mine, no such thoughts ever entered into his head: he saw Jones in a bad light, and he imagined Allworthy saw him in the same, but that he was resolved, from pride and stubbornness of spirit, not to give up the boy whom he had once cherished; since, by so doing, he must tacitly acknowledge, that his former opinion of him had been wrong.

Square therefore embraced this opportunity of injuring Jones in the tenderest part, by giving a very bad turn to all these before-mentioned occurrences. "I am sorry, sir," said he, "to own I have been deceived as well as yourself. I could not, I confess, help being pleased with what I ascribed to the motives of friendship, though it was carried to an excess, and all excess is faulty and vicious; but in this I made allowance for youth. Little did I suspect that the sacrifice of truth, which we both imagined. to have been made to friendship, was, in reality, a prostitution of it to a depraved and debauched appetite. You now plainly see whence all the seeming generosity of this young man to the family of the game-keeper proceeded. He supported the father, in order to corrupt the daughter, and preserved the family from starving, to bring one of them to shame and ruin. This is friendship! this is generosity! As Sir Richard Steele says, 'Gluttons who give high prices for delicacies, are very worthy to be called generous.' In short, I am resolved, from this instance, never to give way to the weakness of human nature more, nor to think any thing virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the unerring rule of right."

The goodness of Allworthy had prevented those considerations from occurring to himself; yet were they too plausible to be absolutely and hastily rejected, when laid before his eyes by another. Indeed what Square had said sunk very deeply into his mind, and the uneasiness which it there created, was very visible to the other; though the good man would not acknowledge this, but made a very slight answer, and forcibly drove off the discourse to some other subject. It was well, perhaps, for poor Tom, that no such suggestions had been made before he was pardoned; for they certainly stamped in the mind of Allworthy the first bad impressions concerning Jones.

CHAP. XII.

Containing much clearer matters; but which flowed from the same fountain with those in the preceding chapter.

THE reader will be pleased, I believe, to return with me to Sophia. She passed the night, after we saw her last, in no very agreeable manner. Sleep befriended her but little, and dreams less. In the morning, when Mrs Ho

nour, her maid, attended her, at the usual hour, she was found already up and drest.

Persons who live two or three miles distance in the country, are considered as next-door neighbours, and transactions at the one house fly with incredible celerity to the other. Mrs Honour, therefore, had heard the whole story of Molly's shame; which she, being of a very communicative temper, had no sooner entered the apartment of her mistress, than she began to relate in the following manner:

"La, ma'am, what doth your la'ship think? the girl that your la'ship saw at church on Sunday, whom you thought so handsome, though you would not have thought her so handsome neither, if you had seen her nearer; but to be sure she hath been carried before the justice, for being big with child. She seemed to me to look like a confident slut; and to be sure she hath laid the child to young Mr Jones. And all the parish says Mr Allworthy is so angry with young Mr Jones, that he won't see him. To be sure, one can't help pitying the poor young man, and yet he doth not deserve much pity neither, for demeaning himself with such kind of trumpery. Yet he is so pretty a gentleman, I should be sorry to have him turned out of doors. I dares to swear the wench was as willing as he; for she was always a forward kind of body. And when wenches are so coming, young men are not so much to be blamed neither, for to be sure they do no more than what is natural. Indeed it is beneath them to meddle with such dirty draggletails; and whatever happens to them, it is good enough for them. And yet to be sure the vile baggages are most in fault. I wishes with all my heart, they were to be well whipped at the cart's tail; for it is pity they should be the ruin of a pretty young gentleman; and nobody can deny but that Mr Jones is one of the most handsomest young men that ever-”

She was running on thus, when Sophia, with a more peevish voice than she had ever spoken to her in before, cried, "Prithee, why dost thou trouble me with all this stuff? What concern have I in what Mr Jones doth? I suppose you are all alike. And you seem to me to be angry it was not your own case.

I, ma'am !" answered Mrs Honour; " I am sorry your ladyship should have such an opinion of me. I am sure no body can say any such thing of me. All the young fellows in the world may go to the divil for me. Because I said he was a handsome man! Every body says it as well as I. To be sure I never thought as it was any harm to say a young man was handsome; but to be sure I shall never think him so any more now; for handsome is that handsome does. A beggar wench!".

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Stop thy torrent of impertinence," cries Sophia, "and see whether my father wants me at breakfast."

Mrs Honour then flung out of the room muttering much to herself, of which-" Marry come up, I assure you," was all that could be plainly distinguished.

Whether Mrs Honour really deserved that suspicion, of which her mistress gave her a hint, is a matter which we cannot indulge our reader's curiosity by resolving. We will, however, make him amends, in disclosing what passed in the mind of Sophia.

The reader will be pleased to recollect, that a secret affection for Mr Jones had insensibly stolen into the bosom of this young lady. That it had there grown to a pretty great height before she herself had discovered it. When she first began to perceive its symptoms, the sensations were so sweet and pleasing, that she had not resolution sufficient to check or repel them; and thus she went on cherishing a passion of which she never once considered the consequen

ces.

This incident relating to Molly first opened her eyes. She now first perceived the weakness of which she had been guilty; and though it caused the utmost perturbation in her mind, yet it had the effect of other nauseous physic, and for the time expelled her distemper. Its operation indeed was most wonderfully quick; and in the short interval, while her maid was absent, so entirely removed all symptoms, that when Mrs Honour returned with a summons from her father, she was become perfectly easy, and had brought herself to a thorough indifference for Mr Jones.

The diseases of the mind do in almost every particular imitate those of the body. For which reason, we hope, that learned faculty, for whom we have so profound a respect, will pardon us the violent hands we have been necessitated to lay on several words and phrases which of right belong to them, and without which our descriptions must have been often unintelligible.

Now there is no one circumstance in which the distempers of the mind bear a more exact analogy to those which are called bodily, than that aptness which both have to a relapse. This is plain in the violent diseases of ambition and avarice. I have known ambition, when cured at court by frequent disappointments, (which are the only physic for it,) to break out again in a contest for foreman of the grand jury at an assizes; and have heard of a man who had so far conquered avarice, as to give away many a sixpence, that comforted himself, at last, on his death-bed, by making a crafty and advantageous bargain concerning his ensuing funeral, with an undertaker who had married his only child.

In the affair of love, which, out of strict conformity with the stoic philosophy, we shall here treat as a disease, this proneness to relapse is no less conspicuous. Thus it happened to poor Sophia; upon whom, the very next time she saw young Jones, all the former symptoms re

turned, and from that time cold and hot fits alternately seized her heart.

The situation of this young lady was now very different from what it had ever been before. That passion, which had formerly been so exquisitely delicious, became now a scorpion in her bosom. She resisted it therefore with her utmost force, and summoned every argument her reason (which was surprisingly strong for her age) could suggest, to subdue and expel it. In this she so far succeeded, that she began to hope from time and absence a perfect cure. She resolved therefore to avoid Tom Jones as much as possible; for which purpose she began to conceive a design of visiting her aunt, to which she made no doubt of obtaining her father's consent.

But Fortune, who had other designs in her head, put an immediate stop to any such proceeding, by introducing an accident, which will be related in the next chapter.

CHAP. XIII.

A dreadful accident which befel Sophia. The gallant behaviour of Jones, and the more dreadful consequence of that behaviour to the young lady; with a short digression in favour of the female sex.

MR WESTERN grew every day fonder and fonder of Sophia, insomuch that his beloved dogs themselves almost gave place to her in his affections: but as he could not prevail on himself to abandon these, he contrived very cunningly to enjoy their company, together with that of his daughter, by insisting on her riding a hunting with him.

Sophia, to whom her father's word was a law, readily complied with his desires, though she had not the least delight in a sport which was of too rough and masculine a nature to suit with her disposition. She had, however, another motive, beside her obedience, to accompany the old gentleman in the chace; for by her presence she hoped in some measure to restrain his impetuosity, and to prevent him from so frequently exposing his neck to the utmost hazard.

The strongest objection was that which would have formerly been an inducement to her, namely, the frequent meeting with young Jones, whom she had determined to avoid : but as the end of the hunting season now approached, she hoped, by a short absence with her aunt, to reason herself entirely out of her unfortunate pas sion; and had not any doubt of being able to meet him in the field the subsequent season without the least danger.

On the second day of her hunting, as she was returning from the chace, and was arrived within a little distance from Mr Western's house, her horse, whose mettlesome spirit required a better rider, fell suddenly to prancing and ca

pering in such a manner, that she was in the most imminent peril of falling. Tom Jones, who was at a little distance behind, saw this, and immediately galloped up to her assistance. As soon as he came up, he leapt from his own horse, and caught hold of her's by the bridle. The unruly beast presently reared himself an end on his hind legs, and threw his lovely burden from his back, and Jones caught her in his arms.

She was so affected with the fright, that she was not immediately able to satisfy Jones, who was very solicitous to know whether she had received any hurt. She soon after, however, recovered her spirits, assured him she was safe, and thanked him for the care he had taken of her. Jones answered, "If I have preserved you, madam, I am sufficiently repaid; for I promise you, I would have secured you from the least harm, at the expence of a much greater misfortune to myself, than I have suffered on this occasion."

"What misfortune?" replies Sophia, eager ly; "I hope you have come to no mischief?" "Be not concerned, madam," answered Jones; "Heaven be praised you have escaped so well, considering the danger you was in. If I have broke my arm, I consider it as a trifle, in comparison of what I feared upon your account."

Sophia then screamed out, "Broke your arm! Heaven forbid!"

"I am afraid I have, madam," says Jones; "but I beg you will suffer me first to take care of you. I have a right hand yet at your service, to help you into the next field, whence we have but a very little walk to your father's house."

Sophia seeing his left arm dangling by his side, while he was using the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the truth. She now grew much paler than her fears for herself had made her before. All her limbs were seized with a trembling, insomuch that Jones could scarce support her; and as her thoughts were in no less agitation, she could not refrain from giving Jones a look so full of tenderness, that it almost argued a stronger sensation in her mind, than even gratitude and pity united can raise in the gentlest female bosom, without the assistance of a third more powerful passion.

Mr Western, who was advanced at some distance when this accident happened, was now returned, as were the rest of the horsemen. Sophia immediately acquainted them with what had befallen Jones, and begged them to take care of him. Upon which, Western, who had been much alarmed by meeting his daughter's horse without its rider, and was now overjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, "I am glad it is no worse; if Tom has broken his arm, we will get a joiner to mend un again."

The squire alighted from his horse, and pro

ceeded to his house on foot, with his daughter and Jones. An impartial spectator, who had met them on the way, would, on viewing their several countenances, have concluded Sophia alone to have been the object of compassion: for as to Jones, he exulted in having probably saved the life of the young lady, at the price only of a broken bone; and Mr Western, though he was not unconcerned at the accident which had befallen Jones, was, however, delighted in a much higher degree with the fortunate escape of his daugh

ter.

The generosity of Sophia's temper construed this behaviour of Jones into great bravery; and it made a deep impression on her heart: for certain it is, that there is no one quality which so generally recommends men to women as this; proceeding, if we believe the common opinion, from that natural timidity of the sex; which is, says Mr Osborne, "so great, that a woman is the most cowardly of all the creatures God ever made." A sentiment more remarkable for its bluntness than for its truth. Aristotle, in his politics, doth them, I believe, more justice, when he says, "The modesty and fortitude of men differ from those virtues in women; for the fortitude which becomes a woman, would be cowardice in a man ; and the modesty which becomes a man, would be pertness in a woman." Nor is there, perhaps, more of truth in the opinion of those who derive the partiality which women are inclined to shew to the brave, from this excess of their fear. Mr Bayle (I think, in his article of Helen) imputes this, and with greater probability, to their violent love of glory; for the truth of which, we have the authority of him, who, of all others, saw farthest into human nature; and who introduces the heroine of his Odyssey, the great pattern of matrimonial love and constancy, assigning the glory of her husband as the only source of her affection towards him.*

However this be, certain it is that the accident operated very strongly on Sophia; and, indeed, after much enquiry into the matter, Í am inclined to believe, that at this very time the charming Sophia made no less impression on the heart of Jones: to say truth, he had for some time become sensible of the irresistible power of her charms.

CHAP. XIV.

The arrival of a surgeon. His operations, and a long dialogue between Sophia and her maid.

WHEN they arrived in Mr Western's hall, Sophia, who had totter'd along with much difficulty, sunk down in a chair; but, by the assistance

of hartshorn and water, she was prevented from fainting away, and had pretty well recovered her spirits, when the surgeon, who was sent for to Jones, appeared. Mr Western, who imputed these symptoms in his daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of prevention. In this opinion he was seconded by the surgeon, who gave so many reasons for bleeding, and quoted so many cases where persons had miscarried for want of it, that the squire became very importunate, and indeed insisted peremptorily that his daughter should be blooded.

Sophia soon yielded to the commands of her father, though entirely contrary to her own inclinations; for she suspected, I believe, less danger from the fright, than either the squire or the surgeon. She then stretched out her beautiful arm, and the operator began to prepare for his work.

While the servants were busied in providing materials, the surgeon, who imputed the backwardness which had appeared in Sophia to her fears, began to comfort her with assurances that there was not the least danger; for no accident, he said, could ever happen in bleeding, but from the monstrous ignorance of pretenders to surgery, which he pretty plainly insinuated was not at present to be apprehended. Sophia declared she was not under the least apprehension; adding, "If you open an artery, I promise you I'll forgive you."" Will you?" cries Western, "D-n me, if I will; if he does thee the least mischief, d-n me, if I don't ha' the heart's blood o'un out." The surgeon assented to bleed her upon these conditions, and then proceeded to his operation, which he performed with as much dexterity as he had promised; and with as much quickness: for he took but little blood from her, saying, it was much safer to bleed again and again, than to take away too much at once.

Sophia, when her arm was bound up, retired: for she was not willing (nor was it, perhaps, strictly decent) to be present at the operation on Jones. Indeed one objection which she had to bleeding (though she did not make it) was the delay which it would occasion to setting the broken bone. For Western, when Sophia was concerned, had no consideration but for her; and as for Jones himself, he "sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief." To say the truth, when he saw the blood springing from the lovely arm of Sophia, he scarce thought of what had happened to himself.

The surgeon now ordered his patient to be stript to his shirt, and then entirely baring the arm, he began to stretch and examine it, in such a manner, that the tortures he put him to, caused Jones to make several wry faces; which the surgeon observing, greatly wondered at, crying, "What is the matter, sir? I am sure it is impossible I should hurt you." And then holding forth the broken arm, he began a long and very learned lecture of anatomy, in which sim

ple and double fractures were most accurately considered; and the several ways in which Jones might have broken his arm were discussed, with proper annotations, shewing how many of these would have been better, and how many worse than the present case.

Having at length finished his laboured harangue, with which the audience, though it had greatly raised their attention and admiration, were not much edified, as they really understood not a single syllable of all he had said, he proceeded to business, which he was more expeditious in finishing than he had been in beginning.

Jones was then ordered into a bed, which Mr Western compelled him to accept at his own house, and sentence of water-gruel was passed upon him.

Among the good company which had attended in the hall during the bone setting, Mrs Honour was one; who being summoned to her mistress as soon as it was over, and asked by her how the young gentleman did, presently launched into extravagant praises on the magnanimity, as she called it, of his behaviour; which, she said, "was so charming in so pretty a creature." She then burst forth into much warmer encomiums on the beauty of his person; enumerating many particulars, and ending with the whiteness of his skin.

This discourse had an effect on Sophia's countenance, which would not perhaps have escaped the observance of the sagacious waiting-woman, had she once looked her mistress in the face all the time she was speaking: but as a looking glass, which was most commodiously placed opposite to her, gave her an opportunity of surveying those features in which, of all others, she took most delight; so she had not once removed her eyes from that amiable object during her whole speech.

Mrs Honour was so entirely wrapped up in the subject on which she exercised her tongue, and the object before her eyes, that she gave her mistress time to conquer her confusion; which having done, she smiled on her maid, and told her, she was certainly in love with this young fellow. "I in love, madam!" answers she; " upon my word, ma'am, I assure you, ma'am, upon my soul, ma'am, I am not."-" Why, if you was," cries her mistress," I see no reason that you should be ashamed of it; for he is certainly a pretty fellow."-" Yes, ma'am," answered the other, " that he is, the most handsomest man I ever saw in my life. Yes, to be sure, that he is, and, as your ladyship says, I don't know why I should be ashamed of loving him, though he is my betters. To be sure, gentle folks are but flesh and blood, no more than us servants. Besides, as for Mr Jones, thof Squire Allworthy hath made a gentleman of him, he was not so good as myself by birth: for thof I am a poor body, I am an honest person's child,

and my father and mother were married, which is more than some people can say, as high as they hold their heads. Marry, come up! I assure you, my dirty cousin! thof his skin be so white, and, to be sure, it is the most whitest that ever was seen, I am a Christian as well as he, and nobody can say that I am base born; my grandfather was a clergyman, and would have been very angry, I believe, to have thought any of his family should have taken up with Molly Seagrim's dirty leavings."

Perhaps Sophia might have suffered her maid to run on in this manner, from wanting sufficient spirits to stop her tongue, which the reader may probably conjecture was no very easy task: for certainly there were some passages in her speech which were far from being agreeable to the lady. However, she now checked the torrent, as there seemed no end of its flowing. "I wonder," says she, "at your assurance, in daring to talk thus of one of my father's friends. As to the wench, I order you never to mention her name to me. And, with regard to the young gentleman's birth, those who can say nothing more to his disadvantage, may as well be silent on that head, as I desire you will be for the future."

"I am sorry I have offended your ladyship," answered Mrs Honour; "I am sure I hate Molly Seagrim as much as your ladyship can; and as for abusing Squire Jones, I can call all the servants in the house to witness, that whenever any talk hath been about bastards, I have always taken his part; for which of you, says I to the footman, would not be a bastard if he could, to be made a gentleman of? and, says I, I am sure he is a very fine gentleman; and he hath one of the whitest hands in the world; for, to be sure, so he hath; and, says I, one of the sweetest temperedest, best naturedest men in the world he is; and, says I, all the servants and neighbours all around the country loves him. And, to be sure, I could tell your ladyship something, but that I am afraid it would offend you."-"What could you tell me, Honour?" says Sophia.-" Nay, ma'am, to be sure, he meant nothing by it; therefore I would not have your ladyship be offended."-"Prithee, tell me," says Sophia. "I will know it this instant."-"Why, ma'am," answered Mrs Honour, "he came into the room, one day last week when I was at work, and there lay your ladyship's muff on a chair; and, to be sure, he put his hands into it, that very muff your ladyship gave me but yesterday: La,' says I, Mr Jones, you will stretch my lady's muff, and spoil it; but he still kept his hands in it, and then he kissed it; to be sure, I hardly ever saw such a kiss in

my life as he gave it."- -"I suppose he did not know it was mine," replied Sophia.-" Your ladyship shall hear, ma'am. He kissed it again and again, and said it was the prettiest muff in the world.- La! sir,' says I, 'you have seen it a hundred times.'-'Yes, Mrs Honour,' cried he; but who can see any thing beautiful in the presence of your lady but herself?'— Nay, that's not all neither, but I hope your ladyship won't be offended; for, to be sure, he meant nothing. One day as your ladyship was playing on the harpsichord to my master, Mr Jones was sitting in the next room, and methought he looked melancholy. 'La!' says I,

Mr Jones, what's the matter! a penny for your thoughts,' says I.-' Why, hussy,' says he, starting up from a dream, what can I be thinking of, when that angel your mistress is playing?' and then squeezing me by the hand, Oh! Mrs Honour,' says he, how happy will that man be!' and then he sighed; upon my troth, his breath is as sweet as a nosegay; but, to be sure, he meant no harm by it. So I hope your ladyship will not mention a word; for he gave me a crown never to mention it, and made me swear upon a book; but, I believe, indeed, it was not the Bible."

Till something of a more beautiful red than vermilion be found out, I shall say nothing of Sophia's colour on this occasion. "Ho-nour," says she, "I-if you will not mention this any more to me, nor to any body else, I will not betray you, I mean I will not be angry; but I am afraid of your tongue. Why, my girl, will you give it such liberties?"-"Nay, ma'am," answered she; "to be sure, I would sooner cut out my tongue than offend your ladyship,-to be sure, I shall never mention a word that your ladyship would not have me."-" Why, I would not have you mention this any more," said Sophia; "for it may come to my father's ears, and he would be angry with Mr Jones, though I really believe, as you say, he meant nothing. I should be very angry myself if I imagined"

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Nay, ma'am," says Honour, "I protest, I believe he meant nothing. I thought he talked as if he was out of his senses; nay, he said he believed he was beside himself when he had spoken the words. Ay, sir,' says I, 'I believe so too. Yes,' says he, Honour;' but I ask your ladyship's pardon-I could tear my tongue out for offending you.”- "Go on," says Sophia; "you may mention any thing you have not told me before." "Yes, Honour,' says he, (this was sometime afterwards, when he gave me the crown,) I am neither such a coxcomb, or such a villain, as to think of her in any other delight, but as iny goddess; as such I will always wor