he answered in the affirmative. "O ho!" said another; "have we found you?" and ordered the host to come down and open his door. Fanny, who was as wakeful as Joseph, no sooner heard all this, than she leaped from her bed, and hastily putting on her gown and petticoats, ran as fast as possible to Joseph's room, who then was almost dressed: he immediately let her in, and embracing her with the most passionate tenderness, bid her fear nothing, for that he would die in her defence. "Is that a reason why I should not fear," said she, "when I should lose what is dearer to me than the whole world?" Joseph then kissing her hand, said, he could almost thank the occasion which had extorted from her a tenderness she would never indulge him with before. He then ran and waked his bedfellow Adams, who was yet fast asleep, notwithstanding many calls from Joseph; but was no sooner made sensible of their danger, than he leaped from his bed, without considering the presence of Fanny, who hastily turned her face from him, and enjoyed a double benefit from the dark, which, as it would have prevented any offence to an innocence less pure, or a modesty less delicate, so it concealed even those blushes which were raised in her. Adams had soon put on all his clothes but his breeches, which in the hurry he forgot; however, they were pretty well supplied by the length of his other garments: and now the house-door being opened, the captain, the poet, the player, and three servants came in. The captain told the host, that two fellows who were in his house had run away with a young woman, and desired to know in which room she lay. The host, who presently believed the story, directed them, and instantly the captain and poet, jostling one another, ran up. The poet, who was the nimblest, entering the chamber first, searched the bed, and every other part, but to no purpose; the bird was flown, as the impatient reader, who might otherwise have been in pain for her, was before advertised. They then inquired where the men lay, and were approaching the chamber, when Joseph roared out in a loud voice, that he would shoot the first man who offered to attack the door. The captain inquired what fire-arms they had; to which the host answered, he believed they had none, nay, he was almost convinced of it: for he had heard one ask the other in the evening, what they should have done if they had been overtaken when they had no arms? to which the other answered, they would have defended themselves with their sticks as long as they were able, and God would assist a just cause. This satisfied the captain, but not the poet, who prudently retreated down stairs, saying, it was his business to record great actions, and not to do them. The captain was no sooner well satisfied that there were no fire-arms, than VOL. I. bidding defiance to gunpowder, and swearing he G given him a stroke over that part of the face, where, in some men of pleasure, the natural and artificial noses are conjoined. Hitherto Fortune seemed to incline the victory on the travellers' side, when, according to her custom, she began to shew the fickleness of her disposition: for now the host entering the field, or rather the chamber of battle, flew directly at Joseph, and darting his head into his stomach, (for he was a stout fellow and an expert boxer,) almost staggered him: but Joseph stepping one leg back, did with his left hand so chuck him under the chin that he reeled. The youth was pursuing his blow with his right hand, when he received from one of the servants such a stroke with a cudgel on his temples, that it instantly deprived him of sense, and he measured his length on the ground. Fanny rent the air with her cries, and Adams was coming to the assistance of Joseph, but the two serving men and the host now fell on him, and soon subdued him, though he fought like a madman, and looked so black with the impressions he had received from the mop, that Don Quixotte would certainly have taken him for an enchanted Moor. But now follows the most tragical part; for the captain was risen again, and seeing Joseph on the floor, and Adams secured, he instantly laid hold on Fanny, and with the assistance of the poet and player, who hearing the battle was over were now come up, dragged her, crying and tearing her hair, from the sight of her Joseph, and with a perfect deafness to all her entreaties, carried her down stairs by violence, and fastened her on the player's horse, and the captain mounting his own, and leading that on which this poor miserable wretch was, departed without any more consideration of her cries than a butcher hath of those of a lamb; for indeed his thoughts were entertained only with the degree of favour which he promised himself from the squire on the success of this adventure. The servants, who were ordered to secure Adams and Joseph as safe as possible, that the squire might receive no interruption to his design on poor Fanny, immediately, by the poet's advice, tied Adams to one of the bed-posts, as they did Joseph on the other side, as soon as they could bring him to himself; and then leaving them together, back to back, and desiring the host not to set them at liberty, nor to go near them till he had further orders, they departed towards their master; but happened to take a different road from that which the captain had fallen into. CHAP. X. A discourse between the poet and the player; of no other use in this history but to divert the reader. BEFORE we proceed any farther in this tragedy, we shall leave Mr Joseph and Mr Adams to themselves, and imitate the wise conductors of the stage; who, in the midst of a grave action, entertain you with some excellent piece of satire or humour called a dance. Which piece indeed is therefore danced, and not spoke, as it is delivered to the audience by persons whose thinking faculty is by most people held to lie in their heels; and to whom, as well as heroes, who think with their hands, nature hath only given heads for the sake of conformity, and as they are of use in dancing, to hang their hats on. The poet, addressing the player, proceeded thus: "As I was saying," (for they had been at this discourse all the time of the engagement above stairs,)" the reason you have no good new plays is evident; it is from your discouragement of authors. Gentlemen will not write, sir, they will not write without the expectation of fame or profit, or, perhaps, both. Plays are like trees, which will not grow without nourishment; but, like mushroons, they shoot up spontaneously, as it were, in a rich soil. The muses, like vines, may be pruned, but not with a hatchet. The town, like a peevish child, knows not what it desires, and is always best pleased with a rattle. A farce writer hath indeed some chance for success; but they have lost all taste for the sublime. Though I believe one reason of their depravity is the badness of the actors. If a man writes like an angel, sir, those fellows know not how to give a sentiment utterance."-" Not so fast," says the player," the modern actors are as good at least as their authors, nay, they come nearer their illustrious predecessors, and I expect a Booth on the stage again, sooner than a Shakespeare or an Otway: and indeed, I may turn your observation against you, and with truth say, that the reason no authors are encouraged, is, because we have no good new plays." "I have not affirmed the contrary," said the poet; " but I am surprised you grow so warm; you cannot imagine yourself interested in this dispute; I hope you have a better opinion of my taste, than to apprehend I squinted at yourself. No, sir, if we had six such actors as you, we should soon rival the Bettertons and Sandfords of former times; for, without a compliment to you, I think it impossible for any one to have excelled you in most of your parts. Nay, it is a solemn truth, and I have heard many, and all great judges express as much; and you will pardon me if I tell you, I think every time I have seen you lately, you have constantly acquired some new excellency, like a snowball. You have deceived me in my estimation of perfection, and have outdone what I thought inimitable."—"You are as little interested," answered the player, "in what I have said of other poets: for d-n me if there are not many strokes, ay, whole scenes, in your last tragedy, which, at least, equal Shakespeare. There is a delicacy of sentiment, a dignity of expression in it, which, I will own, many of our gentlemen did not do adequate justice to. To confess the truth, they are "Sure," bad enough, and I pity an author who is present tremely concerned for your losing.' at the murder of his works."-" Nay, it is but says the player, "if I remember, that was hissseldom that it can happen," returned the poet; ed more than any passage in the whole play." "the works of most modern authors, like dead-" Ay, your speaking it was hissed," said the born children, cannot be murdered. It is such poet." My speaking it!" said the player." I wretched, half-begotten, half-writ, lifeless, spi- mean your not speaking it," said the poet. "You ritless, low, grovelling stuff, that I almost pity was out, and then they hissed."-"They hissed, the actor who is obliged to get it by heart, which and then I was out, if I remember," answered must be almost as difficult to remember, as words the player; " and I must say this for myself, in a language you do not understand."”—“ I am that the whole audience allowed I did your part sure," says the player, "if the sentences have lit- justice: so don't lay the damnation of your play tle meaning when they are writ, when they are to my account."-"I don't know what you mean spoken they have less. I know scarce one who by damnation," replied the poet." Why, you ever lays an emphasis right, and much less adapts know it was acted but one night," cried the his action to his character. I have seen a ten- player.-"No," said the poet, 66 you and the der lover in an attitude of fighting with his mis- whole town were enemies; the pit were all my tress, and a brave hero suing to his enemy with enemies, fellows that would cut my throat, if the his sword in his hand. I don't care to abuse fear of hanging did not restrain them. All taimy own profession, but rot me if, in my heart, lors, sir, all tailors."—" Why should the tailors I am not inclined to the poet's side."-"It is ra- be so angry with you?" cries the player; "I supther generous in you than just," said the poet; pose you don't employ so many in making your "and though I hate to speak ill of any person's clothes." "I admit your jest," answered the production, nay, I never do it nor will-but yet, poet; "but you remember the affair as well as to do justice to the actors, what could Booth or myself; you know there was a party in the pit Betterton have made of such horrible stuff as and upper-gallery would not suffer it to be given Fenton's Mariamne, Frowd's Philotas, or Mal- out again; though much, ay, infinitely the malet's Eurydice, or those low, dirty, last dying jority, all the boxes in particular, were desirous speeches, which a fellow in the city or Wapping, of it; nay, most of the ladies swore they never your Dillo or Lillo, what was his name, called would come to the house till it was acted again. tragedies?"-" Very well," says the player, Indeed, I must own their policy was good, in "and what do you think of such fellows as Quin not letting it be given out a second time; for the and Delane, or that face-making puppy, young rascals knew, if it had gone a second night, it Cibber, that ill-looked dog Macklin, or that sau- would have run fifty: for if ever there was discy slut Mrs Clive? What work would they make tress in a tragedy- -I am not fond of my own with your Shakespeares, Otways, and Lees? How performance; but if I should tell you what the would those harmonious lines of the last come best judges said of it-Nor was it entirely owing from their tongues? to my enemies neither that it did not succeed on the stage as well as it hath since among the polite readers; for you can't say it had justice done it by the performers."-" I think," answered the player," the performers did the distress of it justice: for I am sure we were in distress enough, who were pelted with oranges all the last act; we all imagined it would have been the last act of our lives." -No more; for I disdain All pomp when thou art by-far be the noise souls Our kinder fates have steer'd another way. "Hold, hold, hold," said the poet, " do repeat or The poet, whose fury was now raised, had just attempted to answer, when they were interrupted, and an end put to their discourse by an accident; which, if the reader is impatient to know, he must skip over the next chapter, which is a sort of counterpart to this, and contains some of the best and gravest matters in the whole book, being a discourse between Parson Abraham Adams and Mr Joseph Andrews. CHAP. XI. Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams to his friend in affliction; calculated for the instruction and improvement of the reader. JOSEPH no sooner came perfectly to himself, than perceiving his mistress gone, he bewailed her loss with groans, which would have pierced any heart but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of a certain composition, not unlike flint in its hardness, and other properties; for you_may_strike fire from them, which will dart through the eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the same way. His own, poor youth, was of a softer composition; and, at these words, "O my dear Fanny! O my love! shall I never, never see thee more?" his eyes overflowed with tears, which would have become any thing but a hero. In a word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related. Mr Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to Joseph, began thus in a sorrowful tone: "You cannot imagine, my good child, that I entirely blame these first agonies of your grief; for when misfortunes attack us by surprise, it must require infinitely more learning than you are master of to resist them; but it is the business of a man and a Christian, to summon reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and she will presently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted, therefore, child, I say, be comforted. It is true you have lost the prettiest, kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one with whom you might have expected to have lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence; by whom you might have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have been the delight of your youth, and the comfort of your age. You have not only lost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence which lust and power can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas of horror, which might drive you to despair."-"O, I shall run mad," cries Joseph. "O that I could but command my hands to tear my eyes out, and my flesh off!"-"If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad you can't," answered Adams. "I have stated your misfortune as strong as I possibly can; but, on the other side, you are to consider you are a Christian; that no accident happens to us without the divine permission, and that it is the duty of a man and a Christian to submit. We did not make ourselves; but the same Power which made us, rules over us, and we are absolutely at his disposal; he may do with us what he pleases, nor have we any right to complain. A second reason against our complaint is our ignorance; for as we know not future events, so neither can we tell to what purpose any accident tends; and that which at first threatens us with evil, may, in the end, produce our good. I should indeed have said our ignorance is twofold, (but I have not at present time to divide properly,) for as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimately directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung. You are a man, and consequently a sinner; and this may be a punishment to you for your sins; indeed, in this sense it may be esteemed as a good, yea, as the greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and averts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction. Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves, demonstrates the folly and absurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist? or against whom do we complain, but a Power from whose shafts no armour can guard us, no speed can fly; a Power which leaves us no hope but in submission ?"-" O sir," cried Joseph," all this is very true, and very fine, and I could hear you all day, if I was not so grieved at heart as now I am."- "Would you take physic," says Adams, "when'you are well, and refuse it when you are sick? Is not comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not to those who rejoice, or those who are at ease?"-"O you have not spoken one word of comfort to me yet," returned Joseph.-"No!" cries Adams; "What am I then doing? what can I say to comfort you?" -" O tell me,” cries Joseph," that Fanny will escape back to my arms, that they shall again inclose that lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untainted innocence about her.""Why, perhaps you may," cries Adams; "but I can't promise you what's to come. You must with perfect resignation wait the event; if she be restored to you again, it is your duty to be thankful, and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you are wise, and truly know your own interest, you will peaceably and quietly submit to all the dispensations of Providence, being thoroughly assured, that all the misfortunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, happen to them for their own good.-Nay, it is not your interest only, but your duty to abstain from immoderate grief; which, if you indulge, you are not worthy the name of a Christian."-He spoke these last words with an accent a little severer than usual; upon which Joseph begged him not to be angry, saying, he mistook him, if he thought he denied it was his duty; for he had known that long ago. "What signifies knowing your duty, if you do not perform it ?” answered Adams. "Your knowledge increases your guilt. O Joseph, I never thought you had this stubbornness in your mind." Joseph replied, he fancied he misunderstood him, "which I assure you," says he, "you do, if you imagine I endeavour to grieve you; upon my soul I don't." Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then proceeded to enlarge on the folly of grief, telling him, all the wise men and philosophers, even among the heathens, had written against it, quoting several passages from Seneca, and the Consolation, which, though it was not Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works; and concluded all by hinting, that immoderate grief, in this case, might incense that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This reason, or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of his mistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, and for a moment abated his agonies: but when his fears sufficiently set before his eyes the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returned again with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least assuage it; though it may be doubted in his behalf, whether Socrates himself could have prevailed any better. They remained some time in silence; and groans and sighs issued from them both; at length Joseph burst out in the following soliloquy : "Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man, Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated?-To which he answered, they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play. "Ay, there is nothing but heathenism to be learned from plays," replied he-"I never heard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the Conscious Lovers; and I must own, in the latter, there are some things almost solemn enough for a sermon.' But we shall now leave them a little, and enquire after the subject of their conversation. " CHAP. XII. happiness, and despise that pitiful fellow, whom her ignorance only could make her fond of. She answered, she knew not whom he meant ; she never was fond of any pitiful fellow. "Are you affronted, madam," says he, " at my calling him so? but what better can be said of one in livery, notwithstanding your fondness for him?" She returned, that she did not understand him, that the man had been her fellow-servant, and, she believed, was as honest a creature as any alive; but as to her fondness for men- "I warrant ye," cries the captain, we shall find means to persuade you to be fond ; and I advise you to yield to gentle ones; for you may be assured that it is not in your power, by any struggles whatever, to preserve your virginity two hours longer. It will be your interest to consent; for the squire will be much kinder to you if he enjoys you willingly than by force." "At which words she began to call aloud for assistance (for it was now open day); but finding none, she lifted her eyes up to heaven, and supplicated the divine assistance to preserve her innocence. The captain told her, if she persisted in her vociferation, he would find a means of stopping her mouth. And now the poor wretch, perceiving no hopes of succour, abandoned herself to despair, and sighing out the name of Joseph ! Joseph! a river of tears ran down her lovely cheeks, and wet the handkerchief which covered her bosom. A horseman now appeared in the road, upon which the captain threatened her violently if she complained; however, the mo More adventures, which we hope will as much ment they approached each other, she begged please as surprise the reader. NEITHER the facetious dialogue which passed between the poet and the player, nor the grave and truly solemn discourse of Mr Adams, will, we conceive, make the reader sufficient amends for the anxiety which he must have felt on the account of poor Fanny, whom we left in so deplorable a condition. We shall therefore now proceed to the relation of what happened to that beautiful and innocent virgin, after she fell into the wicked hands of the captain. The man of war having conveyed his charming prize out of the inn a little before day, made the utmost expedition in his power towards the squire's house, where this delicate creature was to be offered up a sacrifice to the lust of a ravisher. He was not only deaf to all her bewailings and entreaties on the road, but accosted her ears with impurities, which, having been never before accustomed to them, she happily for herself very little understood. At last he changed his note, and attempted to sooth and mollify her, by setting forth the splendour and luxury which would be her fortune with a man who would have the inclination, and power too, to give her whatever her utmost wishes could desire; and told her he doubted not but she would soon look kinder upon him, as the instrument of her him, with the utmost earnestness, to relieve a distressed creature who was in the hands of a ravisher. The fellow stopt at those words; but the captain assured him it was his wife, and that he was carrying her home from her adulterer: which so satisfied the fellow, who was an old one, (and perhaps a married one too,) that he wished him a good journey, and rode on. He was no sooner past, than the captain abused her violently for breaking his commands, and threatened to gagg her, when two more horsemen, armed with pistols, came into the road just before them. She again solicited their assistance, and the captain told the same story as before. Upon which one said to the other"That's a charming wench, Jack! I wish I had been in the fellow's place, whoever he is." But the other, instead of answering him, cried out eagerly, "Zounds, I know her :" and then turning to her, said, "Sure you are not Fanny Goodwill?"-" Indeed, indeed I am," she cried -"O John, I know you now-Heaven hath sent you to my assistance, to deliver me from this wicked man, who is carrying me away for his vile purposes-O for God's sake rescue me from him." A fierce dialogue immediately ensued between the captain and these two men, who being both armed with pistols, and the chariot which they attended being now arrived, |