 CHAPTER XI. The Disasters which befell Jones on his departure for Coventry, with the sage remarks of Partridge. No road can be planer than that from the place where they now were, to Coventry, and though neither Jones nor Partridge nor the guide had ever travelled it before, it would have been almost impossible to have missed their way had it not been for the two reasons mentioned in the conclusion of the last chapter. These two circumstances, however, happening both unfortunately to intervene, are travellers deviated into a much less frequented track, and after riding full six miles, instead of arriving at the stately spires of Coventry, they found themselves still in a very dirty lane, where they saw no symptoms of approaching the suburbs of a large city. Jones now declared that they must certainly have lost their way, but this the guide insisted upon was impossible, a word which, in common conversation, is often used to signify not only improbable, but often what is really very likely, and sometimes what has certainly happened. And hyperbolical violence, like that which is so frequently offered to the words of infinite and eternal, by the former of which it is usual to express a distance of half a yard, and by the latter a duration of five minutes, and thus it is as usual to assert the impossibility of losing what is already actually lost. This was, in fact, the case at present, for notwithstanding all the confident assertions of the lad to the contrary, it is certain there were no more in the right road to Coventry than the fraudulent, griping, cruel, canting miser is in the right road to heaven. It is not perhaps easy for a reader, who hath never been in those circumstances to imagine the horror with which darkness, rain, and wind fill persons who have lost their way in the night, and who consequently have not the pleasant prospect of warm fires, dry clothes, and other refreshments to support their minds in struggling with the inclinancies of the weather. A very imperfect idea of this horror will, however, serves efficiently to account for the conceits which now filled the head of partridge, and which we shall presently be obliged to open. Jones grew more and more positive that they were out of their road, and the boy himself at last acknowledged he believed that they were not in the right road to Coventry, though he affirmed at the same time it was impossible they should have missed the way. But partridge was of a different opinion. He said, when they first set out he imagined some mischief or other would happen. Did you not observe, sir, said he to Jones, that old woman who stood at the door just as you was taking horse? I wish you had given her a small matter with all my heart, for she said then you might repent it. And at that very instant it began to rain, and the wind had continued rising ever since. Whatever some people may think, I am very certain it is in the power of witches to raise the wind whenever they please. I have seen it happen very often in my time, and if ever I saw a witch in all my life, that old woman was certainly one. I thought so to myself at that very time, and if I had had any half-pence in my pocket I would have given her some, for to be sure it is always good to be charitable to those sort of people, for fear what may happen, and many a person had lost his cattle by saving a half-penny. Jones, though he was horribly vexed at the delay which this mistake was like to occasion in his journey, could not help smiling at the superstition of his friend, whom an accident now greatly confirmed in his opinion. This was a tumble from his horse, by which, however, he received no other injury than what the dirt conferred on his clothes. Partridge had no sooner recovered his legs than he appealed to his fall as conclusive evidence of all he had asserted. But Jones, finding he was unhurt, answered with a smile, �This witch of yours, Partridge, is a most ungrateful jade, and doth not, I find, distinguish her friends from others in her resentment. If the old lady had been angry with me for neglecting her, I don't see why she should tumble you from your horse, after all the respect you have expressed for her. It is ill-gesting, cries Partridge, with people who have power to do these things, for they are often very malicious. I remember a farrier who provoked one of them, by asking her when the time she had bargained with the devil for would be out, and within three months from that very day one of his best cows was drowned. Nor was she satisfied with that. For a little time afterwards he lost a barrel of best drink. For the old witch pulled out the spigot and let it run all over the cellar, the very first evening he had tapped it to make merry with some of his neighbors. In short, nothing ever thrived with him afterwards, for she worried the poor man so that he took the drinking, and in a year or two his stock was seized and he and his family are now come to the parish. The guide, and perhaps his horse, too, were both so attentive to this discourse, that either through want of care, or by the malice of the witch, they were now both sprawling in the dirt. Partridge entirely imputed this fall, as he had done his own, to the same cause. He told Mr. Jones, it would certainly be his turn next, and earnestly entreated him to return back, and find out the old woman and pacify her. We shall very soon, added he, reach the inn, for though we have seemed to go forward, I am very certain we are in the identical place in which we were an hour ago, and I dareswear if it was daylight we might now see the inn we set out from. Instead of returning any answer to this sage advice, Jones was entirely attentive to what had happened to the boy, who received no other hurt than what had before befallen Partridge, and which his clothes very easily bore, as they had been for many years and yearned to the like. He soon regained his sidesaddle, and by the hardy curses and blows which he bestowed on his horse, quickly satisfied Mr. Jones that no harm was done. CHAPTER XII. Relates that Mr. Jones continued his journey, contrary to the advice of Partridge, with what happened on that occasion. They now discovered a light at some distance, to the great pleasure of Jones, and to the no small terror of Partridge, who firmly believed himself to be bewitched, and that this light was a jack with a lantern, or somewhat more mischievous. But how were these fears increased, when, as they approached nearer to this light, or lights as they now appeared, they heard a confused sound of human voices, of singing, laughing, and hollowing, together with a strange noise that seemed to proceed from some instruments, but could hardly be allowed the name of music? Indeed, to favour a little the opinion of Partridge, it might very well be called Music Bewitched. It is impossible to conceive a much greater degree of horror than what now sees on Partridge, the contagion of which had reached the post-boy, who had been very attentive to many things that the other had uttered. He now therefore joined in petitioning Jones to return, saying he firmly believed what Partridge had just before said, that though the horses seemed to go on, they had not moved a step forwards during at least the last half hour. Jones could not help smiling in the midst of his vexation, at the fears of these poor fellows. Either we advance, says he, towards the lights, or the lights of advance towards us, for we are now at a very little distance from them. But how can either of you be afraid of a set of people who appear only to be merry-making? Merry-making, sir? cries Partridge. Who could be merry-making at this time of night, and in such a place, and such weather? They can be nothing but ghosts or witches, or some evil spirits or other, that's certain. Let them be what they will, cries Jones. I am resolved to go up to them and inquire the way to Coventry. All witches, Partridge, are not such ill-natured hags as that we had the misfortune to meet with last. Oh, Lord, sir, cries Partridge, there is no knowing what humour they will be in. To be sure it is always best to be civil to them. But what if we should meet with something worse than witches? With evil spirits themselves. Pray, sir, be advised, pray, sir, do. If you had read so many terrible accounts as I have of these matters, you would not be so foolhardy. The Lord knows whether we have got already, or whether we are going. For sure such darkness was never seen upon earth, and I question whether it can be darker in the other world. Jones put forwards as fast as he could, notwithstanding all these hints and cautions, and poor Partridge was obliged to follow, where though he hardly dared to advance, he dared still less to stay behind by himself. At length they arrived at the place whence the lights and different noises had issued. This Jones perceived to be no other than a barn where a great number of men and women were assembled, and diverting themselves with much apparent jollity. Jones no sooner appeared before the great doors of the barn, which were open, than a masculine and very rough voice from within demanded, who was there? To which Jones gently answered, a friend, and immediately asked the road to Coventry. If you were a friend, cries another of the men in the barn, you had better alight till the storm is over, for indeed it was now more violent than ever. You were very welcome to put up your horse, for there is sufficient room for him at the end of the barn. You were very obliging, returned Jones, and I will accept your offer for a few minutes, whilst the rain continues, and here are two more who will be glad of the same favour. This was accorded with more good will than was accepted, for partridge would rather have submitted to the utmost inclemency of the weather than have trusted to the clemency of those whom he took for hobgoblins, and the poor post-boy was now infected with the same apprehensions, but they were both obliged to follow the example of Jones, the one because he durst not leave his horse, and the other because he feared nothing so much as being left by himself. Had this history been writ in the days of superstition, I should have had too much compassion for the reader to have left him so long in suspense, whether Beelzebub or Satan was about actually to appear in person, with all his hellish retinue. But as these doctrines are at present very unfortunate, and have but few, if any, believers, I have not been much aware of conveying any such terrors. To say truth, the whole furniture of the infernal regions hath long been appropriated by the managers of playhouses, who seem lately to have laid them by as rubbish, until only of affecting the upper gallery, a place in which few of our readers ever sit. However, though we do not suspect raising any great terror on this occasion, we have reason to fear some other apprehensions may here arise in our reader, into which we would not willingly betray him. I mean, that we are going to take a voyage into fairy land, and introduce a set of beings into our history which scarce anyone was ever childish enough to believe, though many have been foolish enough to spend their time in writing and reading their adventures. To prevent, therefore, any such suspicion so prejudicial to the credit of an historian, who professes to draw his materials from nature only, we shall now proceed to acquaint the reader who those people were, whose sudden appearance had struck such terrors into partridge, and had more than half frightened the post-boy, and had a little surprise even Mr. Jones himself. The people then assembled in this barn were no other than a company of Egyptians, or, as they are vulgarly called, and they were now celebrating the wedding of one of their society. It is impossible to conceive a happier set of people than appeared here to be met together. The utmost mirth, indeed, showed itself in every countenance, nor was their ball totally void of all order and decorum. Perhaps it had more than a country assembly is sometimes conducted with, for these people are subject to a formal government and laws of their own, and all pay obedience to one great magistrate whom they call their king. Later plenty, likewise, was nowhere to be seen than what flourished in this barn. Here was indeed no nicety nor elegance, nor did the keen appetite of the guests require any. Here was a good store of bacon, fowls, and mutton, to which every one present provided better sauce himself than the best and dearest French cook can prepare. Aeneas is not described under more consternation in the Temple of Juno, dum stupet obtutuque heret defixus in uno, and was our hero at what he saw in this barn. While he was looking everywhere round him with astonishment, a venerable person approached him with many friendly salutations, rather of too hardy a kind to be called courtly. This was no other than the king of the gypsies himself. He was very little distinguished in dress from his subjects, nor had he any regalia of majesty to support his dignity, and yet there seemed, as Mr. Jones said, to be somewhat in his air which denoted authority, and inspired the beholders with an idea of awe and respect. Though all this was perhaps imaginary in Jones, and the truth may be that such ideas are incident to power, and almost inseparable from it. There was somewhat in the open countenance and courteous behavior of Jones which, being accompanied with much comeliness of person, greatly recommended him at first sight to every beholder. These were perhaps a little heightened in the present instance by that profound respect which he paid to the king of the gypsies the moment he was acquainted with his dignity, and which was the sweeter to his gypsy and majesty, as he was not used to receive such homage from any but his own subjects. The king ordered a table to be spread with the choices of their provisions for his accommodation, and having placed himself at his right hand, his majesty began to discourse with our hero in the following manner. May doubt not, sir, but you have often seen some of my people who are what you call departees détachés, for they go about everywhere, but may fancy you imagine not we be so inconsiderable body as we be, and maybe you will be surprised more when you hear the gypsy be as orderly and well-governed people as any upon face of the earth. May have honor, as we say, to be their king, and no monarch can boast of more dutiful subject, nay, no more affectionate. How far me deserve their goodwill, me no say, but this me can say, that may never design anything but to do them good. Me shall no do boast of that neither, for what can me do otherwise than consider of the good of those poor people who go about all day to give me always the best of what they get, their love and honor me, therefore, because me do love and take care of them. That is all, me know no other reason. About a thousand or two thousand year ago, may cannot tell to a year or two, as can neither write nor read. There was a great what you call a evolution among the gypsy, for there was the Lord gypsy in those days, and this Lord did quarrel with one another about the place. But the king of the gypsy did demolish them all, and made all his subject equal with each other. And since that time they have agree very well, for they no think of being king, and maybe it be better for them as they be. For me assure you, it be very troublesome thing to be king, and always to do justice. May I often wish to be the private gypsy when me have been forced to punish my dear friend in relation, for though we never put to death, our punishments be very severe. They make the gypsy ashamed of themselves, and that be very terrible punishments. Me is scarce ever known to gypsy so punish, to harm any more. The king then proceeded to express some wonder that there was no such punishment as shame in other governments, upon which Jones assured him to the contrary, for that there were many crimes for which shame was inflicted by the English laws, and that it was indeed one consequence of all punishment. That be very strange, said the king, for me know and hear good deal of your people, though me know live among them. And me have often heard that shame is the consequence and the cause, too, of many of your rewards. Are your rewards and punishment then the same thing? While his majesty was thus discoursing with Jones, a sudden uproar arose in the barn, and as it seems upon this occasion, the courtesy of these people had by degrees removed all the apprehensions of partridge, and he was profiled upon not only to stuff himself with their food, but to taste some of their liquors, which by degrees entirely expelled all fear from his composition, and in its stead introduced much more agreeable sensations. A young female gypsy, more remarkable for her wit than her beauty, had decoyed the honest fellow aside, pretending to tell his fortune. Now when they were alone together in a remote part of the barn, whether it proceeded from the strong liquor, which is never so apt to inflame inordinate desire as after moderate fatigue, or whether the fair gypsy herself threw aside the delicacy and decency of her sex, and tempted the youth partridge with express solicitations, but they were discovered in a very improper manner by the husband of the gypsy, who, from jealousy it seems, had kept a watchful eye over his wife, and had dogged her to the place, where he found her in the arms of her galant. To the great confusion of Jones partridge was now hurried before the king, who heard the accusation, and likewise the culprits defence, which was indeed very trifling, for the poor fellow was confounded by plain evidence which appeared against him, and had very little to say for himself. His majesty, then turning towards Jones, said, Sir, you have heard what they say. What punishment do you think your men deserve? Jones answered, he was sorry for what had happened, and that partridge should make the husband all the amends in his power. He said he had very little money about him at that time, and putting his hand into his pocket offered the fellow a guinea, to which he immediately answered, he hoped his honour would not think of giving him less than five. This sum, after some altercation, was reduced to two, and Jones, having stipulated for the full forgiveness of both partridge and the wife, was going to pay the money. When his majesty, restraining his hand, turned to the witness and asked him, at what time he had discovered the criminals. To which he answered that he had been desired by the husband to watch the motions of his wife from her first speaking to the stranger, and that he had never lost sight of her afterwards till the crime had been committed, if the husband was with him all that time in this lurking place. To which he answered in the affirmative. His Egyptian majesty then addressed himself to the husband as follows, May be sorry to see any gypsy that have no more honour than to sell the honour of his wife for money. If you had the love for your wife, you would have prevented this matter, and not endeavour to make her the whore that you might discover her. May do order that you have no money given to you, for you deserve punishment, not the reward. May do order, therefore, that you be the infamous gypsy, and do wear a pair of horns on your forehead for one month, and that your wife be called the whore, and pointed that all that time, for you be the infamous gypsy, but she be no less the infamous whore. The gypsies immediately proceeded to execute the sentence, and left Jones and Partridge alone with his majesty. Jones greatly applauded the justice of the sentence, upon which the king, turning to him, said, May believe you be surprised, for you suppose you have very bad opinion of my people, may suppose you think assault thieves. I must confess, sir, said Jones, I have not heard so favourable an account of them as they seem to deserve. We will tell you, said the king, how the difference is between you and us. My people rob your people, and your people rob one and another. Jones afterwards proceeded very gravely to sing forth the happiness of those subjects who live under such a magistrate. Indeed their happiness appears to have been so complete, that we are aware lest some advocate for arbitrary power should hear after quote the case of those people, as an instance of the great advantages which attend that government above all others. And here we will make a concession, which would not perhaps have been expected from us, that no limited form of government is capable of rising to the same degree of perfection or of producing the same benefits to society with this. Mankind have never been so happy as when the greatest part of the then known world was under the dominion of a single master, and this state of their felicity continued during the reigns of five successive princes. This was the true era of the golden age, and the only golden age which ever had any existence, unless in the warm imaginations of the poets, from the expulsion of from Eden down to this day. In reality I know but of one solid objection to absolute monarchy, the only defect in which excellent constitution seems to be, the difficulty of finding any man adequate to the office of an absolute monarch, for this indispensably requires three qualities very difficult, as it appears from history, to be found in princely natures. First, a sufficient quantity of moderation in the prince, to be contented with all the power which is possible for him to have. Secondly, enough of wisdom to know his own happiness. And thirdly, goodness sufficient to support the happiness of others, when not only compatible with, but instrumental to his own. Now if an absolute monarch with all these great and rare qualifications should be allowed capable of conferring the greatest good on society, it must be surely granted on the contrary, that absolute power vested in the hands of one who is deficient in them all, is likely to be attended with no less degree of evil. In short, our own religion furnishes us with adequate ideas of the blessing as well as curse, which may attend absolute power. The pictures of heaven and of hell will place a very lively image of both before our eyes, for though the prince of the latter can have no power but what he originally derives from the omnipotent sovereign in the former, yet it plainly appears from scripture that absolute power in his infernal dominions is granted to their diabolical ruler. This is indeed the only absolute power which can by scripture be derived from heaven. If therefore the several tyrannies upon earth can prove any title to a divine authority, it must be derived from this original grant, to the prince of darkness, and these subordinate deputations must consequently come immediately from him whose stamp they so expressly bear. To conclude, as the examples of all ages show us that mankind in general desire power only to do harm, and when they obtain it use it for no other purpose. It is not consonant with even the least degree of prudence to hazard an alteration, where our hopes are poorly kept in countenance by only two or three exceptions out of a thousand instances to alarm our fears. In this case it will be much wiser to submit to a few inconveniences arising from the dispassionate deafness of laws than to remedy them by applying to the passionate open ears of a tyrant. Nor can the example of the gypsies, though possibly they may have long been happy under this form of government, be here urged, since we must remember the very material respect in which they differ from all other people, and to which perhaps this their happiness is entirely owing, namely that they have no false honors among them, and that they look on shame as the most grievous punishment in the world. CHAPTER XIII. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN JONES AND PARTRAGE. The honest lovers of liberty will, we doubt not, pardon that long digression into which we were led at the close of the last chapter, to prevent our history from being applied to the use of the most pernicious doctrine which priestcraft had ever the wickedness or the impudence to preach. We will now proceed with Mr. Jones, who, when the storm was over, took leave of his Egyptian majesty after many thanks from his courteous behavior and kind entertainment, and set out for coventry, to which place, for it was still dark, a gypsy was ordered to conduct him. Jones having, by reason of his deviation, traveled eleven miles instead of six, and most of those through very execrable roads, where no expedition could have been made in quest of a midwife, did not arrive at coventry till nearly twelve. Nor could he possibly get again into the saddle till past two, for post horses were not now easy to get, nor were the hostler a post-boy in half so great a hurry as himself, but chose rather to intimate the tranquil disposition of partridge, who, being denied the nourishment of sleep, took all opportunities to supply its place with every other kind of nourishment, and was never better pleased than when he arrived at an inn, nor ever more dissatisfied than when he was again forced to leave it. Jones now traveled post. We will follow him therefore according to our custom, and to the rules of Longinus in the same manner. From coventry he arrived at Daventry, from Daventry at Stratford, and from Stratford at Dunstable, whither he came the next day a little afternoon, and within a few hours after Sophia had left it. And though he was obliged to stay here longer than he wished, while a smith, with great deliberation, shooed the post-horse he was to ride, he doubted not but to overtake his Sophia before she should set out from St. Albans, at which place he concluded, and very reasonably, that his lordship would stop and dine. And had he been right in this conjecture, he most probably would have overtaken his angel at the aforesaid place. But, unluckily, my lord had appointed a dinner to be prepared for him at his own house in London, and in order to enable him to reach that place in proper time, he had ordered a relay of horses to meet him at St. Albans. When Jones therefore arrived there, he was informed that the coach and six had set out two hours before. If fresh post-horses had been now ready, as they were not, it seemed so apparently impossible to overtake the coach before it reached London, that Partridge thought he now had a proper opportunity to remind his friend of a matter which he seemed entirely to have forgotten. What this was, the reader will guess, when we inform him that Jones had eaten nothing more than one poached egg since he had left the ale-house, where he had first met the guide returning from Sophia, for with the gypsies he had feasted only his understanding. The landlord so entirely agreed with the opinion of Mr. Partridge that he no sooner heard the latter desire his friend to stay and dine than he very readily put in his word and retracting his promise before given of furnishing the horses immediately, he assured Mr. Jones he would lose no time in bespeaking a dinner, which he said could be got ready sooner than it was possible to get the horses up from grass, and to prepare them for their journey by a feet of corn. Jones was at length prevailed upon, chiefly by the latter argument of the landlord, and now a joint of mutton was put down to the fire. While this was preparing, Partridge, being admitted into the same apartment with his friend or master, began to harangue in the following manner. Certainly, sir, if ever man deserved a young lady, you deserve young man in western, for what a vast quantity of love must a man have to be able to live upon it without any other food as you do. I am positive I have eaten thirty times as much within these last twenty-four hours as your honour, and yet I am almost famished, for nothing makes a man so hungry as travelling, especially in this cold, raw weather, and yet I can't tell how it is, but your honour is seemingly in perfect good health, and you never looked better nor fresher in your life. It must be certainly love that you live upon. And a very rich diet, too, Partridge, answered Jones. But did not fortune send me an excellent dainty yesterday? Just though, imagine, I cannot live more than twenty-four hours on this dear pocket-book. Undoubtedly, Christ, Partridge, there is enough in that pocket-book to purchase many a good meal. Fortune sent it to your honour very opportunely for present use, as your honour's money must be almost out by this time. What do you mean? answered Jones. I hope you don't imagine I should be dishonest enough, even if it belonged to any other person besides Miss Western. Dishonest! replied Partridge. Heaven forbid I should wrong your honour so much. But where is the dishonesty in borrowing a little for present spending, since you will be so well able to pay the lady hereafter? Dishonest! No, indeed. I would have your honour pay it again, as soon as it is convenient, by all means. But where can be the harm in making use of it now you want it? Dishonest! Indeed, if it belonged to a poor body it would be another thing, but so great a lady to be sure can never want it, especially now as she is along with a lord, who, it can't be doubted, will let her have whatever she hath need of. Dishonest! Besides, if she should want a little she can't want the little, therefore I would give her a little. But I would be hanged before I mentioned that having found it at first, and before I got some money of my own. For London, I have heard, is the very worst of places to be in without money. Indeed, if I had not known to whom it belonged, I might have thought it was the devil's money, and have been afraid to use it. But as you know otherwise, and came honestly by it, it would be enough front to fortune to part with it all again, at the very time when you want it most. You can hardly expect she should ever do you such another good turn, for fortuna nunquam perpetuo est bona. You will do as you please, notwithstanding all I say, but for my part, I would be hanged before I mentioned a word of the matter. By what I can see, Partridge, Christ-Jones, hanging is a matter nonlonge alienum ascaviole studis. You should say alienus, says Partridge. I remember the passage. It is an example under communis alienus immunis varis casibus servient. If you do remember it, Christ-Jones, I find you don't understand it. But I tell thee, friend, in plain English, that he who finds another's property, and willfully detains it from the known owner, deserves, in foro conscientie, to be hanged, no less than if he had stolen it. And as for this very identical bill, which is the property of my angel, and was once in her dear possession, I will not deliver it into any hands but her own, upon any consideration whatever. No. I was as hungry as thou art, and had no other means to satisfy my craving appetite, this I hoped to do before I sleep. But if it should happen otherwise, I charge thee, if thou wouldst not incur my displeasure for ever, not to shock me any more by the bare mention of such detestable baseness. I should not have mentioned it now, Christ-Partridge, if it had appeared so to me, for I am sure I scorn any wickedness as much as another, but perhaps you know better, and yet I might have imagined that I should not have lived so many years, and have taught school so long, without being able to distinguish between Foss and Nefoss, but it seems we are all to live and learn. I remember my old schoolmaster, who was a prodigious great scholar, used often to say, Polly Matete cry town is my daskelon, the English of which he told us, was, that a child may sometimes teach his grandmother to suck eggs. I have lived to a fine purpose truly, if I am to be taught my grammar at this time of day. Perhaps young gentleman, you may change your opinion if you live to my years, for I remember I thought myself as wise when I was a stripling of one or two and twenty as I am now. I am sure I always taught alienus, and my master read it so before me. There were not many instances in which Partridge could provoke Jones, nor were there many in which Partridge himself could have been hurried out of his respect. Unluckily, however, they had both hit on one of these. We have already seen Partridge could not bear to have his learning attacked, nor could Jones bear some passage or other in the foregoing speech. And now, looking upon his companion with a contemptuous and disdainful air, a thing not usual with him, he cried, Partridge, I see thou art a conceited old fool, and I wish thou art not likewise an old rogue. Indeed if I was as well convinced of the latter as I am of the former, thou shouldst travel no farther in my company. The sage pedagogue was contented with the vent which he had already given to his indignation, and as the vulgar phrase is, immediately drew in his horns. He said he was sorry he had uttered anything which might give offence, for that he had never intended it, but nemo omnibus hori sapit. As Jones had the vices of a warm disposition, he was entirely free from those of a cold one, and if his friends must have confessed his temper to have been a little too easily ruffled, his enemies must at the same time have confessed that it as soon subsided. Nor did it at all resemble the sea, whose swelling is more violent and dangerous after a storm is over than while the storm itself subsists. He instantly accepted the submission of Partridge, shook him by the hand, and with the most benign aspect imaginable said twenty kind things, and at the same time very severely condemned himself, though not half so severely as he will most probably be condemned by many of our good readers. Partridge was now highly comforted, as his fears of having offended were once abolished, and his pride completely satisfied by Jones having owned himself in the wrong, which submission he instantly applied to what had been principally netled him, and repeated in a muttering voice. To be sure, sir, your knowledge may be superior to mine in some things, but as to the grammar I think I may challenge any man living. I think, at least, I have that at my finger's end. If anything could add to the satisfaction which the poor man now enjoyed, he received this addition by the arrival of an excellent shoulder of mutton that at this instant came smoking to the table. On which, having both plentifully feasted, they again mounted their horses and set forward for London. CHAPTER XIV. What happened to Mr. Jones in his journey from St. Albans? They were God about two miles beyond Barnet, and it was now the dusk of the evening, when a gentile-looking man, but upon a very shabby horse, rode up to Jones and asked him whether he was going to London, to which Jones answered in the affirmative. The gentleman replied, I should be obliged to you, sir, if you will accept of my company, for it is very late, and I am a stranger to the road. Jones readily complied with the request, and on they traveled together, holding that sort of discourse which is usual on such occasions. Of this, indeed, robbery was the principal topic, upon which subject the stranger expressed great apprehensions, but Jones declared he had very little to lose, and, consequently, as little to fear. Here Partridge could not forbear putting in his word. Your honour, said he, may think it a little, but I am sure, if I had a hundred-pound bank note in my pocket as you have, I should be very sorry to lose it. But for my part I never was less afraid in my life, for we are four of us, and if we all stand by one another, the best man in England can't rob us. Suppose he should have a pistol, he can kill but one of us, and a man can die but once. That's my comfort. A man can die but once. Besides the reliance on superior numbers, a kind of valour which hath raised a certain nation among the moderns to a high pitch of glory, there was another reason for the extraordinary courage which Partridge now discovered, for he had at present, as much of that quality as was in the power of liquor to bestow. Our company was now arrived within a mile of Highgate. When the stranger turned short upon Jones, and pulling out a pistol, demanded that little bank note which Partridge had mentioned. Jones was at first somewhat shocked at this unexpected demand. However, he presently recollected himself and told the highwaymen, all the money he had in his pocket was entirely at his service, and so saying, he pulled out upwards of three guineas and offered to deliver it, but the other answered with an oath that would not do. Jones answered coolly, he was very sorry for it, and returned the money into his pocket. The highwaymen then threatened, if he did not deliver the bank note that moment, he must shoot him, holding his pistol at the same time very near to his breast. Jones instantly caught hold of the fellow's hand, which trembled so much that he could scarce hold the pistol in it, and turn the muzzle from him. A struggle then ensued in which the former rested the pistol from the hand of his antagonist, and both came from their horses on the ground together, the highwaymen upon his back, and the victorious Jones upon him. The poor fellow now began to implore mercy of the conqueror, for, to say the truth, he was in strength by no means a match for Jones. Indeed, sir, said he, I could have had no intention to shoot you, for you will find the pistol was not loaded. This is the first robbery I ever attempted, and I have been driven by distress to this. At this instant, at about a hundred and fifty yards lay another person on the ground, roaring for mercy in a much louder voice than the highwayman. This was no other than Partridge himself, who, endeavoring to make his escape from the engagement, had been thrown from his horse, and lay flat on his face, not daring to look up, and expecting every minute to be shot. In this posture he lay, till the guide, who was no otherwise concerned than for his horses, having secured the stumbling beast, came up to him, and told him his master had got the better of the highwayman. Partridge leapt up at this news, and ran back to the place where Jones stood with his sword drawn in his hand to guard the poor fellow, which Partridge no sooner saw than he cried out, Kill the villain, sir! Run him through the body! Kill him this instant! Luckily, however, for the poor wretch, he had fallen into more merciful hands, for Jones, having examined the pistol, and found it to be really unloaded, began to believe all the man had told him, before Partridge came up, namely that he was a novice in the trade, and that he had been driven to it by the distress he mentioned, and the greatest indeed imaginable, that of five hungry children, and a wife lying in of the sixth, and the utmost want and misery. The truth of all which the highwayman most vehemently asserted, and offered to convince Mr. Jones of it, if he would take the trouble to go to his house, which was not above two miles off, saying, that he desired no favour but upon condition of proving all he had alleged. Jones at first pretended that he would take the fellow at his word, and go with him, declaring that his fate should depend entirely upon the truth of the story. Upon this, the poor fellow immediately expressed so much alacrity, that Jones was perfectly satisfied with his veracity, and began now to entertain sentiments of compassion for him. He returned the fellow his empty pistol, advised him to think of an honester means of relieving his distress, and gave him a couple of guineas for the immediate support of his wife and his family, adding, he wished he had more for his sake, for the hundred pound that had been mentioned was not his own. Our readers will probably be divided in their opinions concerning this action. One may applaud it perhaps as an act of extraordinary humanity, while those of a more saddening temper will consider it a want of regard to that justice which every man owes his country. Partridge certainly saw it in that light, for he testified much dissatisfaction on the occasion, quoted an old proverb, and said, he should not wonder if the rogue attacked them again before they reached London. The highwayman was full of expressions of thankfulness and gratitude. He actually dropped tears, or pretended to do so. He vowed he would immediately return home, and would never afterwards commit such a transgression, whether he kept his word or no perhaps may appear hereafter. Our travellers, having remounted their horses, arrived in town without encountering any new mishap. On the road much pleasant discourse passed between Jones and Partridge on the subject of their last adventure, in which Jones expressed a great compassion for those highwaymen who are, by unavoidable distress, driven as it were to such illegal courses, as generally bring them to a shameful death. I mean, said he, those only whose highest guilt extends no farther than to robbery, and who are never guilty of cruelty nor insult to any person, which is a circumstance that I must say, to the honour of our country, distinguishes the robbers of England from those of all other nations, for murder is, amongst those, almost inseparably incident to robbery. No doubt, answered Partridge, it is better to take away one's money than one's life, and yet it is very hard upon honest men that they can't travel about their business without being in danger of these villains. And to be sure, it would be better that all rogues were hanged out of the way, than that one honest man should suffer. For my own part, indeed, I should not care to have the blood of any of them on my own hands, but it is very proper for the law to hang them all. What right hath any man to take six pence from me, unless I give it him? Is there any honesty in such a man? No, surely, cries Jones, no more than there is in him who takes the horses out of another man's stable, or who applies to his own use the money which he finds when he knows the right owner. These hints stopped the mouth of Partridge, nor did he open it again till Jones, having thrown some sarcastical jokes on his cowardice, he offered to excuse himself on the inequality of firearms, saying, a thousand naked men are nothing to one pistol, for though it is true, it will kill but one at a single discharge, yet who can tell but that one may be himself? End of Section 44, Recording by Kalinda in Raymond, New Hampshire, on January 17, 2008. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by George Pilling, StorySales.com. Book 13, Containing the Space of Twelve Days Chapter 1, An Invocation. Come, bright love of fame, inspire my glowing breast, not thee I will call, who, over swelling tides of blood and tears, dust bear the hero unto glory, while size of millions waft as spreading sails, but thee, fair, gentle maid, whom nesses happy nymph, first on the banks of hebris did produce, thee whom Maonia educated, whom Mantua charmed, and who, on that fair hill which overlooks the proud metropolis of Britain, sats'd, 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 worth which once existed in my charlat, shall from her sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh. Do not teach me 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 in 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 plumpardame, 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 treak-shoot, in some Dutch canal, the fat Ufraug gelt, impregnated by a jolly merchant of Amsterdam, was delivered, in Grubbe Street school didst thou suck the elements of thy erudition. Here hast thou, in thy mature age, taught poetry to tickle not the fancy, but the pride of the patron. Comedy from thee learns a grave and solemn air, while tragedy storms aloud, and rends thee affrighted to theatres with its thunders. To soothe thy wearied limbs in slumber, Alderman history tells his tedious tale, and again to awaken thee, Michele Romance performs his surprising tricks of dexterity. Nor lest thy well-fed bookseller obeys thy influence, by thy advice the heavy, unread folio-lump, which long adosed on the dusty shelf, piecemealed into numbers, runs nimbly through the nation. Instructed by thee some books, like quacks, impose on the world by promising wonders, while others turn bows, and trust all their merit 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 fair portion of that bounteous mother, whose flowing breasts yield the redundant sustenance for all her numerous offspring, 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 heart with the transporting thought of conveying them to others, tell me, that through thy bounty, the prattling babes, whose innocent play has often been interrupted by my labors, may one time be amply rewarded for them. And now, this ill-yoked pair, this lean shadow and this fat substance, have prompted me to write, whose assistance shall I invoke to direct my pen? First, genius, thou gift of heaven, without whose aid in vain we struggle against the stream of nature, thou who dost sow the generous seeds which art nourishes and brings to perfection. Do thou kindly take me by the hand, hath leaned me through all the mazes, the winding labyrinths of nature, initiate me into all those mysteries which profane eyes never beheld, teach me, which to see is no difficult task, to know mankind better than they know themselves, remove that mist which dims the intellect of mortals and causes them to adore men for their art, or to detest them for their cunning in deceiving others, while 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 hast inspired thy Aristophanes, thy Lucian, thy Cervantes, thy Rabelais, thy Molière, thy Shakespeare, thy Swift, thy Marivaux, fill my pages with humor, till mankind learn the good nature to laugh only at the follies of others, and the humility to grieve at their own. And thou, almost a constant attendant on true genius, humanity, bring all thy tender sensations, if thou hast already disposed of them all between thy Allen and thy Littleton, steal them a little while from their bosoms. Not without these the tender scene is painted. When 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 eyes with tears, the glowing cheeks with blood, and swell the heart with tides of grief, joy, and benevolence. And thou, O learning, for without thy assistance nothing pure, nothing correct, and genius produce, do guide my pen, thee in thy favorite 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, open thy Mayonian and thy Mantoan coffers, with whatever else includes thy philosophic, thy poetic, and thy historical treasures, whether with Greek or Roman characters thou hast chosen to inscribe the ponderous jests, give me a while that key to all thy treasures, wish to thy warburten thou hast entrusted. Lastly come experience, long conversant with the wise, the good, the learned, and the polite, not with them only, but with every kind of character, from the minister at his levy to the bailiff in his sponging-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 on my labors, I hope still to bring them to a happy conclusion. CHAPTER II What befell Mr. Jones on his arrival in London. The learned Dr. Mussobin used to say that the proper direction to him was, to Dr. Mussobin in the world, intimating that there were few people in it to whom his great reputation was not known. And perhaps, upon a very nice examination into the matter, we shall find that this circumstance bears no inconsiderable part among the many blessings of grandeur. The great happiness of being known to posterity, with the hopes of which we so delighted ourselves in the preceding chapter, is the portion of few. To have the several elements, which compose our names, as Sidonham 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 scandalous imputation while we yet live of being one whom nobody knows, a scandal, by the by, as old as the days of Homer, will always be the envied portion of those who have a legal title, either to honor or a state. From that figure, therefore, which the Irish peer, who brought Sophia to town, hath already made in this history, the reader will conclude doubtless it must have been an easy matter to have discovered his house in London without knowing the particular street or square which he inhabited, since he must have been one whom everybody knows. To say the truth, so it would have been to any of those 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 arrive first in a quarter of the town, the inhabitants of which have very little intercourse with the householders of Hanover, or Groverner Square, for he entered through Grey'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 magnuminius 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 honor on their posterity. Jones, being at length arrived at those terrestrial Elysian fields, would now soon have discovered his Lordship's but the peer unluckily quitted his former house when he went for Ireland, and as he was just entered into a new one, the fame of his equipage had not yet sufficiently blazed in the neighborhood, so that, after a successless inquiry until the clock had struck eleven, Jones at last yielded to the advice of Partridge, and retreated to the Bullen Gate in Holborn, that being the inn where he had first delighted, and where he retired to enjoy that kind of repose which usually attends persons in his circumstances. 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, or whether it was no longer in her power to disappoint him, he came into the very street which was honored 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 better from the appearance of Mr. Jones, who was dressed in a suit of fustion, and had by his side the weapon formally purchased of the sergeant, of which, though the blade might be composed of well-tempered steel, the handle was composed only of brass, and that none of the brightest. When Jones, therefore, inquired after the young lady who had come to town with his Lordship, this fellow answered, that there were no ladies there. Jones then desired to see the master of the house, but was informed that his Lordship would see nobody that morning, and upon growing more pressing, the porter said, he had positive orders to let no person in, but if you think proper, said he, to leave your name, I will acquaint his Lordship, and if you call another time, you shall know when he will see you. Jones now declared that he had a very particular 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, sure you are the strangest men I ever met with, for you will not take an answer. I have often thought that, by the particular description of Cerberus, the porter of Hell, in the Sixth Aeneid, Virgil might possibly intend to satirize the porters of the great men in his time. The picture, at least, resembles those who have the honor to attend at the doors of our great men. The porter in his lodge answers exactly to Cerberus in his den, and, like him, must be appeased by a sop before access can be gained to his master. Perhaps Jones might have seen him in that light, and have recollected the passage where the Sybil, in order to procure an entrance for Aeneas, presents a keeper of the Stygian Avenue with such a sop. Jones, in like manner, now began to offer a bribe to the human Cerberus, which a footman, overhearing, instantly advanced and declared, if Mr. Jones would give him the sum proposed, he would conduct him to the lady. Jones instantly agreed, and was forthwith conducted to the lodging of Mrs. Fitzpatrick by the very fellow who had attended the lady's thither the day before. Nothing more aggravates ill success than the near approach to good. The gamester, who loses his party at a pique by a single point, laments his bad luck ten times as much as he who never came within a prospect of the game. So in a lottery the proprietors of the next numbers to that which wins the great prize, are apt to account themselves much more unfortunate than their fellow sufferers. In short, these kind of hair-breath missings of happiness look like the insults of fortune, 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 frolicksome disposition of the heathen goddess, was now again doomed to be tantalized in the like manner, for he arrived at the door of Mrs. Fitzpatrick about ten minutes after the departure of Sophia. He now addressed himself to the waiting woman belonging to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who told him the disagreeable news that the lady was gone, but could not tell him with her, and the same answer he afterwards received from Mrs. Fitzpatrick herself. For as that lady made no doubt but that Mr. Jones was a person detached from her uncle, Western, in pursuit of his daughter, so she was too generous to betray her. Though Jones had never seen Mrs. Fitzpatrick, yet he had heard that a cousin of Sophia was 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 lordships acquainted him with a 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 convinced that this was the same woman, it became more surprised at the answer which he had received, and very earnestly desired to leave to wait on the lady herself, but she has positively refused him that honor. Jones, who, though he had never seen a court, was better bred than most who frequented, was incapable of any rude or abrupt behavior to a lady. When he had received, therefore, a peremptory denial, he retired for the presence, 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 honor of seeing her. The civility with which he uttered this, added to the great comeliness of his person, made an impression on the waiting woman, and she could not help answering. Perhaps, sir, you may. And indeed, she afterward 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 dispatched partures to procure him lodgings, he remained all day in the street, watching the door where he thought his angel lay concealed, but no person did he see issue forth, except a servant of the house, and in the evening he returned to pay his visit to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, which that good lady at last condescended to admit. There was a certain air of natural gentility, which it is neither in the power of dress to give nor to conceal. Mr. Jones, as hath before been hinted, was possessed of this in a very eminent degree. He met, therefore, with the 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 poor Jones. For though Mrs. Fitzpatrick soon discovered the lover, as all women have the eyes of hawks in those matters, yet she still thought it was such a lover as a generous friend of the lady should not betray her to. In short, she suspected this was the very Mr. Bliffle, from whom Sophia had flown, and all the answers which she artfully drew from Jones concerning Mr. Allworthy's family confirmed her in this opinion. She therefore strictly denied any knowledge concerning the place with her 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. Bliffle to her maid, who answered, Sure, madam, he is too pretty a man, in my opinion, for any woman in the world to run away from. I'd rather fancy it is Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones, said the lady, what Jones? For Sophia had not given the least hint of any such person in all their conversation, but Mrs. Honor had been much more communicative, and had acquainted her sister Abigail with a whole history of Jones, which this now again related to her mistress. Mrs. Fitzpatrick no sooner received this information than she immediately agreed with the opinion of her maid, and, what is very unaccountable, saw charms in the gallant happy lover, which she had overlooked in the slighted squire. Betty, says she, you are certainly in the right. He is a very pretty fellow, and I don't wonder that my cousin's maid should tell you so many women are fond of him. I am sorry now I did not inform him where my cousin was, and yet, if he be so terrible a rake as you tell me, it is a pity she should ever see him any more for what but her ruin can happen from marrying such a rake and a beggar against her father's consent. I protest, if he be such a man as the wench described unto you, it is but an office of charity to keep her from him, and I am sure it would be unpardonable in me to do otherwise who have tasted so bitterly of the misfortunes attending such marriages. Here she was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, which was no other than his lordship, and as nothing passed at this visit either new or extraordinary, or anyway's material to this history, we shall here put an end to this chapter. END OF CHAPTER II CHAPTER III A PROJECT OF MISSIS FITZPATRICK AND HER VISIT TO LADY BELLESTON When Mrs. Fitzpatrick retired to rest, her thoughts were entirely taken up by her cousin Sophia and Mr. Jones. She was, indeed, a little offended with the former for the disingenuity which she now discovered, in which meditation she had not long exercised her imagination before the 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 service to the family, reconcile to herself both her uncle and her aunt Western. As this was one of her most favorite 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 one of those methods. For, as Betty had reported for Mrs. Honor, that Sophia had a violent inclination to Jones, she conceived that to dissuade her from the match was an endeavor of the same kind as it would be very hardly and earnestly to entreat a moth not to fly into a candle. If the reader were pleased to remember that the acquaintance which Sophia had with Lady Belliston 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 no information that Mrs. Fitzpatrick must have been acquainted with her likewise. They were, besides both equally her distant relations. After much consideration, therefore, she resolved to go early in the morning to that lady and endeavor to see her, unknown to Sophia, and to acquaint her with the whole affair, for she did not in the least doubt, that the prudent lady, who had often ridiculed romantic love and indiscreet marriages in her conversation, would very readily concur in her sentiments concerning this match, and would lend her utmost assistance to prevent it. This resolution she accordingly executed, and the next morning before the sun, she huddled on her clothes, and at a very unfashionable, unreasonable, unvisitable hour, went to Lady Belliston, 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 honors snoring by her side. Mrs. Fitzpatrick made many apologies for an early abrupt visit, and an hour when, she said, she should not have thought of disturbing her ladyship but upon business of the utmost consequence. She then opened the whole affair, told all she had heard from Betty, and did not forget the visit which Jones had paid to herself the preceding evening. Lady Belliston 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 Itoff entertained me last night almost two hours with him, the wench I believe is in love with him by reputation. Here the reader will be apt to wonder, but the truth is that Mrs. Itoff, who had the honor to pin and unpin the Lady Belliston, had received complete information regarding 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 account she had been detained in her office above the space of an hour and a half. The lady indeed, though generally well enough pleased with the narratives of Mrs. Itoff at those seasons, gave an extraordinary attention to her account of Jones, for honor had described him as a very handsome fellow, and Mrs. Itoff, in her hurry, added so much to the beauty of his person to her report that Lady Belliston began to conceive him to be a kind of miracle in nature. The curiosity which her woman had inspired was now greatly increased by Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who spoke as much in favor of the person of Jones as she had before spoken in dispraise of his birth, character, and fortune. When Lady Belliston had heard the whole, she answered gravely, Indeed, madam, this is a matter of great consequence. Nothing can certainly be more commendable than the part you act, and I shall be very glad to have my share in the preservation of a young lady of so much merit, and for whom I have so much esteem. What 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 answered, I know, madam, I think not. Thy Western hath described her brother to me to be such a brute that I cannot consent to put any woman under his power who hath escaped from it. I have heard he behave like a monster to his own wife, for he is one of those wretches who think they have the right to theorize over us, and from such I shall ever esteem at the cause of my sex to rescue any woman who is so unfortunate to be under their power. The business, dear cousin, will be only to keep Miss Western from seeing this young fellow till the good company, which you will have an opportunity of meeting here, give her a proper turn. If he should find her out, madam, answered the other, your ladyship may be assured he will leave nothing unattempted to come at her. But, madam, replied the lady, it is impossible he should come here, though indeed it is possible he may get some intelligent where she is, and they may lurk about the house. I wish, therefore, I knew his person. Is there no way, madam, by which I could have a sight of him? For otherwise, you know, cousin, she may contrive to see him here without my knowledge. Mrs. Fitzpatrick answered, that he hath threatened her with another visit that afternoon. And that, if her ladyship pleased to do her the honor of calling upon her then, she would hardly fail of seeing him between six and seven, and if he came earlier she would, by some means or other, detain him till her ladyship's arrival. Lady Belliston replied, she would come the moment she could get from dinner, which she supposed would be by seven at farthest, for that it was absolutely necessary she should be acquainted with this person. Upon my word, madam, says she, it was very good to take this care of Miss Western, but common humanity, as well as regard to our family, requires it of us both, for it would be a dreadful match indeed. Mrs. Fitzpatrick failed not to make a proper return to the compliment which Lady Belliston 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 honor, returned home. End of Chapter 3 Tom Jones by Henry Fielding Book 13 Chapter 4 Which Consists of Visiting Mr. Jones had walked within sight of a certain door during the whole day, which, though one of the shortest, appeared to him one of the longest in the whole year. At length, the clock having struck five, he returned to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who, though it was a full hour earlier than the decent time of visiting, 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. Fitzpatrick 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 a considerable sum of money of hers in his hands which he desired to deliver to her. He then produced the pocket-book, and acquainted Mrs. Fitzpatrick with the contents, and with the method in 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 in vain, for it may be truly said, non acuta, sic geminant, corribantas e era. The priests of civilly do not so rattle their sounding brass. In short, a footman knocked, or rather, thundered at the door. Jones was a little surprised at the sound, having never heard it before, but Mrs. Fitzpatrick very calmly said that, as some company were coming, she could not make him any answer now, but if he pleased to stay till they were gone, she 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 Belliston, who, having first made a very low curtsy to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and as low one to Mr. Jones, was ushered to the upper end of the room. We mention these minute matters for the sake of some country ladies of our acquaintance who think it contrary to the rules of modesty to bend their knees to a man. The company were hardly well settled before the arrival of the peer lately mentioned caused a fresh disturbance and a repetition of ceremonials. These being over, the conversation began to be, as the phrase is, extremely brilliant. However, as nothing passed in it which can be thought material to this history, or indeed very material in itself, I shall omit the relation, the rather, as I have known some very fine polite conversation, grow extremely dull when transcribed into books or repeated on the stage. Indeed, this mental repast is a dainty, of which those who are excluded from polite assemblies must be contented to remain as ignorant as they must of the several dainty of French cookery which are served only at the tables of the grade. To say the truth, as neither of these are adapted to every taste, they might both be often thrown away on the vulgar. Poor Jones was rather a spectator of this elegant scene than an actor in it, for, though, in the short interval before the peer's arrival Lady Belliston first, and afterwards Mrs. Fritzpatrick, had addressed some 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 had been present, unless by now and then staring at him, the ladies followed his example. The company had now stayed so long that Mrs. Fritzpatrick plainly perceived they all designed to stay out each other. She therefore resolved to rid herself of Jones, he being the visitant to whom she thought the least ceremony was due. Taking therefore an opportunity of a cessation of chat, she addressed herself gravely to him and said, Sir, I shall not possibly be able to give you an answer tonight as to that business, but if you please leave word with me where I may send to you tomorrow. Jones had natural, but not artificial good breeding. Instead therefore 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 no sooner gone than the great personages who had taken no notice of him present began to take much notice of him in his absence, but if the reader had already excused us from elating the brilliant part of this conversation he will surely be very ready to excuse the repetition of what may be called vulgar abuse, though perhaps it may be material to our history to mention an observation of Lady Belliston 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 a no danger from this fellow. Our history shall follow the same company, which was now reduced to two persons between whom, as nothing passed, which in the least concerns our reader, we shall not suffer ourselves to be diverted by it from matters which must seem of more consequence to all of those who are at all interested in the affairs of our hero. CHAPTER V An adventure which happened to Mr. Jones at his lodgings was some account of a young gentleman in the house of the house, and her two daughters. The next morning, as early as it was decent, Jones attended at Mrs. Fitzpatrick's door, where he was answered that the lady was not at home, an answer which surprised him the more as he had walked backwards and forwards in the street from break of day, and if she had gone out he must have seen her. This answer, however, he was obliged to receive, and not to complain 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 that the lady had complied in making that promise to which we now see her so strictly adhere. But, as our general reader may possibly have a better opinion of the young gentleman than her ladyship, and may even be in residence either at an inn 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 heard Mr. Allworthy mention the gentleman at whose house he used to lodge when he was in town. This person, who, as Jones likewise knew, lived in Bond Street, was the widow of a clergyman, and was left 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 dispatched partridge, and in this house he was provided with a room for himself in the second floor, and with one for partridge in the fourth. The first floor was inhabited by one of those young gentlemen, who, in the last time, were not properly enough, for his 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. Playhouses, coffeehouses, and taverns were the scenes of their rendezvous. Wit and humor were the entertainment of their looser hours, and love was the pleasure of 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 step higher than their predecessors and may be called men of wisdom in virtue. Take heed, you do not read virtue. Thus, at an age when the gentlemen above mentioned employ their time in toasting the charms of a woman, or in making sonnets in her praise, in giving their opinion of a play at the theatre, or of a poem at wills or buttons, these gentlemen are considering the methods to bribe a corporation, or meditating in speeches for the House of Commons of a magazine. But the science of gaming is at which above all others employ 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 unnatural, which deals in the wonderful and knows nothing of nature except for 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 once all the noise issued, he beheld the young gentlemen of wisdom in virtue just before him, pinned close to the wall by his footman, and a young woman standing by ringing her hands and crying out, He will be murdered! He will be murdered! And indeed the poor gentlemen seemed in some danger of being choked when Jones flew hastily to his assistance and rescued him just as he was breathing his last from the unmerciful clutches of the enemy. Though the fellow had received several kicks and cuffs from the little gentlemen who had more spirit than strength, he had made it a kind of challenge 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 roughly handled by his new antagonist, then he gave him one of those punches in the guts which, though the spectators at Broughton's amphitheater 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 the combat between Jones and the footman, which was very fierce but short, for this fellow was no more able to contend with Jones than his master had before been to contend with him. And now, fortune, according to her usual custom, reversed the face of affairs. The former victor laid breathless on the ground, and the vanquished gentlemen had recovered breath enough to thank Mr. Jones for his seasonable assistance. He received likewise the hearty thanks of the young woman who was indeed no other than Miss Nancy, the eldest daughter of the house. The footman, having now recovered his legs, shook his head at Jones, and with a sagacious look cried, Oh, damn me! I'll have nothing more to do with you. You have been upon the stage or I'm damnably mistaken. And indeed we may forgive this his suspicion, for such was the agility and strength of our hero that he was, perhaps, a match for one of the first-rate boxers and could, with great ease, have beaten all the muffled graduates of Mr. Broughton's school. Note it, muffled. Less posterity should be puzzled by this epithet. I think proper to explain it by an advertisement which was published February 1st, 1747. In B. Mr. Broughton proposes, with proper assistance, to open an academy at his house in the Haymarket, for the instruction who are willing to be initiated in the mystery of boxing, where the whole theory and practice of that truly British art, with all the various stops, blows, cross-buttics, 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 course of those lectures. They will be given with the utmost tenderness in regard to the delicacy of the frame and constitution of the pupil, provided that will effectually secure them from the inconvenience of black eyes, broken jaws, and bloody noses. The master, foaming with wrath, ordered his man immediately to strip to which the latter very readily agreed on condition of receiving his wages. This condition was presently complied with, and the fellow was discharged. 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 and inclination, for the uneasiness of his mind fitted him very little for conversation at this time. Miss Nancy, likewise, who was the only female then in the house, her mama and sister being both gone to the play, condescended to favor them with her company. When the bottle and glasses were on the table the gentleman began to relate the occasion of the preceding disturbance. I hope, sir, he said to Jones, you will not from this accident conclude that I make a custom of striking my servants, for I assure you this is the first time I have been guilty of it in my remembrance, and I have passed by many provoking faults in this very fellow before he could provoke me to it. But when you hear what had 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 Wist by my fire, and my Hoyle, sir, my best Hoyle which cost me a guinea lying open on the table with a quantity of porters spilt on one of the most material leaves of the whole book. This, you will allow, was provoking, but I said nothing till the rest of the honest company were gone, and then gave the fellow a gentle rebuke, who, instead of expressing any concern, made me a pert answer, that servants must have their diversions as well as the other people, that he was sorry for the accident which had happened to the book, but that several of his acquaintances had bought the same for a shilling, and that I might stop as much in his wages if I pleased. I now gave him a severer reprimand than before, which the rascal had the insolence to. In short, he imputed my early coming home to, in short he cast a reflection. He mentioned the name of a young lady in a manner, in such a manner that incents me beyond all patience, and in my passion I struck him. Jones answered, that he believed no person living would blame him for my part, said he. I confess I should, and the last mentioned provocation have done the same thing. Our company had not sat long before they were joined by the mother and daughter, at their return from the play, and now they all spent a very cheerful evening together, for all but Jones were hardly merry, and even he put on as much constraint mirth as possible. Indeed, half his natural flow of animal spirits joined to the sweetness of his temper was sufficient to make a most amiable companion, and not with standing 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 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 for 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 cheerful. 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 appear to be of some importance in our history. Nor was Jones a little pleased with the young gentleman himself, whose wine he had been drinking. He thought he discerned in a much good sense, though a little too much tainted with town-fopery. 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 a highest disintegrateness 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. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 What arrived while the company were at breakfast was some hints concerning the government of daughters. Our company brought together in the morning the same good inclinations toward each other, with which they had separated the evening before, but poor Jones was extremely disconsolate and received information from partridge that Mrs. Fitzpatrick had left her lodging, and that he could not learn with her she was gone. This news highly afflicted him, and his countenance, as well as his behavior, in defiance of all his endeavors to the contrary, betrayed manifest indications of a disordered mind. The discourse turned at present, as before, on love, and Mr. Nightingale again expressed many of those warm, generous, and disinterested sentiments upon the wise and sober men called 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 that she believed 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 sorry had he passed it by unregarded. He made her indeed a 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. The gentleman hath made the observation. I protest I am almost of his opinion. What can be the matter with you, child? I never saw such an alteration. What has become of all your gaiety? Would you think, sir, I used to call her my little friend? She hath not spoke twenty words this week. Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a maid servant, who brought a bundle in her hand, which, she said, was delivered by a porter for Mr. Jones. She added that the man immediately went away saying it required no 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 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 not what to think. But when Mr. Nightingale was asked, he delivered a very different opinion. All I can conclude from it, sir, said he, is that you are a very happy man, for I make no doubt but that these were sent to you by some lady whom you will have the happiness of meeting at the masquerade. Jones had not a sufficient degree of vanity to entertain 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 sends you this, your favours, not a miss. Mrs. Miller and Miss Nancy now both agreed with Mr. Nightingale. Nay, Jones himself was almost persuaded to be of the same opinion, and as no other lady but Mrs. Fitzpatrick he thought knew his lodging, he began to flatter himself with some hopes that it came from her and that he might 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 proceedings 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 he 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 favor and support 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 mine, since, after having read much and considered long on that subject of happiness which has employed so many great pens, I am almost inclined to fix it in the possession of this temper, which puts her manner out of reach of fortune 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 contrived that some satiety and langu 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 fall to the bar, the archbishop and crepe, 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 said, she did not concede 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 women who are to get their living and could, at best, hope to be married to a good tradesman. A tradesman, cries Nightingale, you shan't undervalue my Nancy. There is not a nobleman on earth above her merit. Oh, fine, Mr. Nightingale, answered Mrs. Miller, you must not fill the girl's head with such fancies, but if it was her good luck, says the mother with a simper, to find a gentleman with a generous way of thinking, I hope she would make a better return to his generosity than to give her mind up to extravagant pleasures. Indeed, where young ladies bring great fortunes themselves, they have some right to insist on spending what is their own, and on that account I have heard the gentleman say, a man has sometimes a better bargain with a poor wife than with a richman. But let my daughters bury whom they will. I shall endeavor to make them blessings to their husbands. I beg, therefore, I may hear that I am certain too good a girl to desire to go, for she must remember when you carried her thither last year it almost turned her head, and she did not return to 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 parent, and as her indulgence to the desires was restrained only by her fears for their safety and future welfare, so she never suffered those commands which proceeded from such fears to be either disobeyed or disputed. And this, the young gentleman who had lodged two years in the house knew so well that he presently acquiesced in the refusal. Mr. Nightingale, who grew every minute fonder of Jones, was very desirous of his company that day to dinner at the tavern, where he offered to introduce him to some of his acquaintance. But Jones begged to be excused. As his clothes, he said, were not yet come to town. To confess the truth, Mr. Jones was now in a situation which sometimes happens to be the case of young gentlemen of much better figure than himself. In short, he had not won 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 honors which those philosophers have ascribed to an 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 mention pretend to have discovered a notorious error, no less false is I apprehend that position of some writers of romance that a man can live all together on love. For however delicious repast this may afford to some of our senses or appetites it is most certain it can afford none to others. Those therefore who have placed too great a confidence in such writers have experienced their error when it was too late and have found that love was no more capable of laying hunger than a rose is capable of delighting the ear or a violin of gratifying the smell. Notwithstanding therefore all the delicacies which love had set before him, namely the hopes of seeing Sophia at the masquerade on which, however ill-founded his imagination 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 a 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. Partridge, cries Jones, you cannot see my fortune in a more desperate light than I see it myself and I began heartily 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 in trouble which you have so kindly put yourself to on my account all the clothes I left behind in your care I desire you would take as your own I am sorry I can make you no other acknowledgement. He spoke these words with so pathetic an accent that Partridge, among whose vices ill-nature or hardness of heart were not numbered, burst into tears and after swearing he would not quit him in his distress he began with the most earnest in treaties to urge his return home. For heaven's sake sir, says he, do but consider what can your honor do how is it possible you can live in this town without money do what you will sir or go wherever you please I am resolved not to desert you but pray sir consider do pray sir for your own sake take it into your consideration and I'm sure says he that your own good sense will bid you return home how often shall I tell thee answered Jones that I have no home to return to had I any hopes that Mr. Allworthy's doors would be open to receive me I want no distress to urge me nay there is no other cause upon earth which could detain me a moment from flying to his presence but alas that I am forever banished from his last words were oh Partridge they still ring in my ears his last words were when he gave me a sum of money what it was I know not but considerable I'm sure it was his last words were I am resolved from this day forward on no account to converse with you any more here passion stopped the mouth of Jones as surprise for a moment did that of Partridge but he soon recovered the use of speech and after a short preface in which he declared he had no inquisitiveness in his temper inquired what Jones meant by a considerable sum he knew not how much and what was in both these points he now received full satisfaction on which he was proceeding to comment when he was interrupted by a message from Mr. Nightingale who desired his master's company in his apartment when the two gentlemen were both attired for the masquerade and Mr. Nightingale had given orders for chairs to be sent for a circumstance of distress occurred to Jones which will appear very ridiculous to many of my readers this was how to procure a shilling but if such and what they have themselves felt from the want of a thousand pounds or perhaps of ten or twenty to execute a favorite scheme they will have a perfect idea of what Mr. Jones felt on this occasion for this sum therefore he applied to Partridge which was the first he had permitted him to advance and was the last he intended that poor fellow should advance in his service to say the truth Partridge had lately made no offer of this kind whether it was that he desired to see the stress should prevail on Jones to return home or from one other motive it proceeded I will not determine end of chapter 6