hands of the captain. The man of war, having conveyed his charming prize out of the inn a little before day, made the utmost expedition in his power toward the squire's house, where this delicate creature was to be offered up a sacrifice to the lust of a ravisher. He was not only deaf to all her bewailings and entreaties on the road, but accosted her ears with impurities which, having been never before accustomed to them, she happily, for herself, very little understood. At last he changed his note and attempted to soothe and molify her by setting forth the splendor and luxury which would be her fortune with a man who would have the inclination, and power, too, to give her whatever her utmost wishes could desire, and told her he doubted not, but she would soon look kinder on him as the instrument of her happiness, and despise that pitiful fellow whom her ignorance only could make her fond of. She answered, she knew not whom he meant. She never was fond of any pitiful fellow. Are you affronted, madam? says he, at my calling him so. But what better can be said of one in a livery, not withstanding your fondness for him? She returned that she did not understand him, that the man had been her fellow servant, and she believed was as honest a creature as any alive. But as for fondness for men, I warrant ye, cries the captain, we shall find means to persuade you to be fond, and I advise you to yield to gentle ones, for you may be assured that it is not in your power, by any struggles whatever, to preserve your virginity two hours longer. It will be your interest to consent, for the squire will be much kinder to you, if he enjoys you willingly than by force. At which words she began to call aloud for assistance, for it was now open day, but finding none, she lifted her eyes to heaven, and supplicated the divine assistance to preserve her innocence. The captain told her if she persisted, in her vociferation he would find a means of stopping her mouth, and now the poor wretch perceiving no hopes of succor abandoned herself to despair, and sighing out the name of Joseph, Joseph, a river of tears ran down her lovely cheeks, and wet the hanker chief which covered her bosom. A horseman now appeared in the road, upon which the captain threatened her violently, if she complained. However, the moment they approached each other, she begged him, with the utmost earnestness, to relieve a distressed creature who was in the hands of a ravisher. The fellow stopped at those words, but the captain assured him it was his wife, and that he was carrying her home from her adulterer, which so satisfied the fellow who was an old one, and perhaps a married one too, that he wished him a good journey, and rode on. He was no sooner past than the captain abused her violently for breaking his commands, and threatened to gag her when two more horsemen, armed with pistols, came into the road just before them. She again solicited their assistance, and the captain told the same story as before, upon which one said to the other, That's a charming wench, Jack. I wish I had been in the fellow's place, whoever he is, but the other, instead of answering him, cried out, Zounds, I know her! And then, turning to her, said, Sure, you are not, fanny goodwill? Indeed, indeed I am! She cried, Oh, John, I know you now! Heaven hath sent you to my assistance, to deliver me from this wicked man, who is carrying me away for his vile purposes, oh, for God's sake rescue me from him! A fierce dialogue immediately ensued between the captain and these two men, who, being both armed with pistols and the chariot which they attended, being now arrived, the captain saw both force and stratagem were vain, and endeavored to make his escape, in which, however, he could not succeed. The gentlemen who rode in the chariot ordered it to stop, and with an air of authority, examined into the merits of the cause, of which, being advertised by fanny, whose credit was confirmed by the fellow who knew her, he ordered the captain, who was all bloody from his encounter at the inn, to be conveyed as a prisoner behind the chariot, and very gallantly took fanny into it, for, to say the truth, the gentleman, who was no other than the celebrated Mr. Peter Pounce, and who preceded the lady booby only a few miles by setting out earlier in the morning, was a very gallant person, and loved a pretty girl better than anything besides his own money, or the money of other people. The chariot now proceeded towards the inn, which as fanny was informed lay in their way, and where it arrived at that very time, while the poet and player were disputing below stairs, and Adams and Joseph were discoursing back to back above. Just at that period, to which we brought them both, in the two preceding chapters, the chariot stopped at the door, and in an instant, fanny, leaping from it, ran up to her Joseph. Oh, reader, conceive if thou canst the joy which fired the breasts of these lovers on this meeting, and if thy own heart doth not sympathetically assist thee in this conception, I pity thee sincerely from my own, for let the hard-hearted villain know this, that there is a pleasure in a tender sensation beyond any which he is capable of tasting. Peter, being informed by fanny of the presence of Adams, stopped to see him, and receive his homage, for as Peter was an hypocrite, a sort of people whom Mr. Adams never saw through, the one paid that respect to his seeming goodness, which the other believed to be paid to his riches, hence Mr. Adams was so much his favorite that he once lent him four pounds, thirteen shillings, and sixpence, to prevent his going to jail on no greater security than a bond and judgment, which probably he would have made no use of, though the money had not been, as it was, paid exactly at the time. It is perhaps easy to describe the figure of Adams. He had risen in such a hurry that he had on neither britches, garters, nor stockings, nor had he taken from his head a red-spotted handkerchief, which by night bound his wig, turned inside out around his head. He had on his torn cassock and his greatcoat, but as the remainder of his cassock hung down below his greatcoat, so did a small strip of white, or rather whitish, linen appear below that, to which we may add the several colors which appeared on his face, where a long, piss-burnt beard served to retain the liquor of the stone pot and that of a blacker hue which distilled from the mop. This figure, which Fanny had delivered from his captivity, was no sooner spied by Peter than it disordered the composed gravity of his muscles. However, he advised him immediately to make himself clean, nor would accept his homage in that pickle. The poet and player no sooner saw the captain in captivity than they began to consider of their own safety, of which flight presented itself as the only means. They, therefore, both of them, mounted the poet's horse and made the most expeditious retreat in their power. The host, who well knew Mr. Pounce and Lady Booby's livery, was not a little surprised at this change of the scene, nor was his confusion much helped by his wife, who was now just risen, and having heard from him the account of what had passed, comforted him with a decent number of fools and blockheads, asked him why he did not consult her, and told him he would never leave following the nonsensical dictates of his own numbskull till she and her family were ruined. Joseph, being informed of the captain's arrival, and seeing his fanny now in safety, quitted her a moment, and running downstairs went directly to him, and stripping off his coat challenged him to fight. But the captain refused, saying he did not understand boxing. He then grasped a cudgel in one hand, and catching the captain by the collar with the other, gave him a most severe drubbing, and ended with telling him he had now had some revenge for what his dear fanny had suffered. When Mr. Pounce had a little regaled himself with some provision which he had in his chariot, and Mr. Adams had put on the best appearance his clothes would allow him, Pounce ordered the captain into his presence, for he said he was guilty of felony, and the next justice of peace should commit him. But the servants, whose appetite for revenge is soon satisfied, being sufficiently contented with the drubbing which Joseph had inflicted on him, and which was indeed of no very moderate kind, had suffered him to go off, which he did, threatening a severe revenge against Joseph which I have never heard he thought proper to take. The mistress of the house made her voluntary presence before Mr. Pounce, and with a thousand curtsies told him she hoped his honor would pardon her husband, who was a very nonsense man for the sake of his poor family, that indeed if he could be ruined alone she should be very willing of it, for because as why his worship very well knew he deserved it, but she had three poor small children who were not capable to get their own living, and if her husband was sent to jail they must all come to the parish, for she was a poor, weak woman, continually a-breeding, and had no time to work for them. She therefore hoped his honor would take it into his worship's consideration, and forgive her husband this time, for she was sure he never intended any harm to man, woman, or child, and if it was not for that blockhead of his own the man in some things was well enough, for she had had three children by him in less than three years, and was almost ready to cry out the fourth time. She would have proceeded in this manner much longer, had not Peter stopped her tongue, by telling her he had nothing to say to her husband, nor her neither. So as Adams and the rest had assured her of forgiveness she cried and turtsied out of the room. Mr. Pounce was desirous that Fanny should continue her journey with him in the chariot, but she absolutely refused, saying she would ride behind Joseph on a horse which one of Lady Booby's servants had equipped him with. But alas when the horse appeared it was found to be no other than that identical beast which Mr. Adams had left behind him at the end, and which these honest fellows who knew him had redeemed. Whatever horse they had provided for Joseph they would have prevailed with him to mount none, no not even to ride before his beloved Fanny, till the parson was supplied. Much less would he deprive his friend of the beast which belonged to him, and which he knew the moment he saw, though Adams did not. However, when he was reminded of the affair and told that they had brought the horse with them, which he left behind, he answered, bless me, and so I did. Adams was very desirous that Joseph and Fanny should mount this horse, and declared he could very easily walk home. If I walked alone, says he, I would wage a shilling that the pedestrian outstripped the equestrian travelers, but as I intend to take the company of a pipe, per adventure, I may be an hour later. One of the servants whispered Joseph to take him at his word, and suffer the old put-to-walk if he would. This proposal was answered with an angry look and a preemptory refusal by Joseph, who, catching Fanny up in his arms, avirred he would rather carry her home in that manner than take away Mr. Adams' horse and permit him to walk on foot. Perhaps, reader, thou hast seen a contest between two gentlemen, or two ladies, quickly decided, though they have both asserted, they would not eat such a nice morsel, and each insisted on the others accepting it, but in reality both were very desirous to swallow it themselves. Do not therefore conclude, hence, that this dispute would have come to a speedy decision. For here both parties were heartily in earnest, and it is very probable they would have remained in the innyard to this day, had not the good Peter Pounce put a stop to it. For finding he had no longer hopes of satisfying his old appetite with Fanny, and being desirous of having someone to whom he might communicate his grandeur, he told the person he would convey him home in his chariot. This favor was by Adams with many bows and acknowledgments accepted, though he afterwards said, he ascended the chariot rather that he might not offend than from any desire of writing in it, for that in his heart he preferred the pedestrian even to the vehicular expedition. His matters being now settled, the chariot in which rode Adams and Pounce moved forwards, and Joseph having borrowed a pillion from the host, Fanny had just seated herself thereon, and had laid hold of the girdle which her lover wore for that purpose, when the wise beast, who concluded that one at a time was sufficient, that two to one were odds, etc., discovered much uneasiness at his double load, and began to consider his hindre as his forelegs, moving the direct contrary way to that which is called forwards. Nor could Joseph, with all his horsemanship, persuade him to advance, but without having any regard to the lovely part of the lovely girl which was on his back, he used such agitations that had not one of the men come immediately to her assistance she had, in plain English, tumbled backwards on the ground. This inconvenience was presently remedied by an exchange of horses, and then Fanny being again placed on her pillion, on a better natured and somewhat a better fed beast, the parson's horse, finding he had no longer odds to contend with, agreed to march, and the whole procession set forwards for Booby Hall, where they arrived in a few hours without anything remarkable happening on the road, unless it was a curious dialogue between the parson and the steward, which, to use the language of the late apologist, a pattern to all biographers, waits for the reader in the next chapter. CHAPTER XIII A curious dialogue which passed between Mr. Abraham Adams and Mr. Peter Pounce, better worth reading than all the works of Kali cyber and many others. The chariot had not proceeded far, before Mr. Adams observed it was a very fine day. I, and a very fine country too, answered Pounce, I should think so more, returned Adams, if I had not lately traveled over the downs, which I take to exceed this and all other prospects in the universe. A fig for prospects, answered Pounce, one acre here is worth ten there, and for my own part I have no delight in the prospect of any land but my own. Sir, said Adams, you can indulge yourself with many fine prospects of that kind. I thank God I have a little, replied the other, with which I am content, and envy no man. I have a little, Mr. Adams, with which I do as much good as I can. Adams answered, that riches without charity were nothing worth, for that they were a blessing only to him who made them a blessing to others. You and I, said Peter, have different notions of charity. I own as it is generally used. I do not like the word, nor do I like it becomes one of us gentlemen. It is a mean, parson-like quality, though I would not infer many parson's have it neither. Sir, said Adams, my definition of charity is a generous disposition to relieve the distressed. There is something in that definition, answered Peter, which I like well enough. It is, as you say, a disposition, and does not so much consist in the act as in the disposition to do it. But alas, Mr. Adams, who are meant by the distressed? Believe me, the distresses of mankind are mostly imaginary, and it would be rather folly than goodness to relieve them. Sure, sir, replied Adams, hunger and thirst, cold and nakedness, and other distresses which attend the poor, can never be said to be imaginary evils. How can any man complain of hunger? said Peter, in a country where such excellent salads are to be gathered in almost every field, or of thirst, where every river and stream produces such delicious potations. And, as for cold and nakedness, they are evils introduced by luxury and custom. A man naturally wants clothes, no more than a horse or any other animal, and there are whole nations who go without them. But these are things perhaps which you, who do not, know the world. You will pardon me, sir, return, Adams. I have read of the gymnosephists. A plague on your gehosephats, cried Peter. The greatest fault in our constitution is the provision made for the poor, except that, perhaps, made for some others. Sir, I have not an estate which doth not contribute almost as much again to the poor as to the land tax, and I do assure you I expect to come myself to the parish in the end. To which Adams gave a dissenting smile. Peter thus proceeded, I fancy, Mr. Adams, you are one of those who imagine I am a lump of money. For there are many who, I fancy, believe that not only my pockets, but my whole clothes, are lined with bank bills. I assure you, you are all mistaken. I am not the man the world esteems me. If I can hold my head above water, it is all I can. I have injured myself by purchasing. I have been too liberal of my money. Indeed, I fear my heir will find my affairs in a worse situation than they are reputed to be. Ah, he will have reason to wish. I had loved money more and land less. Pray, my good neighbor, where should I have that quantity of riches the world is so liberal to bestow on me? Where could I possibly, without I had stole it, acquire such a treasure? Why, truly, says Adams, I have been always of your opinion. I have wondered as well as yourself with what confidence they could report such things of you, which have to me appeared as mere impossibilities. For you know, sir, and I have often heard you say it, that your wealth is of your own acquisition. And can it be credible that in your short time you should have amassed such a heap of treasure as these people will have you worth? Indeed, had you inherited an estate like Sir Thomas Booby, which had descended in your family for many generations, they might have had a color for their assertions. Why, what do they say I am worth? cries Peter with a malicious sneer. Sir, answered Adams, I have heard some of your, that you are not worth less than 20,000 pounds, at which Peter frowned. Nay, sir, said Adams, you asked me only the opinion of others, for my part, I have always denied it, nor did I ever believe you could possibly be worth half that sum. However, Mr. Adams, said he, squeezing him by the hand, I would not sell them all I am worth for double that sum. And as to what you believe, or they believe, I care not a fig. No, not a fart. I am not poor, because you think me so, nor because you attempt to undervalue me in the country. I know the envy of mankind very well, but I thank heaven, I am above them. It is true, my wealth is of my own acquisition. I have not an estate like Sir Thomas Booby that has descended in my family through many generations, but I know heirs of such estates who are forced to travel about the country like some people in torn cassocks and who might be glad to accept of a pitiful curacy for what I know. Yes, sir, as shabby fellows as yourself, whom no man of my figure, without that vice of good nature about him, would suffer to ride in a chariot with him. Sir, said Adams, I value not your chariot of a rush, and if I had known you had intended to affront me, I would have walked to the world's end on foot, ere I would have accepted a place in it. However, sir, I will soon rid you of that inconvenience, and so saying, he opened the chariot door without calling to the coachman and leapt out into the highway, forgetting to take his hat along with him, which, however, Mr. Pounce threw after him with great violence. Joseph and Fanny stopped to bear him company the rest of the way, which was not above a mile. End of book three, chapters 11, 12 and 13, and end of book three, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Four chapters one through four of Joseph Andrews. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding. Book four, chapter one, the arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at Booby Hall. The coach and six in which Lady Booby rode overtook the other travelers as they entered the parish. She no sooner saw Joseph than her cheeks glowed with red and immediately after became as totally pale. She had in her surprise almost stopped her coach, but recollected herself timely enough to prevent it. She entered the parish amidst the ringing of bells and the acclamations of the poor who were rejoiced to see their patroness returned after so long an absence during which time all her rents had been drafted to London without a shilling being spent among them, which tended not a little to their utter impoverishing. For if the court would be severely missed in such a city as London, how much more must the absence of a person of great fortune be held in a little country village for whose inhabitants such a family finds a constant employment and supply? And with the o'falls of whose table the infirm, aged and infant poor are abundantly fed with a generosity which hath scarce a visible effect on their benefactors' pockets. But if their interest inspired so public a joy into every countenance, how much more forcibly did the affection which they bore parson-adams operate upon all who beheld his return? They flocked about him like dutiful children round an indulgent parent and vied with each other in demonstrations of duty and love. The parson, on his side, shook every one by hand, inquired heartily after the healths of all that were absent of their children and relations, and expressed a satisfaction in his face which nothing but benevolence made happy by its objects could infuse. Nor did Joseph and Fanny want a hearty welcome from all who saw them. In short, no three persons could be more kindly received, as indeed none ever more deserved to be universally beloved. Adams carried his fellow travelers home to his house where he insisted on their partaking whatever his wife, who with his children he found in health and joy, could provide. Where we shall leave them and join perfect happiness over a homely meal, to view scenes of greater splendor but infinitely less bliss. Our more intelligent readers will doubtless suspect by this second appearance of Lady Booby on the stage that all was not ended by the dismission of Joseph. And to be honest with them, they are in the right. The arrow had pierced deeper than she imagined, nor was the wound so easily to be cured. The removal of the object soon cooled her rage, but it had a different effect on her love. That departed with his person, but this remained lurking in her mind with his image. Restless, interrupted slumbers and confused horrible dreams were her portion the first night. In the morning, fancy painted her a more delicious scene but to delude not delight her. For before she could reach the promised happiness, it vanished and left her to curse, not bless the vision. She started from her sleep, her imagination being all on fire with the phantom. When her eyes accidentally glancing towards the spot where yesterday the real Joseph had stood, that little circumstance raised his idea in the liveliest colors in her memory. Each look, each word, each gesture rushed back on her mind with charms which all his coldness could not abate. Nay, she imputed that to his youth, his folly, his awe, his religion, to everything but what would instantly have produced contempt, want of passion for the sex or that which would have roused her hatred, want of not liking to her. Reflection then returned her farther and told her she must see this beautiful youth no more. Nay suggested to her that she herself had dismissed him for no other fault than probably that of too violent and awe and respect for herself and which she ought rather to have esteemed a merit, the effects of which were besides so easily and surely to have been removed. She then blamed, she cursed the hasty rashness of her temper. Her fury was vented all on herself and Joseph appeared innocent in her eyes. Her passion at length grew so violent that it forced her on seeking relief and now she thought of recalling him but pride forbade that. Pride which soon drove all softer passions from her soul and represented to her the meanness of him. She was fond of that thought, soon began to obscure his beauties, contempt succeeded next and then disdain which presently introduced her hatred of the creature who had given her so much uneasiness. These enemies of Joseph had no sooner taken possession of her mind than they insinuated to her a thousand things in his disfavor, everything but dislike of her person. A thought which as it would have been intolerable to bear, she checked the moment it endeavored to arise. Revenge came now to her assistance and she considered her dismission of him stripped and without a character with the utmost pleasure. She rioted in the several kinds of misery which her imagination suggested to her might be his fate and with a smile composed of anger, mirth and scorn viewed him in the rags in which her fancy had dressed him. Mrs. Slipslopp, being summoned, attended her mistress who had now in her own opinion totally subdued this passion. Whilst she was dressing, she asked if that fellow had been turned away according to her orders. Slipslopp answered she had told her ladyship so, as indeed she had. And how did he behave? replied the lady. Truly, madam, cries Slipslopp, in such a manner that infected everybody who saw him. The poor lad had but little wages to receive for he constantly allowed his father and mother half his income so that when your ladyship's livery was stripped off, he had not to wear with all to buy a coat and must have gone naked if one of the footmen had not accommodated him with one. And whilst he was standing in his shirt, and to say truth, he was an amorous figure, being told your ladyship would not give him a character, he sighed and said he had done nothing willingly to offend that for his part he should always give your ladyship a good character wherever he went, and he prayed God to bless you. For you was the best of ladys, though his enemies had sent you against him. I wish you had not turned him away, for I believe you have not a faithful servant in the house. How came you then, replied the lady, to advise me to turn him away? I, madam, said Slipslop, I am sure you will do me the justice to say I did all in my power to prevent it, but I saw your ladyship was angry, and it is not the business of us upper servants to interfere on these occasions. And was it not you, audacious wretch, cried the lady, who made me angry? Was it not your tittle-tattle, in which I believe you belied the poor fellow, which incensed me against him? He may thank you for all that hath happened, and so may I for the loss of a good servant, and one who probably had more merit than all of you. Poor fellow, I am charmed with his goodness to his parents. Why did not you tell me of that, but suffer me to dismiss so good a creature, without a character? I see the reason of your whole behavior now, as well as your complaint. You was jealous of the wenches. I, jealous, said Slipslop, I assure you, I look upon myself as his beckers. I am not meat for a footman, I hope. These words threw the lady into a violent passion, and she sent Slipslop from her presence, who departed, tossing her nose, and crying, Mary, come up. There are some people more jealous than I, I believe. Her lady effected not to hear the words, though in reality she did, and understood them too. Now ensued a second conflict, so like the former, that it might savor of repetition to relate it minutely. It may suffice to say that Lady Booby found good reason to doubt whether she had so absolutely conquered her passion, as she had flattered herself, and, in order to accomplish it quite, took a resolution, more common than wise, to retire immediately into the country. The reader hath long ago seen the arrival of Mrs. Slipslop, whom no pertness could make her mistress resolve to part with. Lately that of Mr. Pounce, her forerunners, and lastly that of the lady herself. The morning after her arrival, being Sunday, she went to church, to the great surprise of everybody, who wondered to see her ladyship being no very constant church woman, there so suddenly upon her journey. Joseph was likewise there, and I have heard it was remarked, that she fixed her eyes on him much more than on the parson, but this I believe to be only a malicious rumor. When the prayers were ended, Mr. Adams stood up, and with a loud voice pronounced, I publish the bands of marriage between Joseph Andrews and Francis Goodwill, both of this parish, et cetera. Whether this had any effect on Lady Booby or no, who was then in her pew, which the congregation could not see into, I could never discover. But certain it is that in about a quarter of an hour, she stood up and directed her eyes to that part of the church where the women sat, and persisted in looking that way during the remainder of the sermon, in so scrutinizing a manner and with so angry accountants that most of the women were afraid she was offended at them. The moment she returned home, she sent for Slipslop into her chamber and told her she wondered what that impudent fellow, Joseph did in that parish, upon which Slipslop gave her an account of her meeting Adams with him on the road, and likewise the adventure with Fanny. At the relation of which the lady often changed her countenance, and when she had heard all, she ordered Mr. Adams into her presence, to whom she behaved as the reader will see in the next chapter. Chapter two, a dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and the Lady Booby. Mr. Adams was not far off, for he was drinking her ladyship's health below in a cup of her ale. He no sooner came before her than she began in the following manner. I wonder, sir, after the many great obligations you have had to this family, with all which the reader had in the course of this history been minutely acquainted, that you will ungratefully show any respect to a fellow who hath been turned out of it for his misdeeds. Nor doth it, I can tell you, sir, become a man of your character, to run about the country with an idle fellow and wench. Indeed, as for the girl, I know no harm of her. Slipslop tells me she was formerly bred up in my house and behaved as she ought, till she hankered after this fellow, and he spoiled her. Nay, she may still perhaps do very well if he will let her alone. You are therefore doing a monstrous thing in endeavoring to procure a match between these two people, which will be to the ruin of them both. Madam, says Adams, if your ladyship will but hear me speak, I protest, I never heard any harm of Mr. Joseph Andrews, if I had. I should have corrected him for it, for I never have, nor will encourage the faults of those under my care. As for the young woman, I assure your ladyship I have as good an opinion of her as your ladyship yourself, or any other can have. She is the sweetest, tempered, honestest, worthiest young creature. Indeed, as to her beauty, I do not commend her on that account, though all men allow, she is the handsomest woman, gentle or simple, that ever appeared in the parish. You are very impertinent, says she, to talk such fulsome stuff to me. It is mighty becoming truly in a clergyman to trouble himself about handsome women, and you are a delicate judge of beauty, no doubt. A man who had lived all his life in such a parish as this is a rare judge of beauty. Ridiculous. Beauty indeed. A country wench, a beauty. I shall be sick whenever I hear beauty mentioned again. And so this wench is to stock the parish with beauties, I hope. But sir, our poor is numerous enough already. I will have no more vagabonds settled here. Madam, says Adams, your ladyship is offended with me, I protest, without any reason. This couple were desirous to consummate long ago, and I dissuaded them from it. Nay, I may venture to say, I believe I was the sole cause of their delaying it. Well, says she, and you did very wisely, and honestly too, notwithstanding she is the greatest beauty in the parish. And now, madam, continuity, I only perform my office to Mr. Joseph. Pray, don't Mr. such fellows to me, cries the lady. He, said the parson, with the consent of Fanny before my face, put in the bands. Yes, answered the lady. I suppose the slut is forward enough. Slipslap tells me how her head runs upon fellows. This is one of her beauties, I suppose. But if they have put in the bands, I desire you will publish them no more without my orders. Madam, cries Adams, if anyone puts in a sufficient caution and assigns a proper reason against them, I am willing to surcease. I tell you a reason, says she. He is a vagabond, and he shall not settle here, and bring a nest of beggars into the parish. It will make us but little amends that they will be beauties. Madam, answered Adams, with the utmost submission to your ladyship, I have been informed by lawyer Scott that any person who serves a year gains a settlement in the parish where he serves. Lawyer Scout, replied the lady, is an impudent coxcomb. I will have no lawyer Scout interfere with me. I repeat to you again, I will have no more encumbrances brought on this, so I desire you will proceed no farther. Madam, returned Adams, I would obey your ladyship in everything that is lawful, but surely the parties being poor is no reason against their marrying. God forbid there should be any such law. The poor have little share enough of this world already. It would be barbarous indeed to deny them the common privileges and innocent enjoyments, which nature indulges to the animal creation. Since you understand yourself no better, cries the lady, nor the respect due from such as you to a woman of my distinction, than to affront my ears by such loose discourse, I shall mention but one short word. It is my orders to you that you publish these bans no more. And if you dare, I will recommend it to your master, the doctor, to discard you from his service. I will, sir, notwithstanding your poor family, and then you and the greatest beauty in the parish may go and beg together. Madam, answered Adams, I know not what your ladyship means by the terms master and service. I am in the service of a master who will never discard me for doing my duty. And if the doctor, for indeed, I have never been able to pay for a license, thinks proper to turn me from my cure, God will provide me, I hope, another. At least my family, as well as myself, have hands, and we will prosper. I doubt not our endeavours to get our bread honestly with them. Whilst my conscience is pure, I shall never fear what man can do unto me. I condemn my humility, said the lady, for demeaning myself to converse with you so long. I shall take other measures, for I see you are a confederate with them. But the sooner you leave me the better, and I shall give orders that my doors may no longer be open to you. I will suffer no parson's who run about the country with beauties to be entertained here. Madam, said Adams, I shall enter into no person's doors against their will. But I am assured, when you have inquired farther into this matter, you will applaud, not blame my proceeding, and so I humbly take my leave, which he did with many bows, or at least many attempts at a-bow. Chapter three, what passed between the lady and lawyer Scott? In the afternoon, the lady sent for Mr. Scout, whom she attacked most violently, for intermeddling with her servants, which he denied, and indeed with truth, for he had only asserted accidentally, and perhaps rightly, that a year's service gained his settlement. And so far he owned, he might have formally informed the parson and believed it was law. I am resolved, said the lady, to have no discarded servants of mine settled here. And so, if this be your law, I shall send to another lawyer. Scout said, if she sent to a hundred lawyers, not one or all of them could alter the law. The utmost that was in the power of a lawyer was to prevent the laws taking effect, and that he could do for her ladyship, as well as any other. And I believe, says he, Madam, your ladyship, not being conversant in these matters, hath mistaken a difference, for I asserted only that a man who served a year was settled. Now, there is a material difference between being settled in law and settled in fact. And as I affirmed, generally he was settled, and law is preferable to fact, my settlement must be understood in law and not in fact. And suppose, Madam, we admit he was settled in law, what use will they make of it? How doth that relate to fact? He is not settled in fact, and if he be not settled in fact, he is not an inhabitant. And if he is not an inhabitant, he is not of this parish. And then undoubtedly he ought not to be published here, for Mr. Adams hath told me your ladyship's pleasure, and the reason, which is a very good one, to prevent burdening us with the poor. We have too many already, and I think we ought to have an act to hang or transport half of them. If we can prove in evidence that he is not settled in fact, it is another matter. What I said to Mr. Adams was on a supposition that he was settled in fact, and indeed if that was the case, I should doubt. Don't tell me your facts and your ifs, said the lady. I don't understand your gibberish. You take too much upon you, and are very impertinent in pretending to direct in this parish, and you shall be taught better. I assure you, you shall. But as to the wench, I am resolved she shall not settle here. I will not suffer such beauties as these to produce children for us to keep. Beauties indeed, your ladyship, is pleased to be merry, answered Scout. Mr. Adams described her so to me, said the lady. Cray, what sort of doubty is it, Mr. Scout? The ugliest creature almost I ever beheld, a poor dirty drab. Your ladyship never saw such a wretch. Well, but dear Mr. Scout, let her be what she will. These ugly women will bring children, you know, so that we must prevent the marriage. True, madam, replied Scout, for the subsequent marriage cooperating with the law will carry law into fact. When a man is married, he is settled in fact, and then he is not removable. I will see Mr. Adams, and I will make no doubt of prevailing with him. His only objection is doubtless that he shall lose his fee, but that being once made easy, as it shall be, I am confident no farther objection will remain. No, no it is impossible, but your ladyship can't discomment his unwillingness to depart from his fee. Every man ought to have a proper value for his fee. As to the matter in question, if your ladyship pleases to employ me in it, I will venture to promise you success. The laws of this land are not so vulgar to permit a mean fellow to contend with one of your ladyship's fortune. We have one sure card, which is to carry him before Justice Frolic, who upon hearing your ladyship's name, will commit him without any farther questions. As for the dirty slut, we shall have nothing to do with her for if we get rid of the fellow, the ugly jade will take what measures you please, good Mr. Scout, answered the lady, but I wish you could rid the parish of both. For Slip Slop tells me such stories of this wench that I abhor the thoughts of her. And though you say she is such an ugly slut, yet you know, dear Mr. Scout, these forward creatures who run after men will always find some as forward as themselves, so that to prevent the increase of beggars, we must get rid of her. Your ladyship is very much in the right, answered Scout, but I'm afraid the law is a little deficient in giving us any such power of prevention. However, the justice will stretch it as far as he is able to oblige your ladyship. To say truth, it is a great blessing to the country that he is in the commission, for he had taken several poor off our hands that the law would never lay hold of. I know some justices who think as much of committee demand to bridewell as his lordship at size would have hanging him, but it would do a man good to see his worship. Our justice commit a fellow to bridewell. He takes so much pleasure in it, and when once we haven't there, we seldom hear any more of him. He's either starved or eat up by vermin in a month's time. Here the arrival of a visitor put an end to the conversation, and Mr. Scout, having undertaken the cause and promised it success, departed. This Scout was one of those fellows who, without any knowledge of the law or being bred to it, take upon them in defiance of an act of parliament to act as lawyers in the country and are called so. They are the pests of society and a scandal to a profession to which indeed they do not belong, and which owes to such kind of rescallions, the ill will which weak persons bear towards it. With this fellow, to whom a little before, she would not have condescended to have spoken. Did a certain passion for Joseph and the jealousy and the disdain of poor innocent Fanny betray the Lady Booby into a familiar discourse in which she inadvertently confirmed many hints with which Slipslopp, whose gallant he was, had pre-acquainted him, and once he had taken an opportunity to assert those several falsehoods of little Fanny, which possibly the reader might not have been well able to account for, if we had not thought proper to give him this information. Chapter four, a short chapter but very full of matter, particularly the arrival of Mr. Booby and his lady. All that night and the next day the Lady Booby passed with the utmost anxiety. Her mind was distracted and her soul tossed up and down by many turbulent and opposite passions. She loved, hated, pitied, scorned, admired, despised the same person by Fitz, which changed in a very short interval. On Tuesday morning, which happened to be a holiday, she went to church where, to her surprise, Mr. Adams published the bands again with as audible a voice as before. It was lucky for her that, as there was no sermon, she had an immediate opportunity of returning home to vent her rage, which she could not have concealed from the congregation five minutes. Indeed, it was not then very numerous, the assembly consisting of no more than Adams, his clerk, his wife, the lady and one of her servants. At her return, she met Slipslop, who accosted her in these words. Oh, meme, what doth your ladyship think? To be sure, lawyer, scout, hath Kerry, Joseph, and Fanny both before the justice. All the parish are in tears and say they will certainly be hanged, for nobody knows what it is for. I suppose they deserve it, says the lady. What dost thou mention such wretches to me? Oh, dear madam, answered Slipslop, is it not a pity such a graceless young man should die a virulent death? Oh, I hope the justice will take commensuration on his youth, as for Fanny, I don't think it signifies much what becomes of her, and if Port Joseph hath done anything, I could venture to swear she traduced him to it. Few men ever come to a fragrant punishment, but by those nasty creatures who are a scandal to our sect. The lady was no more pleased at this news, after a moment's reflection, then Slipslop herself. For though she wished Fanny far enough, she did not desire the removal of Joseph, especially with her. She was puzzled how to act or what to say on this occasion, when a coach and six drove into the court, and a servant acquainted her with the arrival of her nephew, Booby, and his lady. She ordered them to be conducted into a drawing-room, with her she presently repaired, having composed her countenance as well as she could, and being a little satisfied that the wedding would, by these means, be at least interrupted, and that she should have an opportunity to execute any resolution she might take, for which she saw herself provided with an excellent instrument in scout. The lady, Booby, apprehended her servant, had made a mistake. When he mentioned Mr. Booby's lady, for she had never heard of his marriage, but now, great was her surprise, when, at her entering the room, her nephew presented his wife to her, saying, Madam, this is that charming Pamela, of whom I am convinced you have heard so much. The lady received her with more civility than he expected, indeed, with the utmost, for she was perfectly polite, nor had any vice inconsistent with good breeding. They passed some little time in ordinary discourse when a servant came and whispered Mr. Booby, who presently told the ladies he must desert them a little on some business of consequence, and as their discourse, during his absence, would afford little improvement or entertainment to the reader, we will leave them for a while to attend Mr. Booby. End of book four, chapters one through four, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Book four, chapters five and six of Joseph Andrews. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding. Book four, chapter five, containing justice business, curious precedents of depositions, and other matters necessary to be perused by all justices of the peace and their clerks. The young squire and his lady were no sooner alighted from their coach, then the servants began to inquire after Mr. Joseph, from whom they said their lady had not heard a word to her great surprise, since he had left Lady Boobies. Upon this they were instantly informed of what had lately happened, with which they hastily acquainted their master, who took an immediate resolution to go himself and endeavor to restore his Pamela, her brother, before she even knew she had lost him. The justice before whom the criminals were carried and who lived within a short mile of the lady's house was, luckily, Mr. Boobies' acquaintance by his having an estate in his neighborhood. Ordering, therefore, his horses to his coach, he set out for the judgment seat and arrived when the justice had almost finished his business. He was conducted into a hall where he was acquainted that his worship would wait on him in a moment, for he had only a man and a woman to commit to Bridewell first. As he was now convinced he had not a minute to lose, he insisted on the servants introducing him directly into the room, where the justice was then executing his office, as he called it. Being brought thither and the first compliments being passed between the squire and his worship, the former asked the latter what crime those two young people have been guilty of. Though great crime, answered the justice, I have only ordered them to Bridewell for a month. But what is their crime, repeated the squire. Larsenny, and a pleas, your honor, said Scout. I, says the justice, a kind of felonious, larsenous thing. I believe I must order them a little correction, too. A little stripping and whipping. Poor Fanny, who had hitherto supported all with the thoughts of Joseph's company, trembled at that sound. But indeed, without reason, for none but the devil himself could have executed such a sentence on her. Still, said the squire, I am ignorant of the crime. The fact, I mean. Why, there it is in pieper, answered the justice, showing him a deposition which, in the absence of his clerk, he had writ himself, of which we have with great difficulty, procured an authentic copy, and here it follows, verbatim et literatim. The deposition of James Scout, Lair, and Thomas Trotter, Yeoman, taken before me, one of his magnesties just asses of the peace, for Zomerset Shire. These deponents, Seth, and first Thomas Trotter for himself, Seth, that on the blank of this instant October, being Sabbath day, between the hours of two and four in the afternoon, he zeed Joseph Andrews and Francis Goodwill, walk across a certain feld, belonging to Lair Scout, and out of the path which leads through the said feld, and there he zeed Joseph Andrews with a niff, cut one hassle twig of the value, as he believes of three havens, or thereabouts. And he Seth, that the said Francis Goodwill, was likewise walking on the grass, out of the said path in the said feld, and did receive and carry in her hand the said twig, and so was come farting, eating, and abating to the said Joseph therein. And the said James Scout for himself, says that he verily believes the said twig to be his own proper twig, et cetera, et cetera. Chesu, said the squire, would you commit two persons to bridewell for a twig? Yes, said the lawyer, and with great lenity too, for if we had called it a young tree, they would have been both hanged. Harky says the justice, taking aside the squire. I should not have been so severe on this occasion, but Lady Booby desires to get them out of the parish, so lawyer Scott will give the constable orders to let them run away, if they please. But it seems they intend to marry together, and the lady hath no other means, as they are legally settled there, to prevent their bringing an encumbrance on her own parish. Well, said the squire, I will take care my aunt shall be satisfied in this point, and likewise, I promise you, Joseph here shall never be any encumbrance on her. I shall be obliged to you, therefore, if, instead of bridewell, you will commit them to my custody. Oh, to be sure, sir, if you desire it, answered the justice, and without more ado, Joseph and Fanny were delivered over to Squire Booby, whom Joseph very well knew, but little guessed how nearly he was related to him. The justice burnt his matimus, the constable was sent about his business, the lawyer made no complaint for want of justice, and the prisoners, with exulting hearts, gave a thousand thanks to his honour, Mr. Booby, who did not intend their obligations to him, should cease here, for ordering his man to produce a cloak-bag, which he had caused to be brought from Lady Booby's on purpose, he desired the justice that he might have Joseph with him into a room, where, ordering his servant to take out a suit of his own clothes, with linen and other necessaries, he left Joseph to dress himself, who, not yet knowing the cause of all this civility, excused his accepting such a favour as long as decently he could. Whilst Joseph was dressing, the Squire repaired to the justice, whom he found talking with Fanny, for during the examination, she had flopped her hat over her eyes, which were also bathed in tears, and had, by that means, concealed from his worship what might perhaps have rendered the arrival of Mr. Booby unnecessary, at least for herself. The justice no sooner saw her countenance cleared up, and her bright eyes shining through her tears, than he secretly cursed himself for having once thought of bride-well for her, he would willingly have sent his own wife, dither, to have had Fanny in her place. And, conceiving almost at the same time instant desires and schemes to accomplish them, he employed the minutes whilst the Squire was absent with Joseph, in assuring her how sorry he was for having treated her so roughly before he knew her merit, and told her that since Lady Booby was unwilling that she should settle in her parish, she was heartily welcome to his, where he promised her his protection, adding that he would take Joseph and her into his own family if she liked it, which assurance he confirmed with a squeeze by the hand. She thanked him very kindly. She would acquaint Joseph with the offer, which he would certainly be glad to accept, for that Lady Booby was angry with them both, though she did not know either had done anything to offend her, but imputed it to Madame Slipslop, who had always been her enemy. The Squire now returned and prevented any farther continuance of this conversation, and the justice out of a pretended respect to his guest, but in reality from an apprehension of a rival, for he knew nothing of his marriage, ordered Fanny into the kitchen, whether she gladly retired, nor did the Squire, who declined the trouble of explaining the whole matter, oppose it. It would be necessary, if I was able, which indeed I am not, to relate the conversation between these two gentlemen, which rolled, as I have been informed, entirely on the subject of horse racing. Joseph was soon dressed, in the plainest dress he could find, which was a blue coat and breeches, with a gold edgy and a red waistcoat, with the same name, and as this suit, which was rather too large for the Squire, exactly fitted him, so he became it so well and looked so genteel that no person would have doubted its being as well adapted to his quality as his shape, nor have suspected, as one might, when my Lord Blank Blank, or Sir Blank Blank, or Mr. Blank Blank, appear in lace or embroidery, that the tailor's man wore those clothes, home on his back, which he should have carried under his arm. The Squire now took leave of the justice and calling for Fanny, made her and Joseph against their wills, to get into the coach with him, which he then ordered to drive to Lady Boobies. It had moved a few yards only, when the Squire asked Joseph if he knew who that man was crossing the field, for, added he, I never saw one, take such strides before. Joseph answered eagerly, oh, sir, it is Parson Adams. Oh, la, indeed, so it is, said Fanny. Poor man, he is coming to do what he could for us. Well, he is the worthiest, best-natured creature. I, said Joseph, God bless him, for there is not such another in the universe. The best creature living sure, cries Fanny. Is he, says the Squire, then I am resolved to have the best creature living in my coach, and so saying he ordered it to stop, whilst Joseph, at his request, hallowed to the person who, well-knowing his voice, made all the haste imaginable, and soon came up with them. He was desired by the master who could scarce refrain from laughter at his figure to mount into the coach, which he, with many thanks, refused, saying he could walk by its side, and he'd warrant he'd kept up with it, but he was at length over-prevaled on. The Squire now acquainted Joseph with his marriage, but he might have spared himself that labor, for his servant, whilst Joseph was dressing, had performed that office before. He continued to express the vast happiness he enjoyed in his sister, and the value he had for all who belonged to her. Joseph made many bows and expressed as many acknowledgements, and Parson Adams, who now first perceived Joseph's new apparel, burst into tears with joy, and fell to rubbing his hands and snapping his fingers, as if he had been mad. They were now arrived at the Lady Boobies, and the Squire, desiring them to wait a moment in the court, walked in to his aunt, and calling her out from his wife, he acquainted her with Joseph's arrival, saying, Madam, as I have married a virtuous and worthy woman, I am resolved to own her relations and show them all a proper respect. I shall think myself, therefore, infinitely obliged to all mine, who will do the same. It is true, her brother hath been your servant, but he is now become my brother, and I have one happiness, that neither his character, his behavior, or appearance, give me any reason to be ashamed of calling him so. In short, he is now below dressed like a gentleman, in which light I intend he shall hereafter be seen, and you will oblige me beyond expression if you will admit him to be of our party, for I know it will give great pleasure to my wife, though she will not mention it. This was a stroke of fortune beyond the Lady Boobies' hopes or expectation. She answered him eagerly, Nephew, you know how easily I am prevailed on to do anything which Joseph Andrews desires, who, I mean, which you desire me, and, as he is now your relation, I cannot refuse to entertain him as such. The squire told her he knew his obligation to her for her compliance, and going three steps, returned and told her he had one more favor, which he believed she would easily grant as she had accorded him the former. There is a young woman, a nephew, says she, don't let my good name make you desire as it is too commonly the case to impose on me, nor think, because I have with so much condescension agreed to suffer your brother-in-law to come to my table, that I will submit to the company of all my own servants and all the dirty trollops in the country. Madam, answered the squire, I believe you never saw this young creature. I never beheld such sweetness and innocence joined with such beauty and with all so genteel. Upon my soul I won't admit her, replied the lady in a passion. The whole world shan't prevail on me. I resent even the desire as an affront, and, the squire who knew her inflexibility, interrupted her by asking pardon and promising not to mention it more. He then returned to Joseph and she to Pamela. He took Joseph aside and told him he would carry him to his sister, but could not prevail as yet for Fanny. Joseph begged that he might see his sister alone and then be with his Fanny, but the squire, knowing the pleasure his wife would have in her brother's company, would not admit it telling Joseph there would be nothing in so short an absence from Fanny, whilst he was assured of her safety, adding he hoped he could not so easily quit a sister, whom he had not seen so long and who so tenderly loved him. Joseph immediately complied, for indeed no brother could love a sister more, and recommending Fanny, who rejoiced that she was not to go before Lady Booby, to the care of Mr. Adams, he attended the squire upstairs, whilst Fanny repaired with the parson to his house, where she thought herself secure of a kind reception. Chapter 6, of which you are desired to read no more than you like. The meeting between Joseph and Pamela was not without tears of joy on both sides, and their embraces were full of tenderness and affection. They were, however, regarded with much more pleasure by the nephew then, by the aunt, to whose flame they were fuel only, and this was increased by the addition of dress, which was indeed not wanted to set off the lively colors in which nature had drawn health, strength, comeliness, and youth. In the afternoon, Joseph, at their request, entertained them with an account of his adventures, nor could Lady Booby conceal her dissatisfaction at those parts in which Fanny was concerned, especially when Mr. Booby launched forth into such rapturous praises of her beauty. She said, applying to her niece, that she wondered her nephew, who had pretended to marry for love, should think such a subject proper to amuse his wife with, adding that for her part she should be jealous of a husband who spoke so warmly in praise of another woman. Pamela answered, indeed, she thought she had cause, but it was an instance of Mr. Booby's happiness to see more beauty in women than they were mistresses of, at which words, both the women fixed their eyes on two looking glasses, and Lady Booby replied that men were, in general, very ill judges of beauty, and then, whilst both contemplated only their own faces, they paid a cross compliment to each other's charms. When the hour of rest approached, which the lady of the house deferred, as long as decently she could, she informed Joseph, whom, for the future, we shall call Mr. Joseph, he having as good a title to that appellation as many others, I mean that incontested one of good clothes, that she had ordered a bed to be provided for him. He declined this favor to his utmost, for his heart had long been with his fanny, but she insisted on his accepting it, alleging that the parish had no proper accommodation for such a person as he was now to esteem himself. The squire and his lady both joining with her, Mr. Joseph was at last forced to give over his design of visiting fanny that evening, who, on her side, as impatiently expected him, till midnight, when, in compliance to Mr. Adam's family, who had sat up two hours out of respect to her, she retired to bed, but not to sleep. The thoughts of her love kept her waking, and his not returning, according to his promise, filled her with uneasiness, of which, moreover, she could not assign any other cause than merely that of being absent from him. Mr. Joseph rose early in the morning and visited her in whom his soul delighted. She no sooner heard his voice in the parson's parlor than she leapt from her bed and dressing herself in a few minutes went down to him. They passed two hours with inexpressible happiness together, and then, having appointed Monday by Mr. Adam's permission for their marriage, Mr. Joseph returned, according to his promise, to breakfast at the Lady Boobies, with whose behavior, since the evening, we shall now acquaint the reader. She was no sooner retired to her chamber, than she asked Slipslap what she thought of this wonderful creature her nephew had married. Madam, said Slipslap, not yet sufficiently understanding what answer she was to make, I ask you, answered the Lady, what do you think of the dowdy? My niece, I think I am to call her. Slipslap, wanting no further hint, began to pull her to pieces and so miserably defaced her that it would have been impossible for anyone to have known the person. The Lady gave her all the assistance she could and ended with saying, I think, Slipslap, you have done her justice, but yet, bad as she is, she is an angel compared to this fanny. Slipslap then fell on fanny, whom she hacked and hewed in the like-barbarous manner, concluding with an observation that there was always something in these low-life creatures which must eternally extinguish them from their betters. Really, said the Lady, I think there is one exception to your rule. I am certain you may guess who I mean. Not I, upon my word, Madam, said Slipslap. I mean a young fellow. Sure, you are the dullest wretch, said the Lady. Oh, la, I am indeed. Yes, truly, Madam, he is an accession. Answered Slipslap. I, is he not, Slipslap, returned her Lady, is he not so gentile that a prince might, without a blush, acknowledge him for his son? His behavior is such that would not shame the best education. He borrows from his station a condescension in everything to his superiors, yet unattended by that mean servility which is called good behavior in such persons. Everything he doth hath no mark of the base motive of fear, but visibly shows some respect and gratitude, and carries with it the persuasion of love. And then, for his virtues, such piety to his parents, such tender affection to his sister, such integrity in his friendship, such bravery, such goodness that if he had been born a gentleman, his wife would have possessed the most invaluable blessing. To be sure, ma'am, says Slipslap, but as he is, answered the Lady, if he had a thousand more good qualities, it must render a woman of fashion contemptible even to be suspected of thinking of him. Yes, I should despise myself for such a thought. To be sure, ma'am, said Slipslap. And why, to be sure, replied the Lady, thou art always one's echo. Is he not more worthy of affection than a dirty country clown, though born of a family as old as the flood, or an idle, worthless rake, or little, quizny, bow of quality? And yet these we must condemn ourselves to in order to avoid the censure of the world. To shun the contempt of others, we must ally ourselves to those we despise. We must prefer birth, title, and fortune to real merit. It is a tyranny of custom, a tyranny we must comply with, for we, people of fashion, are the slaves of custom. Mary, come up, said Slipslap, who now knew well which party to take. If I was a woman of your ladyship's fortune and quality, I would be a slave to nobody. Me, said the Lady, I am speaking if a young woman of fashion who had seen nothing of the world should happen to like such a fellow. Me, indeed, I hope thou dost not imagine, oh, no, ma'am, to be sure, cried Slipslap. No, what no, cried the Lady, thou art always ready to answer before thou hast heard one. So far I must allow he is a charming fellow, oh, me, indeed. No, Slipslap, all thoughts of men are over with me. I have lost a husband, but if I should reflect, I should run mad. My future ease must depend upon forgetfulness. Slipslap, let me hear some of thy nonsense. To turn my thoughts another way, what dost thou think of Mr. Andrews? Why, I think, says Slipslap, he is the handsomest, most properest man I ever saw, and if I was a lady of the greatest degree, it would be well for some folks. Your ladyship may talk of custom, if you please, but I am confident there is no more comparison between young Mr. Andrews and most of the young gentlemen who come to your ladyship's house in London, a parcel of whippersnapper sparks. I would sooner marry our old Parson Adams. Never tell me what people say whilst I am happy in the arms of him I love. Some folks rail against other folks because other folks have what some folks would be glad of. And so, answered the lady, if you was a woman of condition, you would really marry Mr. Andrews? Yes, I assure your ladyship, replied Slipslap, if he would have me. Fool, idiot, cries the lady. If he would have a woman of fashion, is that a question? No, truly, madam, said Slipslap. I believe it would be none if Fanny was out of the way, and I am confident if I was in your ladyship's place, and light Mr. Joseph Andrews, she should not stay in the parish a moment. I am sure lawyer Scout would send her packing if your ladyship would but say the word. This last speech of Slipslap raised a tempest in the mind of her mistress. She feared Scout had betrayed her, or rather that she had betrayed herself. After some silence and a double change of her complexion, first to pale and then to red, she thus spoke, I am astonished at the liberty you give your tongue. Would you insinuate that I employed Scout against this wench on account of the fellow? La, madam, said Slipslap, frided out of her wits. I assassinate such a thing. I think you dare not, answered the lady. I believe my conduct may defy Malice itself to assert so cursed a slander. If I had ever discovered any wantonness, any lightness in my behavior, if I had followed the example of some, whom thou hast, I believe, seen, in allowing myself indecent liberties, even with a husband, but the dear man who is gone. Here she began to sob, was he alive again? Then she produced tears. Could not abrade me with any one act of tenderness or passion. No, Slipslap, all the time I cohabited with him, he never obtained even a kiss from me without my expressing reluctance in thee granting it. I am sure he himself never suspected how much I loved him. Since his death thou knowest, though it is almost six weeks, once but a day ago, I have not admitted one visitor till this fool, my nephew, arrived. I have confined myself quite to one party of friends, and can such a conduct as this fear to be arraigned? To be accused not only of a passion, which I have always despised, but of fixing it on such an object, a creature so much beneath my notice. Upon my word, ma'am, says Slipslap, I do not understand your ladyship, nor know I anything of the matter. I believe indeed thou dost not understand me. Those are delicacies which exist only in superior minds. Thy coarse ideas cannot comprehend them. Thou art a low creature of the Andrews breed, a reptile of a lower order, a weed, that grows in the common garden of the creation. I assure your ladyship, says Slipslap, whose passions were almost as high in order as her ladys. I have no more to do with common garden than other folks. Really, your ladyship talks of servants as if they were not born of the Christian specious. Servants have flesh and blood as well as quality, and Mr. Andrews himself is a proof that they have as good, if not better, and for my own part, I can't perceive my dears. Footnote, perhaps meaning ideas. Are coarser than other peoples? And I am sure if Mr. Andrews was a deer of mine, I should not be ashamed of him in company with gentlemen, for whoever hath seen him in his new clothes must confess he looks as much like a gentleman as anybody. Course, quotha, I can't bear to hear the poor young fellow run down neither, for I will say this, I never heard him say an ill word of anybody in his life. I am sure his coarseness doth not lie in his heart, for he is the best-natured man in the world, and as for his skin he does no coarser than other peoples, I am sure. His bosom, when a boy was as white as driven snow, and where it is now covered with hairs, is so still. Ifacons, if I was Mrs. Andrews with a hundred a year, I should not envy the best she who wears a head. A woman that could not be happy with such a man ought never to be so, for if he can't make a woman happy, I never yet beheld the man who could. I say again, I wish I was a great lady for his sake. I believe when I had made a gentleman of him he'd behave so that nobody should deprecate what I had done, and I fancy few would venture to tell him he was no gentleman to his face, nor to mine neither, at which words, taking up the candles, she asked her mistress, who had been some time in her bed, if she had any farther commands, who mildly answered, she had none, and telling her she was a comical figure, bid her good night, end of book four, chapters five and six, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for Librebox.