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CHAPTER X. Consisting partly of facts, and partly of observations upon them.

the delicacy of their minds; and if any of their actions fall short of this mark, they mope and pine, and are as uneasy and restless as a murderer, who is afraid of a ghost, or of the hangman.

ing; and Mr. Nightingale, I am sure, as he cannot yet prepare a house fit to receive his lady, will consent to return to his new lodging, whither Mrs. Nightingale will certainly consent to go.' With which proposal both husband and wife instantly agreed.

The reader will easily believe, that the cheeks of Mrs. Miller began again to glow with additional gratitude to Jones; but, perhaps, it may be more difficult to persuade him, that Mr. Jones having in his last speech called her daughter Mrs. Nightingale, (it being the first time that agreeable sound had ever reached her ears,) gave the fond mother more satisfaction, and warmed her heart more towards Jones, than his having dissipated her present anxiety.

THE letter then which arrived at the end of the preceding chapter, was from Mr. Mrs. Miller was one of these. She could Allworthy, and the purport of it was, his not conceal her uneasiness at this letter; intention to come immediate to town, with with the contents of which she had no his nephew Blifil, and a desire to be ac-sooner acquainted the company, and given commodated with his usual lodgings, which some hints of her distress, than Jones, her were the first floor for himself, and the good angel, presently relieved her anxiety. second for his nephew. As for myself, madam,' said he, 'my lodgThe cheerfulness which had before dis-ing is at your service at a moment's warnplayed itself in the countenance of the poor woman, was a little clouded on this occasion. This news did indeed a good deal disconcert her. To requite so disinterested a match with her daughter by presently turning her new son-in-law out of doors, appeared to her very unjustifiable on the one hand; and, on the other, she could scarce bear the thoughts of making any excuse to Mr. Allworthy, after all the obligations received from him, for depriving him of lodgings which were indeed strictly his due; for that gentleman, in conferring all his numberless benefits on others, acted by a rule diametrically opposite to what is practised by most generous people. He contrived, on all occasions, to hide his beneficence, not only from the world, but even from the object of it. He constantly used the words lend and pay, instead of give; and, by every other method he could invent, always lessened with his tongue the favour he conferred, while he was heaping them with both his hands. When he settled the annuity of 50l. a year, therefore, on Mrs. Miller, he told her, it was in consideration of always having her first floor when he was in town, (which he scarce ever intended to be,) but that she might let it at any other time, for that he would always send her a month's warning.' He was now, however, hurried to town so suddenly, that he had no opportunity of giving such notice; and this hurry probably prevented him, when he wrote for his lodgings, adding, if they were then empty; for he would most certainly have been well satisfied to have relinquished them, on a less sufficient excuse than what Mrs. Miller could now have made.

But there are a sort of persons, who, as Prior excellently well remarks, direct their conduct by something

Beyond the fix'd and settled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools;
Beyond the letter of the law.

To these it is so far from being sufficient that their defence would acquit them at the Old-Bailey, that they are not even contented, though conscience, the severest of all judges, should discharge them. Nothing short of the fair and honourable will satisfy

The next day was then appointed for the removal of the new-married couple, and of Mr. Jones, who was likewise to be provided for in the same house with his friend. And now the serenity of the company was again restored, and they passed the day in the utmost cheerfulness, all except Jones, who, though he outwardly accompanied the rest in their mirth, felt many a bitter pang on the account of his Sophia; which were not a little heightened by the news of Mr. Blifil's coming to town, (for he clearly saw the intention of his journey ;) and what greatly aggravated his concern was, that Mrs. Honour, who had promised to inquire after Sophia, and to make her report to him early the next evening, had disappointed him.

In the situation that he and his mistress were in at this time, there were scarce any grounds for him to hope, that he should hear any good news; yet he was as impatient to see Mrs. Honour, as if he had expected she would bring him a letter with an assignation in it from Sophia, and bore the disappointment as ill. Whether this impatience arose from that natural weakness of the human mind, which makes it desirous to know the worst, and renders uncertainty the most intolerable of pains; or whether he still flattered himself with some secret hopes, we will not determine. But that it might be the last, whoever has loved cannot but know: for of all the

"Ure onur's umbel sarvant

powers exercised by this passion over our I begg ure onur to say nothing of what minds, one of the most wonderful is that of past, and believe mee to be, sir, supporting hope in the midst of despair. Difficulties, improbabilities, nay, impossibilities, are quite overlooked by it; so that, to any man extremely in love, may be applied what Addison says of Cæsar,

"To cumand till deth,
"HONOUR BLACKMORE."

Various were the conjectures which Jones entertained on this step of Lady Bellaston ; who, in reality, had little farther design than to secure within her own house the

'The Alps and Pyrenæans sink before him! Yet it is equally true, that the same passion will sometimes make mountains of mole-repository of a secret, which she chose hills, and produce despair in the midst of hope; but these cold fits last not long in good constitutions. Which temper Jones was now in, we leave the reader to guess, having no exact information about it; but this is certain, that he had spent two hours in expectation, when, being unable any longer to conceal his uneasiness, he retired to his room; where his anxiety had almost made him frantic, when the following letter was brought him from Mrs. Honour, with which we shall present the reader verbatim et literalim.

"SIR,

should make no farther progress than it had made already; but mostly, she desired to keep it from the ears of Sophia; for though that young lady was almost the only one who would never have repeated it again, her ladyship could not persuade herself of this; since, as she now hated poor Sophia with most implacable hatred, she conceived a reciprocal hatred to herself to be lodged in the tender breast of our heroine, where no such passion had ever yet found an entrance.

While Jones was terrifying himself with the apprehension of a thousand dreadful which he imagined to be at the bottom of machinations, and deep political designs, hitherto seems to have been an utter enemy the promotion of Honour, fortune, who to his match with Sophia, tried a new method to put a final end to it, by throwing a temptation in his way, which, in his present desperate situation, it seemed unlikely he

should be able to resist.

CHAPTER XI.

Containing curious, but not unprecedented, matter.

"I shud sartenly haf kaled on you a cordin to my prommiss haddunt itt bin that hur lashipp prevent mee; for to bee sur, sir, you nose very well that evere persun must luk furst at ome, and sartenly such anuther offar mite not ave ever hapned, so as I shud ave bin justly to blam, had I not excepted of it when her lashipp was so veri kind as to offar to mak mee hur one uman without mi ever askin any such thing, to bee sur shee is won of thee best ladis in thee wurld, and pepil who sase to the kontrari must bee veri wiket pepil in there harts. To bee sur if ever I ave sad any thing of that kine it as bin thru ignorens, and I am THERE was a lady, one Mrs. Hunt, who hartili sorri for it. I nose your onur to be had often seen Jones at the house where a genteelman of more onur and onesty, if I he lodged, being intimately acquainted ever said ani such thing, to repete it to hurt with the women there, and indeed a very a pore servant that as alwais ad thee gratest great friend to Mrs. Miller. Her age was respect in the wurld for ure onur. To be about thirty; for she owned six-and-twensur won shud kepe wons tung within wons ty; her face and person very good, only teeth, for no boddi nose what may hapen; inclining a little too much to be fat. She and to bee sur if ani boddi ad tolde mee had been married young by her relations yesterday, that I shud haf bin in so gud a to an old Turkey merchant, who having plase to-day, I shud not haf beleeved it; for got a great fortune, had left off trade. to be sur I never was a dremd of ani With him she lived without reproach, but such thing, nor shud I ever have soft after not without pain, in a state of great selfani other boddi's plase; but as her lashipp denial, for about twelve years; and her wass so kine of her one a cord too give it virtue was rewarded by his dying, and leavmee without askin, to be sur Mrs. Etoff ing her very rich. The first year of her herself nor no other boddi can blam mee for widowhood was just at an end, and she had exceptin such a thing when it fals in mi passed it in a good deal of retirement, seewaye. I beg ure onur not to menshion ani ing only a few particular friends, and divithing of what I haf sad, for I wish ure onur ding her time between her devotions and all thee good luk in thee wurld; and I don't novels, of which she was always extremely cuestion butt thatt u will haf Madame So- fond. Very good health, a very warm constifia in the end; butt ass to miself ure onur tution, and a good deal of religion, made it nose I kant bee of ani farder sarvis to u in absolutely necessary for her to marry again; that matar, nou bein under thee cummand and she resolved to please herself in her off anuthar parson, and nott mi one mistress. I second husband, as she had done her friends

in the first. From her the following billet | he called for pen, ink, and paper, and writ was brought to Jones: as follows to Mrs. Hunt:

"SIR,

"MADAM,

"From the first day I saw you, I doubt "It would be but a poor return to the my eyes have told you too plainly, that you favour you have done me, to sacrifice any were not indifferent to me; but neither my gallantry to the possession of you; and I tongue nor my hand should ever have would certainly do it, though I were not avowed it, had not the ladies of the family disengaged, as at present I am, from any where you are lodged given me such a cha-affair of that kind. But I should not be racter of you, and told me such proofs of the honest man you think me, if I did not your virtue and goodness, as to convince tell you, that my affections are engaged to me you are not only the most agreeable, another, who is a woman of virtue, and one but the most worthy of men. I have also that I never can leave, though it is probable the satisfaction to hear from them, that nei-I shall never possess her. God forbid that, ther my person, understanding, or charac-in return of your kindness to me, I should ter, are disagreeable to you. I have a fortune sufficient to make us both happy, but which cannot make me so without you. In thus disposing of myself, I know I shall incur the censure of the world; but if I did not love you more than I fear the world, I should not be worthy of you. One only difficulty stops me: I am informed you are engaged in a commerce of gallantry with a woman of fashion. If you think it worth while to sacrifice that to the possession of me, I am yours; if not, forget my weakness, and let this remain an eternal secret between you and

"ARRABELLA HUNT."

do you such an injury, as to give you my
hand, when I cannot give you my heart.
No; I had much rather starve than be
guilty of that. Even though my mistress
were married to another, I would not marry
you, unless my heart had entirely defaced
all impressions of her. Be assured that your
secret was not more safe in your own breast,
than in that of

"Your most obliged, and
"Grateful humble servant,
"T. JONES."

When our hero had finished and sent this letter, he went to his scrutoire, took out Miss Western's muff, kissed it several his room, with more satisfaction of mind times, and then strutted some turns about than ever any Irishman felt in carrying off a fortune of fifty thousand pounds.

CHAPTER XII.

At the reading of this, Jones was put into a violent flutter. His fortune was then at a very low ebb, the source being stopped from which hitherto he had been supplied. Of all he had received from Lady Bellaston, not above five guineas remained: and that very morning he had been dunned by a tradesman for twice that sum. His honourable mistress was in the hands of her father, A discovery made by Partridge. and he had scarce any hopes ever to get WHILE Jones was exulting in the conher out of them again. To be subsisted, at sciousness of his integrity, Partridge came her expense, from that little fortune she capering into the room, as was his custom had independent of her father, went much when he brought, or fancied he brought, against the delicacy both of his pride and any good tidings. He had been despatched his love. This lady's fortune would have that morning, by his master, with orders been exceeding convenient to him, and he to endeavour, by the servants of Lady Belcould have no objection to her in any re- laston, or by any other means, to discover spect. On the contrary, he liked her as whither Sophia had been conveyed; and well as he did any woman, except Sophia. he now returned, and with a joyful counteBut to abandon Sophia, and marry another, nance told our hero, that he had found the that was impossible: he could not think of lost bird. 'I have seen, sir,' says he, it upon any account. Yet why should heBlack George, the game-keeper, who is not, since it was plain she could not be his? Would it not be kinder to her, than to continue her longer engaged in a hopeless passion for him? Ought he not to do so in friendship to her? This notion prevailed some moments, and he had almost determined to be false to her from a high point of honour; but that refinement was not able to stand very long against the voice of nature, which cried in his heart, that such friendship was a treason to love. At last

one of the servants whom the squire hath
brought with him to town. I knew him
presently, though I have not seen him these
several years; but you know, sir, he is a
very remarkable man, or, to use a purer
phrase, he hath a most remarkable beard,
the largest and blackest I ever saw.
was some time, however, before Black
George could recollect me.'-Well, but
what is your good news?' cries Jones >
'What do you know of my Sophia?'--

It

earth, except myself, or one that would go farther to serve you.'

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'Well,' says Jones, a little pacified, 'you say this fellow, who, I believe, indeed, is enough inclined to be my friend, lives in the same house with Sophia?”

'In the same house!' answered Partridge: why, sir, he is one of the servants of the family, and very well dressed I promise you he is; if it was not for his black beard, you would hardly know him.'

You shall know presently, sir,' answered | make haste, then, says I, or somebody will Partridge, 'I am coming to it as fast as I have her before he comes; and, indeed, can. You are so impatient, sir, you would says I, Mr. Seagrim, it is a thousand come at the infinite mood, before you can pities somebody should not have her; for get at the imperative. As I was saying, he certainly loves her above all women sir, it was some time before he recollected in the world. I would have both you my face. Confound your face!' cries and she know, that it is not for her forJones, what of my Sophia Nay, sir,' tune he follows her; for I can assure answered Partridge, I know nothing more you as to matter of that, there is another of Madam Sophia, than what I am going lady, one of much greater quality and forto tell you; and I should have told you all tune than she can pretend to, who is so before this, if you had not interrupted me; fond of some body, that she comes after him but if you look so angry at me, you will day and night.' frighten all of it out of my head, or, to use Here Jones fell into a passion with Para purer phrase, out of my memory. I tridge, for having, as he said, betrayed him; never saw you look so angry since the day but the poor fellow answered, he had menwe left Upton, which I shall remember if I tioned no name: 'besides, sir,' said he, 'I was to live a thousand years.'-' Well, can assure you, George is sincerely your pray go on in your own way,' said Jones; friend, and wished Mr. Blifil at the devil you are resolved to make me mad, I find.' more than once; nay, he said he would do Not for the world,' answered Partridge, any thing in his power upon earth to serve 'I have suffered enough for that already; you; and so I am convinced he will. Bewhich, as I said, I shall bear in my remem- tray you, indeed! why, I question whether brance the longest day I have to live.'-you have a better friend than George upon 'Well, but Black George?' cries Jones. 'Well, sir, as I was saying, it was a long time before he could recollect me; for, indeed, I am very much altered since I saw him. Non sum qualis eram. I have had troubles in the world; and nothing alters a man so much as grief. I have heard it will change the colour of a man's hair in a night. However, at last, know me he did, that's sure enough; for we are both of an age, and were at the same charity-school. George was a great dunce; but no matter for that; all men do not thrive in the world according to their learning. I am sure I have reason to say so; but it will be all one a thousand years hence. Well, sir, where was 10-well, we no sooner knew each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand, we agreed to go to an alehouse and take a pot, and by good luck the beer was some of the best I have met with since I have been in town. Now, sir, I am coming to the point; for no sooner did I name you, and told him, that you and I came to town together, and had lived together ever since, than he called for another pot, and swore he would drink to your health; and indeed he drank your health so heartily, that I was overjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left in the world; and after we had emptied that pot, I said I would be my pot too, and so we drank another to your health; and then I made haste home to tell you the news.' The name, sir? why here, sir, just by,' 'What news?' cries Jones, you have answered Partridge, not above a street or not mentioned a word of my Sophia.'-two off. I don't, indeed, know the very Bless me! I had like to have forgot that. Indeed, we mentioned a great deal about young Madam Western; and George told me all: that Mr. Blifil is coming to town, in order to be married to her. He had best

'One service then at least he may do me,' says Jones; sure he can certainly convey letter to my Sophia.'

·

a
You have hit the nail ad unguem,' cries
Partridge: how came I not to think of it!
I will engage he shall do it upon the very
first mentioning.'

'Well, then,' said Jones, 'do you leave me at present, and I will write a letter, which you shall deliver to him to-morrow morning; for I suppose you know where to find him.'

'O yes, sir,' answered Partridge; 'I shall certainly find him again; there is no fear of that. The liquor is too good for him to stay away long. I make no doubt but he will be there every day he stays in town.'

'So you don't know the street, then, where my Sophia is lodged?' cries Jones. 'Indeed, sir, I do,' says Partridge.

'What is the name of the street?' cries Jones.

name; for as he never told me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put some suspicion into his head. No, no, sir; let me alone for that. I am too cunning for that, I promise you.'

Thou art most wonderfully cunning, And now, having dismissed the sagacious indeed,' replied Jones; however, I will Partridge, Mr. Jones sat himself down to write to my charmer, since I believe you write; in which employment we shall leave will be cunning enough to find him to-him for a time. And here we put an end to morrow at the alehouse.' the fifteenth book.

BOOK XVI.

CONTAINING THE SPACE OF FIVE DAYS.

CHAPTER I.

Of prologues.

I HAVE heard of a dramatic writer who used to say, he would rather write a play than a prologue; in like manner, I think, I can with less pains write one of the books of this history, than the prefatory chapter to each of them.

call to the best advantage; by which means, I have known those musical instruments so well prepared, that they have been able to play in full concert at the first rising of the curtain.

The same advantages may be drawn from these chapters, in which the critic will be always sure of meeting with something that may serve as a whetstone to his noble spirit; so that he may fall with a more hungry appetite for censure on the history itself. And here his sagacity must make it needless to observe how artfully these chapters are calculated for that excellent purpose; for in these we have always taken care to intersperse somewhat of the sour or acid kind, in order to sharpen and stimulate the said spirit of criticism.

To say the truth, I believe many a hearty curse hath been devoted on the head of that author, who first instituted the method of prefixing to his play that portion of matter which is called the prologue; and which at first was part of the piece itself, but of latter years hath had usually so little connexion with the drama before which it stands, that the prologue of one play might as well serve for any other. Those indeed of more Again, the indolent reader, as well as modern date, seem all to be written on the spectator, finds great advantage from both same three topics, viz. an abuse of the taste these; for as they are noged either to of the town, a condemnation of all contem-see the one or read the other, and both the porary authors, and an eulogium on the play and the book are thus protracted; by performance just about to be represented. the former they have a quarter of an hour The sentiments in all these are very little longer allowed them to sit at dinner, and varied, nor is it possible they should; and by the latter they have the advantage of indeed I have often wondered at the great beginning to read at the fourth or fifth invention of authors, who have been capa-page instead of the first; a matter by no ble of finding such various phrases to express the same thing.

In like manner, I apprehend, some future historian, (if any one shall do me the honour of imitating my manner,) will, after much scratching his pate, bestow some good wishes on my memory, for having first established these several initial chapters; most of which, like modern prologues, may as properly be fixed to any other book in this history as to that which they introduce, or indeed to any other history as to this.

But however authors may suffer by either of these inventions, the reader will find sufficient emolument in the one, as the spectator hath long found in the other.

First, it is well known, that the prologue serves the critic for an opportunity to try his faculty of hissing, and to tune his cat

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means of trivial consequences to persons who read books with no other view than to say they have read them, a more general motive to reading than is commonly imagined; and from which not only law-books, and good books, but the pages of Homer and Virgil, of Swift and Cervantes, have been often turned over.

Many other are the emoluments which arise from both these; but they are for the most part so obvious, that we shall not at present stay to enumerate them; especially since it occurs to us that the principal merit of both the prologue and the preface is that they be short.

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