 Book 3, Chapter 3, Part 1, of Joseph Andrews. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding. Book 3, Chapter 3, Part 1, in which the gentleman relates the history of his life. Sir, I am descended of a good family, and was born a gentleman. My education was liberal, and at a public school, in which I proceeded so far as to become master of the Latin, and to be tolerably versed in the Greek language. My father died when I was sixteen, and left me master of myself. He bequeathed me a moderate fortune, which he intended I should not receive, till I attained the age of twenty-five. For he constantly asserted that was full early enough to give up any man entirely to the guidance of his own discretion. However, as this intention was so obscurely worded in his will, that the lawyers advised me to contest the point with my trustees, I own I paid so little regard to the inclinations of my dead father, which were sufficiently certain to me, that I followed their advice, and soon succeeded, for the trustees did not contest the matter very obstinately on their side. Sir, said Adams, may I crave the favor of your name? The gentleman answered his name was Wilson, and then proceeded. I stayed a very little while at school after his death, for, being a forward youth, I was extremely impatient to be in the world, for which I thought my parts, knowledge, and manhood, thoroughly qualified me. And to this early introduction into life, without a guide, I impute all my future misfortunes, for besides the obvious mischiefs which attend this, there is one which hath not been so generally observed. The first impression which mankind receives of you will be very difficult to eradicate. How unhappy, therefore, must it be to fix your character in life, before you can possibly know its value, or weigh the consequences of those actions which are to establish your future reputation? A little under seventeen, I left my school, and went to London with no more than six pounds in my pocket, a great sum, as I then conceived, and which I was afterwards surprised to find, so soon consumed. The character I was ambitious of attaining was that of a fine gentleman. The first requisites, too, which I apprehended were to be supplied by a tailor, a periwig maker, and some few more tradesmen, who deal in furnishing out the human body. Notwithstanding the lowness of my purse, I found credit with them more easily than I expected, and was soon equipped to my wish. This I own then agreeably surprised me, but I have since learned that it is a maxim among many tradesmen at the polite end of the town, to deal as largely as they can, reckon as high as they can, and rest as soon as they can. The next qualifications, namely dancing, fencing, riding the great horse, and music, came into my head, but as they required expense and time, I comforted myself with regard to dancing, that I had learned a little in my youth, and could walk a menuet gently enough. As to fencing, I thought my good humor would preserve me from the danger of a quarrel. As to the horse, I hoped it would not be thought of, and for music I imagined I could easily acquire the reputation of it, for I had heard some of my school fellows pretend to knowledge in operas, without being able to sing or play on the fiddle. Knowledge of the town seemed another ingredient. This I thought I should arrive at by frequenting public places. Accordingly, I paid constant attendance to them all, by which means I was soon master of the fashionable phrases, learned to cry up the fashionable diversions, and knew the names and faces of the most fashionable men and women. Nothing now seemed to remain but an intrigue, which I was resolved to have immediately. I mean the reputation of it. And indeed I was so successful that, in a very short time, I had half a dozen, with the finest women in town. At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, and then, blessing himself, cried out, Good Lord, what wicked times these are! Not so wicked as you imagine, continued the gentleman, for I assure you they were all Vestal Virgins for anything which I knew to the contrary. The reputation of intriguing with them was all I sought, and was what I arrived at, and perhaps I only flattered myself even in that. For very probably the persons to whom I showed their billets knew as well as I that they were counterfeits, and that I had written them to myself. Write letters to yourself, said Adams, staring. Oh, sir, answered the gentleman, it is the very error of the times. Half our modern plays have one of these characters in them. It is incredible the pains I have taken and the absurd methods I employed to produce the character of women of distinction. When another had spoken in raptures of any one, I have answered, D. Blank in her, she, we shall have her at H. Blank, Blank does, very soon. When he hath replied, he thought, her virtuous, I have answered, I thou wilt always think a woman virtuous till she is in the streets. But you and I, Jack or Tom, turning to another in company, know better. At which I have drawn a paper out of my pocket, perhaps a tailor's bill, and kissed it, crying at the same time. By God, I was once fond of her. Proceed, if you please, but do not swear any more, said Adams. Sir, said the gentleman, I ask your pardon. Well, sir, in this course of life I continued full three years. What course of life? answered Adams. I do not remember you have mentioned any. Your remark is just, said the gentleman, smiling. I should rather have said, in this course of doing nothing. I remember sometime afterwards I wrote the journal of one day, which would serve, I believe, as well for any other during the whole time. I will endeavor to repeat it to you. In the morning I arose, took my great stick, and walked out in my green frock, with my hair in papers, a groan from Adams, and sauntered about till ten. Went to the auction, told Lady Blank Blank she had a dirty face, laughed heartily at something Captain Blank, Blank said, I can't remember what, for I did not very well hear it, whispered Lord Blank Blank, bowed to the Duke of Blank Blank, and was going to bid for a snuff box, but did not, for fear I should have had it. From two to four dressed myself, a groaned. Four to six dined, a groan, six to eight coffee-house, eight to nine drury-lane playhouse, nine to ten Lincoln's inn fields, ten to twelve drawing-room, a great groan. At all which places nothing happened worth remark. At which Adams said with some vehemence, Sir, this is below the life of an animal, hardly above vegetation, and I am surprised what could lead a man of your sense into it. What leads us into more follies than you imagine, doctor? answered the gentleman, Vanity, for as contemptible a creature as I was, and I assure you, yourself cannot have more contempt for such a wretch than I now have, I then admired myself, and should have despised a person of your present appearance, you will, pardon me, with all your learning and those excellent qualities which I have remarked in you. Adams bowed, and begged him to proceed. After I had continued two years in this course of life, said the gentleman, an accident happened which obliged me to change the scene. As I was one day at St. James' coffee-house, making very free with the character of a young lady of quality, an officer of the guards, who was present, thought proper to give me the lie. I answered I might possibly be mistaken, but I intended to tell no more than the truth, to which he made no reply, but by a scornful sneer. After this I observed a strange coldness in all my acquaintance. None of them spoke to me first, and very few returned to me, even the civility of a bow. The company I used to dine with left me out, and within a week I found myself in as much solitude at St. James as if I had been in a desert. An honest, elderly man with a great hat and long sword at last told me he had a compassion for my youth, and therefore advised me to show the world I was not such a rascal as they thought me to be. I did not at first understand him, but he explained himself, and ended with telling me if I would write a challenge to the captain, he would, out of pure charity, go to him with it. A very charitable person, truly, cried Adams. I desired till the next day, continued the gentleman, to consider on it, and, retiring to my lodgings, I weighed the consequences on both sides as fairly as I could. On the one I saw the risk of this alternative, either losing my own life, or having on my hands the blood of a man with whom I was not in the least angry. I soon determined that the good which appeared on the other was not worth this hazard. I therefore resolved to quit the scene, and presently retired to the temple, where I took chambers. Here I soon got a fresh set of acquaintance who knew nothing of what had happened to me. Indeed they were not greatly to my approbation. For the bows of the temple are only the shadows of the others. They are the affectation of affectation. The vanity of these is still more ridiculous, if possible, than of the others. Here I met with smart fellows who drank with lords they did not know, and intrigued with women they never saw. Covent Garden was now the farthest stretch of my ambition, where I shone forth in the balconies at the playhouses. And horrors made love to orange wenches, and damned plays. This career was soon put a stop to by my surgeon, who convinced me of the necessity of confining myself to my room for a month. At the end of which, having had leisure to reflect, I resolved to quit all farther conversation with bows and smarts of every kind, and to avoid, if possible, any occasion of returning to this place of confinement. I think, said Adams, the advice of a month's retirement and reflection was very prepper, but I should rather have expected it from a divine than a surgeon. The gentleman smiled at Adams' simplicity, and, without explaining himself farther on such an odious subject, went on thus. I was no sooner perfectly restored to health than I found my passion for women, which I was afraid to satisfy as I had done, made me very uneasy. I determined, therefore, to keep a mistress. Nor was I long before I fixed my choice on a young woman, who had before been kept by two gentlemen, and to whom I was recommended by a celebrated bod. I took her home to my chambers, and made her a settlement during cohabitation. This would perhaps have been very ill-paid, however, she did not suffer me to be perplexed on that account, for, before quarter day, I found her at my chambers in too familiar conversation with a young fellow who was dressed like an officer, but was indeed a city apprentice. Instead of excusing her in constancy, she wrapped out half a dozen oaths, and snapping her fingers at me, swore she scorned to confine herself to the best man in England. Upon this we parted, and the same bod presently provided her another keeper. I was not so much concerned at our separation as I found within a day or two. I had reason to be for our meeting, for I was obliged to pay a second visit to my surgeon. I was now forced to do penance for some weeks, during which time I contracted an acquaintance with a beautiful young girl, the daughter of a gentleman who, after having been forty years in the army and in all the campaigns under the Duke of Marlborough, died a lieutenant on half pay, and had left a widow with this only child in very distressed circumstances. They had only a small pension from the government, with what little the daughter could add to it by her work, for she had great excellence at her needle. This girl was, at my first acquaintance with her, solicited in marriage by a young fellow in good circumstances. He was apprentice to a linden draper, and had a little fortune sufficient to set up his trade. The mother was greatly pleased with this match, as indeed she had sufficient reason. However, I soon prevented it. I represented him in so low a light to his mistress, and made so good in use of flattery, promises, and presents, that, not to dwell longer on this subject than is necessary. I prevailed with the poor girl, and conveyed her away from her mother. In a word I debauched her, at which words Adam started up, fetched three strides across the room, and then replaced himself in his chair. You are not more affected with this part of my story than myself. I assure you, it will never be sufficiently repented of, in my own opinion. But if you already detest it, how much more will your indignation be raised when you hear the fatal consequences of this barbarous, this villainous action? If you please, therefore, I will hear desist. By no means, cries Adams, go on, I beseech you, and heaven grant you may sincerely repent of this and many other things you have related. I was, now, continued the gentleman, as happy as the possession of a fine young creature, who had a good education, and was endued with many agreeable qualities could make me. We lived some months with vast fondness together, without any company or conversation, more than we found in one another. But this could not continue always, and though I still preserved great affection for her, I began more and more to want the relief of other company, and, consequently, to leave her by degrees, at last whole days, to herself. She failed not to testify some uneasiness on these occasions, and complained of the melancholy life she led, to remedy which I introduced her into the acquaintance of some other kept mistresses, with whom she used to play at cards, and frequent plays, and other diversions. She had not lived long in this intimacy, before I perceived a visible alteration in her behavior. All her modesty and innocence vanished by degrees, till her mind became thoroughly tainted. She affected the company of rakes, gave herself all manner of heirs, was never easy, but abroad, or when she had a party at my chambers. She was rapacious of money, extravagant to excess, loose in her conversation, and, if ever I demure to any of her demands, oaths, tears, and fits were the immediate consequences. As the first raptures of fondness were long since over, this behavior soon estranged my affections from her. I began to reflect with pleasure that she was not my wife, and to conceive an intention of parting with her, of which, having given her a hint, she took care to prevent me, the pains of turning her out of doors, and, accordingly, departed herself. Being first broken open, my escrutor, and taken with her all, she could find to the amount of about two hundred pounds. In the first heat of my resentment, I resolved to pursue her with all the vengeance of the law, but, as she had the good luck to escape me, during that ferment, my passion afterwards cooled, and having reflected that I had been the first aggressor and had done her an injury for which I could make her no reparation by robbing her of the innocence of her mind, and hearing at the same time that the poor old woman her mother had broke her heart on her daughter's elopement from her, I, concluding myself her murderer, as you very well might, cries Adams, with a groan. Was pleased that God Almighty had taken this method of punishing me, and resolved, quietly, to submit to the loss. Indeed, I could wish I had never heard more of the poor creature who became in the end an abandoned profligate, and, after being some years a common prostitute, at last ended her miserable life in Newgate. Here the gentleman fetched a deep sigh, which Mr. Adams echoed very loudly, and both continued silent, looking on each other for some minutes. At last the gentleman proceeded, thus I had been perfectly constant to this girl during the whole time I kept her, but she had scarce departed before I discovered more marks of her infidelity to me than the loss of my money. In short, I was forced to make a third visit to my surgeon, out of whose hands I did not get a hasty discharge. I now foreswore all future dealings with the sex, complained loudly that the pleasure did not compensate the pain, and railed at the beautiful creatures in as gross language as juvenile himself formally reviled them in. I looked on all the town harlots, with a detestation not easy to be conceived. Their persons appeared to me as painted palaces, inhabited by disease and death, nor could their beauty make them more desirable objects in my eyes than gilding could make me covet a pill or golden plates, a coffin. But though I was no longer the absolute slave, I found some reasons to own myself, still, the subject of love. My hatred for women decreased daily, and I am not positive, but time might have betrayed me again to some common harlot had I not been secured by a passion for the charming Saphira, which having once entered upon made a violent progress in my heart. Saphira was wife to a man of fashion and gallantry, and one who seemed, I own, every way worthy of her affections, which, however, he had not the reputation of having. She was indeed a coquette, a chevet. Préssère, says Adams, what is a coquette? I have met with the word in French authors, but never could assign any idea to it. I believe it is the same with insot, and l'essay, a fool. Sir, answered the gentleman, perhaps you are not much mistaken, but as it is a particular kind of folly, I will endeavor to describe it. Were all creatures to be ranked in the order of creation, according to their usefulness, I know few animals that would not take place of a coquette, nor indeed hath this creature much pretense to anything beyond instinct. For though sometimes we might imagine it was animated by the passion of vanity, yet far the greater part of its actions fall beneath even that low motive. For instance, several absurd gestures and tricks, infinitely more foolish than what can be observed in the most ridiculous birds and beasts, and which would persuade the beholder that the silly wretch was aiming at our contempt. Indeed its characteristic is affectation, and this led and governed by whim only. For as beauty, wisdom, wit, good nature, politeness, and health are sometimes affected by this creature, so are ugliness, folly, nonsense, ill nature, ill breeding, and sickness likewise put on by it in their turn. Its life is one constant lie, and the only rule by which you can form any judgment of them is that they are never what they seem. If it was possible for a coquette to love, as it is not, for if ever it attains this passion, the coquette ceases instantly, it would wear the face of indifference, if not of hatred, to the beloved object. You may therefore be assured, when they endeavor to persuade you of their liking, that they are indifferent to you at least. And indeed this was the case of my Saphira, who no sooner saw me in the number of her admirers, than she gave me what is commonly called encouragement. She would often look at me, and when she perceived me, meet her eyes, would instantly take them off, discovering at the same time as much surprise and emotion as possible. These arts failed not of the success she intended, and as I grew more particular to her than the rest of her admirers, she advanced, in proportion, more directly to me than to the others. She affected the low voice, whisper, lisp, sigh, start, laugh, and many other indications of passion, which daily deceive thousands. When I played at wist with her, she would look earnestly at me, and at the same time lose deal or revoke, then burst into a ridiculous laugh and cry, La, I can't imagine what I was thinking of, to detain you no longer, after I had gone through a sufficient course of gallantry, as I thought, and was thoroughly convinced I had raised a violent passion in my mistress, I sought an opportunity of coming to an aclari small with her. She avoided this as much as possible, however. Great assiduity at length presented me one. I will not describe all the particulars of this interview, let it suffice that, when she could no longer pretend not to see my drift, she first affected a violent surprise, and immediately after, as violent a passion, she wondered what I had seen in her conduct, which could induce me to affront her in this manner. And to break him from me, the first moment she could, told me I had no other way to escape the consequence of her resentment, than by never seeing, or at least speaking, to her more. I was not contented with this answer. I still pursued her, but to no purpose, and was at length convinced that her husband had the sole possession of her person, and that neither he nor any other had made any impression on her heart. I was taken off from this following, this ignis fountas, by some advances which were made me by the wife of a citizen, who, though neither very young nor handsome, was yet too agreeable to be rejected by my amorous constitution. I accordingly soon satisfied her that she had not cast away her hints on a barren or cold soil, on the contrary, they instantly produced her an eager and desiring lover, nor did she give me any reason to complain. She met the warmth she had raised with equal ardor. I had no longer a coquette to deal with, but one who was wiser than to prostitute the noble passion of love to the ridiculous lust of vanity. We presently understood one another, and as the pleasures we saw lay in a mutual gratification, we soon found and enjoyed them. I thought myself at first greatly happy in the possession of this new mistress, whose fondness would have quickly surfated a more sickly appetite, but it had a different effect on mine. She carried my passion higher by it than youth or beauty had been able. But my happiness could not long continued uninterrupted. The apprehensions we lay under from the jealousy of her husband gave us great uneasiness. Poor wretch, I pity him, cried Adams. He did indeed deserve it, said the gentleman, for he loved his wife with great tenderness, and I assure you it is a great satisfaction to me that I was not the man who first seduced her affections from him. These apprehensions appeared also too well grounded, for in the end he discovered us and procured witnesses of our caresses. He then prosecuted me at law and recovered three thousand pounds damages, which much distressed my fortune to pay. And what was worse, his wife, being divorced, came upon my hands. I led a very uneasy life with her, for, besides that my passion was now much abated, her excessive jealousy was very troublesome. At length death rid me of an inconvenience, which the consideration of my having been the author of her misfortunes would never suffer me to take any other method of discarding. I now bade adieu to love and resolved to pursue other less dangerous and expensive pleasures. I fell into the acquaintance of a set of jolly companions who slept all day and drank all night, fellows who might rather be said to consume time than to live. Their best conversation was nothing but noise, singing, hollowing, wrangling, drinking, toasting, blanking, smoking were the chief ingredients of our entertainment. And yet, bad as these were, they were more tolerable than our graver scenes, which were either excessive, tedious narratives of dull, common matters of fact, or hot disputes about trifling matters, which commonly ended in a wager. This way of life, the first serious reflection put a period to, and I became a member of a club frequented by young men of great abilities. The bottle was now only called in to the assistance of our conversation, which rolled on the deepest points of philosophy. These gentlemen were engaged in a search after truth, in the pursuit of which they threw aside all their prejudices of education and governed themselves only by the infallible guide of human reason. This great guide, after having shown them the falsehood of that very ancient, but simple tenant, that there is such a being as a deity in the universe, helped them to establish in his stead a certain rule of right by adhering to which they all arrived at the utmost purity of morals. Then made me as much delighted with this society as it had taught me to despise and detest the former. I began now to esteem myself a being of a higher order than I had ever before conceived, and was the more charmed with this rule of right as I really found in my own nature nothing repugnant to it. I held in utter contempt all persons who wanted any other inducement to virtue besides her intrinsic beauty and excellence, and had so high an opinion of my present companions with regard to their morality that I would have trusted them with whatever was nearest and dearest to me. Whilst I was engaged in this delightful dream, two or three accidents happened successively, which at first much surprised me, for one of our greatest philosophers, or rule of right men, withdrew himself from us, taking with him the wife of one of his most intimate friends. Secondly, another of the same society left the club without remembering to take leave of his bail. A third having borrowed a sum of money of me, for which I received no security, when I asked him to repay it, absolutely denied the loan. These several practices, so inconsistent with our golden rule, made me begin to suspect its infallibility. But when I communicated my thoughts to one of the club, he said, there was nothing absolutely good or evil in itself, that actions were denominated good or bad by the circumstances of the agent. That possibly the man who ran away with his neighbor's wife might be one of very good inclinations, but over prevailed on, by the violence of an unruly passion, and in other particulars might be a very worthy member of society. That if the beauty of any woman created in him an uneasiness, he had a right from nature to relieve himself, with many other things, which I then detested so much that I took leave of the society that very evening, and never returned to it again. And of book three chapter three, part one, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for Librebox. Book three chapter three, part two, of Joseph Andrews. This Librebox recording is in the public domain. Read by Dennis Sayers. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding. Book three chapter three, part two. Being now reduced to a state of solitude, which I did not like, I became a great frequenter of the playhouses, which indeed was always my favorite diversion, and most evenings passed away two or three hours behind the scenes, where I met with several poets with whom I made engagements at the taverns. Some of the players were likewise of our parties. At these meetings we were generally entertained by the poets with reading their performances and by the players with repeating their parts. Upon which occasions I observed the gentleman who furnished our entertainment was commonly the best pleased of the company, who, though they were pretty civil to him to his face, seldom failed to take the first opportunity of his absence to ridicule him. Now I made some remarks which probably are too obvious to be worth relating. Sir, says Adams, your remarks if you please. First then, says he, I concluded that the general observation that wits are most inclined to vanity is not true. Everyone are equally vain of riches, strength, beauty, honors, etc. But these appear of themselves to the eyes of the beholders, whereas the poor wit is obliged to produce his performance to show you his perfection. And on his readiness to do this, that vulgar opinion I have before mentioned is grounded, but doth not the person who expends vast sums in the furniture of his house or the ornaments of his person, who consumes much time and employs great pains in dressing himself, or who thinks himself paid for self-denial, labor, or even villainy. By a title or a ribbon, sacrifice as much to vanity as the poor wit who is desiring for us to read you his poem or his play. My second remark was that vanity is the worst of passions and more apt to contaminate the mind than any other, for as selfishness is much more general than we please to allow it, so it is natural to hate and envy those who stand between us and the good we desire. Now, in lust and ambition these are few, and even in avarice we may find many who are no obstacles to our pursuits, but the vain man seeks preeminence, and everything which is excellent or praiseworthy in another renders him the mark of his antipathy. Adams now began to fumble in his pockets, and soon cried out, Oh, la, I have it not about me. Upon this the gentleman asking him what he was searching for, he said he searched after a sermon which he thought his masterpiece against vanity. Fie upon it, fie upon it, cries he. Why do I ever leave that sermon out of my pocket? I wish it was within five miles I would willingly fetch it to read it to you. The gentleman answered that there was no need, for he was cured of the passion, and for that very reason, quote Adams, I would read it, for I am confident you would admire it. Indeed, I have never been a greater enemy to any passion than that silly one of vanity. The gentleman smiled and proceeded. From this society I easily passed to that of the game-sters, where nothing remarkable happened but the finishing of my fortune, which those gentlemen soon helped me to the end of. This open scenes of life hitherto unknown, poverty and distress, with their horrid train of duns, attorneys, bailiffs, haunted me day and night. My clothes grew shabby, my credit bad, my friends and acquaintance of all kinds cold. In this situation the strangest thought imaginable came into my head, and what was this but to write a play? For I had sufficient leisure, fear of bailiffs confined me every day to my room, and having always had a little inclination, and something of a genius that way, I set myself to work. And within a few months produced a piece of five acts, which was accepted of at the theater. I remembered to have formally taken tickets of other poets for their benefits, along before the appearance of their performances, and, resolving to follow a precedent, which was so well suited to my present circumstances, I immediately provided myself with a large number of little papers. Happy indeed would be the state of poetry, would these tickets pass current at the bake house, the ale house, and the chandler's shop. But alas far otherwise, no tailor will take them in payment for buckram canvas, state tape, nor no bailiff for civility money. They are indeed no more than a passport to beg with, a certificate that the owner wants five shillings, which induces well-disposed Christians to charity. I now experienced what is worse than poverty, or rather what is the worst consequence of poverty. I mean attendance and dependence on the great. Many a morning have I waited hours in the cold parlors of men of quality, where, after seeing the lowest rascals in lace and embroidery, the pimps and buffoons in fashion, admitted I have been sometimes told on sending in my name that my lord could not possibly see me this morning a sufficient assurance that I should never more get entrance into that house. Sometimes I have been at last admitted, and the great man hath thought proper to excuse himself by telling me he was tied up. Says Adams, pray, what's that? Sir, says the gentleman, the profit which booksellers allowed authors for the best works was so very small that certain men of birth and fortune, some years ago, who were the patrons of wit and learning, thought fit to encourage them farther by entering into voluntary subscriptions for their encouragement. Thus, prior row, pope, and some other men of genius, received large sums for their labors from the public. This seemed so easy a method of getting money that many of the lowest scribblers of the times ventured to publish their works in the same way, and many had the assurance to take in subscriptions for what was not writ, nor ever intended. Subscriptions in this manner, growing infinite, and a kind of tax on the public, some persons finding it not so easy a task to discern good from bad authors, or to know what genius was worthy encouragement, and what was not, to prevent the expense of subscribing to so many, invented a method to excuse themselves from all subscriptions whatever, and this was to receive a small sum of money in consideration of giving a large one if ever they subscribed, which many have done, and many more have pretended to have done in order to silence all solicitation. The same method was likewise taken with playhouse tickets, which were no less a public grievance, and this is what they called being tied up from subscribing. I can't say what the term is apt enough, and somewhat typical, said Adams, for a man of large fortune, who ties himself up, as you call it, from the encouragement of men of merit ought to be tied up in reality. Well, sir, says the gentleman, to return to my story. Sometimes I have received a guinea from a man of quality, given with as ill a grace as alms are generally to the meanest beggar, and purchased too with as much time spent in attendance, as if it had been spent in honest industry, might have brought me more profit, with infinitely more satisfaction. After about two months spent in this disagreeable way, with the utmost mortification, when I was pluming my hopes on the prospect of a plentiful harvest from my play, upon applying to the prompter to know when it came into rehearsal, he informed me he had received orders from the managers to return me the play again, for that they could not possibly act it that season. But if I would take it and revise it against the next, they would be glad to see it again. I snatched it from him with great indignation, and retired to my room, where I threw myself on the bed in a fit of despair. You should rather have thrown yourself on your knees, says Adams, for despair is sinful. As soon, continued the gentleman, as I had indulged the first tumult of my passion, I began to consider coolly what course I should take, in a situation without friends, money, credit, or reputation of any kind. After revolving many things in my mind, I could see no other possibility of franching myself with the miserable necessaries of life, than to retire to a garret near the temple, and commence hackney-writer to the lawyers, for which I was well qualified, being an excellent penman. This purpose I resolved on, and immediately put it in execution. I had an acquaintance with an attorney who had formally transacted affairs for me, and to him I applied. But instead of furnishing me with any business, he laughed at my undertaking, and told me he was afraid I should turn his deeds into plays, and he should expect to see them on the stage. Not to tire you with instances of this kind from others, I found that Plato himself did not hold poets in greater abhorrence than these men of business do. Whenever I durced venture to a coffee-house, which was on Sundays only, a whisper ran round the room, which was constantly attended with a sneer. That's poet Wilson, for I know not whether you have observed it, but there is a malignity in the nature of man, which, when not weeded out, or at least covered by a good education and politeness, delights in making another uneasy or dissatisfied with himself. This abundantly appears in all assemblies, except those which are filled by people of fashion, and especially among the younger people of both sexes, whose birth and fortunes place them just without the polite circles. I mean the lower class of the gentry, and the higher of the mercantile world, who are in reality the worst bread part of mankind. Well, sir, whilst I continued in this miserable state, with scarce sufficient business to keep me from starving, the reputation of a poet being my bane, I accidentally became acquainted with a bookseller who told me, it was a pity a man of my learning and genius should be obliged to such a method of getting his livelihood, that he had a compassion for me, and if I would engage with him he would undertake to provide handsomely for me. A man in my circumstances, as he very well knew, had no choice. I accordingly accepted his proposal with his conditions, which were none of the most favorable, and fell to translating with all my might. I had no longer reason to lament the want of business, for he furnished me with so much that in half a year I almost writ myself blind. I likewise contracted a distemper by my sedentary life, in which no part of my body was exercised but my right arm, which rendered me incapable of writing for a long time. This unluckily happening to delay the publication of a work, and my last performance, not having sold well, the bookseller declined any further engagement, and asspursed me to his brethren as a careless idol-fellow. I had, however, by having half worked and half starved myself to death during the time I was in his service, saved a few guineas with which I bought a lottery ticket, resolving to throw myself into Fortune's lap, and try if she would make me a mens for the injuries she had done me at the gaming table. This purchase, being made, left me almost penniless, when, as if I had not been sufficiently miserable, a bailiff in women's clothes got admittance to my chamber, whether he was directed by the bookseller. He arrested me at my tailor's suit for thirty-five pounds, a sum for which I could not perk your bail, and was therefore conveyed to his house where I was locked up in an upper chamber. I had now neither health, for I was scarce recovered from my indisposition, liberty, money, or friends, and had abandoned all hopes, and even the desire of life. But this could not last long, said Adams, for doubtless the tailor released you the moment he was truly acquainted with your affairs, and knew that your circumstances would not permit you to pay him. Oh, sir, answered the gentleman, he knew that before he arrested me. Nay, he knew that nothing but incapacity could prevent me paying my debts, for I had been his customer many years, had spent vast sums of money with him, and had always paid most punctually in my prosperous days. But when I reminded him of this, with assurances that if he would not molest my endeavors, I would pay him all the money I could by my utmost labor and industry per cure, reserving only what was sufficient to preserve me alive, he answered, his patience was worn out, that I had put him off from time to time, that he wanted the money, that he had put it into a lawyer's hands, and if I did not pay him immediately, or find security, I must die in jail, and expect no mercy. He may expect mercy, cries Adams, starting from his chair, where he will find none how can such a wretch repeat the Lord's prayer, where the word, which is translated, I know not for what reason trespasses, is in the original, debts, and as surely as we do not forgive others their debts, and when they are unable to pay them, so surely shall we ourselves be unforgiven when we are in no condition of paying. He seized, and the gentleman proceeded. While I was in this deplorable situation, a former acquaintance to whom I had communicated my lottery ticket, found me out, and making me a visit, with great delight in his countenance, shook me heartily by the hand, and wished me joy of my good fortune, for, says he, your ticket has come up a prize of three thousand pounds. Adams snapped his fingers at these words in an ecstasy of joy, which, however, did not continue long, for the gentleman thus proceeded. Alas, sir, this was only a trick of fortune to sink me the deeper, for I had disposed of this lottery ticket two days before to a relation who refused lending me a shilling without it, in order to procure myself bread. As soon as my friend was acquainted with my unfortunate sale, he began to revile me, and remind me of all the ill conduct and miscarriages of my life. He said, I was one whom fortune could not save if she would, that I was now ruined without any hopes of retrieval, nor must expect any pity from my friends, that it would be extreme weakness to compassionate the misfortunes of a man who ran headlong to his own destruction. He then painted to me, in as lifely colors as he was able, the happiness I should have now enjoyed had I not foolishly disposed of my ticket. I urged the plea of necessity, but he made no answer to that, and began, again, to revile me, till I could bear it no longer, and desired him to finish his visit. I soon exchanged the bailiff's house for a prison, where, as I had not money sufficient to procure me a separate apartment, I was crowded in with a great number of miserable wretches, in common with whom I was destitute of every convenience of life, even that which all the brutes enjoy wholesome air. In these dreadful circumstances I applied by letter to several of my old acquaintance, and such to whom I had formerly lent money without any great prospect of its being returned, for their assistance, but in vain. An excuse, instead of a denial, was the gentlest answer I received. Wildstyle languished in a condition too horrible to be described, and which, in a land of humanity, in what is much more Christianity, seems a strange punishment for a little in advertency and indiscretion. Wildstyle was, in this condition, a fellow came into the prison, and, inquiring me out, delivered me the following letter. Sir, my father, to whom you sold your ticket in the last lottery, died the same day in which it came up a prize, as you have possibly heard, and left me sole heiress of all his fortune. I am so much touched with your present circumstances, and the uneasiness you must feel at having been driven to dispose of what might have made you happy, that I must desire your acceptance of the enclosed, and am your humble servant, Harriet Harty. Close, quote, and what do you think was enclosed? I don't know, cried Adams, not less than a guinea, I hope. Sir, it was a bank note for two hundred pounds. Two hundred pounds, says Adams, in a rapture. No less, I assure you, answered the gentleman. A sum I was not half so delighted with as with the dear name of the generous girl that scented me, and who was not only the best, but the handsomest creature in the universe, and for whom I had long had a passion which I never durst disclosed to her. I kissed her name a thousand times, my eyes overflowing with tenderness and gratitude. I repeated, but not to detain you with these raptures, I immediately acquired my liberty, and having paid all my debts, departed with upwards of fifty pounds in my pocket to thank my kind deliverer. She happened to be then out of town, a circumstance which, upon reflection, pleased me, for by that means I had an opportunity to appear before her in a more decent dress. At her return to town, within a day or two, I threw myself at her feet with the most ardent acknowledgements which she rejected with an unfamed greatness of mind, and told me I could not oblige her more than by never mentioning, or, if possible, thinking on, a circumstance which must bring to my mind an accident that might be grievous to me to think on. She proceeded thus, What I have done is in my own eyes a trifle, and perhaps infinitely less than would have become me to do, and if you think of engaging in any business where a larger sum may be serviceable to you, I shall not be over-rigid either as to the security or interest. I endeavored to express all the gratitude and my power to this profusion of goodness, though perhaps it was my enemy, and began to afflict my mind with more agonies than all the miseries I had underwent. It affected me with severer reflections than poverty, distress, and prisons united had been able to make me feel, for, sir, these acts and professions of kindness which were sufficient to have raised in a good heart the most violent passion of friendship to one of the same, or to age and ugliness in a different sex came to me from a woman, a young and beautiful woman, one whose perfections I had long known, and for whom I had long conceived a violent passion, though with a despair which made me endeavor rather to curb and conceal than to nourish or acquaint her with it. In short, they came upon me united with beauty, softness, and tenderness, such bewitching smiles. Oh, Mr. Adams, in that moment I lost myself in forgetting our different situations, nor considering what return I was making to her goodness by desiring her, who had given me so much to bestow her all. I laid gently hold on her hand and, conveying it to my lips, I pressed it with inconceivable ardor. Then, lifting up my swimming eyes, I saw her face and neck overspread with one blush. She offered to withdraw her hand, yet not so as to deliver it from mine, though I held it with the gentlest force. We both stood trembling, her eyes cast on the ground and mine steadfastly fixed on her. Good G. Blank D., what was then the condition of my soul? Burning with love, desire, admiration, gratitude, and every tender passion all bent on one charming object. The passion, at last, got the better of both reason and respect, and, softly letting go her hand, I offered madly to clasp her in my arms when a little recovering herself, she started from me, asking me, with some show of anger, if she had any reason to expect this treatment from me. I then fell prostrate before her, and told her, if I had offended, my life was absolutely in her power, which I would, in any manner, lose for her sake. Nay, madam, said I, you shall not be so ready to punish me as I to suffer. I own my guilt. I detest the reflection that I would have sacrificed your happiness to mine. Believe me, I sincerely repent my ingratitude, yet believe me too, it was my passion, my unbounded passion for you, which hurried me so far. I have loved you long and tenderly, and the goodness you have shown me hath innocently weighed down a wretch undone before. Acquit me of all mean, mercenary views, and before I take my leave of you forever, which I am resolved instantly to do, believe me that fortune could have raised me to no height to which I could not have gladly lifted you. Oh, cursed be fortune, do not, says she, interrupting me with the sweetest voice. Do not curse fortune, since she hath made me happy, and if she hath put your happiness in my power, I have told you, you shall ask nothing in reason which I will refuse. Madam, said I, you mistake me if you imagine as you seem. My happiness is in the power of fortune now. You have obliged me too much already. If I have any wish, it is for some blessed accident by which I may contribute with my life to the least augmentation of your felicity. As for myself, the only happiness I can ever have will be hearing of yours, and if fortune will make that complete, I will forgive her all her wrongs to me. You may, indeed, answer she, smiling, for your own happiness must be included in mine. I have long known your worth. Nay, I must confess, said she, blushing. I have long discovered that passion for me, you profess, notwithstanding those endeavors which I am convinced were unaffected to conceal it. And if all I can give with reason will not suffice, take reason away, and now I believe you cannot ask me what I will deny. She uttered these words with a sweetness not to be imagined. I immediately started. My blood, which lay freezing at my heart, rushed too multruously through every vein. I stood for a moment, silent. Then, flying to her, I caught her in my arms, no longer resisting, and softly told her she must give me, then herself. Oh, sir, can I describe her look? She remained silent and almost motionless, several minutes. At last, recovering herself a little, she insisted on my leaving her, and in such a manner that I instantly obeyed. You may imagine, however, I soon saw her again. But I ask pardon, I fear I have detained you too long in relating the particulars of the former interview. So far, otherwise, said Adams, licking his lips, that I could willingly hear it over again. Well, sir, continued the gentleman, to be as concise as possible. Within a week, she consented to make me the happiest of mankind. We were married shortly after, and when I came to examine the circumstances of my wife's fortune, which I do assure you, I was not presently at leisure enough to do, I found it amounted to about six thousand pounds, most part of which lay in effects. For her father had been a wine merchant, and she seemed willing, if I liked it, that I should carry on the same trade. I readily and too inconsiderately undertook it for not having been bred up to the secrets of the business, and endeavoring to deal with the utmost honesty and uprightness, I soon found our fortune in a declining way, and my trade decreasing by little and little. For my wines, which I never adulterated after their importation, and were sold as neat as they came over, were universally decried by the venturers, to whom I could not allow them quite as cheap as those who gained double the profit by a less price. I soon began to despair of improving our fortune by these means, nor was I at all easy at the visits and familiarity of many who had been my acquaintance in my prosperity, but had denied and shunned me in my adversity, and now very forwardly renewed their acquaintance with me. In short, I had sufficiently seen that the pleasures of the world are chiefly folly, and the business of it mostly navery, and both nothing better than vanity, the men of pleasure tearing one another to pieces from the emulation of spending money, and the men of business from envy in getting it. My happiness consisted entirely in my wife, whom I loved with an inexpressible fondness, which was perfectly returned, and my prospects were no other than to provide for our growing family, for she was now big of her second child. I therefore took an opportunity to ask her opinion of entering into a retired life, which, after hearing my reasons and perceiving my affection for it, she readily embraced. We soon put our small fortune, now reduced under three thousand pounds, into money, with part of which we purchased this little place, with her we retired soon after her delivery from a world full of bustle, noise, hatred, envy, and ingratitude, to ease, quiet, and love. We have here lived almost twenty years, with little other conversation than our own, most of the neighborhood taking us for very strange people, the squire of the parish representing me as a madman, and the parson as a Presbyterian, because I will not hunt with the one, nor drink with the other. Sir, says Adams, fortune hath I think paid you all her debts in this sweet retirement. Sir, replied the gentleman, I am thankful to the great author of all things for the blessings I here enjoy. I have the best of wives and three pretty children, for whom I have the true tenderness of a parent. But no blessings are pure in this world. Within three years of my arrival here I lost my eldest son. Here he sighed bitterly. Sir, says Adams, we must submit to Providence and consider death as common to all. We must submit indeed, answered the gentleman, and if he had died I could have borne the loss with patience. But, alas, sir, he was stolen away from my door by some wicked traveling people whom they call gypsies, nor could I ever, with the most diligent search recover him. Poor child, he had the sweetest look, the exact picture of his mother, at which some tears unwittingly dropped from his eyes, as did likewise from those of Adams who always sympathized with his friends on those occasions. Thus, sir, said the gentleman, I have finished my story, in which if I have been too particular I ask your pardon, and now, if you please, I will fetch you another bottle, which proposal the parson thankfully accepted. End of book three, chapter three, part two, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California, for Librebox. Chapters four and five of Joseph Andrews. This Librebox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dennis Sayers. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding. Book three, chapter four, a description of Mr. Wilson's way of living, the tragic adventure of the dog, and other grave matters. The gentleman returned with the bottle, and Adams and he sat some time silent. When the former started up and cried, No, that won't do, the gentleman inquired into his meaning, he answered. He had been considering that it was possible the late, famous King Theodore, might have been that very son whom he had lost, but added that his age could not answer that imagination. However, says he, G. Blank disposes all things for the best, and very probably he may be some great man or Duke, and may one day or other revisit you in that capacity. The gentleman answered he should know him among ten thousand, for he had a mark on his left breast of a strawberry which his mother had given him by longing for that fruit. That beautiful young lady, the morning, now rose from her bed, and with the countenance blooming with fresh youth and sprightliness, like Miss Blank Blank. Footnote, whoever the reader pleases, with soft dews hanging on her pouting lips, began to take her early walk over the eastern hills, and presently after that gallant person, the son, stole softly from his wife's chamber to pay his addresses to her. When the gentleman asked his guest if he would walk forth and survey his little garden, which he readily agreed to, and Joseph at the same time, waking from a sleep in which he had been two hours buried, went with them. No parters, no fountains, no statues, embellished this little garden. Its only ornament was a short walk, shaded on each side by a filbert hedge, with a small alcove at one end. Wither in hot weather, the gentleman and his wife used to retire and divert themselves with their children, who played in the walk before them. But though vanity had no votary in this little spot, here was variety of fruit and everything useful for the kitchen, which was abundantly sufficient to catch the admiration of Adams, who told the gentleman he had certainly a good gardener. Sir, answered he, that gardener is now before you. Whatever you see here is the work solely of my own hands. Whilst I am providing necessaries for my table, I likewise procure myself an appetite for them. In fair seasons I seldom pass less than six hours of the twenty-four in this place, where I am not idle, and by these means I have been able to preserve my health ever since my arrival here, without assistance from physics. Hither I generally repair at the dawn, and exercise myself whilst my wife dresses her children and prepares our breakfast, after which we are seldom asundered during the residue of the day, for when the weather will not permit them to accompany me here, I am usually within with them. For I am neither ashamed of conversing with my wife, nor of playing with my children. To say the truth, I do not perceive that inferiority of understanding, which the levity of rakes, the dullness of men of business, or the austerity of the learned, would persuade us of in women. As for my woman, I declare, I have found none of my own sex capable of making juster observations on life, or of delivering them more agreeably, nor do I believe anyone possessed of a faithful or braver friend. And sure as this friendship is sweetened with more delicacy and tenderness, so it is confirmed by dearer pledges than can attend the closest male alliance, for what union can be so fast as our common interest in the fruits of our embraces. Perhaps, sir, you are not yourself a father. If you are not, be assured you cannot conceive the delight I have in my little ones. Would you not despise me if you saw me stretched on the ground and my children playing round me? I should reverence the sight. Quote Adams, I myself am now the father of six, and have been of eleven, and I can say I never scourged a child of my own, unless as his schoolmaster, and then have felt every stroke on my own posteriors. And as to what you say concerning women, I have often lamented my own wife did not understand Greek. The gentleman smiled and answered he would not be apprehended to insinuate that his own had an understanding above the care of her family. On the contrary, says he, my Harriet, I assure you, is a notable housewife, and few gentlemen's housekeepers understand cookery or confectionery better. But these are arts which she hath no great occasion for now. However, the wine you commended so much last night at supper was of her own making, as is indeed all the liquor in my house except my beer, which falls to my province. And I assure you, it is as excellent, quote Adams, as ever I tasted. We formally kept a maid servant, but since my girls have been growing up she is unwilling to indulge them in idleness. For, as the fortunes I shall give them, will be very small. We intend not to breed them above the rank they are likely to fill hereafter, nor to teach them to despise or ruin a plain husband. Indeed, I could wish a man of my own temper and a retired life might fall to their lot. For I have experienced that calm, serene happiness, which is seated in contempt, is inconsistent with the hurry and bustle of the world. He was proceeding thus when the little things, being just risen, ran eagerly towards him and asked him blessing. They were shy to the strangers, but the eldest acquainted her father that her mother and the young gentlewoman were up, and that breakfast was ready. They all went in where the gentleman was surprised at the beauty of Fanny, who had now recovered herself from her fatigue, and was entirely clean dressed. For the rogues who had taken away her purse had left her bundle. But if he was so much amazed at the beauty of this young creature, his guests were no less charmed at the tenderness which appeared in the behavior of the husband and wife to each other and to their children, and at the dutiful and affectioned behavior of these to their parents. These instances placed the well-disposed mind of Adams equally with the readiness which they expressed to oblige their guests and their forwardness to offer them the best of everything in their house. What delighted him still more was an instance or two of their charity. For wouts they were at breakfast the good woman was called forth to assist her sick neighbor, which she did with some cordials made for the public use, and the good man went into his garden at the same time to supply another with something which he wanted dense, for they had nothing which those who wanted it were not welcome to. These good people were in the utmost cheerfulness when they heard the report of a gun, and immediately afterwards a little dog, the favorite of the eldest daughter, came limping in all bloody and laid himself at his mistress's feet. The poor girl, who was about eleven years old, burst into tears at the sight, and presently one of the neighbors came in and informed them that the young's choir, the son of the Lord of the Manor, had shot him as he passed by, swearing at the same time he would prosecute the master of him for keeping a spaniel, for that he had given notice he would not suffer one in the parish. The dog, whom his mistress had taken into her lap, died in a few minutes, licking her hand. She expressed great agony at his loss, and the other children began to cry for their sister's misfortune, nor could Fanny herself refrain. Once the father and mother attempted to comfort her, Adams grasped his crab stick, and would have sallied out after the squire had not Joseph withheld him. He could not, however, bridle his tongue. He pronounced the word rascal, with great emphasis, said he deserved to be hanged more than a highwayman, and wished he had the scourging him. The mother took her child, lamenting and carrying the dead favorite in her arms, out of the room. When the gentleman said this was the second time the squire had endeavored to kill the little wretch, and had wounded him smartly once before, adding he could have no motive but ill nature, for the little thing, which was not near as big as one's fist, had never been twenty yards from the house in the six years his daughter had had it. He said he had done nothing to deserve this usage, but his father had too great a fortune to contend with, that he was as absolute as any tyrant in the universe, and had killed all the dogs, and taken away all the guns in the neighborhood. And not only that, but he trampled down hedges, and rode over corn and gardens, with no more regard than if they were the highway. I wish I could catch him in my garden, says Adams, though I would rather forgive him riding through my house than such an ill-natured act as this. The cheerfulness of their conversation being interrupted by this accident, in which the guests could be of no service to their kind entertainer, and as the mother was taken up in administering consolation to the poor girl, whose disposition was too good hastily to forget the sudden loss of her little favorite, which had been fondling with her a few minutes before. And as Joseph and Fanny were impatient to get home, and begin those previous ceremonies to their happiness, which Adams had insisted on, they now offered to take their leave. The gentleman impotuned them much to stay dinner, but when he found their eagerness to depart, he summoned his wife, and accordingly, having performed all the usual ceremonies of bows and curtsies, more pleasant to be seen than to be related, they took their leave. The gentleman and his wife heartily wishing them a good journey, and they as heartily thanking them for their kind entertainment, they then departed, Adams declaring that this was the manner in which the people had lived in the golden age. Number five, a disputation on schools held on the road between Mr. Abraham Adams and Joseph, and a discovery not unwelcome to them both. Our travelers, having well refreshed themselves at the gentleman's house, Joseph and Fanny, with sleep, and Mr. Abraham Adams, with ale and tobacco, renewed their journey with great alacrity, and, pursuing the road into which they were directed, traveled many miles before they met with any adventure worth relating. In this interval we shall present our readers with a very curious discourse, as we apprehended, concerning public schools which passed between Mr. Joseph Andrews and Mr. Abraham Adams. They had not gone far before Adams, calling to Joseph, asked him if he had attended to the gentleman's story. He answered, to all the former part, and don't you think, says he, he was a very unhappy man in his youth. A very unhappy man indeed, answered the other. Joseph, cries Adams, screwing up his mouth, I have found it. I have discovered the cause of all the misfortunes which befell him. A public school, Joseph, was the cause of all the calamities which he afterwards suffered. Public schools are the nurseries of all vice and immorality. All the wicked fellows whom I remember at the university were bred at them. Ah, Lord, I can remember as well as if it was but yesterday, a knot of them. They called them King's Scholars. I forget why, very wicked fellows. Joseph, you may thank the Lord you were not bred at a public school. You would never have preserved your virtue as you have. The first care I always take is of a boy's morals. I had rather he should be a blockhead than an atheist or a Presbyterian. What is all the learning in the world compared to his immortal soul? What shall a man take in exchange for his soul? But the masters of great schools trouble themselves about no such thing. I have known a lad of eighteen at the university who hath not been able to say his catechism. But for my own part, I always scourged a lad sooner for missing that than any other lesson. Believe me, child, all that gentlemen's misfortunes arose from his being educated at a public school. It doth not become me, answered Joseph, to dispute anything, sir, with you, especially a matter of this kind, for to be sure you must be allowed by all the world to be the best teacher of a school in all our county. Yes, that, says Williams, I believe is granted me, that I may, without much vanity, pretend to. I believe I may go to the next county, too. But gloriati non est maeum. However, sir, as you are pleased to bid me speak, says Joseph, you know my late master, sir Thomas Booby, was bred at a public school, and he was the finest gentleman in all the neighborhood, and I have often heard him say, if he had a hundred boys, he would breed them all at the same place. It was his opinion, and I have often heard him deliver it, that a boy taken from a public school and carried into the world will learn more in one year there than one of a private education will in five. He used to say that the school itself initiated him a great way. I remember that was his very expression. For great schools are little societies, where a boy of any observation may see in epitome what he will afterwards find in the world at large. Hink elie lacrimae. For that very reason, quote Adams, I prefer a private school where boys may be kept in innocence and ignorance. For according to that fine passage in the play of Cato, the only English tragedy I ever read, if knowledge of the world must make men villains, may Juba ever live in ignorance. Who would not rather preserve the purity of his child than wish him to attain the whole circle of arts and sciences, which by the by he may learn in the classes of a private school. For I would not be vain, but I esteem myself to be second to none, newly secundum in teaching these things, so that a lad may have as much learning in a private as in a public education. And with submission, answered Joseph, he may get as much vice. Witness several country gentlemen who were educated within five miles of their own houses, and are as wicked as if they had known the world from their infancy. I remember when I was in the stable, if a young horse was vicious in his nature, no correction would make him otherwise. I take it to be equally the same among men. If a boy be of a mischievous, wicked inclination, no school, though ever so private, will ever make him good. On the contrary, if he be of a righteous temper, you may trust him to London, or wherever else you please, he will be in no danger of being corrupted. Besides, I have often heard my master say that the discipline practiced in public schools was much better than that in private. You talk like a jack-o'-naips, says Adams, and so did your master discipline indeed. Because one man scourges twenty or thirty boys more in a morning than another, is he therefore a better disciplinarian? I do presume to confer in this point with all who have taught from churn's time to this day, and if I was master of six boys only, I would preserve as good discipline amongst them as the master of the greatest school in the world. I say nothing, young man. Remember, I say nothing. But if Sir Thomas himself had been educated nearer home and under the tuition of somebody, remember I name nobody, it might have been better for him, but his father must institute him in the knowledge of the world. Nemo mortalium omnibus oris sapit. Joseph, seeing him run on in this manner, asked pardon many times, assuring he had no intention to offend. I believe you had not, child, said he, and I am not angry with you, but for maintaining good discipline in a school, for this. And then he ran on, as before, named all the masters who were recorded in old books, and preferred himself to them all. Indeed, if this good man had an enthusiasm, or what the vulgar call a blind side, it was this. He thought a schoolmaster the greatest character in the world, and himself the greatest of all schoolmasters, neither of which points he would have given up to Alexander the Great at the head of his army. Adams continued his subject till they came to one of the beautifulest spots of ground in the universe. It was a kind of natural amphitheater, formed by the wending of a small rivulet, which was planted with thick woods, and the trees rose gradually above each other by the natural ascent of the ground they stood on, which ascent, as they hid with their bows, they seemed to have disposed by the design of the most skillful planter. The soil was spread with a verjure which no paint could imitate, and the whole place might have raised romantic ideas in elder minds than those of Joseph and Fanny, without the assistance of love. Here they arrived about noon, and Joseph proposed to Adams that they should rest a while in this delightful place, and refreshed themselves with some provisions which the good nature of Mrs. Wilson had provided them with. Adams made no objection to the proposal, so down they sat, in pulling out a cold fowl and a bottle of wine they made a repist with a cheerfulness which might have attracted the envy of more splendid tables. I should not omit that they found among their provision a little paper containing a piece of gold which Adams, imagining had been put there by mistake, would have returned back to restore it. But he was at last convinced by Joseph that Mr. Wilson had taken this handsome way of furnishing them with a supply for their journey, on his having related the distress which they had been in when they were relieved by the generosity of the peddler. Adams said he was glad to see such an instance of goodness, not so much for the convenience which had brought them, as for the sake of the doer whose reward would be great in heaven. He likewise comforted himself with a reflection that he should shortly have an opportunity of returning at him, for the gentleman was within a week to make a journey into Somersetshire, to pass through Adams' parish, and had faithfully promised to call on him. A circumstance which he thought too immaterial to mention before, but which those who have as great an affection for that gentleman as ourselves will rejoice at, as it may give the hopes of seeing him again. Then Joseph made a speech on charity which the reader, if he is so disposed, may see in the next chapter, for we scorn to betray him into any such reading, without first giving him warning. End of book 3, chapters 4 and 5, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox.