AS it is possible the mere English Reader may have a different Idea of Romance with the Author of these little Volumes; and may consequently expect a kind of Entertainment, not to be found, nor which was even intended, in the following Pages; it may not be improper to premise a few Words concerning this kind of Writing which I do not remember to have seen hitherto attempted in our Language.
The EPIC as well as the DRAMA is divided into Tragedy and Comedy. Homer, who was the Father of this Species of Poetry, gave us a Pattern of both these, tho' that of the latter kind is entirely lost; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to Comedy which his Iliad bears to Tragedy. And perhaps, that we have no more Instances of it among the Writers of Antiquity, is owing to the Loss of this great Pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its Imitators equally with the other Poems of this great Original.
And farther, as this Poetry may be Tragic or Comic, I will not scruple to say it may be likewise either in Verse or Prose: for tho' it wants one particular, which the Critic enumerates in the constituent Parts of an Epic Poem, namely Metre; yet, when any kind of Writing contains all its other Parts, such as Fable, Action, Characters, Sentiments, and Diction, and is deficient in Metre only; it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it to the Epic; at least, as no Critic hath thought proper to range it under any other Head, nor to assign it a particular Name to itself.
Thus the Telemachus of the Arch-Bishop of Cambray appears
to me of the Epic Kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer; indeed,
it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it a Name common
with that Species from which it differs only in a single Instance,
than to confound it with those which it resembles in no other.
Now a comic Romance is a comic Epic-Poem in Prose; differing
from Comedy, as the serious Epic from Tragedy: its Action
being more extended and comprehensive; containing a much
larger Circle of Incidents, and introducing a greater Variety of
Characters. it differs from the serious Romance in its Fable and
Action, in this; that as in the one these are grave and solemn, so
in the other they are light and ridiculous: it differs in its Characters,
by introducing Persons of inferiour Rank, and consequently
of inferiour Manners, whereas the grave Romance, sets the
highest before us; lastly in its Sentiments and Diction, by preserving
the Ludicrous instead of the Sublime. In the Diction I
think, Burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted; of which
many Instances will occur in this Work, as in the Descriptions
of the Battles, and some other Places, not necessary to be pointed
out to the Classical Reader; for whose Entertainment those Parodies
or Burlesque Imitations are chiefly calculated.
But tho' we have sometimes admitted this in our Diction, we
have carefully excluded it from our Sentiments and Characters:
for there it is never properly introduced, unless in Writings of the
Burlesque kind, which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two
Species of Writing can differ more widely than the Comic and
the Burlesque: for as the latter is ever the Exhibition of what is
monstrous and unnatural, and where our Delight, if we examine
it, arises from the suprizing Absurdity, as in appropriating the
Manners of the highest to the lowest, or e converso; so in the
former, we should ever confine ourselves strictly to Nature from
the just Imitation of which, will flow all the Pleasure we can this
way convey to a sensible Reader. And perhaps, there is one Reason,
why a Comic Writer should of all others be the least excused
for deviating from Nature, since it may not be always so easy
I have hinted this little, concerning Burlesque; because, i have
often heard that Name given to Performances, which have been
truly of the Comic kind, from the Author's having sometimes
admitted it in his Diction only; which as it is the Dress of Poetry,
doth like the Dress of Men establish Characters, (the one of the
whole Poem, and the other of the whole Man,) in vulgar Opinion,
beyond any of their greater Excellencies: But surely, a certain
Drollery in Style, where the Characters and Sentiments are perfectly
natural, no more constitutes the Burlesque, than an empty
Pomp and Dignity of Words, where every thing else is mean and
low, can entitle any Performance to the Appellation of the true
Sublime.
And I apprehend, my Lord Shaftesbury's Opinion of mere
Burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, `There is no such
Thing to be found in the Writings of the Antients.' But perhaps,
I have less Abhorrence than he professes for it: and that not
because I have had some little Success on the Stage this way;
but rather, as it contributes more to exquisite Mirth and Laughter
than any other; and these are probably more wholesome Physic
for the Mind, and conduce better to purge away Spleen, Melancholy
and ill Affections, than is generally imagined. Nay, I will
appeal to common Observation, whether the same Companies are
not found more full of Good-Humour and Benevolence, after
they have been sweeten'd for two or three Hours with Entertainments
of this kind, than when soured by a Tragedy or a grave
Lecture.
But to illustrate all this by another Science, in which, perhaps,
we shall see the Distinction more clearly and plainly: Let us
examine the Works of a Comic History-Painter, with those Performances
which the Italians call Caricatura; where we shall find
the true Excellence of the former, to consist in the exactest copying
of Nature; insomuch, that a judicious Eye instantly rejects
any thing outre; any Liberty which the Painter hath taken with
the Features of that Alma Mater. — Whereas in the Caricatura
we allow all Licence. Its Aim is to exhibit Monsters, not Men;
and all Distortions and Exaggerations whatever are within its
proper Province.
Now what Caricatura is in Painting, Burlesque is in Writing;
and in the same manner the Comic Writer and Painter correlate
to each other. And here I shall observe, that as in the former, the
Painter seems to have the Advantage; so it is in the latter infinitely
on the side of the Writer: for the Monstrous is much easier
to paint than describe, and the Ridculous to describe than paint.
And tho' perhaps this latter Species doth not in either Science
so strongly affect and agitate the Muscles as the other; yet it will
be owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful Pleasure arises
to us from it. He who should call the Ingenious Hogarth a Burlesque
Painter, would, in my Opinion, do him very little Honour:
for sure it is much easier, much less the Subject of Admiration,
to paint a Man with a Nose, or any other Feature of a preposterous
But to return — The Ridiculous only, as i have before said,
falls within my Province in the present Work. — Nor will some
Explanation of this Word be thought impertinent by the Reader,
if he considers how wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by
Writers who have profess'd it: for to what but such a Mistake,
can we attribute the many Attempts to ridicule the blackest
Villanies; and what is yet worse, the most dreadful Calamities?
What could exceed the Absurdity of an Author, who should
write the Comedy of Nero, with the merry Incident of ripping up his
Mother's Belly; or what would give a greater Shock to Humanity,
than an Attempt to expose the Miseries of Poverty and Distress
to Ridicule? And yet, the Reader will not want much Learning to
suggest such Instances to himself.
Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so fond
and free of Definitions, hath not thought proper to define the
Ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to Comedy,
he hath remarked that Villany is not its Object: but he hath not,
as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbe
Bellegarde, who hath writ a Treatise on this Subject, tho' he
shews us many Species of it, once trace it to its Fountain.
The only Source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me) is
Affectation. But tho' it arises from one Spring only, when we
From the Discovery of this Affectation arises the Ridiculous —
which always strikes the Reader with Surprize and Pleasure; and
that in a higher and stronger Degree when the Affectation arises
Now from Affectation only, the Misfortunes and Calamities of
Life, or the Imperfections of Nature, may become the Objects
of Ridicule. Surely he hath a very ill-framed Mind, who can look
on Ugliness, Infirmity, or Poverty, as ridiculous in themselves:
nor do I believe any Man living who meets a dirty Fellow riding
through the Streets in a Cart, is struck with an Idea of the Ridiculous
from it; but if he should see the same Figure descend from
his Coach and Six, or bolt from his Chair with his Hat under his
Arm, he would then begin to laugh, and with justice. In the same
manner, were we to enter a poor House, and behold a wretched
Family shivering with Cold and languishing with Hunger, it
would not incline us to Laughter, (at least we must have very
diabolical Natures, if it would:) but should we discover there a
Grate, instead of Coals, adorned with Flowers, empty Plate or
China Dishes on the Side-board, or any other Affectation of
Riches and Fonery either in their Persons or in their Furniture;
we might then indeed be excused, for ridiculing so fantastical
an Appearance. Much less are natural Imperfections the Objects
of Derision: but when Ugliness aims at the Applause of Beauty,
or Lameness endeavours to display Agility; it is then that these
unfortunate Circumstances, which at first moved our Compassion,
tend only to raise our Mirth.
The Poet carries this very far;
Where if the Metre would suffer the Word Ridiculous to close the
first Line, the Thought would be rather more proper. Great Vices
are the proper Objects of our Detestation, smaller Faults of our
Pity: but Affectation appears to me the only true Source of the
Ridiculous.
But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my
own Rules introduced Vices, and of a very black Kind into this
Work. To which I shall answer: First, that it is very difficult to
pursue a Series of human Actions and keep clear from them.
Secondly, That the Vices to be found here, are rather the accidental
Consequences of some human Fraility, or Foible, than
Causes habitually existing in the Mind. Thirdly, That they
are never set forth as the Objects of Ridicule but Detestation.
Fouthly, That they are never the principal Figure at that Time
on the Scene; and lastly, they never produce the intended Evil.
Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the Productions
of Romance Writers on the one hand, and Burlesque Writers
on the other, and given some few very short Hints (for I intended
no more) of this Species of writing, which I have affirmed to be
hitherto unattempted in our Language; I shall leave to my goodnatur'd
Reader to apply my Piece to my Observations, and will
detain him no longer than with a Word concerning the Characters
in this Work.
And here I solemnly protest, I have no Intention to vilify or
asperse any one: for tho' every thing is copied from the Book of
Nature, and scarce a Character or Action produced which I have
not taken from my own Observations and Experience, yet I
have used the utmost Care to obscure the Persons by such different
Circumstances, Degrees, and Colours, that it will be impossible
to guess at them with any degree of Certainty; and if it ever
happens otherwise, it is only where the Failure characterized is
so minute, that it is a Fobile only which the Party himself may
laugh at as well as any other.
As to the Character of Adams, as it is the most glaring in the
whole, so I conceive it is not to be found in any Book now extant.
It is designed a Character of perfect Simplicity; and as the Goodness
of his Heart will recommend him to the Good-natur'd; so
I hope it will excuse me to the Gentlemen of his Cloth; for whom,
while they are worthy of their sacred Order, no Man can possibly
IT is a trite but true Observation, that Examples work more forcibly on the Mind than Precepts: And if this be just in what is odious and blameable, it is more strongly so in what is amiable and praise-worthy. Here Emulation most effectually operates upon us, and inspires our Imitation in an irresistible manner. A good Man therefore is a standing Lesson to all his Aquaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow Circle than a good Book.
But as it often happens that the best Men are but little known, and consequently cannot extend the Usefulness of their Examples a great way; the Writer may be called in aid to spread their History farther, and to present the amiable Pictures to those who have not the Happiness of knowing the Originals; and so, by communicating such valuable Patterns to the World, he may perhaps do a more extensive Service to Mankind than the Person whose Life originally afforded the Pattern.
In this Light I have always regarded those Biographers who
have recorded the Actions of great and worthy Persons of both
Sexes. Not to mention those antient Writers which of late days
are little read, being written in obsolete, and, as they are generally
thought, unintelligible Languages; such as Plutarch, Nepos, and
But I pass by these and many others, to mention two Books
lately published, which represent an admirable Pattern of the
Amiable in either Sex. The former of these which deals in MaleVirtue,
was written by the great Person himself, who lived the
Life he hath recorded, and is by many thought to have lived such
a Life only in order to write it. The other is communicated to us
by an Historian who borrows his Lights, as the common Method
is, from authentic Papers and Records. The Reader, I believe,
already conjectures, I mean, the Lives of Mr. Colley Cibber, and
What the Female Readers are taught by the Memoirs of
Mrs. Andrews, is so well set forth in the excellent Essays or
Letters prefixed to the second and subsequent Editions of that
Work, that it would be here a needless Repetition. The authentic
MR. Joseph Andrews, the Hero of our ensuing History, was
esteemed to be the only Son of Gaffar and Gammer Andrews, and
Brother to the illustrious Pamela, whose Virtue is at present so
famous. As to his Ancestors, we have searched with great Diligence,
but little Success: being unable to trace them farther than
his Great Grandfather, who, as an elderly Person in the Parish
remembers to have heard his Father say, was an excellent Cudgelplayer.
Whether he had any Ancestors before this, we must
leave to the Opinion of our curious Reader, finding nothing of
sufficient Certainty to relie on. However, we cannot omit inserting
an Epitaph which an ingenious Friend of ours hath communicated.
The Words are almost out of the Stone with Antiquity. But it is
needless to observe, that Andrew here is writ without an s, and is
To wave therefore a Circumstance, which, tho' mentioned
in conformity to the exact Rules of Biography, is not greatly
material; I proceed to things of more consequence. Indeed it is
sufficiently certain, that he had as many Ancestors, as the best
Man living; and perhaps, if we look five or six hundred Years
backwards, might be related to some Persons of very great
Figure at present, whose Ancestors within half the last Century
are buried in as great Obscurity. But suppose for Argument's
sake we should admit that he had no Ancestors at all, but had
sprung up, according to the modern Phrase, out of a Dunghill,
as the Athenians pretended they themselves did from the Earth,
would not this Autokopros have been justly entitled to all the
Praise arising from his own Virtues? Would it not be hard, that
a Man who hath no Ancestors should therefore be render'd incapable
of acquiring Honour, when we see so many who have
no Virtues, enjoying the Honour of their Forefathers? At ten
Years old (by which Time his Education was advanced to Writing
and Reading) he was bound an Apprentice, according to the
Statute, to Sir Thomas Booby, an Uncle of Mr. Booby's by the
Father's side. Sir Thomas having then an Estate in his own hands,
the young Andrews was at first employed in what in the Country
they call keeping Birds. His Office was to perform the Part the
Antients assigned to the God Priapus, which Deity the Moderns
call by the Name of Jack-o'-Lent: but his Voice being so extremely
musical, that it rather allured the Birds than terrified
them, he was soon transplanted from the Fields into the Dogkennel,
where he was placed under the Huntsman, and made
what Sportsmen term a Whipper-in. For this Place likewise the
Joey was now preferred from the Stable to attend on his Lady;
to go on her Errands, stand behind her Chair, wait at her Teatable,
and carry her Prayer-Book to Church; at which Place,
his Voice gave him an Opportunity of distinguishing himself by
singing Psalms: he behaved likewise in every other respect so well
at divine Service, that it recommended him to the Notice of Mr.
Abraham Adams the Curate; who took an Opportunity one Day,
as he was drinking a Cup of Ale in Sir Thomas's Kitchin, to ask
the young Man several Questions concerning Religion; with his
Answers to which he was wonderfully pleased.
MR. Abraham Adams was an excellent Scholar. He was a perfect
Master of the Greek and Latin Languages; to which he added a
His Virtue and his other Qualifications, as they rendered him
equal to his Office, so they made him an agreeable and valuable
Companion, and had so much endeared and well recommended
him to a Bishop, that at the Age of Fifty, he was provided with a
handsome Income of twenty-three Pounds a Year; which however,
he could not make any great Figure with: because he lived
in a dear Country, and was a little incumbered with a Wife and
six Children.
It was this Gentleman, who, having, as I have said, observed
the singular Devotion of young Andrews, had found means to
question him, concerning several Particulars; as how many Books
there were in the New Testament? which were they? how many
Chapters they contained? and such like; to all which Mr. Adams
privately said, he answer'd much better than Sir Thomas, or two
other neighbouring Justices of the Peace could probably have
done.
Mr. Adams was wonderfully sollicitous to know at what Time,
and by what Opportunity the Youth became acquainted with
The Curate, surprized to find such Instances of Industry and
Application in a young Man, who had never met with the least
Encouragement, asked him, if he did not extremely regret the
want of a liberal Education, and the not having been born of
Parents, who might have indulged his Talents and Desire of
Knowledge? To which he answered, `he hoped he had profited
somewhat better from the Books he had read, than to lament his
Condition in this World. That for his part, he was perfectly content
with the State to which he was called, that he should endeavour
Adams had no nearer Access to Sir Thomas, or my Lady, than
through the Waiting-Gentlewoman: For Sir Thomas was too apt
to estimate Men merely by their Dress, or Fortune; and my
Lady was a Woman of Gaiety, who had been bless'd with a TownEducation,
and never spoke of any of her Country Neighbours,
by any other Appellation than that of The Brutes. They both
regarded the Curate as a kind of Domestic only, belonging to the
Parson of the Parish, who was at this time at variance with the
Knight; for the Parson had for many Years lived in a constant
State of Civil War, or, which is perhaps as bad, of Civil Law, with
Sir Thomas himself and the Tenants of his Manor. The Foundation
of this Quarrel was a Modus, by setting which aside, an
Advantage of several Shillings per Annum would have accrued to
the Rector: but he had not yet been able to accomplish his purpose;
and had reaped hitherto nothing better form the Suits
than the Pleasure (which he used indeed frequently to say was no
small one) of reflecting that he had utterly undone many of the
poor Tenants, tho' he had at the same time greatly impoverish'd
himself.
Mrs. Slipslop the Waiting-Gentlewoman, being herself the
Daughter of a Curate, preserved some Respect for Adams; she
professed great Regard for his Learning, and would frequently
dispute with him on Points of Theology; but always insisted on
a Deference to be paid to her Understanding, as she had been
frequently at London, and knew more of the World than a Country
Parson could pretend to.
She had in these Disputes a particular Advantage over Adams:
for she was a mighty Affecter of hard Words, which she used in
such a manner, that the Parson, who durst not offend her, by
calling her Words in question, was frequently at some loss to
guess her meaning, and would have been much less puzzled by
an Arabian Manuscript.
Adams therefore took an Opportunity one day, after a pretty
long Discourse with her on the Essence, (or, as she pleased to term
it, the Incense) of Matter, to mention the Case of young Andrews;
desiring her to recommend him to her Lady as a Youth very
susceptible of Learning, and one, whose Instruction in Latin he
would himself undertake; by which means he might be qualified
for higher Station than that of a Footman: and added, she knew
it was in his Master's power easily to provide for him in a better
manner. He therefore desired, that the Boy might be left behind
under his Care.
`La Mr. Adams,' said Mrs. Slipslop, `do you think my Lady
will suffer any Preambles about any such Matter? She is going to
London very concisely, and I am confidous would not leave Joey
behind her on any account; for he is one of the genteelest young
Fellows you may see in a Summer's Day, and I am confidous she
would as soon think of parting with a Pair of her Grey-Mares:
for she values herself as much on one as the other.' Adams would
have interrupted, but she proceeded: `And why is Latin more
necessitous for a Footman than a Gentleman? It is very proper
that you Clargymen must learn it, because you can't preach without
it: but I have heard Gentlemen say in London, that it is fit
for no body else. I am confidous my Lady would be angry with
me for mentioning it, and I shall draw myself into no such Delemy.'
At which words her Lady's Bell rung, and Mr. Adams was
forced to retire; nor could he gain a second Opportunity with her
before their London Journey, which happened a few Days afterwards.
However, Andrews behaved very thankfully and gratefully
to him for his intended Kindness, which he told him he never
would forget, and at the same time received from the good Man
many Admonitions concerning the Regulation of his future Conduct,
and his Perseverance in Innocence and Industry.
NO sooner was young Andrews arrived at London, than he began to scrape an Acquaintance with his party-colour'd Brethren, who endeavour'd to make him despise his former Course of Life. His Hair was cut after the newest Fashion, and became his chief Care. He went abroad with it all the Morning in Papers, and drest it out in the Afternoon; they could not however teach him to game, swear, drink, nor any other genteel Vice the Town abounded with. He applied most of his leisure Hours to Music, in which he greatly improved himself, and became so perfect a Connoisseur in that Art, that he led the Opinion of all the other Footmen at an Opera, and they never condemned or applauded a single Song contrary to his Approbation or Dislike. He was a little too forward in Riots at the Play-Houses and Assemblies; and when he attended his Lady at Church (which was but seldom) he behaved with less seeming Devotion than formerly: however, if he was outwardly a pretty Fellow, his Morals remained entirely uncorrupted, tho' he was at the same time smarter and genteeler, than any of the Beaus in Town, either in or out of Livery.
His Lady, who had often said of him that Joey was the handsomest and genteelest Footman in the Kingdom, but that it was pity he wanted Spirit, began now to find that Fault no longer; on the contrary, she was frequently heard to cry out, Aye, there is some Life in this Fellow. She plainly saw the Effects which TownAir hath on the soberest Constitutions. She would now walk out with him into Hyde-Park in a Morning, and when tired, which happened almost every Minute, would lean on his Arm, and converse with him in great Familiarity. Whenever she stept out of her Coach she would take him by the Hand, and sometimes, for fear of stumbling, press it very hard; she admitted him to deliver Messages at her Bed-side in a Morning, leered at him at Table, and indulged him in all those innocent Freedoms which Women of Figure may permit without the least sully of their Virtue.
But tho' their Virtue remains unsullied, yet now and then some
small Arrows will glance on the Shadow of it, their Reputation;
But whatever Opinion or Suspicion the scandalous Inclination
of Defamers might entertain of Lady Booby's innocent Freedoms,
it is certain they made no Impression on young Andrews, who
never offered to encroach beyond the Liberties which his Lady
allowed him. A Behaviour which she imputed to the violent
Respect he preserved for her, and which served only to heighten
a something she began to conceive, and which the next Chapter
will open a little farther.
AT this Time, an Accident happened which put a stop to these
agreeable Walks, which probably would have soon puffed up the
Cheeks of Fame, and caused her to blow her brazen Trumpet
through the Town, and this was no other than the Death of Sir
Thomas Booby, who departing this Life, left his disconsolate Lady
TO Mrs. Pamela Andrews, living with Squire Booby. `Dear Sister, `Since I received your Letter of your good Lady's Death, we have had a Misfortune of the same kind in our Family. My worthy Master, Sir Thomas, died about four Days ago, and what is worse, my poor Lady is certainly gone distracted. None of the Servants expected her to take it so to heart, because they quarrelled almost every day of their Lives: but no more of that, because you know, Pamela, I never loved to tell the Secrets of my Master's Family; but to be sure you must have known they never loved one another, and I have heard her Ladyship wish his Honour dead above a thousand times: but no body knows what it is to lose a Friend till they have lost him.
`Don't tell any body what I write, because I should not care to have Folks say I discover what passes in our Family: but if it had not been so great a Lady, I should have thought she had had a mind to me. Dear Pamela, don't tell any body: but she ordered me to sit down by her Bed-side, when she was in naked Bed; and she held my Hand, and talked exactly as a Lady does to her Sweetheart in a Stage-Play, which I have seen in Covent Garden, while she wanted him to be no better than he should be.
`If Madam be mad, I shall not care for staying long in the Family; so I heartily wish you could get me a Place either at the Squire's, or some other neighbouring Gentleman's, unless it be true that you are going to be married to Parson Williams, as Folks talk, and then I should be very willing to be his Clerk: for which you know I am qualified, being able to read, and to set a Psalm.
`I fancy, I shall be discharged very soon; and the Moment
I am, unless I hear form you, I shall return to my old Master's
As soon as Joseph had sealed and directed this Letter, he
walked down Stairs, where he met Mrs. Slipslop, with whom
we shall take this Opportunity to bring the Reader a little better
acquainted. She was a Maiden Gentlewoman of about Fortyfive
Years of Age, who having made a small Slip in her Youth
had continued a good Maid ever since. She was not at this time
remarkably handsome; being very short, and rather too corpulent
in Body, and somewhat red, with the Addition of Pimples in the
Face. Her Nose was likewise rather too large, and her Eyes too
little; nor did she resemble a Cow so much in her Breath, as in
two brown Globes which she carried before her; one of her Legs
was also a little shorter than the other, which occasioned her to
limp as she walked. This fair Creature had long cast the Eyes of
Affection on Joseph, in which she had not met with quite so good
Success as she probably wished, tho' besides the Allurements of her
native Charms, she had given him Tea, Sweetmeats, Wine, and
many other Delicacies, of which by keeping the Keys, she had the
absolute Command. Joseph however, had not returned the least
Gratitude to all these Favours, not even so much as a Kiss; tho'
I would not insinuate she was so easily to be satisfied: for surely
then he would have been highly blameable. The truth is, she was
arrived at an Age when she thought she might indulge herself
in any Liberties with a Man, without the danger of bringing a
third Person into the World to betray them. She imagined, that
by so long a Self-denial, she had not only made amends for the
small Slip of her Youth above hinted at: but had likewise laid up
a Quantity of Merit to excuse any future Failings. In a word, she
resolved to give a loose to her amorous Inclinations, and pay off
the Debt of Pleasure which she found she owed herself, as fast as
possible.
With these Charms of Person, and in this Disposition of Mind,
she encountered poor Jospeh at the Bottom of the Stairs, and asked
him if he would drink a Glass of something good this Morning.
`Sure nothing can be a more simple Contract in a Woman, than
to place her Affections on a Boy. If I had ever thought it would
have been my Fate, I should have wished to die a thousand Deaths
rather than live to see that Day. If we like a Man, the lightest
Hint sophisticates. Whereas a Boy proposes upon us to break
through all the Regulations of Modesty, before we can make any
Oppression upon him.' Joseph, who did not understand a Word she
said, answered, `Yes Madam; -' `Yes Madam!' reply'd Mrs. Slipslop
with some Warmth, `Do you intend to result my Passion?
Is it not enough, ungrateful as you are, to make no Return to all
the Favours I have done you: but you must treat me with Ironing?
Barbarous Monster! how have I deserved that my Passion should
be resulted and treated with Ironing?' `Madam,' answered Joseph,
`I don't understand your hard Words: but I am certain, you have
no Occasion to call me ungrateful: for so far from intending you
any Wrong, I have always loved you as well as if you had been
my own Mother.' `How, Sirrah!' says Mrs. Slipslop in a Rage:
`Your own Mother! Do you assinuate that I am old enough to
be your Mother? I don't know what a Stripling may think: but
I believe a Man would refer me to any Green-Sickness silly Girl
whatsomdever: but I ought to despise you rather than be angry
with you, for referring the Conversation of Girls to that of a
Woman of Sense.' `Madam,' says Joseph, `I am sure I have always
valued the Honour you did me by your Conversation; for I know
you are a Woman of Learning.' `Yes but, Joseph,' said she a little
softened by the Compliment to her Learning, `If you had a Value
for me, you certainly would have found some Method of shewing
it me; for I am convicted you must see the Value I have for you.
Yes, Joseph, my Eyes whether I would or no, must have declared
a Passion I cannot conquer. — Oh! Joseph1-'
As when a hungry Tygress, who long had traversed the
Woods in fruitless search, sees within the Reach of her Claws a
Lamb, she prepares to leap on her Prey; or as a voracious Pike,
of immense Size, surveys through the liquid Element a Roach or
Gudgeon which cannot escape her Jaws, opens them wide to
swallow the little Fish: so did Mrs. Slipslop prepare to lay her
IT is the Observation of some antient Sage, whose Name I have forgot, that Passions operate differently on the human Mind, as Diseases on the Body, in proportion to the Strength or Weakness, Soundness or Rottenness of the one and the other.
We hope therefore, a judicious Reader will give himself some Pains to observe, what we have so greatly laboured to describe, the different Operations of this Passion of Love in the gentle and cultivated Mind of the Lady Booby, from those which it effected in the less polished and coarser Disposition of Mrs. Slipslop.
Another Philosopher, whose Name also at present escapes my Memory, hath somewhere said, that Resolutions taken in the Absence of the beloved Object are very apt to vanish in its Presence; on both which wise Sayings the following Chapter may serve as a Comment.
No sooner had Joseph left the Room in the Manner we have
before related, than the Lady, enraged at her Disappointment,
began to reflect with Severity on her Conduct. Her Love was
now changed to Disdain, which Pride assisted to torment her.
She despised herself for the Meanness of her Passion, and Joseph
for its ill Success. However, she had now got the better of it in
her own Opinion, and determined immediately to dismiss the
Object. After much tossing and turning in her Bed, and many
Soliloquies, which, if we had no better Matter for our Reader,
we would give him; she at last rung the Bell as above-mentioned,
Slipslop, said Lady Booby, when did you see Joseph? The poor
Woman was so surprized at the unexpected Sound of his Name,
at so critical a time, that she had the greatest Difficulty to conceal
the Confusion she was under from her Mistress, whom she
answered nevertheless, with pretty good Confidence, though not
entirely void of Fear of Suspicion, that she had not seen him that
Morning. `I am afraid,' said Lady Booby, `He is a wild young
Fellow.' `That he is,' said Slipslop, `and a wicked one too. To
my knowledge he games, drinks, swears and fights eternally:
besides he is horribly indicted to Wenching.' `Ay!' said the Lady,
`I never heard that of him.' `O Madam,' answered the other, `he
is so lewd a Rascal that if your Ladyship keeps him much longer,
you will not have one Virgin in your House except myself. And
yet I can't conceive what the Wenches see in him, to be so foolishly
fond as they are; in my Eyes he is as ugly a Scarecrow as I
ever upheld.' `Nay,' said the Lady, `the Boy is well enough.' —
`La Ma'am,' cries Slipslop, `I think him the ragmaticallest Fellow
in the Family.' `Sure, Slipslop,' says she, `you are mistaken: but
which of the Women do you most suspect?' `Madam,' says slipslop,
`there is Betty the Chamber-Maid, I am almost convicted, is
with Child by him.' `Ay!' says the Lady, `then pray pay her her
Wages instantly. I will keep no such Sluts in my Family. And as
for Joseph, you may discard him too.' `Would your Ladyship
have him paid off immediately?' cries Slipslop, `for perhaps, when
Betty is gone, he may mend; and really the Boy is a good Servant,
and a strong healthy luscious Boy enough.' `This Morning,' answered
the Lady with some Vehemence. `I wish Madam,' cries
Slipslop, `your Ladyship would be so good as to try him a little
longer.' `I will not have my Commands disputed,' said the Lady,
`sure you are not fond of him yourself.' `I Madam?' cries Slipslop,
reddening, if not blushing, `I should be sorry to think your Ladyship
had any reason to respect me of Fondness for a Fellow; and
if it be your Pleasure, I shall fulfill it with as much reluctance as
possible.' `As little, I suppose you mean,' said the Lady; `and so
about it instantly.' Mrs. Slipslop went out, and the Lady had
scarce taken two turns before she fell to knocking and ringing
with great Violence. Slipslop, who did not travel post-haste, soon
returned, and was countermanded as to Joseph, but ordered to
Lady Booby was going to call her back again, but could not
prevail with herself. The next Consideration therefore was, how
she should behave to Joseph when he came in. She resolved to
preserve all the Dignity of the Woman of Fashion to her Servant,
and to indulge herself in this last View of Joseph (for that she was
most certainly resolved it should be) at his own Expence, by first
insulting, and then discarding him.
O Love, what monstrous Tricks dost thou play with thy
Votaries of both Sexes! How dost thou deceive them, and make
them deceive themselves! Their Follies are thy Delight! Their
Sighs make thee laugh, and their Pangs are thy Merriment!
Not the Great Rich, who turns Men into Monkeys, Wheelbarrows,
and whathever else best humours his Fancy, hat so
strangely metamorphosed the human Shape; nor the Great
Thou puttest out our Eyes, stoppest up our Ears, and takest
away the power of our Nostrils; so that we can neither see the
largest Object, hear the loudest Noise,nor smell the most poignant
Perfume. Again, when thou pleasest, thou can'st make a
Mole-hill appear as a Mountain; a Jew's-Harp sound like a
Trumpet; and a Dazy smell like a Violet. Thou can'st make
Cowardice brave, Avarice generous, Pride humble, and Cruelty
tender-hearted. In short, thou turnest the Heart of Man insideout,
as a Juggler doth a Petticoat, and bringest whatsoever pleaseth
thee out from it. If there be any one who doubts all this, let him
read the next Chapter.
NOW the Rake Hesperus had called for his Breeches, and having
well rubbed his drowsy Eyes, prepared to dress himself for all
But as it becomes us to preserve the Character of this Lady,
who is the Heroine of our Tale; and as we have naturally a wonderful
Tenderness for that beautiful Part of the human Species,
called the Fair Sex; before we discover too much of her Frailty
to our Reader, it will be proper to give him a lively Idea of that
vast Temptation, which overcame all the Efforts of a modest and
virtuous Mind; and then we humbly hope his Good-nature will
rather pity than condemn the Imperfection of human Virtue.
Nay, the Ladies themselves will, we hope, be induced, by considering
the uncommon Variety of Charms, which united in this
young Mans's Person, to bridle their rampant Passion for Chastity,
and be at least, as mild as their violent Modesty and Virtue
will permit them, in censuring the Conduct of a Woman, who,
perhaps, was in her own Disposition as chaste as those pure and
sanctified Virgins, who, after a Life innocently spent in the
Gaieties of the Town, begin about Fifty to attend twice per diem,
at the polite Churches and Chapels, to return Thanks for the
Grace which preserved them fromerly amongst Beaus form
Temptations, perhaps less powerful than what now attacked the
Lady Booby.
Mr. Joseph Andrews was now in the one and twentieth Year
of his Age. He was of the highest Degree of middle Stature. His
Limbs were put together with great Elegance and no less
Strength. His Legs and Thighs were formed in the exactest Proportion.
His Shoulders were broad and brawny, but yet his Arms
hung so easily, that he had all the Symptoms of Strength without
the least clumsiness. His Hair was of a nut-brown Colour, and
was displayed in wanton Ringlets down his Back. His Forehead
was high, his Eyes dark, and as full of Sweetness as of Fire. His
Nose a little inclined to the Roman. His Teeth white and even.
His Lips full, red, and soft. His Beard was only rough on his
Chin and upper Lip; but his Cheeks, in which his Blood glowed,
were overspread with a thick Down. His Countenance had a
Tenderness joined with a Sensibility inexpressible. Add to this
Such was the Person who now appeared before the Lady. She
viewed him some time in Silence, and twice or thrice before she
spake, changed her Mind as to the manner in which she should
begin. At length, she said to him, `Joseph, I am sorry to hear such
Complaints against you; I am told you behave so rudely to the
Maids, that they cannot do their Business in quiet; I mean those
who are not wicked enough to hearken to your Solicitations. As to
others, they may not, perhaps, call you rude: for there are wicked
Sluts who make one ashamed of one's own Sex; and are as ready
to admit any nauseous Familiarity as Fellows to offer it; nay,
there are such in my Family: but they shall not stay in it; that
impudent Trollop, who is with Child by you, is discharged by
this time.'
As a Person who is struck through the Heart with a Thunderbolt,
looks extremely surprised, nay, and perhaps is so too.—
Thus the poor Joseph received the false Accusation of his
Mistress; he blushed and looked confounded, which she misinterpreted
to be Symptoms of his Guilt, and thus went on.
`Come hither, Joseph: another Mistress might discard you for
these Offences; But I have a Compassion for your Youth, and
if I could be certain you would be no more guilty — Consider,
Child, (laying her Hand carelessly upon his) you are a handsome
young Fellow, and might do better; you might make your fortune-.'
`Madam,' said Joseph, `I do assure your Ladyship, I
don't know whether any Maid in the House is Man or Woman
-.' `Oh fie! Joseph,' answer'd the Lady, `don't commit another
Crime in denying the Truth. I could pardon the first; but I hate
a Lyar.' `Madam,' cries Joseph, `I hope your Ladyship will not
be offended at my asserting my Innocence: for by all that is
Sacred, I have never offered more than Kissing.' `Kissing!' said
the Lady, with great Discomposure of Countenance, and more
Redness in her Cheeks, than Anger in her Eyes, `do you call that
no Crime? Kissing, Joseph, is as a Prologue to a Play. Can I
believe a young Fellow of your Age and Complexion will be
He was no sooner gone, than she burst forth into the following
Exclamation: `Whither doth this violent Passion hurry us? What
Meannesses do we submit to from its Impulse? Wisely we resist
its first and least Approaches; for it is then only we can assure
ourselves the Victory. No Woman could ever safely say, so far
only will I go. Have I not exposed myself to the Refusal of my
Footman? I cannot bear the Reflection.' Upon which she applied
herself to the Bell, and rung it with infinite more Violence than
was necessary; the faithful Slipslop attending near at hand: To
say the truth, she had conceived a Suspicion at her last Interview
with her Mistress; and had waited ever since in the Antichamber,
having carefully applied her Ears to the Key-Hole during the
whole time, that the preceeding Conversation passed between
Joseph and the Lady.
`SLIPSLOP,' said the Lady, `I find too much Reason to believe all
thou hast told me of this wicked Joseph; I have determined to
part with him instantly; so go you to the Steward, and bid him
pay him his Wages.' Slipslop, who had preserved hitherto a Distance
to her Lady, rather out of Necessity than Inclination, and
who thought the Knowledge of this Secret had thrown down all
Distinction between them, answered her Mistress very pertly,
`she wished she knew her own Mind; and that she was certain
she would call her back again, before she was got half way down
stairs.' The Lady replied, `she had taken a Resolution, and was
resolved to keep it.' `I am sorry for it,' cries Slipslop; `and if I
had known you would have punished the poor Lad so severly,
you should never have heard a Particle of the Matter. Here's a
Fuss indeed, about nothing.' `Nothing!' returned my Lady; `Do
The Lady, who began to admire the new Style in which her
Waiting-Gentlewoman delivered herself, and by the Conclusion
of her Speech, suspected somewhat the Truth, called her back,
and desired to know what she meant by that extraordinary degree
of Freedom in which she thought proper to indulge her Tongue.
`Freedom!' says Slipslop, `I don't know what you call Freedom,
Madam; Servants have Tongues as well as their Mistresses.'
`Yes, and saucy ones too,' answered the Lady: `but I assure you
I shall bear no such Impertinence.' `Impertinence! I don't know
that I am impertinent,' says Slipslop. `Yes indeed you are,' cries
my Lady; `and unless you mend your Manners, this House is no
Place for you.' `Manners!' cries Slipslop, `I never was thought to
want Manners nor Modesty neither; and for Places, there are more
Places than one; and I know what I know.' `What do you know,
Mistress?' answered the Lady. `I am not obliged to tell that to
every body,' says Slipslop, `any more than I am obliged to keep it
a Secret.' `I desire you would provide yourself,' answered the
Lady. `With all my heart,' replied the Waiting-Gentlewoman;
and so departed in a Passion, and slapped the Door after her.
The Lady too plainly perceived that her Waiting-Gentlewoman
knew more than she would willingly have had her
acquainted with; and this she imputed to Joseph's having discovered
to her what past at the first Interview. This therefore
blew up her Rage against him, and confirmed her in a Resolution
of parting with him.
But the dismissing Mirs. Slipslop was a Point not so easily to
be resolved upon: she had the utmost Tenderness for her Reputation,
as she knew on that depended many of the most valuable
Blessings of Life; particularly Cards, making Court'sies in public
Places, and above all, the Pleasure of demolishing the Reputations
of others, in which innocent Amusement she had an extraordinary
Delight. She therfore determined to submit to any Insult from
She therefore sent for her Steward, Mr. Peter Pounce; and
ordered him to pay Joseph his Wages, to strip off his Livery and
turn him out of the House that Evening.
She then called Slipslop up, and after refreshing her Spirits
with a small Cordial which she kept in her Closet, she began in
the following manner:
`Slipslop, why will you, who know my passionate Temper,
attempt to provoke me by your Answers? I am convinced you
are an honest Servant, and should be very unwilling to part with
you. I believe likewise, you have found me an indulgent Mistress
on many Occasions, and have as little Reason on your side to
desire a change. I can't help being surprized therefore, that you
will take the surest Method to offend me. I mean repeating my
Words, which you know I have always detested.'
The prudent Waiting-Gentlewoman, had duly weighed the
whole Matter, and found on mature Deliberation, that a good
Place in Possession was better than one in Expectation; as she
found her Mistress therefore inclined to relent, she thought
proper also to put on some small Condescension; which was as
readily accepted: and so the Affair was reconciled, all Offences
forgiven, and a Present of a Gown and Petticoat made her as an
Instance of her Lady's future Favour.
She offered once or twice to speak in favour of Joseph: but
found her Lady's Heart so obdurate, that she prudently dropt all
such Efforts. She considered there were more Footmen in the
House, and some as stout Fellows, tho' not quite so handsome as
Joseph: besides, the Reader hath already seen her tender Advances
had not met with the Encouragement she might have reasonably
expected. She thought she had thrown away a great deal of Sack
and Sweet-meats on an ungrateful Rascal; and being a little
inclined to the Opinion of that female Sect, who hold one lusty
young Fellow to be near as good as another lusty young Fellow,
she at last gave up Joseph and his Cause, and with a Triumph
over her Passion highly commendable, walked off with her Present,
and with great Tranquility paid a visit to a Stone-Bottle,
which is of sovereign Use to a Philosophical Temper.
She left not her Mistress so easy. The poor Lady could not
reflect, without Agony, that her dear Reputation was in the power
But what hurt her most was, that in reality she had not so entirely
conquered her Passion; the little God lay lurking in her
Heart, tho' Anger and Disdain so hoodwinked her, that she could
not see him. She was a thousand times on the very Brink of
revoking the Sentence she had passed against the poor Youth.
Love became his Advocate, and whispered many things in his
favour. Honour likewise endeavoured to vindicate his Crime, and
Pity to mitigate his Punishment; on the other side, Pride and
Revenge spoke as loudly against him: and thus the poor Lady was
tortured with Perplexity; opposite Passions distracting and tearing
her Mind different ways.
So have I seen, in the Hall of Westminster; where Serjeant
Bramble hath been retained on the right Side, and Serjeant Puzzle
on the left; the Balance of Opinion (so equal were their Fees)
alternately incline to either Scale. Now Bramble throws in an
Argument, and Puzzle's Scale strikes the Beam; again, Bramble
shares the like Fate, overpowered by the Weight of Puzzle. Here
Bramble hits, there Puzzle strikes; here one has you, there t'other
has you; `till at last all becomes one Scene of Confusion in the
tortured Minds of the Hearers; equal Wagers are laid on the
Success, and neither Judge nor Jury can possibly make any thing
of the Matter; all Things are so enveloped by the careful Serjeants
in Doubt and Obscurity.
Or as it happens in the Conscience, where Honour and
Honesty pull one way, and a Bribe and Necessity another. — If it
was only our present Business to make Similies, we could produce
many more to this Purpose: but a Similie (as well as a Word) to
the Wise. We shall therfore see a little after our Hero, for whom
the Reader is doubtless in some pain.
THE disconsolate Joseph, would not have had an Understanding sufficient for the principal Subject of such a Book as this, if he had any longer misunderstood the Drift of his Mistress; and indeed that he did not discern it sooner, the Reader will be pleased to apply to an Unwillingness in him to discover what he must condemn in her as a Fault. Having therefore quitted her Presence, he retired into his own Garret, and entered himself into an Ejaculation on the numberless Calamities which attended Beauty, and the Misfortune it was to be handsomer than one's Neighbours.
He then sat down and addressed himself to his Sister Pamela, in the following Words: `Dear Sister Pamela, `Hoping you are well, what News have I to tell you! O Pamela my Mistress is fallen in love with me — That is, what great Folks call falling in love, she has a mind to ruin me; but I hope, I shall have more Resolution and more Grace than to part with my Virtue to any Lady upon Earth.
`Mr. Adams hath often told me, that Chastity is as great a
Virtue in a Man as in a Woman. He says he never knew any
more than his Wife, and I shall endeavour to follow his Example.
Indeed, it is owing entirely to his excellent Sermons and Advice,
together with your Letters, that I have been able to resist a
Temptation, which he says no Man complies with, but he repents
in this World, or is damned for it in the next; and why should
I trust to Repentance on my Death-bed, since I may die in my
sleep? What fine things are good Advice and good Examples!
But I am glad she turned me out of the Chamber as she did: for
`I don't doubt, dear Sister, but you will have Grace to preserve
your Virtue against all Trials; and I beg you earnestly to pray,
I may be enabled to preserve mine: for truly, it is very severely
attacked by more than one: but, I hope I shall copy your Example,
and that of Joseph, my Name's-sake; and maintain my
Virtue against all Temptations.'
Joseph had not finished his Letter, when he was summoned
down stairs by Mr. Peter Pounce, to receive his Wages: for,
besides that out of eight Pounds a Year, he allowed his Father
and Mother four, he had been obliged, in order to furnish himself
with musical Instruments, to apply to the Generosity of the aforesaid
Peter, who, on urgent Occasions, used to advance the Servants
their Wages: not before they were due, but before they were
payable; that is, perhaps, half a Year after they were due, and
this at the moderate Premiums of fifty per Cent. or a little more;
by which charitable Methods, together with lending Money to
other People, and even to his own Master and Mistress, the
honest Man had, from nothing, in a few Years ammassed a small
Sum of twenty thousand Pounds or thereabouts.
Joseph having received his little Remainder of Wages, and
having stript off his Livery, was forced to borrow a Frock and
Breeches of one of the Servants: (for he was so beloved in the
Family, that they would all have lent him any thing) and being
told by Peter, that he must not stay a Moment longer in the
House, than was necessary to pack up his Linnen, which he
easily did in a very narrow Compass; he took a melancholy Leave
of his Fellow-Servants, and set out at seven in the Evening.
He had proceeded the length of two or three Streets, before
he absolutely determined with himself, whether he should leave
the Town that Night, or procuring a Lodging, wait `till the
Morning. At last, the Moon, shining very bright, helped him to
come to a Resolution of beginning his Journey immediately, to
which likewise he had some other Inducements which the Reader,
without being a Conjurer, cannot possibly guess; `till we have
given him those hints, which it may be now proper to open.
IT is an Observation sometimes made, that to indicate our Idea of a simple Fellow, we say, He is easily to be seen through: Nor do I believe it a more improper Denotation of a simple Book. Instead of applying this to any particular Performance, we chuse rather to remark the contrary in this History, where the Scene opens itself by small degrees, and he is a sagacious Reader who can see two Chapters before him.
For this reason, we have not hitherto hinted a Matter which now seems necessary to be explained; since it may be wondered at, first, that Joseph made such extraordinary haste out of Town, which hath been already shewn; and secondly, which will be now shewn, that instead of proceeding to the Habitation of his Father and Mother, or to his beloved Sister Pamela, he chose rather to set out full speed to the Lady Booby's Country Seat, which he had left on his Journey to London.
Be it known then, that in the same Parish where this Seat stood, there lived a young Girl whom Joseph (tho' the best of Sons and Brothers) longed more impatiently to see than his Parents or his Sister. She was a poor Girl, who had been formerly bred up in Sir John's Family; whence a little before the Journey to London, she had been discarded by Mrs. Slipslop on account of her extraordinary Beauty: for I never could find any other reason.
This young Creature (who now lived with a Farmer in the Parish) had been always beloved by Joseph, and returned his Affection. She was two Years only younger than our Hero. They had been acquainted from their Infancy, and had conceived a very early liking for each other, which had grown to such a degree of Affection, that Mr. Adams had with much ado prevented them from marrying; and persuaded them to wait, `till a few Years Service and Thrift had a little improved their Experience, and enabled them to live comfortably together.
They followed this good Man's Advice; as indeed his Word
was little less than a Law in his Parish; for as he had shewn his
Parishioners by a uniform Behaviour of thirty-five Years duration,
Nothing can be imagined more tender than was the parting
between these two Lovers. A thousand Sighs heaved the Bosom
of Joseph; a thousand Tears distilled from the lovely Eyes of
Fanny, (for that was her Name.) Tho' her Modesty would only
suffer her to admit his eager Kisses, her violent Love made her
more than passive in his Embraces; and she often pulled him to
her Breast with a soft Pressure, which, tho' perhaps it would not
have squeezed an Insect to death, caused more Emotion in the
Heart of Joseph, than the closest Cornish Hug could have done.
The Reader may perhaps wonder, that so fond a Pair should
during a Twelve-month's Absence never converse with one another;
indeed there was but one Reason which did, or could have
prevented them; and this was, that poor Fanny could neither
write nor read, nor could she be prevailed upon to transmit the
Delicacies of her tender and chaste Passion, by the Hands of an
Amanuensis.
They contented themselves therefore with frequent Enquiries
after each other's Health, with a mutual Confidence in each other's
Fidelity, and the Prospect of their future Happiness.
Having explained these Matters to our Reader, and, as far as
possible, satisfied all his Doubts, we return to honest Joseph,
whom we left just set out on his travels by the Light of the Moon.
Those who have read any Romance or Poetry antient or
modern, must have been informed, that Love hath Wings; by
which they are not to understand, as some young Ladies by
mistake have done, that a Lover can fly: the Writers, by this
ingenious Allegory, intending to insinuate no more, than that
Lovers do not march like Horse-Guards; in short, that they put
the best Leg foremost, which our lusty Youth, who could walk
with any Man, did so heartily on this Occasion, that within four
Hours, he reached a famous House of Hospitality well known
to the Western Traveller. It presents you a Lion on the SignPost:
and the Master, who was christened Timotheus, is commonly
A violent Storm of Hail forced Joseph to take Shelter in this
Inn, where he remembered Sir Thomas had dined in his way to
Town. Jospeh had no sooner seated himself by the Kitchin-Fire,
than Timotheus, observing his Livery, began to condole the loss
of his late Master; who was, he said, his very particualr and intimate
Acquaintance, with whom he had cracked many a merry
Bottle, aye many a dozen in his Time. He then remarked that
all those Things were over now, all past, and just as if they had
never been; and concluded with an excellent Observation on the
Certainty of Death, which his Wife said was indeed very true.
A Fellow now arrived at the same Inn with two Horses, one of
which he was leading farther down into the Country to meet his
Master; these he put into the Stable, and came and took his Place
by Joseph's Side, who immediately knew him to be the Servant of
a neighbouring Gentleman, who used to visit at their House.
This Fellow was likewise forced in by the Storm; for he had
Orders to go twenty Miles farther that Evening, and luckily on
the same Road which Joseph himself intended to take. He therefore
embraced this Opportunity of complimenting his Friend
with his Master's Horses, (notwithstanding he had received express
commands to the contrary) which was readily accepted:
and so after they had drank a loving Pot, and the Storm was over,
they set out together.
NOTHING remarkable happened on the Road, `till their arrival at the Inn, to which the Horses were ordered; whither they came about two in the Morning. The Moon then shone very bright, and Joseph making his Friend a present of a Pint of Wine, and thanking him for the favour of his Horse, notwithstanding all Entreaties to the contrary, proceeded on his Journey on foot.
He had not gone above two Miles, charmed with the hopes of shortly seeing his beloved Fanny, when he was met by two Fellows in a narrow Lane, and ordered to stand and deliver. He readily gave them all the Money he had, which was somewhat less than two Pounds; and told them he hoped they would be so generous as to return him a few Shillings, to defray his Charges on his way home.
One of the Ruffians answered with an Oath, Yes, we'll give you something presently: but first strip and be d-n'd to you. -Strip, cry'd the other, or I'll blow your Brains to the Devil. Joseph, remembring that he had borrowed his Coat and Breeches of a Friend; and that he should be ashamed of making any Excuse for not returning them, reply'd, he hoped they would not insist on his Clothes, which were not worth much; but consider the Coldness of the Night. You are cold, are you, you Rascal! says one of the Robbers, I'll warm you with a Vengeance; and damning his Eyes, snapt a Pistol at his Head: which he had no sooner done, than the other levelled a Blow at him with his Stick, which Joseph, who was expert at Cudgel-playing, caught with his, and returned the Favour so successfully on his Adversary, that he laid him sprawling at his Feet, and at the same Instant received a Blow from behind, with the Butt-end of a Pistol from the other Villian, which felled him to the Ground and totally deprived him of his Senses.
The Thief, who had been knocked down, had now recovered
himself; and both together fell to be-labouring poor Joseph with
The poor Wretch, who lay motionless a long time, just began
to recover his Senses as a Stage-Coach came by. The Postillion
hearing a Man's Groans, stopt his Horses, and told the Coachman,
`he was certain there was a dead Man lying in the Ditch,
for he heard him groan.' `Go on, Sirrah,' says the Coachman, `we
are confounded late, and have no time to look after dead Men.'
A Lady, who heard what the Postillion said, and likewise heard
the Groan, called eagerly to the Coachman, `to stop and see what
was the matter.' Upon which he bid the Postillion `alight, and
look into the Ditch.' He did so, and returned, `that there was a
Man sitting upright as naked as ever he was born.' — `O J-sus,'
cry'd the Lady, `A naked Man! Dear Coachman, drive on and
leave him.' Upon this the Gentleman got out of the Coach; and
Joseph begged them, `to have Mercy upon him: For that he had
been robbed, and almost beaten to death.' `Robbed,' cries an old
Gentleman; `Let us make all the haste imaginable, or we shall
be robbed too.' A young Man, who belonged to the Law answered,
`he wished they had past by without taking any Notice:
But that now they might be proved to have been last in his Company;
if he should die, they might be called to some account for
his Murther. He therefore thought it adviseable to save the poor
Creature's Life, for their own sakes, if possible; at least, if he
died, to prevent the Jury's finding that they fled for it. He was
therefore of Opinion, to take the Man into the Coach, and carry
him to the next Inn.' The Lady insisted, `that he should not come
into the Coach. That if they lifted him in, she would herself
alight: for she had rather stay in that Place to all Eternity, than
ride with a naked Man.' The Coachman objected, `that he could
not suffer him to be taken in, unless some body would pay a
Shilling for his Carriage the four Miles.' Which the two Gentlemen
refused to do; but the Lawyer, who was afraid of some
Mischief happening to himself if the Wretch was left behind in
that Condition, saying, `no Man could be too cautious in these
Matters, and that he remembred very extraordinary Cases in the
Though there were several great Coats about the Coach, it was
not easy to get over this Difficulty which Joseph had started. The
two Gentlemen complained they were cold, and could not spare
a Rag; the Man of Wit saying, with a Laugh, that Charity began
at home; and the Coachman, who had two great Coats spread
under him, refused to lend either, lest they sould be made bloody;
the Lady's Footman desired to be excused for the same Reason,
which the Lady herself, notwithstanding her Abhorence of a
naked Man, approved: and it is more probable, poor Joseph,
who obstinately adhered to his modest Resolution, must have
perished, unless the Postillion, (a Lad who hath been since transported
for robbing a Hen-roost) had voluntarily stript off a great
Coat, his only Garment, at the same time swearing a great Oath,
(for which he was rebuked by the Passengers) `that he would
rather ride in his Shirt all his Life, than suffer a Fellow-Creature
to lie in so miserable a Condition.'
Joseph, having put on the great Coat, was lifted into the Coach,
which now proceeded on its Journey. He declared himself almost
dead with the Cold, which gave the Man of Wit an occasion to
ask the Lady, if she could not accommodate him with a Dram. She
The Lawyer was enquiring into the Circumstances of the
Robbery, when the Coach stopt, and one of the Ruffians, putting
a Pistol in, demanded their Money of the Passengers; who
readily gave it them; and the Lady, in her Fright, delivered up a
little silver Bottle, of about a half-pint Size, which the Rogue
clapping it to his Mouth, and drinking her Health, declared held
some of the best Nantes he had ever tasted; this the Lady afterwards
assured the Company was the Mistake of her Maid, for
that she had ordered her to fill the Bottle with Hungary Water.
As soon as the Fellows were departed, the Lawyer, who had
it seems, a Case of Pistols in the Seat of the coach, informed the
Company, that if it had been Day-light, and he could have come
at his Pistols, he would not have submitted to the Robbery; he
likewise set forth, that he had often met Highwaymen when he
travelled on horseback, but none ever durst attack him; concluding,
that if he had not been more afraid for the lady than for
himself, he should not have now parted with his Money so easily.
As Wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty
Pockets; so the Gentleman, whose Ingenuity we have above
remark'd, as soon as he had parted with his money, began to
grow wonderfully facetious. He made frequent Allusions to
Adam and Eve, and said many excellent things on Figs and FigLeaves;
which perhaps gave more Offence to Joseph than to any
other in the Company.
The Lawyer likewise made several very pretty Jests, without
departing from his Profession. He said, `if Joseph and the Lady
were alone, he would be the more capable of making a Conveyance
to her, as his Affairs were not fettered with any Incumbrance;
he'd warrant, he soon suffered a Recovery by a Writ of Entry,
which was the proper way to create Heirs in Tail; that for his own
part, he would engage to make so firm a Settlement in a Coach,
that there should be no Danger of an Ejectment; with an Inundation
of the like Gibbrish, which he continued to vent till the
Coach arrived at an Inn, where one Servant-Maid only was up in
The Wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to use her
Interest to borrow him a Shirt; but imagined, as she afterwards
said, by his being so bloody, that he must be a dead Man: she
ran with all speed to hasten the Surgeon, who was more than half
drest, apprehending that the Coach had been overturned and
some Gentleman or Lady hurt. As soon as the Wench had informed
him at his Window, that it was a poor foot Passenger who
had been stripped of all he had, and almost murdered; he chid her
for disturbing him so early, slipped off his Clothes again, and
very quietly returned to bed and to sleep.
Aurora now began to shew her blooming Cheeks over the
Hills, whilst ten Millions of feathered Songsters, in jocund
Chorus, repeated Odes a thousand times sweeter than those of our
Laureate, and sung both the Day and the Song; when the Master
Mrs. Tow-wouse was just awake, and had stretched out her
Arms in vain to fold her departed Husband, when the Maid
entered the Room. `Who's there? Betty?' `Yes Madam.' `Where's
your Master?' `He's without, Madam; he hath sent me for a
Shirt to lend a poor naked Man, who hath been robbed and
murdered.' `Touch one, if you dare, you Slut,' said Mrs. Towwouse,
`your Master is a pretty sort of a Man to take in naked
Vagabonds, and clothe them with his own Clothes. I shall have
no such Doings.-If you offer to touch any thing, I will throw
the Chamber-Pot at your Head. Go, send your Master to me.'
`Yes Madam,' answered Betty. As soon as he came in, she thus
began: `What the Devil do you mean by this, Mr. Tow-wouse?
Am I to buy Shirts to lend to a sett of scabby Rascals?' `My Dear,'
said Mr. Tow-wouse, `this is a poor Wretch.' `Yes,' says she,
`I know it is a poor Wrtech, but what the Devil have we to
do with poor Wretches? The Law makes us provide for too
many already. We shall have thirty or forty poor Wretches in
red Coats shortly.' `My Dear,' cries Tow-wouse, `this Man hath
been robbed of all he hath.' `Well then,' says she, `where's his
Money to pay his Reckoning? Why doth not such a Fellow go
to an Ale-house? I shall send him packing as soon as I am up, I
assure you.' `My Dear,' said he, `common Charity won't suffer
you to do that.' `Common Charity, a F-t!' says she, `Common
Charity teaches us to provide for ourselves, and our Families;
and I and mine won't be ruined by your Charity, I assure you.'
`Well,' says he, `my Dear, do as you will when you are up, you
know I never contradict you.' `No,' says she, `if the Devil was to
contradict me, I would make the House too hot to hold him.'
With such like Discourses they consumed near half an Hour,
AS soon as Joseph had communicated a particular History of the Robbery, together with a short Account of himself, and his intended Journey he asked the Surgeon `if he apprehended him to be in any Danger:' To which the Surgeon very honestly answered, `he feared he was; for that his Pulse was very exalted and feverish, and if his Fever should prove more than Symptomatick, it would be impossible to save him.' Joseph, fetching a deep Sigh, cried, `Poor Fanny, I would I could have lived to see thee! but G-'s Will be done.'
The Surgeon then advised him, `if he had any worldly Affairs
to settle, that he would do it as soon as possible; for though
he hoped he might recover, yet he thought himself obliged to
acquaint him he was in great danger, and if the malign Concoction
Joseph desired Paper and Pens to write a Letter, but they were
refused him; and he was advised to use all his Endeavours to
compose himself. They then left him; and Mr. Tow-wouse sent
to a Clergyman, to come and administer his good Offices to the
Soul of poor Joseph, since the Surgeon despaired of making any
successful Applications to his Body.
Mr. Barnabas (for that was the Clergyman's Name) came as
soon as sent for, and having first drank a Dish of Tea with the
Landlady, and afterwards a Bowl of Punch with the Landlord,
he walked up to the Room where Joseph lay: but, finding him
asleep, returned to take the other Sneaker, which when he had
finished, he again crept softly up to the Chamber-Door, and,
having opened it, heard the Sick Man talking to himself in the
following manner:
`O most adorable Pamela! most virtuous Sister, whose example
could alone enable me to withstand all the Temptations of
Riches and Beauty, and to preserve my Virtue pure and chaste,
for the Arms of my dear Fanny, if it had pleased Heaven that I
should ever have come unto them. What Riches, or Honours, or
Pleasures can make us amends for the Loss of Innocence? Doth
not that alone afford us more Consolation, than all worldly
Acquisitions? What but Innocence and Virtue could give any
Comfort to such a miserable Wretch as I am? Yet these can make
me prefer this sick and painful Bed to all the Pleasures I should
The Surgeon returned in the Afternoon, and found his Patient
in a higher Fever, as he said, than when he left him, though not
delirious: for notwithstanding Mr. Barnabas's Opinion, he had
not been once out of his Senses since his arrival at the Inn.
Mr. Barnabas was again sent for, and with much difficulty
prevailed on to make another Visit. As soon as he entered the
Room, he told Jospeh, `he was come to pray by him, and to prepare
him for another World: In the first place therefore, he hoped
he had repented of all his Sins?' Joseph answered, `he hoped he
had: but there was one thing which he knew not whether he
should call a Sin; if it was, he feared he should die in the Commission
of it, and that was the Regret of parting with a young
Woman, whom he loved as tenderly as he did his Heartstrings?'
Barnabas bad him be assured, `that any Repining at the Divine
Will, was one of the greatest Sins he could commit; that he ought
to forget all carnal Affections, and think of better things.' Joseph
said, `that neither in this World nor the next, he could forget his
Fanny, and that the Thought however grievous, of parting from
her for ever, was not half so tormenting, as the Fear of what she
would suffer when she knew his Misfortune.' Barnabas said,
`that such Fears argued a Diffidence and Despondence very
criminal; that he must divest himself of all human Passion, and
fix his Heart above.' Joseph answered, `that was what he desired
to do, and should be obliged to him, if he would enable him to
accomplish it.' Barnabas replied, `That must be done by Grace.'
Joseph besought him to discover how he might attain it. Barnabas
Joseph complained he was dry, and desired a little Tea; which
Barnabas reported to Mrs. Tow-wouse, who answered, `she had
just done drinking it, and could not be slopping all day;' but
ordered Betty to carry him up some Small Beer.
Betty obeyed her Mistress's Commands; but Joseph, as soon
as he had tasted it, said, he feared it would encrease his Fever,
and that he longed very much for Tea: To which the goodnatured
Betty answered, he should have Tea, if there was any in
the Land; she accordingly went and bought him some herself,
and attended him with it; where we will leave her and Joseph
together for some time, to entertain the Reader with other
Matters.
IT was now the Dusk of the Evening, when a grave Person rode into the Inn, and committing his Horse to the Hostler, went directly into the Kitchin, and having called for a Pipe of Tobacco, took his place by the Fire-side; where several other Persons were likewise assembled.
The Discourse ran altogether on the Robbery which was committed the Night before, and on the poor Wretch, who lay above in the dreadful Condition, in which we have already seen him. Mrs. Tow-wouse said, `she wondered what the devil Tom Whipwell meant by bringing such Guests to her House, when there were so many Ale-houses on the Road proper for their Reception? But she assured him, if he died, the Parish should be at the Expence of the Funeral.' She added, `nothing would serve the Fellow's Turn but Tea, she would assure him.' Betty, who was just returned from her charitable Office, answered, she believed he was a Gentleman: for she never saw a finer Skin in her Life. `Pox on his Skin,' replied Mrs. Tow-wouse, `I suppose, that is all we are like to have for the Reckoning. I desire no such Gentlemen should ever call at the Dragon;' (which it seems was the Sign of the Inn.)
The Gentleman lately arrived discovered a great deal of Emotion at the Distress of this poor Creature, whom he observed not to be fallen into the most compassionate Hands. And indeed, if Mrs. Tow-wouse had given no Utterance to the Sweetness of her Temper, Nature had taken such Pains in her Countenance, that Hogarth himself never gave more Expression to a Picture.
Her Person was short, thin, and crooked. Her Forehead projected
in the middle, and thence descended in a Declivity to the
Top of her Nose, which was sharp and red, and would have hung
over her Lips, had not Nature turned up the end of it. Her Lips
were two Bits of Skin, which, whenever she spoke, she drew
together in a Purse. Her Chin was peeked, and at the upper end
It is not easy to say, whether the Gentleman had conceived a
greater Dislike for his Landlady, or Compassion for her unhappy
Guest. He enquired very earnestly of the Surgeon, who was now
come into the Kitchin, `whether he had any hopes of his Recovery?'
he begged him, to use all possible means towards it,
telling him. `it was the duty of Men of all Professions, to apply
their Skill gratis for the Relief of the Poor and Necessitous.' The
Surgeon answered, `he should take proper care: but he defied all
the Surgeons in London to do him any good.' `Pray, Sir,' said the
Gentleman, `What are his Wounds?' -'Why, do you know any
thing of Wounds?' says the Surgeon, (winking upon Mrs. Towwouse.)
`Sir, I have a small smattering in Surgery,' answered the
Gentleman. `A smattering, — ho, ho, ho!'' said the Surgeon,
`I believe it is a smattering indeed.'
The Company were all attentive, expecting to hear the Doctor,
who was what they call a dry Fellow, expose the Gentleman.
He began therefore with an Air of Triumph: `I suppose, Sir,
you have travelled.' `No really, Sir,' said the Gentleman. `Ho!
then you have practised in the Hospitals, perhaps.' — `No, Sir.'
`Hum! not that neither? Whence, Sir, then, if I may be so bold
to enquire, have you got your Knowledge in Surgery?' `Sir,'
answered the Gentleman, `I do not pretend to much; but, the
little I know I have from Books.' `Books!' cries the Doctor. —
`What, I suppose you have read Galen and Hippocrates!' `No,
Sir,' said the Gentlman. `How! you understand Surgery,'
answers the Doctor, `and not read Galen and Hippocrates!' `Sir,'
cries the other, `I believe there are many Surgeons who have never
read these Authors.' `I believe so too,' says the Doctor, `more
shame for them: but thanks to my Education: I have them by
The Doctor pursuing his Triumph, asked the Gentleman, `if
he did not understand Physick as well as Surgery.' `Rather
better,' answered the Gentleman. `Aye, like enough,' cries the
Doctor, with a wink. `Why, I know a little of Physick too.'
`I wish I knew half so much,' said Tow-wouse, `I'd never wear
an Apron again.' `Why, I believe, Landlord,' cries the Doctor,
`there are few Men, tho' I say it, within twelve Miles of the Place,
that handle a Fever better. — Veniente occurrite Morbo: That is
my Method. — I suppose Brother, you understand Latin? `A
little,' says the Gentleman. `Aye, and Greek now I'll warrant you:
Ton dapomibominos poluflosboio Thalasses. But I have almost forgot
these things, I could have repeated Homer by heart once.' —
`Efags! the Gentleman has caught a Traytor,' says Mrs. Towwouse;
at which they all fell a laughing.
The Gentleman, who had not the least affection for joking,
very contentedly suffered the Doctor to enjoy his Victory; which
he did with no small Satisfaction: and having sufficiently sounded
his Depth, told him, `he was thoroughly convinced of his great
Learning and Abilities; and that he would be obliged to him, if
he would let him know his opinion of his Patient's Case above
stairs.' `Sir,' says the Doctor, `his Case is that of a dead Man. —
The Contusion on his Head has perforated the internal Membrane
of the Occiput, and divellicated that radical small minute invisible
Nerve, which coheres to the Pericranium; and this was attended
with a Fever at first symptomatick, then pneumatick, and he is at
length grown deliruus, or delirious, as the Vulgar express it.'
He was proceeding in this learned manner, when a mighty
Notwithstanding the Fellow's persisting in his Innocence, the
Mob were very busy in searching him, and presently, among
other things, pulled out the Piece of Gold just mentioned; which
Betty no sooner saw, than she laid violent hands on it, and conveyed
it up to Joseph, who received it with raptures of Joy, and
hugging it in his Bosom declared, he could now die contented.
Within a few Minutes afterwards, came in some other Fellows,
with a Bundle which they had found in a Ditch; and which was
indeed the Clothes which had been stripped off from Joseph, and
the other things they had taken from him.
The Gentleman no sooner saw the Coat, than he declared he
knew the Livery; and if it had been taken from the poor Creature
above stairs, desired he might see him: for that he was very well
acquainted with the Family to whom that Livery belonged.
He was accordingly conducted up by Betty: but what, Reader,
was the surprize on both sides, when he saw Joseph was the Person
in Bed; and when Joseph discovered the Face of his good Friend
Mr. Abraham Adams.
It would be impertinent to insert a Discourse which chiefly
turned on the relation of Matters already well known to the
Reader: for as soon as the Curate had satisfied Joseph concerning
the perfect Health of his Fanny, he was on his side very inquisitive
into all the Particulars which had produced this unfortunate
Accident.
To return therefore to the Kitchin, where a great variety of
Company were now assembled from all the Rooms of the House,
as well as the Neighbourhood: so much delight do Men take
in contemplating the Countenance of a Thief:
Mr. Tow-wouse began to rub his Hands with pleasure, at seeing
so large an Assembly; who would, he hoped, shortly adjourn into
several Apartments, in order to discourse over the Robbery; and
drink a Health to all honest Men: but Mrs. Tow-wouse, whose
Misfortune it was commonly to see things a little perversly, began
to rail at those who brought the Fellow into her House; telling
The Mob had now finished their search; and could find
nothing about the Captive likely to prove any Evidence: for as
to the Clothes, tho' the Mob were very well satisfied with that
Proof; yet, as the Surgeon observed, they could not convict
him, because they were not found in his Custody; to which Barnabas
agreed: and added, that these were Bona Waviata, and
belonged to the Lord of the Manor.
`How,' says the Surgeon, `do you say these Goods belong to the
Lord of the Manor?' `I do,' cried Barnabas. `Then I deny it,'
says the Surgeon. `What can the Lord of the Manor have to do
in the Case? Will any one attempt to persuade me that what a
Man finds is not his own?' `I have heard, (says an old Fellow in
the Corner) Justice Wise-one say, that if every Man had his right,
whatever is found belongs to the King of London.' `That may
be true,' says Barnabas, `in some sense: for the Law makes a
difference between things stolen, and things found: for a thing
may be stolen that never is found; and a thing may be found that
never was stolen. Now Goods that are both stolen and found are
Waviata; and they belong to the Lord of the Manor.' `So the
Lord of the Manor is the Receiver of stolen Goods:' (says the
Doctor) at which there was a universal Laugh, being first begun
by himself.
While the Prisoner, by persisting in his Innocence, had almost
(as there was no Evidence against him) brought over Barnabas,
the Surgeon, Tow-wouse, and several others to his side; Betty
informed them, that they had over-looked a little Piece of Gold,
which she had carried up to the Man in bed; and which he
offered to swear to amongst a Million, aye, amongst ten Thousand.
This immediately turned the Scale against the Prisoner;
and every one now concluded him guilty. It was resolved therefore,
BETTY told her Mistress, she believed the Man in Bed was a greater Man than they took him for: for besides the extreme Whiteness of his Skin, and the Softness of his Hands; she observed a very great Familiarity between the Gentleman and him; and added, she was certain they were intimate Acquaintance, if not Relations.
This somewhat abated the severity of Mrs. Tow-wouse's Countenance. She said, `God forbid she should not discharge the duty of a Christian, since the poor Gentleman was brought to her House. She had a natural antipathy to Vagabonds: but could pity the Misfortunes of a Christian as soon as another.' Towwouse said, `If the Traveller be a Gentleman, tho' he hath no Money about him now, we shall most likely be paid hereafter; so you may begin to score whenever you will.' Mrs. Tow-wouse answered, `Hold your simple Tongue, and don't instruct me in my Business. I am sorry for the Gentleman's Misfortune with all my heart, and i hope the Villain who hath used him so barbarously will be hanged. Betty, go, see what he wants. G— forbid he should want any thing in my House.'
Barnabas, and the Surgeon went up to Joseph, to satisfy themselves concerning the piece of Gold. Joseph was with difficulty prevailed upon to shew it them; but would by no Entreaties be brought to deliver it out of his own Possession. He, however, attested this to be the same which had been taken from him; and Betty was ready to swear to the finding it on the Thief.
The only Difficulty that remained, was how to produce this
Gold before the Justice: fos as to carrying Joseph himself, it
seemed impossible; nor was there any greater likelihood of obtaining
A Dispute arose on this Occasion concerning Evidence, not
very necessary to be related here; after which the Surgeon dress'd
Mr. Joseph's Head; still persisting in the imminent Danger in
which his Patient lay: but concluding with a very important
Look, `that he began to have some hopes; that he should send
him a Sanative soporiferous Draught, and would see him in the
Morning.' After which Barnabas and he departed, and left Mr.
Joseph and Mr. Adams together.
Adams informed Joseph of the occasion of this Journey which
he was making to London, namely to publish three Volumes of
Sermons; being encouraged, he said, by an Advertisement lately
set forth by a Society of Booksellers, who proposed to purchase
any Copies offered to them at a Price to be settled by two Persons:
but tho' he imagined he should get a considerable Sum of
Money on this occasion, which his Family were in urgent need of;
he protested, `he would not leave Joseph in his present Condition:'
finally, he told him, `he had nine Shillings and three-pence-halfpenny
in his pocket, which he was welcome to use as he pleased.'
This Goodness of Parson Adams brought Tears into Joseph's
Eyes; he declared `he had now a second Reason to desire life,
that he might shew his Gratitude to such a Friend.' Adams bad
him `be chearful, for that he plainly saw the Surgeon, besides
his Ignorance, desired to make a Merit of curing him, tho' the
Wounds in his Head, he perceived, were by no means dangerous;
that he was convinced he had no fever, and doubted not but he
would be able to travel in a day or two.'
Adams was pleased with so perfect a Confirmation that he had
not the least Fever: but advised him to a lighter Diet, for that
Evening. He accordingly eat either a Rabbit or a Fowl, I never
could with any tolerable Certainty discover which; after this he
was by Mrs. Tow-wouse's order conveyed unto a better Bed, and
equipped with one of her Husband's Shirts.
In the Morning early, Barnabas and the Surgeon came to the
Inn, in order to see the Thief conveyed before the Justice. They
had consumed the whole Night in debating what Measures they
should take to produce the Piece of Gold in Evidence against
him: for they were both extremely zealous in the Business, tho'
neither of them were in the least interested in the Prosectution;
neither of them had ever received any private Injury from the
Fellow, nor had either of them ever been suspected of loving the
Publick well enough, to give them a Sermon or a Dose of Physick
for nothing.
To help our Reader therefore as much as possible to account
for this Zeal, we must inform him, that as this Parish was so
unfortunate as to have no Lawyer in it; there had been a constant
Contention between the two Doctors, spiritual and physical, concerning
their Abilities in a Science, in which, as neither of them
professed it, they had equal Pretensions to dispute each other's
Opinions. These Disputes were carried on with great Contempt
on both sides, and had almost divided the Parish; Mr. Towwouse
and one half of the Neighbours inclining to the Surgeon,
and Mrs. Tow-wouse with the other half to the Parson. The
Surgeon drew his Knowledge from those inestimable Fountains,
called the Attorney's Pocket-Companion, and Mr. Jacob's Law-Tables;
O Vanity! How little is thy Force acknowledged, or thy Operations
discerned? How wantonly dost thou deceive Mankind
under different Disguises? Sometimes thou dost wear the Face
of Pity, sometimes of Generosity: nay, thou hast the Assurance
even to put on those glorious Ornaments which belong only to
heroick Virtue. Thou odious, deformed Monster! whom Priests
have railed at, Philosophers despised, and Poets ridiculed: Is
there a Wretch so abandoned as to own thee for an Acquaintance
in publick? yet, how few will refuse to enjoy thee in private? nay,
thou art the Pursuit of most Men through their Lives. The
greatest Villanies are daily practised to please thee: nor is the
meanest Thief below, or the greatest Hero above thy notice. Thy
Embraces are often the sole Aim and sole Reward of the private
Robbery, and the plundered Province. It is, to pamper up thee,
thou Harlot, that we attempt to withdraw from others what we
do not want, or to with-hold from them what they do. All our
Passions are thy Slaves. Avarice itself is often no more than thy
Hand-maid, and even Lust thy Pimp. The Bully Fear like a
Coward, flies before thee, and Joy and Grief hide their Heads in
thy Presence.
I know thou wilt think, that whilst I abuse thee, I court thee;
and that thy Love hath inspired me to write this sarcastical Panegyrick
on thee: but thou art deceived, I value thee not of a farthing;
nor will it give me any Pain, if thou should'st prevail on
the Reader to censure this Digression as errant Nonsense: for
know to thy Confusion, that I have introduced thee for no other
Purpose than to lengthen out a short Chapter; and so I return
to my History.
BARNABAS and the Surgeon being returned, as we have said, to the Inn, in order to convey the Thief before the Justice, were greatly concerned to find a small Accident had happened which somewhat disconcerted them; and this was no other than the Thief's Escape, who had modestly withdrawn himself by Night, declining all Ostentation, and not chusing, in imitation of some great Men, to distinguish himself at the Expence of being pointed at.
When the Company had retired the Evening before, the Thief was detained in a Room where the Constable, and one of the young Fellows who took him, were planted as his Guard. About the second Watch, a general Complaint of Drowth was made both by the Prisoner and his Keepers. Among whom it was at last agreed, that the Constable should remain on Duty, and the young Fellow call up the Tapster; in which Disposition the latter apprehended not the least Danger, as the Constable was well armed, and could besides easily summon him back to his Assistance, if the Prisoner made the least Attempt to gain his Liberty.
The young Fellow had not long left the Room, before it came
into the Constables's Head, that the Prisoner might leap on him
by surprize, and thereby, preventing him of the use of his
Weapons, especially the long Staff in which he chiefly confided,
might reduce the Success of a Struggle to an equal Chance. He
wisely therefore, to prevent this Inconvenience, slipt out of the
But human Life, as hath been discovered by some great Man
or other, (for I would by no means be understood to affect the
Honour of making any such Discovery) very much resembles a
Game at Chess: for, as in the latter, while a Gamester is too attentive
to secure himself very strongly on one side of the Board, he is
apt to leave an unguarded Opening on the other; so doth it often
happen in Life; and so did it happen on this Occasion: for whilst
the cautious Constable with such wonderful Sagacity had possessed
himself of the Door, he most unhappily forgot the Window.
The Thief who played on the other side, no sooner perceived
this Opening , than he began to move that way; and finding the
Passage easy, he took with him the young Fellow's Hat; and
wihtout any Ceremony, stepped into the Street, and made the
best of his Way.
The young Fellow returning with a double Mug of Strong Beer
was a little surprized to find the Constable at the Door: but much
more so, when, the Door being opened, he perceived the Prisoner
had made his Escape, and which way: he threw down the Beer,
and without uttering any thing to the Constable, except a hearty
Curse or two, he nimbly leapt out at the Window, and went
again in pursuit of his Prey: being very unwilling to lose the
Reward which he had assured himself of.
The Constable hath not been discharged of Suspicion on this
account: It hath been said, that not being concerned in the taking
the Thief, he could not have been entitled to any part of the
Reward, if he had been convicted. That the Thief had several
Guineas in his Pocket; that it was very unlikely he should have
been guilty of such an Oversight. That his Pretence for leaving
the Room was absurd: that it was his constant Maxim, that a wise
Man never refused Money on any Conditions: That at every
Election, he always had sold his Vote to both Parties, etc.
But notwithstanding these and many other Allegations,
I am sufficiently convinced of his Innocence; having been
All the Family were now up, and with many others assembled
in the Kitchin, where Mr. Tow-wouse was in some Tribulation;
the Surgeon having declared, that by Law, he was liable to be
indicted for the Thief's Escape, as it was out of his House; He
was a little comforted however by Mr. Barnabas's Opinion, that
as the Escape was by Night, the Indictment would not lie.
Mrs. Tow-wouse delivered herself in the following Words:
`Sure never was such a Fool as my Husband! would any other
Person living have left a Man in the Custody of such a drunken,
drowsy Blockhead as Tom Suckbribe?' (which was the Constable's
Name) `and if he could be indicted without any harm to his Wife
and Children, I should be glad of it.' (Then the Bell rung in
Joseph's Room.) `Why Betty, John Chamberlain, where the Devil
are you all? Have you no Ears, or no Conscience, not to tend the
Sick better? — See what the Gentleman wants; why don't you go
yourself, Mr. Tow-wouse? but any one may die for you; you have
no more feeling than a Deal-Board. If a Man lived a Fortnight
in your House wihtout spending a Penny, you would never put
him in mind of it. See whether he drinks Tea or Coffee for Breakfast.'
`Yes, my Dear,' cry'd Tow-wouse. She then asked the Doctor
and Mr. Barnabas what Morning's Draught they chose, who
answered, they had a Pot of Syder-and, at the Fire; which we will
leave them merry over, and return to Joseph.
He had rose pretty early this Morning: but tho' his Wounds
were far from threatning any danger, he was so sore with the
Bruises, that it was impossible for him to think of undertaking a
Journey yet; Mr. Adams therefore, whose Stock was visibly
decreased with the Expences of Supper and Breakfast, and which
could not survive that Day's Scoring, began to consider how it was
possible to recruit it. At last he cry'd, `he had luckily hit on a sure
Tow-wouse, who was a little surprized at the Pawn, said (and
not without some Truth) `that he was no Judge of the Price of
such kind of Goods; as for Money, he really was very short.'
Adams answered, `certainly he would not scruple to lend him
three Guineas, on what was undoubtedly worth at least ten.' The
Landlord replied, `he did not believe he had so much Money in
the House, and besides he was to make up a Sum. He was very
confident the Books were of much higher Value, and heartily
sorry it did not suit him.' He then cry'd out, Coming Sir! though
no body called, and ran down Stairs without any Fear of breaking
his Neck.
Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this Disappointment,
nor knew he what farther Stratagem to try. He immediately
apply'd to his Pipe, his constant Friend and Comfort in his
Afflictions; and leaning over the Rails, he devoted himself to
Meditation, assisted by the inspiring Fumes of Tobacco.
He had on a Night-Cap drawn over his Wig, and a short great
Coat, which half covered his Cassock; a Dress, which added
to something comical enough in his Countenance, composed a
Figure likely to attract the Eyes of those who were not over-given
to Observation.
Whilst he was smoaking his Pipe in this Posture, a Coach and
Six, with a numerous Attendance, drove into the Inn. There
alighted from the Coach a young Fellow, and a Brace of Pointers,
after which another young Fellow leapt from the Box, and shook
the former by the hand, and both together with the Dogs
were instantly conducted by Mr. Tow-wouse into an Apartment;
whither as they passed, they entertained themselves with the
following short facetious Dialogue.
`You are a pretty Fellow for a Coachman, Jack!' says he from
the Coach, `you had almost overturned us just now.' `Pox take
you,' says the Coachman, `if I had only broke your Neck, it
would have been saving somebody else the trouble: but I should
have been sorry for the Pointers.' `Why, you Son of a B— ,'
answered the other, `if no body could shoot better than you, the
Pointers would be of no use.' `D-n me,' says the Coachman,
`I will shoot with you, five Guineas a Shot.' `You be hang'd,' says
the other, `for five Guineas you shall shoot at my A— .' `Done,'
says the Coachman, `I'll pepper you better than ever you was
peppered by Jenny Bouncer.' `Pepper your Grand-mother,' says the
other, `here's Tow-wouse will let you shoot at him for a Shilling
a time.' `I know his Honour better,' cries Tow-wouse, `I never saw
a surer shot at a Partridge. Every Man misses now and then;
but if I could shoot half as well as his Honour, I would desire
no better Livelihood than I could get by my Gun.' `Pox on you,'
said the Coachman, `you demolish more Game now than your
Head's worth. There's a Bitch, Tow-wouse, by G— she never
blinked a Bird in her Life.' `I have a Puppy, not a Year old, shall
hunt with her for a hundred,' cries the other Gentleman. `Done,'
says the Coachman, `but you will be pox'd before you make the
Bett. If you have a mind for a Bett,' cries the Coachman, `I will
match my spotted Dog with your white Bitch for a hundred,
play or pay.' `Done,' says the other, `and I'll run Baldface against
Slouch with you for another.' `No,' cries he from the Box, `but
I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hannibal either.' `Go
to the Devil,' cries he from the Coach, `I will make every Bett
your own way, to be sure! I will match Hannibal with Slouch for
a thousand, if you dare, and I say done first.'
They were now arrived, and the Reader will be very contented
to leave them, and repair to the Kitchin, where Barnabas, the
`Tom,' cries one of the Footmen, `there's Parson Adams smoaking
his Pipe in the Gallery.' `Yes,' says Tom, `I pulled off my
Hat to him, and the Parson spoke to me.'
`Is the Gentleman a Clergyman then?' says Barnabas, (for his
Cassock had been tied up when first he arrived.) `Yes, Sir,'
answered the Footman, `and one there be but a few like.' `Ay,'
said Barnabas, `if I had known it sooner, I should have desired
his Company; I would always shew a proper Respect for the
Cloth; but what say you, Doctor, shall we adjourn into a Room,
and invite him to take part of a Bowl of Punch?'
This Proposal was immediately agreed to, and executed; and
Parson Adams accepting the Invitation; much Civility passed
between the two Clergymen, who both declared the great Honour
they had for the Cloth. They had not been long together before
they entered into a Discourse on small Tithes, which continued
a full Hour, without the Doctor or the Exciseman's having one
Opportunity to offer a Word.
It was then proposed to begin a general Conversation, and the
Exciseman opened on foreign Affairs: but a Word unluckily
dropping from one of them introduced a Dissertation on the
Hardships suffered by the inferiour Clergy; which, after a long
Duration, concluded with bringing the nine Volumes of Sermons
on the Carpet.
Barnabas greatly discouraged poor Adams; he said, `The Age
was so wicked, that no body read Sermons: Would you think it,
Mr. Adams, (said he) I once intended to print a Volume of Sermons
myself, and they had the Approbation of two or three
Bishops: but what do you think a Bookseller offered me?' `Twelve
Guineas perhaps (cried Adams.)' `Not Twelve Pence, I assure
you,' answered Barnabas, `nay the Dog refused me a Concordance
in Exchange. — At last, I offered to give him the printing
With such kind of spiritual Discourse, they emptied the Bowl
of Punch, paid their Reckoning, and separated: Adams and the
Doctor went up to Joseph; Parson Barnabas departed to celebrate
the aforesaid Deceased, and the Exciseman descended into the
Cellar to gage the Vessels.
Joseph was now ready to sit down to a Loin of Mutton, and
waited for Mr. Adams, when he and the Doctor came in. The
Doctor having felt his Pulse, and examined his Wounds, declared
him much better, which he imputed to that Sanative soporiferous
Draught, a Medicine, `whose Virtues,' he said, `were never to be
sufficiently extolled:' And great indeed they must be, if Joseph
was so much indebted to them as the Doctor imagined, since
nothing more than those Effluvia, which escaped the Cork, could
Joseph passed that day and the three following with his Friend
Adams, in which nothing so remarkable happened as the swift
Progress of his Recovery. As he had an excellent Habit of Body,
his Wounds were now almost healed, and his Bruises gave him so
little uneasiness, that he pressed Mr. Adams to let him depart,
told him he should never be able to return sufficient Thanks for
all his Favours; but begged that he might no longer delay his
Journey to London.
Adams, notwithstanding the Ignorance, as he conceived it, of
Mr. Tow-wouse, and the Envy (for such he thought it) of Mr.
Barnabas, had great Expectations from his Sermons: seeing
therefore Joseph in so good a way, he told him he would agree
to his setting out the next Morning in the Stage-Coach, that he
believed he should have sufficient after the Reckoning paid, to
procure him one Day's Conveyance in it, and afterwards he would
be able to get on, on foot, or might be favoured with a lift in some
Neighbour's Waggon, especially as there was then to be a Fair
in the Town whither the Coach would carry him, to which Numbers
from his Parish resorted. — And as to himself, he agreed to
proceed to the great City.
They were now walking in the Inn Yard, when a fat, fair, short
Person rode in, and alighting from his Horse went directly up
to Barnabas, who was smoaking his Pipe on a Bench. The Parson
and the Stranger shook one another very lovingly by the Hand,
and went into a Room together.
The Evening now coming on, Joseph retired to his Chamber,
whither the good Adams accompanied him; and took this Opportunity
to expatiate on the great Mercies God had lately shewn
him, of which he ought not only to have the deepest inward
Sense; but likewise to express outward Thankfulness for them.
They therefore fell both on their Knees, and spent a considerable
time in Prayer and Thanksgiving.
They had just finished, when Betty came in and told Mr. Adams,
Mr. Barnabas desired to speak to him on some Business of Consequence
below Stairs. Joseph desired, if it was likely to detain
him long, he would let him know it, that he might go to Bed,
which Adams promised, and in that Case, they wished one another
good Night.
AS soon as Adams came into the Room, Mr. Barnabas introduced him to the Stranger, who was, he told him, a Bookseller, and would be as likely to deal with him for his Sermons as any Man whatever. Adams, saluting the Stranger, answered Barnabas, that he was very much obliged to him, that nothing could be more convenient, for he had no other Business to the great City, and was heartily desirous of returning with the young Man who was just recovered of his Misfortune. He then snapt his Fingers (as was usual with him) and took two or three turns about the Room in an Extasy. — And to induce the Bookseller to be as expeditious as possible, as likewise to offer him a better Price for his Commodity, he assured him, their meeting was extremely lucky to himself: for that he had the most pressing Occasion for Money at that time, his own being almost spent, and having a Friend then in the same Inn who was just recovered from some Wounds he had received from Robbers, and was in a most indigent Condition. `So that nothing,' says he, `could be so opportune, for the supplying both our Necessities, as my making an immediate Bargain with you.'
As soon as he had seated himself, the Stranger began in these
Words, `Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny engaging in what
my Friend Mr. Barnabas recommends: but Sermons are mere
Drugs. The Trade is so vastly stocked with them, that really
unless they come out with the Name of Whitfield or Westley,
or some other such great Man, as a Bishop, or those sort of People,
I don't care to touch, unless it was a Sermon preached on the
`O,' said Adams, `if you desire it, I will read two or three Discourses
as a Specimen.' This Barnabas, who loved Sermons no
better than a Grocer doth Figs, immediately objected to, and
advised Adams to let the Bookseller have his Sermons; telling him,
if he gave him a Direction, he might be certain of a speedy Answer:
Adding, he need not scruple trusting them in his Possession.
`No,' said the Bookseller, `if it was a Play that had been acted
twenty Nights together, I believe it would be safe.'
Adams did not at all relish the last Expression; he said, he was
sorry to hear Sermons compared to Plays. `Not by me, I assure
you,' cry'd the Bookseller, `though I don't know whether the
licensing Act may not shortly bring them to the same footing:
but I have formerly known a hundred Guineas given for a Play
-.' `More shame for those who gave it,' cry'd Barnabas. `Why
so?' said the Bookseller, `for they got hundreds by it.' `But is
there no difference between conveying good ot ill Instructions to
Mankind?' said Adams; `would not an honest Mind rather lose
Money by the one, than gain it by the other?' `If you can find
any such, I will not be their Hinderance,' answered the Bookseller,
`but I think those Persons who get by preaching Sermons,
are the properest to lose by printing them: for my part, the Copy
`Whoever prints such Heterodox Stuff, ought to be hanged,'
says Barnabas. `Sir,' said he, turning to Adams, `this Fellow's
Writings (I know not whether you have seen them) are levelled
at the Clergy. He would reduce us to the Example of the Primitive
Ages forsooth! and would insinuate to the People, that a
Clergyman ought to be always preaching and praying. He pretends
to understand the Scripture literally, and would make
Mankind believe, that the Poverty and low Estate, which was
recommended to the Church in its Infancy, and was only temporary
Doctrine adapted to her under Persecution, was to be
preserved in her flourishing and established State. Sir, the Principles
of Toland, Woolston, and all the Free-Thinkers, are not
calculated to do half the Mischief, as those professed by this
Fellow and his Followers.'
Mrs. Tow-wouse, at the Intercession of Mr. Adams, and finding
the Enemy vanished, began to compose herself, and at length
recovered the usual Serenity of her Temper, in which we will
leave her, to open to the Reader the Steps which led to a Catastrophe,
common enough, and comical enough too, perhaps in
modern History, yet often fatal to the Repose and Well-being of
Families, and the Subject of many Tragedies, both in Life and
on the Stage
BETTY, who was the Occasion of all this Hurry, had some good Qualities. She had Good-nature, Generosity and Compassion, but unfortunately her Constitution was composed of those warm Ingredients, which, though the Purity of Courts or Nunneries might have happily controuled them, were by no means able to endure the ticklish Situation of a Chamber-maid at an Inn, who is daily liable to the Solicitations of Lovers of all Complexions, to the dangerous Addresses of fine Gentlemen of the Army, who sometimes are obliged to reside with them a whole Year together, and above all are exposed to the Caresses of Footmen, StageCoachmen, and Drawers; all of whom employ the whole Artillery of kissing, flattering, bribing and every other Weapon which is to be found in the whole Armory of Love, against them.
Betty, who was but one and twenty, had now lived three Years in this dangerous Situation, during which she had escaped pretty well. An Ensign of Foot was the first Person who made any Impression on her Heart; he did indeed raise a Flame in her, which required the Care of a Surgeon to cool.
While she burnt for him, several others burnt for her. Officers of the Army, young Gentlemen travelling the Western Circuit, inoffensive Squires, and some of graver Character were set afire by her Charms!
At length, having perfectly recovered the Effects of her first
unhappy Passion, she seemed to have vowed a State of perpetual
Chastity. She was long deaf to all the Sufferings of her Lovers,
till one day at a neighbouring Fair, the Rhetorick of John the
Hostler, with a new Straw Hat, and a Pint of Wine, made a
second Conquest over her.
She did not however feel any of those Flames on this Occasion,
which had been the Consequence of her former Amour; nor indeed
those other ill Effects, which prudent young Women very
justly apprehend from too absolute an Indulgence to the pressing
Endearments of their Lovers. This latter, perhaps, was a little
owing to her not being entirely constant to John, with whom
she permitted Tom Whipwell the Stage-Coachman, and now and
then a handsome young Traveller, to share her Favours.
Mr. Tow-wouse had for some time cast the languishing Eyes of
Affection on this young Maiden. He had laid hold on every
Opportunity of saying tender things to her, squeezing her by
the Hand, and sometimes of kissing her Lips: for as the Violence
of his Passion had considerably abated to Mrs. Tow-wouse; so
like Water, which is stopt from its usual Current in one Place, it
naturally sought a vent in another. Mrs. Tow-wouse is thought
to have perceived this Abatement, and probably it added very
little to the natural Sweetness of her Temper: for tho' she was as
true to her Husband, as the Dial to the Sun, she was rather more
desirous of being shone on, as being more capable of feeling his
Warmth.
Ever since Joseph's arrival, Betty had conceived an extraordinary
Liking to him, which discovered itself more and more, as he
grew better and better; till that fatal Evening, when, as she was
warming his Bed, her Passion grew to such a Height, and so
perfectly mastered both her Modesty and her Reason, that after
many fruitless Hints, and sly Insinuations, she at last threw down
the Warming-Pan, and embracing him with great Eagerness,
swore he was the handsomest Creature she had ever seen.
Joseph in great Confusion leapt from her, and told her, he was
sorry to see a young Woman cast off all Regard to Modesty: but
she had gone too far to recede, and grew so very indecent, that
Joseph was obliged, contrary to his Inclination, to use some
Violence to her, and taking her in his Arms, he shut her out of the
Room, and locked the Door.
How ought Man to rejoice, that his Chastity is always in his
own power, that if he hath sufficient Strength of Mind, he hath
always a competent Strength of Body to defend himself: and cannot,
like a poor weak Woman, be ravished against his Will.
Betty was in the most violent Agitation at this Disappointment.
Rage and Lust pulled her Heart, as with two Strings, two different
Ways; one Moment she thought of stabbing Joseph, the next,
of taking him in her Arms, and devouring him with Kisses; but
the latter Passion was far more prevalent. Then she thought of
revenging his Refusal on herself: but whilst she was engaged in
this Meditation, happily Death presented himself to her in so
many Shapes of drowning, hanging, poisoning, etc. that her
distracted Mind could resolve on none. In this Perturbation of
Spirit, it accidentally occurred to her Memory, that her Master's
Bed was not made, she therefore went directly to his Room; where
he happened at that time to be engaged at his Bureau. As soon
as she saw him, she attempted to retire: but he called her back,
and taking her by the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same
time whispering so many soft things into her Ears, and, then
pressed her so closely with his Kisses, that the vanquished FairOne,
whose Passions were already raised, and which were not so
whimsically capricious that one Man only could lay them, though
perhaps, she would have rather preferred that one: The vanquished
Fair-One quietly submitted, I say, to her Master's Will,
who had just attained the Accomplishment of his Bliss, when
Mrs. Tow-wouse unexpectedly entered the Room, and caused all
that Confusion which we have before seen, and which it is not
necessary at present to take any farther Notice of: Since without
the Assistance of a single Hint from us, every Reader of any
Speculation, or Experience, though not married himself, may
easily conjecture, that it concluded with the Discharge of Betty,
the Submission of Mr. Tow-wouse, with some things to be performed
on his side by way of Gratitude for his Wife's Goodness
in being reconciled to him, with many hearty Promises never to
offend any more in the like manner: and lastly, his quietly and
contentedly bearing to be reminded of his Transgressions, as a
kind of Penance, once or twice a Day, during the Residue of his
Life.
THERE are certain Mysteries or Secrets in all Trades from the highest to the lowest, from that of Prime Ministring to this of Authoring, which are seldom discovered, unless to Members of the same Calling. Among those used by us Gentlemen of the latter Occupation, I take this of dividing our Works into Books and Chapters to be none of the least considerable. Now for want of being truly acquainted with this Secret, common Readers imagine, that by this Art of dividing, we mean only to swell our Works to a much larger Bulk than they would otherwise be extended to. These several Places therefore in our Paper, which are filled with our Books and Chapters, are understood as so much Buckram, Stays, and Stay-tape in a Taylor's Bill, serving only to make up the Sum Total, commonly found at the Bottom of our first Page, and of his last.
But in reality the Case is otherwise, and in this, as well as all
other Instances, we consult the Advantage of our Reader, not
our own; and indeed many notable Uses arise to him from this
Method: for first, those little Spaces between our Chapters may
be looked upon as an Inn or Resting-Place, where he may stop
and take a Glass, or any other Refreshment, as it pleases him.
Nay, our fine Readers will, perhaps, be scarce able to travel
farther than through one of them in a Day. As to those vacant
Pages which are placed between our Books, they are to be
regarded as those Stages, where, in long Journeys, the Traveller
stays some time to repose himself, and consider of what he hath
Secondly, What are the Contents prefixed to every Chapter,
but so many Inscriptions over the Gates of Inns (to continue the
same Metaphor,) informing the Reader what Entertainment he
is to expect, which if he likes not, he may travel on to the next:
for in Biography, as we are not tied down to an exact Concatenation
equally with other Historians; so a Chapter or two (for
Instance this I am now writing) may be often pass'd over without
any Injury to the Whole. And in these Inscriptions I have been as
faithful as possible, not imitating the celebrated Montagne, who
promises you one thing and gives you another; nor some TitlePage
Authors, who promise a great deal, and produce nothing
at all.
There are, besides these more obvious Benefits, several others
which our Readers enjoy from this Art of dividing; tho' perhaps
most of them too mysterious to be presently understood, by any
who are not initiated into the Science of Authoring. To mention
therefore but one which is most obvious, it prevents spoiling the
Beauty of a Book by turning down its Leaves, a Method otherwise
necessary to those Readers, who, (tho' they read with great
Improvement and Advantage) are apt, when they return to their
Study, after half an Hour's Absence, to forget where they left
off.
These Divisions have the Sanction of great Antiquity. Homer
not only divided his great Work into twenty-four Books, (in
Virgil hath given us his Poem in twelve Books, an Argument of
his Modesty; for by that doubtless he would insinuate that he
pretends to no more than half the Merit of the Greek: for the
same Reason, our Milton went originally no farther than ten;
`till being puffed up by the Praise of his Friends, he put himself on
the same footing with the Roman Poet.
I shall not however enter so deep into this Matter as some very
learned Criticks have done; who have with infinite Labour and
acute Discernment discovered what Books are proper for Embellishment,
and what require Simplicity only, particularly with
regard to Similies, which I think are now generally agreed to
become any Book but the first.
I will dismiss this Chapter with the following Observation:
That it becomes an Author generally to divide a Book, as it doth
a Butcher to joint his Meat, for such Assistance is of great Help
to both the Reader and the Carver. And now having indulged
myself a little, I will endeavour the Curiosity of my
Reader, who is no doubt impatient to know what he will find in
the subsequent Chapters of this Book.
MR. Adams and Joseph were now ready to depart different ways,
when an Accident determined the former to return with his
Friend, which Tow-wouse, Barnabas, and the Bookseller had not
been able to. This Accident was, that those Sermons, which
the Parson was travelling to London to publish, were,O my good
Reader, left behind; what he had mistaken for them in the SaddleBags
being no other than three Shirts, a pair of Shoes, and some
This Discovery was now luckily owing to the Presence of
Joseph at the opening the Saddle-Bags; who having heard his
Friend say, he carried with him nine Volumes of Sermons, and
not being of that Sect of Philosophers, who can reduce all the
Matter of the World into a Nut-shell,seeing there was no room
for them in the Bags, where the Parson had said they were deposited,
had the Curiosity to cry out, `Bless me, Sir, where are
your Sermons?' The Parson answer'd `There, there, Child, there
they are, under my Shirts.' Now it happened that he had taken
forth his last Shirt, and the Vehicle remained visibly empty.
`Sure, Sir,' says Joseph, `there is nothing in the Bags.' Upon
which Adams starting, and testifying some Surprize, cry'd `Hey!
fie, fie upon it; they are not here sure enough. Ay, they are certainly
left behind.'
Joseph was greatly concerned at the Uneasiness which he
apprehended his Friend must feel from this Disappointment: he
begged him to pursue his Journey, and promised he would himself
return with the Books to him, with the utmost Expedition.
`No, thank you, Child,' answered Adams, `it shall not be so. What
would it avail me, to tarry in the Great City, unless I had my
Discourses with me, which are, ut ita dicam, the sole Cause, the
Aitia monotate of my Peregrination. No, Child as this Accident
hath happened, I am resolved to return back to my Cure, together
with you; which indeed my Inclination sufficiently leads me to.
This Disappointment may, perhaps, be intended for my Good.'
He concluded with a Verse out of Theocritus, which signifies no
more than, that sometimes it rains and sometimes the Sun shines.
Joseph bowed with Obedience, and Thankfulness for the Inclination
which the Parson express'd of returning with him; and
now the Bill was called for, which, on Examination, amounted
within a Shilling to the Sum Mr. Adams had in his Pocket. Perhaps
the Reader may wonder how he was able to produce a
sufficient Sum for so many Days: that he may not be surprized,
Mr. Adams discharged the Bill, and they were both setting
out, having agreed to ride and tie: a Method of Travelling much
used by Persons who have but one Horse between them, and is
thus performed. The two Travellers set out together, one on
horseback, the other on foot: Now as it generally happens that
he on horseback out-goes him on foot, the Custom is, that when
he arrives at the Distance agreed on, he is to dismount, tie the
Horse to some Gate, Tree, Post, or other thing, and then proceed
on foot; when the other comes up to the Horse, he unties him,
mounts and gallops on, `till having passed by his Fellow-Traveller,
he likewise arrives at the Place of tying. And this is that Method
of Travelling so much in use among out prudent Ancestors, who
knew that Horses had Mouths as well as legs, and that they
could not use the latter, without being at the Expence of suffering
the Beasts themselves to use the former. This was the Method
in use in those Days: when, instead of a Coach and Six, a Member
of Parliament's Lady used to mount a Pillion behind her Husband;
and a grave Serjeant at Law condescended to amble to
Westminster on an easy Pad, with his Clerk kicking his Heels
behind him.
Adams was now gone some Minutes, having insisted on
Joseph's beginning the Journey on horseback, and Joseph had
his Foot in the Stirrup, when the Hostler presented him a Bill
for the Horse's Board during his Residence at the Inn. Joseph
said Mr. Adams had paid all; but this Matter being referred to
Mr. Tow-wouse was by him decided in favour of the Hostler,
and indeed with Truth and Justice: for this was a fresh Instance
of that shortness of Memory which did not arise from want of
Parts, but that continual Hurry in which Parson Adams was
always involved.
Joseph was now reduced to a dilemma which extremely
puzzled him. The Sum due for Horse-meat was twelve Shillings,
(for Adams who had borrowed the Beast of his Clerk, had ordered
As we cannot therefore at present get Mr. Joseph out of the
Inn, we shall leave him in it, and carry our Reader on after Parson
Adams, who, his Mind being perfectly at ease, fell into a Contemplation
on a Passage in Aeschylus, which entertained him for
three Miles together, without suffering him once to reflect on his
Fellow-Traveller.
At length having spun out this Thread, and being now at the
Summit of a Hill, he cast his Eyes backwards, and wondered that
He therefore resolved to proceed slowly forwards, not doubting
but that he should be shortly overtaken, and soon came to a large
Water, which filling the whole Road, he saw no Method of passing
unless by wading through, which he accordingly did up to
his Middle; but was no sooner got to the other Side, than he
perceived, if he had looked over the Hedge, he would have found
a Foot-Path capable of conducting him without wetting his Shoes.
His Surprize at Joseph's not coming up grew now very troublesome:
he began to fear he knew not what, and as he determined,
to move no farther; and, if he did not shortly overtake him, to
return back; he wished to find a House of publick Entertainment
where he might dry his Clothes and refresh himself with a Pint:
but seeing no such (for no other Reason than because he did not
cast his Eyes a hundred Yards forwards) he sat himself down on
a Stile, and pulled out his Aeschylus.
A Fellow passing presently by, Adams asked him, if he could
direct him to an Alehouse. The Fellow who had just left it, and
perceived the House and Sign to be within sight, thinking he had
jeered him, and being of a morose Temper, bad him follow his
Nose and be d-n'd. Adams told him he was a saucy Jackanapes;
upon which the Fellow turned about angrily: but perceiving
Adams clench his Fist he thought proper to go on without taking
any farther notice.
A Horseman following immediately after, and being asked the
same Question, answered, `Friend, there is one within a Stone'sThrow;
I believe you may see it before you.' Adams lifting up his
Eyes, cry'd, `I protest and so there is;' and thanking his Informer
proceeded directly to it.
HE had just entered the House, had called for his Pint and seated himself, when two Horsemen came to the Door, and fastening their Horses to the Rails, alighted. They said there was a violent Shower of Rain coming on, which they intended to weather there, and went into a little Room by themselves, not perceiving Mr. Adams.
One of these immediately asked the other, if he had seen a more comical Adventure a great while? Upon which the other said, `he doubted whether by Law, the Landlord could justify detaining the Horse for his Corn and Hay.' But the former answered, `Undoubtedly he can: it is an adjudged Case, and I have known it tried.'
Adams, who tho' he was, as the Reader may suspect, a little inclined to Forgetfulness, never wanted more than a Hint to remind him, over-hearing their Discourse, immediately suggested to himself that this was his own Horse, and that he had forgot to pay for him, which upon enquiry, he was certified of by the Gentlemen; who added, that the Horse was likely to have more Rest than Food, unless he was paid for.
The poor Parson resolved to return presently to the Inn, tho' he knew no more than Joseph, how to procure his Horse his Liberty: he was however prevailed on to stay under Covert, `till the Shower which was now very violent, was over.
The Three Travellers then sat down together over a Mug of
Adams, who was in the utmost Anxiety at those different
Characters of the same Person, asked his Host if he knew the
Gentleman: for he began to imagine they had by mistake been
speaking of two several Gentlemen. `No, no, Master!' answered
the Host, a shrewd cunning Fellow, `I know the Gentleman very
well of whom they have been speaking, as I do the Gentlemen
who spoke of him. As for riding over other Men's Corn, to my
knowledge he hath not been on horseback these two Years. I
never heard he did any Injury of that kind; and as to making
Reparation, he is not so free of his Money as that comes to neither.
Nor did I ever hear of his taking away any Man's Gun; nay, I
know several who have Guns in their Houses: but as for killing
Game with them, no Man is stricter; and I believe he would ruin
any who did. You heard one of the Gentlemen say, he was the
worst Master in the World, and the other that he is the best: but
as for my own part, I know all his Servants, and never heard
from any of them that he was either one or the other. — ` `Aye,
aye,' says Adams, `and how doth he behave as a Justice, pray?'
`Faith, Friend,' answered the Host, `I question whether he is in
the Commission: the only Cause I have heard he hath decided
a great while, was one between those very two Persons who just
went out of this House; and I am sure he determined that justly,
for I heard the whole matter.' `Which did he decide it in favour
of?' quoth Adams. `I think I need not answer that Question,' cried
the Host, `after the different Characters you have heard of him.
It is not my Business to contradict Gentlemen, while they are
drinking in my House: but I knew neither of them spoke a
Syllable of Truth.' `God forbid! (said Adams,) that Men should
arrive at such a Pitch of Wickedness, to be-lye the Character of
their Neighbour from a little private Affection, or what is infinitely
worse, a private Spite. I rather believe we have mistaken them,
and they mean two other Persons: for there are many Houses on
the Road.' `Why prithee, Friend,' cries the Host, `dost thou
pretend never to have told a lye in thy Life?' `Never a malicious
one, I am certain,' answered Adams; `nor with a Design to injure
the Reputation of any Man living.' `Pugh, malicious! no, no,'
replied the Host; `not malicious with a Design to hang a Man,
or bring him into Trouble: but surely out of love to one's self,
Whilst he was gone for that purpose, a Stage-Coach drove up
to the Door. The Coachman coming into the House, was asked
by the Mistress, what Passengers he had in his Coach? `A Parcel
of Squinny-gut B-s, (says he) I have a good mind to overturn
them; you won't prevail upon them to drink any thing I assure
you.' Adams asked him, if he had not seen a young Man on
Horse-back on the Road, (describing Joseph). `Aye,' said the
Coachman, `a Gentlewoman in my Coach that is his Acquaintance
redeemed him and his Horse; he would have been here before
this time, had not the Storm driven him to shelter.' `God bless
her,' said Adams in a Rapture; nor could he delay walking out to
satisfy himself who this charitable Woman was; but what was
his surprize, when he saw his old Acquaintance, Madam Slipslop?
Her's indeed was not so great, because she had been informed by
Joseph, that he was on the Road. Very civil were the Salutations
on both sides; and Mrs. Slipslop rebuked the Hostess for denying
the Gentleman to be there when she asked for him: but indeed
Joseph was now come up, and Mrs. Slipslop would have had
him quit his Horse to the Parson, and come himself into the
Coach: but he absolutely refused, saying he thanked Heaven he
was well enough recovered to be very able to ride, and added, he
hoped he knew his Duty better than to ride in a Coach while
Mr. Adams was on horseback.
Mrs. Slipslop would have persisted longer, had not a Lady in
the Coach put a short End to the Dispute, by refusing to suffer
a Fellow in a Livery to ride in the same Coach with herself: so
it was at length agreed that Adams should fill the vacant Place
in the Coach, and Joseph should proceed on horseback.
They had not proceeded far before Mrs. Slipslop, addressing
herself to the Parson, spoke thus: `There hath been a strange
Alteration in our Family, Mr. Adams, since Sir Thomas's Death.'
`A strange Alteration indeed!' says Adams, `as I gather from some
Hints which have dropped form Joseph.' `Aye,' says she, `I could
never have believed it, but the longer one lives in the World, the
more one sees. So Joseph hath given you Hints.' — `But of what
Nature, will always remain a perfect Secret with me,' cries the
Parson;' `he forced me to promise before he would communicate
any thing. I am indeed concerned to find her Ladyship behave
in so unbecoming a manner. I always thought her in the main,
a good Lady, and should never have suspected her of Thoughts
so unworthy a Christian, and with a young Lad her own Servant.'
`These things are no Secrets to me, I assure you,' cries Slipslop;
`and I believe, they will be none any where shortly: for ever since
the Boy's Departure she hath behaved nore like a mad Woman
than any thing else.' `Truly, I am heartily concerned,' says Adams,
`for she was a good sort of a Lady; indeed I have often wished
she had attended a little more constantly at the Service, but she
hath done a great deal of Good in the Parish.' `O Mr. Adams!'
Thus Mr. Adams and she discoursed: `till they came oppisite
to a great House which stood at some distance from the Road;
a Lady in the Coach spying it, cry'd, `Yonder lives the unfortunate
Leonora, if one can justly call a Woman unfortunate,
whom we must own at the same time guilty, and the Author of
her own Calamity.' This was abundantly sufficient to awaken the
Curiosity of Mr. Adams, as indeed it did that of the whole Company,
who jointly solicited the Lady to acquaint them with
Leonora's History, since it seemed, by what she had said, to
contain something remarkable.
The Lady, who was perfectly well bred, did not require many
Entreaties, and having only wished their Entertainment might
make amends for the Company's Attention, she began in the
following manner.
LEONORA was the Daughter of a Gentleman of Fortune; she was
tall and well-shaped, with a Sprightliness in her Countenance,
which often attracts beyond more regular Features joined with
Leonora, who was now at the Age of Eighteen, lived with an
Aunt of her's in a Town in the North of England. She was an
extreme Lover of Gaiety, and very rarely missed a Ball or any
other publick Assembly; where she had frequent Opportunities
of satisfying a greedy Appetite of Vanity with the Preference
which was given her by the Men to almost every other Woman
present.
Among many young Fellows who were particular in their
Gallantries towards her, Horatio soon distinguished himself in
her Eyes beyond all his Competitors; she danced with more than
ordinary Gaiety when he happened to be her Partner; neither
the Fairness of the Evening nor the Musick of the Nightingale,
could lengthen her Walk like his Company. She affected no longer
to understand the Civilities of others: whist she inclined so attentive
an Ear to every Compliment of Horatio, that she often smiled
even when it was too delicate for her Comprehension.
`Pray, Madam,' says Adams, `who was this Squire Horatio?'
Horatio, says the Lady, was a young Gentleman of a good
Family, bred to the Law, and had been some few Years called to
the Degree of a Barrister. His Face and Person were such as the
Generality allowed handsome: but he had a Dignity in his Air
very rarely to be seen. His Temper was of the saturnine Complexion,
but without the least Taint of Moroseness. He had Wit
and Humour with an Inclination to Satire, which he indulged
rather too much.
This Gentleman, who had contracted the most violent Passion
for Leonora, was the last Person who perceived the Probability
of its Success. The whole Town had made the Match for him,
before he himself had drawn a Confidence from her Actions
sufficient to mention his Passion to her; for it was his Opinion,
(and perhaps he was there in the right) that it is highly impolitick
to talk seriously of Love to a Woman before you have made such
a Progress in her Affections, that she herself expects and desires
to hear it.
But whatever Diffidence the Fears of a Lover may create,
which are apt to magnify every Favour conferred on a Rival,
and to see the little Advances towards themselves through the
`I never knew any of these forward Sluts come to good, (says
the Lady, who refused Joseph's Entrance into the Coach,) nor
shall I wonder at any thing she doth in the Sequel.'
The Lady proceeded in her Story thus: It was in the Midst
of a gay Conversation in the Walks one Evening, when Horatio
whispered Leonora, `that he was desirous to take a Turn or two
with her in private; for that he had something to communicate to
her of great Consequence.' `Are you sure it is of Consequence?'
said she, smiling. — `I hope,' answered he, `you will think so too,
since the whole future Happiness of my Life must depend on
the Event.'
Leonora, who very much suspected what was coming, would
have deferred it `till another Time: but Horatio, who had more
than half conquered the Difficulty of speaking by the first Motion,
was so very importunate, that she at last yielded, and leaving the
rest of the Comapny, they turned aside into an unfrequented
Walk.
They had retired far out of the sight of the Company, both
maintaining a strict Silence. At last Horatio made a full Stop, and
taking Leonora, who stood pale and trembling, gently by the
Hand, he fetched a deep Sigh, and then looking on her Eyes with
all the Tenderness imaginable, he cried out in a faltering Accent;
`O Leonora! is it necessary for me to declare to you on what the
future Happiness of my Life must be founded! Must I say, there
is something belonging to you which is a Bar to my Happiness,
and which unless you will part with, I must be miserable?' `What
can that be?' replied Leonora. — `No wonder,' said he, `you are
surprized, that I should make an Objection to any thing which is
yours, yet sure you may guess, since it is the only one which the
Riches of the World, if they were mine, should purchase of me. —
O it is that which you must part with, to bestow all the rest! Can
Leonora, or rather will she doubt longer? — Let me then whisper
it in her Ears, — It is your Name, Madam. It is by parting with
that, by your Condescension to be for ever mine, which must
at once prevent me from being the most miserable, and will render
`More Fool he,' cried Slipslop, `it is a sign he knew very little
of our Sect.' `Truly, Madam,' said Adams, `I think you are in the
right, I should have insisted to know a piece of her Mind, when
I had carried matters so far.' But Mrs. Grave-airs desired the
Lady to omit all such fulsome Stuff in her Story: for that it made
her sick.
Well then, Madam, to be as concise as possible, said the Lady,
many Weeks had not past after this Interview, before Horatio
and Leonora were what they call on a good footing together. All
Ceremonies except the last were now over; the Writings were
now drawn, and every thing was in the utmost forwardness preparative
to the putting Horatio in possession of all his Wishes.
I will if you please repeat you a Letter from each of them which
I have got by Heart, and which will give you no small Idea of their
Passion on both sides.
Mrs. Grave-airs objected to hearing these Letters: but being
put to the Vote, it was carried against her by all the rest in the
Coach; Parson Adams contending for it with the utmost Vehemence.
HORATIO to LEONORA
How vain, most adorable Creature, is the Pursuit of Pleasure
in the absence of an Object to which the Mind is entirely devoted,
unless it have some Relation to that Object! I was last Night
condemned to the Society of Men of Wit and Learning, which,
however agreeable it might have formerly been to me, now only
gave me a Suspicion that they imputed my Absence in Conversation
to the true Cause. For which Reason, when your Engagements
forbid me the extatic Happiness of seeing you, I am always
desirious to be alone; since my Sentiments for Leonora are so
delicate, that I cannot bear the Apprehension of another's prying
into those delightful Endearments with which the warm
Imagination of a Lover will sometimes indulge him, and which
Can I tell you with what Eagerness I expect the Arrival of that
blest Day, when I shall experience the Falsehood of a common
Assertion that the greatest human Happiness consists in Hope?
A Doctrine which no Person had ever stronger Reason to believe
than myself at present, since none ever tasted such Bliss as fires
my Bosom with the Thoughts of spending my future Days with
such a Companion, and that every Action of my Life will have
the glorious Satisfacion of conducting to your Happiness.
*LEONORA to HORATIO
The Refinement of your Mind has been so evidently proved,
by every word and Action ever since I had first the Pleasure of
knowing you, that I thought it impossible my good Opinion
of Horatio could have been heightened by any additional Proof of
Merit. This very Thought was my Amusement when I received
your last Letter, which, when I opened, I confess I was surprized
to find the delicate Sentiments expressed there, so far exceeded
what I thought could come even from you, (altho' I know all the
generous Principles human Nature is capable of, are centered in
your Breast) that Words cannot paint what I feel on the Reflection,/that my Happiness shall be the ultimate End of all your
Actions.
Oh Horatio! What a Life that must be, where the meanest
domestick Cares are sweetened by the pleasing Consideration
that the Man on Earth who best deserves, and to whom you are
most inclined to give your Affections, is to reap either Profit
or Pleasure from all you do! In such a Case, Toils must be turned
into Diversions, and nothing but the unavoidable Inconveniences
of Life can make us remember that we are mortal.
If the solitary Turn of your Thoughts, and the Desire of keeping
them undiscovered, makes even the Conversation of Men of
Wit and Learning tedious to you, what anxious Hours mustI
spend who am condemn'd by Custom to the Conversation of
Women, whose natural Curiosity leads them to pry into all my
Thoughts, and whose Envy can never suffer Horatio's Heart to
be possessed by any one without forcing them into malicious
Designs, against the Person who is so happy as to possess it: but
indeed, if ever Envy can possibly have any Excuse, or even
Alleviation, it is in this Case, where the Good is so great, that
it must be equally natural to all to wish it for themselves, nor am
I ashamed to own it: and to your Merit, Horatio, I am obliged,
that prevents my being in that most uneasy of all the Situations
I can figure in my Imagination, of being led by Inclination
to love the Person whom my own Judgment forces me to condemn.
Matters were in so great forwardness between this fond
Couple, that the Day was fixed for their Marriage, and was now
within a Fortnight, when the Sessions chanced to be held for that
County in a Town about twenty Miles distance from that which
is the Scene of our Story. It seems, it is usual for the young
Gentlemen of the Bar to repair to these Sessions, not so much for
the sake of Profit, as to shew their Parts and learn the Law of the
Justices of Peace: for which purpose one of the wisest and gravest
of all the Justices is appointed Speaker or Chairman, as they
modestly call it, and he reads them a Lecture, and instructs them
in the true Knowledge of the Law.
`You are here guilty of a little Mistake,, says Adams, `which
if you please I will correct; I have attended at one of these Quarter
Sessions, where I observed the Counsel taught the Justices, instead
of learning any thing of them.'
The same Afternoon in which he left the Town, as Leonora
stood at her Window, a Coach and Six passed by: which she
declared to be the completest, genteelest, prettiest Equipage she
ever saw; adding these remarkable Words, O I am in love with
that Equipage! which, tho' her Friend Florella at that time did not
greatly regard, she hath since remembered.
In the Evening an Assembly was held, which Leonora honoured
with her Company: but intended to pay her dear Horatio the Compliment
of refusing to dance in his Absence.
O Why have not Women as good Resolution to maintain their
Vows, as they have often good Inclinations in making them!
The Gentleman who owned the Coach and Six, came to the
Assembly. His Clothes were as remarkably fine as his Equipage
could be. He soon attracted the Eyes of the Company; all the
Smarts, all the Silk Waistcoats with Silver and Gold Edgings,
were eclipsed in an instant.
`Madam', said Adams, `if it be not impertinent, I should be
glad to know how this Gentleman was drest.'
Sir, answered the Lady, I have been told he had on a CutVelvet
Coat of a Cinnamon Colour, lined with a Pink Satten,
embroidered all over with Gold; his Waistcoat, which was Cloth
of Silver, was embroidered with Gold likewise. I cannot be particular
as to the rest of his Dress: but it was all in the French
Fashion, for Bellarmine, (that was his name) was just arrived
from Paris.
This fine Figure did not more entirely engage the Eyes of
every Lady in the Assembly, than Leonora did his. He had scarce
beheld her, but he stood motionless and fixed as a Statue, or at
least would have done so, if Good-Breeding had permitted him.
However, he carried it so far before he had power to correct himself,
that every Person in the Room easily discovered where his
Admiration was settled. The other Ladies began to single out
their former Partners, all perceiving who would be Bellarmine's
Choice; which they however endeavoured, by all possible means,
to prevent: Many of them saying to Leonora, `O Madam, I suppose
Leonora saw herself admired by the fine Stranger, and envied
by every Woman present. Her little Heart began to flutter within
her, and her Head wasa agitated with a convulsive Motion; she
seemed as if she would speak to several of her Acquaintance, but
had nothing to say: for as she would not mention her present
Triumph, so she could not disengage her Thoughts one moment
from the Contemplation of it: She had never tasted any thing like
this Happiness. She had before known what it was to torment a
single Woman; but to be hated and secretly cursed by a whole
Assembly, was a Joy reserved for this blessed Moment. As this
vast Profusion of Ecstasy had confounded her Understanding,
so there was nothing so foolish as her Behaviour; she played
a thousand childish Tricks, distorted her Person into several
Shapes, and her Face into several Laughs, without any Reason.
In a word, her Carriage was as absurd as her Desires, which were
to affect an Insensibility of the Stranger's Admiration, and at the
same time a Triumph from that Admiration over every Woman
in the Room.
In this Temper of Mind, Bellarmine, having enquired who she
was, advanced to her, and with a low Bow, begged the Honour
of dancing with her, which she with as low a curt'sy immediately
granted. She danced with him all Night, and enjoyed perhaps the
highest Pleasure, which she was capable of feeling.
At these Words, Adams fetched a deep Groan, which frighted
the Ladies, who told him, `they hoped he was not ill.' He answered,
`he groaned only for the Folly of Leonora.'
Leonora retired, (continued the Lady) about Six in the Morning,
but not to Rest. She tumbled and tossed in her Bed, with
very short Intervals of Sleep, and those entirely filled with Dreams
of the Equipage and fine Clothes she had seen, and the Balls,
Operas and Ridotto's, which had been the Subject of their Conversation.
In the Afternoon Bellarmine, in the dear Coach and Six, came
to wait on her. He was indeed charmed with her Person, and was,
Thus, what Horatio had by Sighs and Tears, Love and Tenderness,
been so long obtaining, the French-English Bellarmine with
Gaiety and Gallantry possessed himself of in an instant. In other
words, what Modesty had employed a full Year in raising, Impudence
demolished in twenty-four Hours.
Here Adams groaned a second time, but the Ladies, who began
to smoke him, took no Notice.
From the Opening of the Assembly `till the End of Bellarmine's
Visit,Leonora had scarce once thought of Horatio: but he
now began, tho' an unwelcome Guest, to enter into her Mind.
She wished she had seen the charming Bellarmine and his charming
Equipage before Matters had gone so far. `Yet, why (says she)
should I wish to have seen him before, or what signifies it that
I have seen him now? Is not Horatio my Lover? almost my
Husband? Is he not as handsome, nay handsomer than Bellarmine?
Aye, but Bellarmine is the genteeler and the finer Man; yes,
that he must be allowed. Yes, yes, he is that certainly. But did
not I no longer ago than yesterday love Horatio more than all the
World? aye, but yesterday I had not seen Bellarmine. But doth
not Horatio doat on me, and may he not in despair break his
Heart if I abandon him? Well, and hath not Bellarmine a Heart
to break too? Yes, but I promised Horatio first; but that was poor
Bellarmine's Misfortune, if I had seen him first, I should certainly
have preferred him. Did not the dear Creature prefer me to every
Woman in the Assembly, when every She was laying out for him?
When was it in Horatio's power to give me such an Instance of
The next Morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her in presence
of her Aunt, whom he sufficiently informed of his Passion for
Leonora; he was no sooner withdrawn, than the old Lady began
to advise her Niece on this Occasion. — `You see, Child, (says
she) what Fortune hath thrown in your way, and I hope you will
not withstand your own Preferments.' Leonora sighing, `begged
her not to mention any such thing, when she knew her Engagements to Horatio.' `Engagements to a Fig,' cry'd the Aunt, `you
should thank Heaven on your Knees that you have it yet in your
power to break them. Will any Woman hesitate a Moment,
whether she shall ride in a Coach or walk on Foot all the Days of
her Life? — But Bellarmine drives six, and Horatio not even a Pair.'
`Yes, but, Madam, what will the World say?' answered Leonora;
`will not they condemn me?' `The World is always on the side of
Prudence,' cries the Aunt, `and would surely condemn you if
you sacrificed your Interest to any Motive whatever. O, I know
the World very well, and you shew your own Ignorance, my
Dear, by your Objection. O, my Conscience the World is wiser.
I have lived longer in it than you, and I assure you there is not
any thing worth our Regard besides Money: nor did I ever know
one Person who married from other Considerations, who did not
afterwards heartily repent it. Besides, if we examine the two Men,
can you prefer a sneaking Fellow, who hath been bred at a University,
to a fine Gentleman just come from his Travels? — All the
World must allow Bellarmine to be a fine Gentleman, positively
a fine Gentleman, and a handsome Man. — ` `Perhaps, Madam, I
should not doubt, if I knew how to be handsomely off with the
other.' `O leave that to me,' says the Aunt. `You know your
Leonora was at length satisfied with her Aunt's Reasoning; and
Bellarmine supping with her that Evening, it was agreed he should
the next Morning go to her Father and propose the Match, which
she consented should be consummated at his Return.
The Aunt retired soon after Supper, and the Lovers being
left together, Bellarmine began in the following manner: `Yes,
Madam, this Coat I assure you was made at Paris, and I defy
the best English Taylor even to imitate it. There is not one of them
can cut, Madam, they can't cut. If you observe how this Skirt is
turned, and this Sleeve, a clumsy English Rascal can do nothing
like it. — Pray how do you like my Liveries?' Leonora answered,
`she thought them very pretty.' `All French,' says he, `I assure
you, except the Great Coats; I never trust any thing more than
a Great Coat to an Englishman; you know one must encourage
our own People what one can, especially as, before I had a Place,
I was in the Country Interest, he, he, he! but for myself, I would
see the dirty Island at the bottom of the Sea, rather than wear a
single rag of English Work about me, and I am sure after you
have made one Tour to Paris, you will be of the same Opinion
with regard to your own Clothes. You can't conceive what an
Addition a French Dress would be to your Beauty; I positively
assure you, at the first Opera I saw since I came over, I mistook
the English Ladies for Chambermaids, he, he, he!
`Poor Woman,' says Mrs. Slipslop, `what a terrible Quandary
she must be in!' `Not at all,' says Miss Grave-airs, `such Sluts
can never be confounded.' `She must have then more than Corinthian
Assurance,' said Adams; `ay, more than Lais herself.'
A long Silence, continued the Lady, prevailed in the whole
Company: If the familiar Entrance of Horatio struck the greatest
Astonishment into Bellarmine, the unexpected Presence of Bellarmine
no less surprized Horatio. At length Leonora collecting
all the Spirits she was Mistress of, addressed herself to the latter,
and pretended to wonder at the Reason of so late a Visit. `I should,
indeed,' answered he, `have made some Apology for disturbing
you at this Hour, had not my finding you in Company assured
me I do not break in on your Repose.' Bellarmine rose from his
Chair, traversed the Room in a Minuet Step, and humm'd an
Opera Tune, while Horatio advancing to Leonora ask'd her in a
Whisper, if that Gentleman was not a Relation of her's; to which
she answered with a Smile, or rather Sneer, `No, he is no Relation
of mine yet;'adding, `she could not guess the Meaning of his
`You'll pardon me,' said Horatio, `if I desire to know who this
Gentleman is, who is to be intrusted with all our Secrets.' `You'll
know soon enough,' cries Leonora, `but I can't guess what Secrets
can ever pass between us of such mighty Consequence.' `No
Madam!' cries Horatio, `I'm sure you would not have me understand
you in earnest.' `tis indifferent to me,' says she, `how you
understand me; but I think so unseaonable a Visit is difficult
to be understood at all, at least when People find one engaged,
though one's Servants do not deny one, one may expect a wellbred
Person should soon take the Hint.' `Madam,' said Horatio,
`I did not imagine any Engagement with a Stranger, as it seems
this Gentleman is, would have made my Visit impertinent, or
that any such Ceremonies were to be preserved between Persons
in our Situation.' `Sure you are in a Dream,' says she, `or would
persuade me that I am in one. I know no pretensions a common
Acquaintance can have to lay aside the Ceremonies of GoodBreeding.'
`Sure,' said he, `I am in a Dream; for it is impossible
I should be really esteemed a common Acquaintance by Leonora,
after what has passed between us!' `Passed between us! Do you
intend to affront me before this Gentleman?' `D— n me, affront
the Lady,' says Bellarmine, cocking his Hat and strutting up to
Horatio, `does any Man dare affront this Lady before me, d — n
me?' `Harkee, Sir,' says Horatio, `I would advise you to lay aside
that fierce Air; for I am mightily deceived, if this Lady has not
a violent Desire to get your Worship a good drubbing.' `Sir,'
said Bellarmine,' I have the Honour to be her Protector, and
d — n me, if I understand your Meaning.' `Sir,' answered Horatio,
`she is rather your Protectress: but give yourself no more Airs,
for you see I am prepared for you,' (shaking his Whip at him.)
`Oh!' Serviteur tres humble,' says Bellarmine, `je Vous entend
parfaitement bien.' At which time the Aunt, who had heard
of Horatio's Visit, entered the Room and soon satisfied all his
They at length therefore agreed to permit Bellarmine to retire
to his Lodgings, having first settled all Matters relating to the
Journey which he was to undertake in the Morning, and their
Preparations for the Nuptials at his return.
But alas! as wise Men have observed, the Seat of Valour is not
the Countenance, and many a grave and plain Man, will, on a
just Provocation, betake himself to that mischievous Metal, cold
Iron; while Men of a fiercer Brow, and sometimes with that
Emblem of Courage, a Cockade, will more prudently decline it.
Leonora was waked in the Morning, from a Visionary Coach
and Six, with the dismal Account, that Bellarmine was run through
the Body by Horatio, that he lay languishing at an Inn, and the
Surgeons had declared the Wound mortal. She immediately
leap'd out of the Bed, danced about the Room in a frantic manner,
tore her Hair and beat her Breast in all the Agonies of Despair;
in which sad Condition her Aunt, who likewise arose at the News,
found her. The good old Lady applied her utmost Art to comfort
her Niece. She told her, `while there was Life, there was Hope:
but that if he should die, her Affliction would be of no service to
Bellarmine, and would only expose herself, which might probably
keep her some time without any future Offer; that as Matters
had happened, her wisest way would be to think no more of
Bellarmine, but to endeavour to regain the Affections of Horatio.'
`Speak not to me,' cry'd the disconsolate Leonora, `is it not owing
to me, that poor Bellarmine has lost his Life? have not these
The Aunt was almost borne down with this Torrent of Words,
she however rallied all the Strength she could, and drawing her
Mouth up in a Purse, began: `I am not surprized, Niece, at this
Ingratitude. Those who advise young Women for their Interest,
must always expect such a Return: I am convinced my Brother
will thank me for breaking off your Match with Horatio at any
rate.' `That may not be in your power yet,' answered Leonora;
`tho' it is very ungrateful in you to desire or attempt it, after the
Presents you have received from him.' (For indeed true it is, that
many Presents, and some pretty valuable ones, had passed from
Horatio to the old Lady: but as true it is, that Bellarmine when he
breakfasted with her and her Niece, had complimented her with a
Brilliant from his Finger, of much greater Value than all she had
touched of the other.)
The Aunt's Gall was on float to reply, when a Servant brought
a Letter into the Room; which Leonora hearing it came from Bellarmine,
with great Eagerness opened, and read as follows:
`Most Divine Creature,
The Wound which I fear you have heard I received from my
Rival, is not like to be so fatal as those shot into my Heart, which
As soon as Leonora perceived such Hopes of Bellarmine's
Recovery, and that the Gossip Fame had, according to Custom,
so enlarged his Danger, she presently abandoned all farther
Thoughts of Horatio, and was soon reconciled to her Aunt, who
received her again into Favour, with a more Christian Forgiveness
than we generally meet with. Indeed it is possible she might
be a little alarmed at the Hints which her Niece had given her
concerning the Presents. She might apprehend such Rumours,
should they get abroad, might injure a Reputation, which by
frequenting Church twice a day, and preserving the utmost
Rigour and Strictness in her Countenance and Behaviour for
many Years, she had established.
Leonora's Passion returned now for Bellarmine with greater
Force after its small Relaxation than ever. She proposed to her
Aunt to make him a Visit in his Confinement, which the old
Lady, with great and commendable Prudence advised her to
decline: `For,' says she, `should any Accident intervene to prevent
your intended Match, too forward a Behaviour with this Lover
may injure you in the Eyes of others. Every Woman `till she is
married ought to consider of and provide against the Possibility
of the Affair's breaking off.' Leonora said, `she should be indifferent
to whatever might happen in such a Case: for she had
now so absolutely placed her Affections on this dear Man (so she
called him) that, if it was her misfortune to lose him, she should
for ever abandon all Thoughts of Mankind.' She therefore resolved
to visit him, notwithstanding all the prudent Advice of
her Aunt to the contrary, and that very Afternoon executed her
Resolution.
The Lady was proceeding in her Story, when the Coach drove
into the Inn where the Company were to dine, sorely to the dissatisfaction
of Mr. Adams, whose Ears were the most hungry
Part about him; he being, as the Reader may perhaps guess, of an
insatiable Curiosity, and heartily desirous of hearing the End of
this Amour, tho' he professed he could scarce wish Success to
a Lady of so inconstant a Disposition.
AS soon as the Passengers had alighted from the Coach, Mr. Adams, as was his Custom, made directly to the Kitchin, where he found Joseph sitting by the Fire and the Hostess anointing his Leg: for the Horse which Mr. Adams had borrowed of his Clerk, had so violent a Propensity to kneeling, that one would have thought it had been his Trade as well as his Master's: nor would he always give any notice of such his Intention; he was often found on his Knees, when the Rider least expected it. This Foible however was of no great Inconvenience to the Parson, who was accustomed to it, and as his Legs almost touched the Ground when he bestrode the Beast, had but a little way to fall, and threw hinself forward on such Occasions with so much dexterity, that he never received any Mischief; the Horse and he frequently rolling many Paces distance, and afterwards both getting up and meeting as good Friends as ever.
Poor Joseph, who had not been used to such kind of Cattle, tho' an excellent Horseman, did not so happily disengage himself: but falling with his Leg under the Beast, received a violent Contusion, to which the good Woman was, as we have said, applying a warm Hand with some camphirated Spirits just at the time when the Parson entered the Kitchin.
He had scarce express'd his Concern for Joseph's Misfortune,
before the Host likewise entered. He was by no means of Mr.
This surly Fellow, who always proportioned his Respect to the
Appearance of a Traveller, from God bless your Honour, down to
plain Coming presently, observing his Wife on her Knees to a
Footman, cried out, without considering his Circumstances,
`What a Pox is the Woman about? why don't you mind the Company
in the Coach? Go and ask them what they will have for
Dinner?' `My Dear,' says she, `you know they can have nothing
but what is at the Fire, which will be ready presently; and really the
poor young Man's Leg is very much bruised.' At which Words, she
fell to chafing more violently than before: the Bell then happening
to ring, he damn'd his Wife, and bid her go in to the Company,
and not stand rubbing there all day: for he did not believe the
young Fellow's Leg was so bad as he pretended; and if it was,
within twenty Miles he would find a Surgeon to cut it off. Upon
these Words, Adams fetched two Strides across the Room; and
snapping his Fingers over his Head muttered aloud, `he would
excommunicate such a Wretch for a Farthing: for he believed the
Devil had more Humanity.' These Words occasioned a Dialogue
between Adams and the Host, in which there were two or three
sharp Replies, `till Joseph bad the latter know how to behave
himself to his Betters. At which the Host, (having first strictly
surveyed Adams) scornfully repeating the Word Betters, flew into
a Rage, and telling Joseph he was as able to walk out of his House
as he had been to walk into it, offered to lay violent Hands on
him; which perceiving, Adams dealt him so sound a Compliment
over his Face with his Fist, that the Blood immediately gushed
out of his Nose in a Stream. The Host being unwilling to be outdone
in Courtesy, especially by a Person of Adams's Figure, returned
the Favour with so much Gratitude, that the Parson's
Nostrils likewise began to look a little redder than usual. Upon
which he again assailed his Antagonist, and with another stroke
laid him sprawling on the Floor.
The Hostess, who was a better Wife than so surly a Husband
deserved, seeing her Husband all bloody and stretched along,
hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to revenge the
Blow which to all appearance was the last he would ever receive;
when lo! a Pan full of Hog's-Blood, which unluckily stood on the
Dresser, presented itself first to her Hands She seized it in her
There happened to be in the Inn at this time, besides the Ladies
who arrived in the Stage-Coach, the two Gentlemen who were
present at Mr. Tow-wouse's when Joseph was detained for his
Horse's-Meat, and whom we have before mentioned to have stopt
at the Alehouse with Adams. There was likewise a Gentleman just
returned from his Travels to Italy; all whom the horrid Outcry
of Murther, presently brought into the Kitchin, where the several
Combatants were found in the Postures already described.
It was now no difficulty to put an end to the Fray, the Conquerors
being satisfied with the Vengeance they had taken, and
the Conquered having no Appetite to renew the Fight. The principal
Figure, and which engaged the Eyes of all was Adams, who
was all over covered with Blood, which the whole Company concluded
to be his own; and consequently imagined him no longer
for this World. But the Host, who had now recovered from his
Blow, and was risen from the Ground, soon delivered them from
this Apprehension, by damning his Wife, for wasting the Hog's
Puddings, and telling her all would have been very well if she had
not intermeddled like a B— as she was; adding, he was very glad
the Gentlewoman had paid her, tho' not half what she deserved.
The Traveller, addressing himself to Miss Grave-airs, desired
her not to be frightened: for here had been only a little Boxing,
which he said to their Disgracia the English were accustomata to;
adding, it must be however a Sight somewhat strange to him,
who was just come from Italy, the Italians not being addicted to the
Cuffardo, but Bastonza, says he. He then went up to Adams, and
telling him he looked liked the Ghost of Othello, bid him not shake
his gory Locks at him, for he could not say he did it. Adams very
innocently answered, Sir, I am far from accusing you. He then
returned to the Lady, and cried, `I find the bloody Gentleman is
uno insipido del nullo senso. Damnata di me, if I have seen such a
spectaculo in my way from Viterbo.'
One of the Gentlemen having learnt from the Host the Occasion
of this Bustle, and being assured by him that Adams had
struck the first Blow, whispered in his Ear: `he'd warrant he
would recover.' `Recover! Master,' said the Host, smiling: `Yes,
yes, I am not afraid of dying with a Blow or two neither; I am
not such a Chicken as that'. `Pugh!' said the Gentleman, `I mean
you will recover Damages, in that Action which undoubtedly
you intend to bring, as soon as a Writ can be returned from London;
for you look like a Man of too much Spirit and Courage to
suffer any one to beat you without bringing your Action against
him: He must be a scandalous Fellow indeed, who would put up
a Drubbing whilst the Law is open to revenge it; besides, he hath
drawn Blood from you and spoiled your Coat, and the Jury will
give Damages for that too. An excellent new Coat upon my
Word, and now not worth a Shilling!
`I don't care,' continued he, `to intermeddle in these Cases:
but you have a Right to my Evidence; and if I am sworn, I must
speak the Truth. I saw you sprawling on the Floor, and the Blood
gushing from your Nostrils. You may take your own Opinion;
but was I in your Circumstances, every Drop of my Blood should
convey an Ounce of Gold into my Pocket: remember I don't
advise you to go to Law, but if your Jury were Christians, they
must give swinging Damages, that's all.' `Master,' cry'd the
Matters being now composed, the Company retired to their
several Apartments, the two Gentlemen congratulating each other
on the Success of their good Offices, in procuring a perfect
Reconciliation between the contending Parties; and the Traveller
went to his Repast, crying, as the Italian Poet says,
The Coachman began now to grow importunate with his Passengers,
whose Entrance into the Coach was retarded by Miss
This smart Dialogue between some People, and some Folks,
was going on at the Coach-Door, when a solemn Person riding
into the Inn, and seeing Miss Grave-airs, immediately accosted
her with, `Dear Child, how do you?' She presently answered,
`O! Papa, I am glad you have overtaken me.' `So am I,' answered
he: `for one of our Coaches is just at hand; and there being room
for you in it, you shall go no farther in the Stage, unless you desire
it.' `How can you imagine I should desire it?' says she; so bidding
Slipslop, `ride with her Fellow, if she pleased;' she took her Father
by the Hand, who was just alighted, and walked with him into a
Room.
Adams instantly asked the Coachman in a Whisper, if he knew
Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs. Slipslop with this good
News, as he imagined it; but it found a Reception different from
what he expected. That prudent Gentlewoman, who despised the
Anger of Miss Grave-airs, whilst she conceived her the Daughter
of a Gentleman of small Fortune, now she heard her Alliance with
the upper Servants of a great Family in her Neighbourhood, began
to fear her Interest with the Mistress. She wished she had
not carried the Dispute so far, and began to think of endeavouring
to reconcile herself to the young Lady before she left the Inn;
when luckily, the Scene at London, which the Reader can scarce
have forgotten, presented itself to her Mind, and comforted her
with such Assurance, that she no longer apprehended any Enemy
with her Mistress.
Every thing being now adjusted, the Company entered the
Coach, which was just on its Departure, when one Lady recollected
she had left her Fan, a second her Gloves, a third a SnuffBox,
and a fourth a Smelling-Bottle behind her; to find all which,
occasioned some Delay, and much swearing of the Coachman.
As soon as the Coach had left the Inn, the Women all together
fell to the Character of Miss Grave-airs, whom one of them
declared she had suspected to be some low Creature from the
beginning of their Journey; and another affirmed had not even
the Looks of a Gentlewoman; a third warranted she was no better
than she should be, and turning to the Lady who had related the
Story in the Coach, said, `Did you ever hear, Madam, any thing
so prudish as her Remarks? Well, deliver me from the Censoriousness
of such a Prude.' The fourth added, `O Madam! all these
Creatures are censorious: but for my part, I wonder where the
Wretch was bred; indeed I must own I have seldom conversed
with these mean kind of People, so that it may appear stranger to
me; but to refuse the general Desire of a whole Company, hath
something in it so astonishing, that, for my part, I own I should
LEONORA having once broke through the Bounds which Custom and Modesty impose on her Sex, soon gave an unbridled Indulgence to her Passion. Her Visits to Bellarmine were more constant, as well as longer, than his Surgeon's; in a word, she became Absolutely his Nurse, made his Water-gruel, administred him his Medicines, and, notwithstanding the prudent Advice of her Aunt to the contrary, almost intirely resided in her wounded Lover's Apartment.
The Ladies of the Town began to take her Conduct under
consideration; it was the chief Topick of Discourse at their TeaTables,
and was very severely censured by the most part; especially
by Lindamira, a Lady whose discreet and starch Carriage,
together with a constant Attendance at Church three times a day,
`Not so unjustly neither perhaps,' says Slipslop, `for the Clergy
are Men as well as other Folks.'
The extreme Delicacy of Lindamira's Virtue was cruelly hurt
by these Freedoms which Leonora allowed herself; she said, `it
was an Affront to her Sex, that she did not imagine it consistent
with any Woman's Honour to speak to the Creature, or to be
seen in her Company; and that, for her part, she should always
refuse to dance at an Assembly with her, for fear of Contamination,
by taking her by the Hand.'
But to return to my Story: As soon as Bellarmine was recovered,
which was somewhat within a Month from his receiving
the Wound, he set out, according to Agreement, for Leonora's
Father's, in order to propose the Match and settle all Matters with
him touching Settlements, and the like.
A little before his Arrival, the old Gentleman had received an
Intimation of the Affair by the following Letter; which I can repeat
verbatim, and which they say was written neither by Leonora
nor her Aunt, tho' it was in a Woman's Hand. The Letter was
in these Words:
`Sir,
I am sorry to acquaint you that your Daughter Leonora hath
acted one of the basest, as well as most simple Parts with a young
Gentleman to whom she had engaged herself, and whom she hath
(pardon the Word) jilted for another of inferiour Fortune, notwithstanding
his superiour Figure. You may take what Measures
you please on this Occasion; I have performed what I thought
my Duty, as I have, tho' unknown to you, a very great Respect
for your Family.'
The old Gentleman did not give himself the trouble to answer
this kind Epistle, nor did he take any notice of it after he had
read it, `till he saw Bellarmine. He was, to say the truth, one of
To this Gentleman came Bellarmine on the Errand I have
mentioned. His Person, his Equipage, his Family and his Estate
seemed to the Father to make him an advantageous Match for
his Daughter; he therefore very readily accepted his Proposals:
but when Bellarmine imagined the principal Affair concluded,
and began to open the incidental Matters of Fortune; the old
Gentleman presently changed his Countenance, saying, `he resolved
never to marry his Daughter on a Smithfield Match; that
whoever had Love for her to take her, would, when he died, find
her Share of his Fortune in his Coffers, but he had seen such
Examples of Undutifulness happen from the too early Generosity
of Parents, that he had made a Vow never to part with a
Shilling whilst he lived.' He commended the Saying of Solomon,
he that spareth the Rod, spoileth the Child: but added, `he might
have likewise asserted, that he that spareth the Purse, saveth the
Child.' He then ran into a Discourse on the Extravagance of the
Youth of the Age; whence he launched into a Dissertation on
Horses, and came at length to commend those Bellarmine drove.
That fine Gentleman, who at another Season would have been
well enough pleased to dwell a little on that Subject, was now
very eager to resume the Circumstance of Fortune. He said, `he
had a very high value for the young Lady, and would receive
In short, Ladies, to keep you no longer in suspense, Bellarmine
having tried every Argument and Persuasion which he could
invent, and finding them all ineffectual, at length took his leave,
but not in order to return to leonora; he proceeded directly to
his own Seat, whence after a few Days stay, he returned to Paris,
to the great delight of the French, and the honour of the English
Nation.
But as soon as he arrived at his home, he presently dispatched
a Messenger, with the following Epistle to Leonora.
`Adorable and Charmante,
I am sorry to have the Honour to tell you I am not the heureux
Person destined for your divine Arms. Your Papa hath told me so
with a Politesse not often seen on this side Paris. You may perhaps
guess his manner of refusing me — Ah mon Dieu! You will certainly
believe me, Madam, incapable of my self delivering this
triste Message: Which I intend to try the French Air to cure
the Consequences of — Ah jamais! Coeur! Ange! — Ah Diable! — If
I shall not attempt Ladies, to describe Leonora's Condition
when she received this Letter. It is a Picture of Horrour, which
I should have as little pleasure in drawing as you in beholding.
She immediately left the Place, where she was the Subject of Conversation
and Ridicule, and retired to that House I shewed you
when I began the Story, where she hath ever since led a disconsolate
Life, and deserves perhaps Pity for her Misfortunes more
than our Censure, for a Behaviour to which the Artifices of her
Aunt very probably contributed, and to which very young Women
are often rendered too liable, by that blameable Levity in the
Education of our Sex.
`If I was inclined to pity her,' said a young Lady in the Coach,
`it would be for the Loss of Horatio; for I cannot discern any Misfortune
in her missing such a Husband as Bellarmine.'
`Why I must own,' says Slipslop, `the Gentleman was a little
false-hearted: but howsumever it was hard to have two Lovers, and
get never a Husband at all — But pray, Madam, what became of
Ourasho?'
He remains, said the Lady, still unmarried, and hath applied
himself so strictly to his Business, that he hath raised I hear a
very considerable Fortune. And what is remarkable, they say,
he never hears the name of Leonora without a Sigh, nor hath ever
uttered one Syllable to charge her with her ill Conduct towards
him.
THE Lady having finished her Story received the Thanks of the
Company, and now Joseph putting his Head out of the Coach,
cried out, `Never believe me, if yonder be not our Parson Adams
Mrs. Slipslop desired the Coachman to overtake him, which
he attempted, but in vain: for the faster he drove, the faster ran
the Parson, often crying out, Aye, aye, catch me if you can: `till
at length the Coachman swore he would as soon attempt to drive
after a Greyhound; and giving the Parson two or three hearty
Curses, he cry'd, `Softly, softly Boys,' to his Horses, which the
civil Beasts immediately obeyed.
But we will be more courteous to our Reader than he was to
Mrs. Slipslop, and leaving the Coach and its Company to pursue
their Journey, we will carry our Reader on after Parson Adams,
who stretched forwards without once looking behind him, `till
having left the Coach full three Miles in his Rear, he came to a
Place, where by keeping the extremest Track to the Right, it was
just barely possible for a human Creature to miss his Way. This
Track however did he keep, as indeed he had a wonderful
Capacity at these kinds of bare Possibilities; and travelling in it
about three Miles over the Plain, he arrived at the Summit of a
Hill, whence looking a great way backwards, and perceiving no
Coach in sight, he sat himself down on the Turf, and pulling out
his Aeschylus determined to wait here for its Arrival.
He had not sat long here, before a Gun going off very near, a
little startled him; he looked up, and saw a Gentleman within a
hundred Paces taking up a Partridge, which he had just shot.
Adams stood up, and presented a Figure to the Gentleman
which would have moved Laughter in many: for his Cassock had
just again fallen down below his great Coat, that is to say, it
reached his Knees; whereas, the Skirts of his great Coat descended
no lower than half way down his Thighs: but the Gentleman's
Mirth gave way to his Surprize, at beholding such a Personage
in such a Place.
Adams advancing to the Gentleman told him he hoped he had
good Sport; to which the other answered, `Very little.' `I see,
Sir,' says Adams, `you have smote one Partridge:' to which the
Sportsman made no Reply, but proceeded to charge his Piece.
Whilst the Gun was charging, Adams remained in Silence,
which he at last broke, by observing that it was a delightful
Evening. The Gentleman, who had at first sight conceived a very
distasteful Opinion of the Parson, began, on perceiving a Book
in his Hand, and smoaking likewise the Information of the Cassock,
to change his Thoughts, and made a small Advance to Conversation
on his side, by saying, Sir, I suppose you are not one of
these Parts?
Adams immediately told him, No; that he was a Traveller, and
invited by the Beauty of the Evening and the Place to repose a
little, and amuse himself with reading. `I may as well repose
myself too,' said the Sportsman; `for I have been out this whole
Afternoon, and the Devil a Bird have I seen `till I came hither.'
`Perhaps then the Game is not very plenty hereabouts,' cries
Adams. `No,Sir,' said the gentleman, `the Soldiers, who are
quartered in the Neighbourhood, have killed it all.' `It is very
probable,' cries Adams, `for Shooting is their Profession.' `Ay,
shooting the Game,' answered the other, `but I don't see they
are so forward to shoot our Enemies. I don't like that Affair of Carthagena;
if I had been there, I believe I should have done otherguess
things, d-n me; what's a Man's Life when his Country
demands it; a Man who won't sacrifice his Life for his Country
The Gentleman sat down and Adams by him, and then the latter
began, as in the following Chapter, a Discourse which we have
placed by itself, as it is not only the most curious in this, but
perhaps in any other Book.
`I do assure you, Sir,' says he, taking the Gentleman by the Hand,
`I am heartily glad to meet with a Man of your Kidney: for tho'
I am a poor Parson, I will be bold to say, I am an honest Man,
and would not do an ill Thing to be made a Bishop: Nay, tho'
it hath not fallen in my way to offer so noble a Sacrifice, I have
not been without Opportunities of suffering for the sake of my
Conscience, I thank Heaven for them: for I have had Relations,
tho' I say it, who made some Figure in the World; particularly
a Nephew, who was a Shopkeeper, and an Alderman of a Corporation.
He was a good Lad, and was under my Care when a
Boy, and I believe would do what I bad him to his dying Day.
Indeed, it looks like extreme Vanity in me, to affect being a Man
of such Consequence, as to have so great an Interest in an Alderman;
but others have thought so too, as manifestly appeared by
the Rector, whose Curate I formerly was, sending for me on the
THE Gentleman highly commended Mr. Adams for his good Resolutions, and told him, `he hoped his Son would tread in his Steps;' adding, `that if he would not die for his Country, he would not be worthy to live in it; I'd make no more of shooting a Man that would not die for his Country, than —
`Sir,' said he, `I have disinherited a Nephew who is in the
Army, because he would not exchange his Commission, and go
to the West-Indies. I believe the Rascal is a Coward, tho' he pretends
to be in love forsooth. I would have all such Fellows hanged,
Sir, I would have them hanged.' Adams answered, `that would be
As a Game-Cock when engaged in amorous Toying with a Hen,
if perchance he espies another Cock at hand, immediately quits
his Female, and opposes himself to his Rival; so did the Ravisher,
on the Information of the Crabstick, immediately leap from the
Woman, and hasten to assail the Man. He had no Weapons but
what Nature had furnished him with. However, he clenched his
Fist, and presently darted it at that Part of Adams's Breast where
the Heart is lodged. Adams staggered at the Violence of the Blow,
when throwing away his Staff, he likewise clenched that Fist
which we have before commemorated, and would have discharged
it full in the Breast of his Antagonist, had he not dexterously
caught it with his left Hand, at the same time darting his Head,
(which some modern Heroes, of the lower Class, use like the
Battering-Ram of the Ancients, for a Weapon of Offence; another
Reason to admire the Cunningness of Nature, in composing
it of those impenetrable Materials) dashing his Head, I say, into
the Stomach of Adams, he tumbled him on his Back, and not
having any regard to the Laws of Heroism, which would have
restrained him from any farther Attack on his Enemy, `till he
was again on his Legs, he threw himself upon him, and laying
hold on the Ground with his left Hand, he with his right belaboured
the Body of Adams `till he was weary, and indeed, `till he
concluded (to use the Language of fighting) that he had done his
Business; or, in the Language of Poetry, that he had sent him to the
Shades below; in plain English, that he was dead.
But Adams, who was no Chicken, and could bear a drubbing
as well as any boxing Champion in the Universe, lay still only
to watch his Opportunity; and now perceiving his Antagonist to
pant with his Labours, he exerted his utmost Force at once, and
with such Success, that he overturned him and became his
Superiour; when fixing one of his Knees in his Breast, he cried
out in an exulting Voice, It is my turn now: and after a few Minutes
constant Application, he gave him so dextrous a Blow just under
his Chin, that the Fellow no longer retained any Motion, and
Adams began to fear he had struck him once too often; for he
Adams got up, and called aloud to the young Woman, — `Be
of good cheer, Damsel,' said he, `you are no longer in danger of
your Ravisher, who, I am terribly afraid, lies dead at my Feet;
but G— forgive me what I have done in Defence of Innocence.'
The poor Wretch, who had been some time in recovering Strength
enough to rise, and had afterwards, during the Engagement,
stood trembling, being disabled by Fear, even from running
away, hearing her Champion was victorious, came up to him, but
not without Apprehensions, even of her Deliverer; which, however,
she was soon relieved from, by his courteous Behaviour and
gentle Words. They were both standing by the Body, which lay
motionless on the Ground, and which Adams wished to see stir
much more than the Woman did, when he earnestly begged her
to tell him `by what Misfortune she came, at such a time of Night,
into so lonely a Place?' She acquainted him, `she was travelling
towards London, and had accidentally met with the Person from
whom he had delivered her, who told her he was likewise on his
Journey to the same Place, and would keep her Company; an
Offer which, suspecting no harm, she had accepted; that he told
her, they were at a small distance from an Inn where she might
take up her Lodging that Evening, and he would show her a
nearer way to it than by following the Road. That if she had
suspected him, (which she did not, he spoke so kindly to her,)
being alone on these Downs in the dark, she had no human Means
to avoid him; that therefore she put her whole Trust in Providence,
and walk'd on, expecting every Moment to arrive at the
Inn; when, on a sudden, being come to those Bushes, he desired
her to stop, and after some rude Kisses, which she resisted, and
some Entreaties, which she rejected, he laid violent hands on her,
and was attempting to execute his wicked Will, when, she thanked
G-, he timely came up and prevented him.' Adams encouraged
her for saying, she had put her whole Trust in Providence, and
told her `he doubted not but Providence had sent him to her
Deliverance, as a Reward for that Trust. He wished indeed he
had not deprived the wicked Wretch of Life, but G-'s Will be
done;' he said, `he hoped the Goodness of his Intention would
excuse him in the next World, and he trusted in her Evidence to
acquit him in this.' He was then silent, and began to consider
THE Silence of Adams, added to the Darkness of the Night, and
Loneliness of the Place, struck dreadful Apprehensions into the
poor Woman's Mind: she began to fear as great an Enemy in her
Deliverer, as he had delivered her from; and as she had not Light
enough to discover the Age of Adams, and the Benevolence visible
in his Countenance, she suspected he had used her as some very
honest Men have used their Country; and had rescued her out
of the hands of one Rifler, in order to rifle her himself. Such were
the Suspicions she drew from his Silence: but indeed they were
ill-grounded. He stood over his vanquished Enemy, wisely
weighing in his Mind the Objections which might be made to
either of the two Methods of proceeding mentioned in the last
Chapter, his Judgment sometimes inclining to the one and sometimes
to the other; for both seemed to him so equally adviseable,
and so equally dangerous, that probably he would have ended
his Days, at least two or three of them, on that very Spot, before
he had taken any Resolution: At length he lifted up his Eyes, and
spied a Light at a distance, to which he instantly addressed himself
with Heus tu, Traveller, heus tu! He presently heard several
This Accident promising them better Sport, than what they
had proposed, they quitted their Intention of catching Birds,
and unanimously resolved to proceed to the Justice with the
Offenders. Being informed what a desperate Fellow Adams was,
they tied his Hands behind him, and having hid their Nets among
the Bushes, and the Lanthorn being carried before them, they
placed the two Prisoners in their Front, and then began their
March: Adams not only submitting patiently to his own Fate, but
comforting and encouraging his Companion under her Sufferings.
Whilst they were on their way, the Clerk informed the rest,
that this Adventure would prove a very beneficial one: for that
they would be all entitled to their Proportions of 80 l. for apprehending
the Robbers. This occasion'd a Contention concerning
the Parts which they had severally born in taking them; one
insisting, `he ought to have the greatest Share, for he had first
laid his Hands on Adams;' another claiming a superiour Part for
having first held the Lanthorn to the Man's Face, on the Ground,
by which, he said `the whole was discovered.' The Clerk claimed
four fifths of the Reward, for having proposed to search the
Prisoners; and likewise the carrying them before the Justice: he
said indeed, `in strict Justice he ought to have the whole.' These
Claims however they at last consented to refer to a future Decision,
but seem'd all to agree that the Clerk was intitled to a
Moiety. They then debated what Money should be allotted to
Adams frequently vented himself in Ejaculations during their
Journey; at last poor Joseph Andrews occuring to his Mind, he
could not refrain sighing forth his Name, which being heard by his
Companion in Affliction, she cried, with some Vehemence, `Sure
I should know that Voice, you cannot certainly, Sir, be Mr.
Abraham Adams?' `Indeed Damsel,' says he, `that is my Name;
there is something also in your Voice, which persuades me I have
heard it before.' `La, Sir,' says she, `don't you remember poor
Fanny?' `How Fanny!' answered Adams, `indeed I very well remember
you; what can have brought you hither?' `I have told
you Sir,' replied she, `I was travelling towards London; but I
thought you mentioned Joseph Andrews, pray what is become
THEIR Fellow-Travellers were so engaged in the hot Dispute concerning the Division of the Reward for apprehending these innocent People, that they attended very little to their Discourse. They were now arrived at the Justice's House, and sent one of his Servants in to acquaint his Worship, that they had taken two Robbers, and brought them before him. The Justice, who was just returned from a Fox-Chace, and had not yet finished his Dinner, ordered them to carry the Prisoners into the Stable, whither they were attended by all the Servants in the House, and all the People of the Neighbourhood, who flock'd together to see them with as much Curiosity as if there was something uncommon to be seen, or that a Rogue did not look like other People.
The Justice being now in the height of his Mirth and his Cups,
bethought himself of the Prisoners, and telling his Company he
believed they should have good Sport in their Examination, he
ordered them into his Presence. They had no sooner entered the
Room, than he began to revile them, saying, `that Robberies on
the Highway were now grown so frequent, that People could not
sleep safely in their Beds, and assured them they both should be
made Examples of at the ensuing Assizes.' After he had gone on
some time in this manner, he was reminded by his Clerk, `that
it would be proper to take the Deposition of the Witnesses against
them.' Which he bid him do, and he would light his Pipe in the
mean time. Whilst the Clerk was employed in writing down
the Depositions of the Fellow who had pretended to be robbed,
the Justice employed himself in cracking Jests on poor Fanny, in
which he was seconded by all the Company at Table. One asked,
`whether she was to be indicted for a Highwayman?' Another
whispered in her Ear, `if she had not provided herself a great
Belly, he was at her service.' A third said, `he warranted she was
a Relation of Turpin.' To which one of the Company, a great
Upon which Adams, with a Look full of ineffable Contempt, told
him, he deserved scourging for his Pronuntiation. The witty
Fellow answered, `What do you deserve, Doctor, for not being
able to answer the first time? Why, I'll give you one you Blockhead
— with an S?
`What can'st not with an M neither? Thou are a pretty
Fellow for a Parson — . Why did'st not steal some of the Parson's
Latin as well as his Gown?' Another at the Table then answered,
`If he had, you would have been too hard for him; I remember
you at the College a very Devil at this Sport, I have seen you
I could have done it once.' — `Ah! evil betide you, and so you
can now,' said the other, `no body in the County will undertake
you.' Adams could hold no longer; `Friend,' said he, `I have a
Boy not above eight Years old, who would instruct thee, that the
last Verse runs thus:
`I'll hold thee a Guinea of that,' said the Wit, throwing the
Money on the Table. — `And I'll go your halves,' cries the other.
`Done,' answered Adams, but upon applying to his Pocket, he was
forced to retract, and own he had no Money about him; which
set them all a laughing, and confirmed the Triumph of his
Adversary, which was not moderate, any more than the Approbation
he met with from the whole Company, who told Adams
he must go a little longer to School, before he attempted to attack
that Gentleman in Latin.
The Clerk having finished the Depositions, as well of the
Fellow himself, as of those who apprehended the Prisoners, delivered
them to the Justice; who having sworn the several Witnesses,
without reading a Syllable, ordered his Clerk to make the
Mittimus.
Adams then said, `he hoped he should not be condemned
unheard.' `No, no,' cries the Justice, `you will be asked what you
have to say for your self, when you come on your Trial, we are
not trying you now; I shall only commit you to Goal: if you can
prove your Innocence at Size, you will be found Ignoramus, and
The Clerk now acquainted the Justice, that among other suspicious
things, as a Penknife, etc. found in Adams's Pocket, they
had discovered a Book written, as he apprehended, in Ciphers:
for no one could read a Word in it. `Ay,' says the Justice, `this
Fellow may be more that a common Robber, he may be in
a Plot against the Government. — Produce the Book.' Upon
which the poor Manuscript of Aeschylus, which Adams had transcribed
with his own Hand, was brought forth; and the Justice
looking at it, shook his Head, and turning to the Prisoner, asked
the Meaning of those Ciphers. `Ciphers!' answer'd Adams, `it is
a Manuscript of Aeschylus.' `Who? who?' said the Justice. Adams
repeated, `Aeschylus.' `That is an outlandish Name,' cried the
Clerk. `A fictitious Name rather, I believe,' said the Justice. One
of the Company declared it looked very much like Greek. `Greek!'
said the Justice, `why `tis all Writing.' `Nay,' says the other, `I
don't positively say it is so: for it is a very long time since I have
seen any Greek. There's one,' says he, turning to the Parson of
the Parish, who was present, `will tell us immediately.' The
Parson taking up the Book, and putting on his Spectacles and
Gravity together, muttered some Words to himself, and then
pronounced aloud — `Ay indeed it is a Greek Manuscript, a very
fine piece of Antiquity. I make no doubt but it was stolen from
the same Clergyman from whom the Rogue took the Cassock.'
`What did the Rascal mean by his Aeschylus?' says the Justice.
`Pooh!' answered the Doctor with a contemptuous Grin, `do you
think that Fellow knows any thing of this Book? Aeschylus! ho!
ho! ho! I see now what it is. — A Manuscript of one of the Fathers.
I know a Nobleman who would give a great deal of Money for
such a Piece of Antiquity. — Ay, ay, Question and Answer. The
One of the Company having looked stedfastly at Adams, asked
him, `if he did not know Lady Booby?' Upon which Adams presently
calling him to mind, answered in a Rapture, `O Squire,
are you there? I believe you will inform his Worship I am
innocent.' `I can indeed say,' replied the Squire, `that I am very
much surprized to see you in this Situation;' and then addressing
himself to the Justice, he said, `Sir, I assure you Mr. Adams is a
Clergyman as he appears, and a Gentleman of a very good Character.
I wish you would enquire a little farther into this Affair: for
I am convinced of his Innocence.' `Nay,' says the Justice, `if he is
a Gentleman, and you are sure he is innocent, I don't desire to
commit him, not I; I will commit the Woman by herself, and
take your Bail for the Gentleman; look into the Book, Clerk, and
see how it is to take Bail; come — and make the Mittimus for the
Woman as fast as you can.' `Sir', cries Adams, `I assure you she
is as innocent as myself.' `Perhaps,' said the Squire, `there may
be some Mistake; pray let us hear Mr. Adams's Relation.' `With
all my heart,' answered the Justice, `and give the Gentleman a
Glass to whet his Whistle before he begins. I know how to behave
myself to Gentlemen as well as another. No body can say I have
committed a Gentleman since I have been in the Commission.'
Adams then began the Narrative, in which, though he was very
prolix, he was uninterrupted, unless by several Hums and Ha's
of the Justice, and his Desire to repeat those Parts which seemed
to him most material. When he had finished; the Justice, who, on
what the Squire had said, believed every Syllable of his Story on
his bare Affirmation, notwithstanding the Depositions on Oath
to the contrary, began to let loose several Rogues and Rascals
against the Witness, whom he ordered to stand forth, but in vain:
the said Witness, long since finding what turn Matters were like
The Company in the Parlour had not been long seated, before
they were alarmed with a horrible Uproar from without, where
the Persons who had apprehended Adams and Fanny, had been
regaling, according to the Custom of the House, with the Justice's
Strong Beer. These were all fallen together by the Ears,
and were cuffing each other without any Mercy. The Justice
himself sallied out, and with the Dignity of his Presence, soon
put an end to the Fray. On his return into the Parlour, he reported,
`that the Occasion of the Quarrel, was no other than a Dispute,
to whom, if Adams had been convicted, the greater Share
of the Reward for apprehending him had belonged.' All the
Company laughed at this, except Adams, who taking his Pipe
from his Mouth fetched a deep Groan, and said, he was concerned
to see so litigious a Temper in Men. That he remembered
a Story something like it in one of the Parishes where his Cure
lay: `There was,' continued he, ` a Competition between three
young Fellows, for the Place of the Clerk, which I disposed of,
to the best of my Abilities, according to Merit: that is, I gave
it to him who had the happiest Knack at setting a Psalm. The
Clerk was no sooner established in his Place, than a Contention
began between the two disappointed Candidates, concerning their
Excellence, each contending, on whom, had they two been the
only Competitors, my Election would have fallen. This Dispute
frequently disturbed the Congregation, and introduced a Discord
into the Psalmody, `till I was forced to silence them both. But
alas, the litigious Spirit could not be stifled; and being no longer
ADAMS, Fanny, and the Guide set out together, about one in the
Morning, the Moon then just being risen. They had not gone
above a Mile, before a most violent Storm of Rain obliged them
to take shelter in an Inn, or rather Alehouse; where Adams immediately
procured himself a good Fire, a Toast and Ale, and
Fanny sat likewise down by the Fire; but was much more impatient/at the Storm. She presently engaged the Eyes of the Host,
his Wife, the Maid of the House, and the young Fellow who was
their Guide; they all conceived they had never seen any thing
half so handsome; and indeed, Reader, if thou art of an amorous
Hue, I advise thee to skip over the next Paragraph; which to
render our History perfect, we are obliged to set down, humbly
hoping, that we may escape the Fate of Pygmalion: for if it should
happen to us or to thee to be struck with this Picture, we should
be perhaps in as helpless a Condition as Narcissus; and might say
to ourselves, Quod petis est nusquam. Or if the finest Features in it
should set Lady — `s Image before our Eyes, we should be still
in as bad Situation, and might say to our Desires, Coelum ipsum
petimus stultitia.
Fanny was now in the nineteenth Year of her Age; she was
tall and delicately shaped; but not one of those slender young
Women, who seem rather intended to hang up in the Hall of an
Anatomist, than for any other Purpose. On the contrary, she
was so plump, that she seemed bursting through her tight
Stays, especially in the Part which confined her swelling Breasts.
Nor did her Hips want the Assistance of a Hoop to extend them.
The exact Shape of her Arms, denoted the Form of those Limbs
which she concealed; and tho' they were a little redden'd by her
Labour, yet if her Sleeve slipt above her Elbow, or her Handkerchief
discovered any part of her Neck, a Whiteness appeared
which the finest Italian Paint would be unable to reach. Her Hair
was of a Chestnut Brown, and Nature had been extremely lavish
to her of it, which she had cut, and on Sundays used to curl down
her Neck in the modern Fashion. Her Forehead was high, her
Eye-brows arched, and rather full than otherwise. Her Eyes black
and sparkling; her Nose, just inclining to the Roman; her Lips
red and moist, and her Under-lip, according to the Opinion of
the Ladies, too pouting. Her Teeth were white, but not exactly
even. The Small-Pox had left one only Mark on her Chin, which
This lovely Creature was sitting by the Fire with Adams, when
her Attention was suddenly engaged by a Voice from an inner
Room, which sung the following Song:
Adams had been ruminating all this Time on a Passage in
Aeschylus, without attending in the least to the Voice, tho' one of
the most melodious that ever was heard; when casting his Eyes
on Fanny, he cried out, `Bless us, you look extremely pale.' `Pale!
Mr. Adams,' says she, `O Jesus!' and fell backwards in her Chair.
Adams jumped up, flung his Aeschylus into the Fire, and fell a
roaring to the People of the House for Help. He soon summoned
every one into the Room, and the Songster among the rest: But
O Reader, when this Nightingale, who was no other than Joseph
Andrews himself, saw his beloved Fanny in the Situation we have
described her, can'st thou conceive the Agitations of his Mind?
If thou can'st not, wave that Meditation to behold his Happiness,
when clasping her in his Arms, he found Life and Blood
If Prudes are offended at the Lusciousness of this Picutre, they
may take their Eyes off from it, and survey Parson Adams dancing
about the Room in a Rapture of Joy. Some Philosophers may perhaps
doubt, whether he was not the happiest of the three; for
the Goodness of his Heart enjoyed the Blessings which were
exulting in the Breasts of both the other two, together with his
own. But we shall leave such Disquisitions as too deep for us, to
those who are building some favourite Hypotheses, which they
will refuse no Metaphysical Rubbish to erect, and support: for
our part, we give it clearly on the side of Joseph, whose Happiness
was not only greater than the Parson's, but of longer Duration:
for as soon as the first Tumults of Adams's Rapture were over,
he cast his Eyes towards the Fire, where Aeschylus lay expiring;
and immediately rescued the poor Remains, to-wit, the Sheepskin
Covering of his dear Friend, which was the Work of his
own Hands, and had been his inseparable Companion for upwards
of thirty Years.
Fanny had no sooner perfectly recovered herself, than she began
to restrain the Impetuosity of her Transports; and reflecting on
what she had done and suffered in the Presence of so many, she
was immediately covered with Confusion; and pushing Joseph
gently from her, she begged him to be quiet: nor would admit of
either Kiss or Embrace any longer. Then seeing Mrs. Slipslop
she curt'sied, and offered to advance to her; but that high Woman
would not return her Curt'sies; but casting her Eyes another
way, immediately withdrew into another Room, muttering as she
went, she wondered who the Creature was.
IT will doubtless seem extremely odd to many Readers, that Mrs. Slipslop, who had lived several Years in the same House with Fanny, should in a short Separation utterly forget her. And indeed the truth is, that she remembered her very well. As we would not willingly therefore, that any thing should appear unnatural in this our History, we will endeavour to explain the Reasons of her Conduct; nor do we doubt being able to satisfy the most curious Reader, that Mrs.Slipslop did not in the least deviate from the common Road in this Behaviour; and indeed, had she done otherwise, she must have descended below herself, and would have very justly been liable to Censure.
Be it known then, that the human Species are divided into
two sorts of People, to-wit, High People and Low People. As by
High People, I would not be understood to mean Persons literally
born higher in their Dimensions than the rest of the Species, nor
metaphorically those of exalted Characters or Abilities; so by Low
People I cannot be construed to intend the Reverse. High People
signify no other than People of Fashion, and low People those
of no Fashion. Now this word Fashion, hath by long use lost its
original Meaning, from which at present it gives us a very different
Idea: for I am deceived, if by Persons of Fashion, we do not
generally include a Conception of Birth and Accomplishments
superior to the Herd of Mankind; whereas in reality, nothing
more was originally meant by a Person of Fashion, than a Person
who drest himself in the Fashion of the Times; and the Word
really and truly signifies no more at this day. Now the World being
thus divided into People of Fashion, and People of no Fashion,
a fierce Contention arose between them, nor would those of one
Party, to avoid Suspicion, be seen publickly to speak to those of the
other; tho' they often held a very good Correspondence in private.
In this Contention, it is difficult to say which Party succeeded:
And now, Reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long Digression,
which seemed to me necessary to vindicate the great Character
of Mrs. Slipslop, from what low People, who have never seen
high People, might think an Absurdity: but we who know them,
must have daily found very high Persons know us in one Place
and not in another, To-day, and not To-morrow; all which, it is
difficult to account for, otherwise than I have here endeavour'd;
and perhaps, if the Gods, according to the Opinion of some, made
Men only to laugh at them, there is no part of our Behaviour
which answers the End of our Creation better than this.
But to return to our History: Adams, who knew no more of
all this than the Cat which sat on the Table, imagining Mrs.
Slipslop's Memory had been much worse than it really was, followed
her into the next Room, crying out, `Madam Slipslop, here
is one of your old Acquaintance: Do but see what a fine Woman
she is grown since she left Lady Booby's Service.' `I think I reflect
something of her,' answered she with great Dignity, `but I can't
remember all the inferior Servants in our Family.' She then
proceeded to satisfy Adams's Curiosity, by telling him, `when she
arrived at the Inn, she found a Chaise ready for her; that her Lady
being expected very shortly in the Country, she was obliged to
make the utmost haste, and in Commensuration of Joseph's Lameness,
she had taken him with her;' and lastly, `that the excessive
Virulence of the Storm had driven them into the House where he
found them.' After which, she acquainted Adams with his having
left his Horse, and exprest some Wonder at his having strayed so
far out of his Way, and at meeting him, as she said, `in the Company
of that Wench, who she feared was no better than she
should be.'
The Horse was no sooner put into Adams's Head, but he was
immediately driven out by this Reflection on the Character of
Fanny. He protested, `he believed there was not a chaster Damsel
in the Universe. I heartily wish, I heartily wish,' cry'd he, (snapping
his Fingers) `that all her Betters were as good.' He then
proceeded to inform her of the Accident of their meeting; but
when he came to mention the Circumstance of delivering her from
When the Chaise had carried off the enraged Slipslop; Adams
Joseph, and Fanny assembled over the Fire; where they had a great
deal of innocent Chat, pretty enough; but as possibly, it would not
Let it suffice then to say, that Fanny after a thousand Entreaties
at last gave up her whole Soul to Joseph, and almost fainting in
his Arms, with a Sigh infinitely softer and sweeter too, than any
Arabian Breeze, she whispered to his Lips, which were then close
to hers, `O Joseph, you have won me; I will be yours for ever.'
Joseph, having thanked her on his Knees, and embraced her with
an Eagerness, which she now almost returned, leapt up in a
Rapture, and awakened the Parson, earnestly begging him, `that
he would that Instant join their Hands together.' Adams rebuked
him for his Request, and told him, `he would by no means consent
to any thing contrary to the Forms of the Church, that he had
no Licence, nor indeed would he advise him to obtain one. That
the Church had prescribed a Form, namely the Publication of
Banns, with which all good Christians ought to comply, and to
the Omission of which, he attributed the many Miseries which
befel great Folks in Marriage; concluding, As many as are joined
together otherwise than G-'s Word doth allow, are not joined together
by G-, neither is their Matrimony lawful.' Fanny agreed
with the Parson, saying to Joseph with a Blush, `she assured him
she would not consent to any such thing, and that she wondred
The Sun had been now risen some Hours, when Joseph finding
his Leg surprisingly recovered, proposed to walk forwards; but
when they were all ready to set out, an Accident a little retarded
them. This was no other than the Reckoning which amounted to
seven Shillings; no great Sum, if we consider the immense
Quantity of Ale which Mr. Adams poured in. Indeed they had no
Objection to the Reasonableness of the Bill, but many to the
Probability of paying it; for the Fellow who had taken poor
Fanny's Purse, had unluckily forgot to return it. So that the
Account stood thus:
They stood silent some few Minutes, staring at each other, when
Adams whipt out on his Toes, and asked the Hostess `if there was
no Clergyman in that Parish?' She answered, `there was.' `Is he
wealthy?' replied he, to which she likewise answered in the Affirmative.
Adams then snapping his Fingers returned overjoyed to
his Companions, crying out, `Eureka, Eureka;' which not being
understood, he told them in plain English `they need give themselves
no touble; for he had a Brother in the Parish, who would
defray the Reckoning, and that he would just step to his House
and fetch the Money, and return to them instantly.'
PARSON Adams came to the House of Parson Trulliber, whom he found stript into his Waistcoat, with an Apron on, and a Pail in his Hand, just come from serving his Hogs; for Mr. Trulliber was a Parson on Sundays, but all the other six might more properly be called a Farmer. He occupied a small piece of Land of his own, besides which he rented a considerable deal more. His Wife milked his Cows, managed his Dairy, and followed the Markets with Butter and Eggs. The Hogs fell chiefly to his care, which he carefully waited on at home, and attended to Fairs; on which occasion he was liable to many Jokes, his own Size being with much Ale rendered little inferiour to that of the Beasts he sold. He was indeed one of the largest Men you should see, and could have acted the part of Sir John Falstaff without stuffing. Add to this, that the Rotundity of his Belly was considerably increased by the shortness of his Stature, his Shadow ascending very near as far in height when he lay on his Back, as when he stood on his Legs. His Voice was loud and hoarse, and his Accents extremely broad; to complete the whole, he had a Stateliness in his Gate, when he walked, not unlike that of a Goose, only he stalked slower.
Mr. Trulliber being informed that somebody wanted to speak
with him, immediately slipt off his Apron, and clothed himself
in an old Night-Gown, being the Dress in which he always saw
his Company at home. His Wife who informed him of Mr.
Adams's Arrival, had made a small Mistake; for she had told
her Husband, `she believed here was a Man come for some of
his Hogs.' This Supposition made Mr. Trulliber hasten with the
utmost expedition to attend his Guest; he no sooner saw Adams,
than not in the least doubting the cause of his Errand to be what
his Wife had imagined, he told him, `he was come in very good
As soon as their Breakfast was ended, Adams began in the
following manner: `I think, Sir, it is high time to inform you of
the business of my Embassy. I am a Traveller, and am passing
this way in company with two young People, a Lad and a Damsel,
my Parishioners, towards my own Cure: we stopt at a House
of Hospitality in the Parish, where they directed me to you, as
having the Cure.' — `Tho' I am but a Curate,' says Trulliber,
`I believe I am as warm as the Vicar himself, or perhaps the
Rector of the next Parish too; I believe I could buy them both.'
`Sir,' cries Adams, `I rejoice thereat. Now, Sir, my Business is,
that we are by various Accidents stript of our Money, and are
not able to pay our Reckoning, being seven Shillings. I therefore
request you to assist me with the Loan of those seven Shillings,
and also seven Shillings more, which peradventure I shall return
to you; but if not, I am convinced you will joyfully embrace
such an Opportunity of laying up a Treasure in a better Place
than any this World affords.'
Suppose a Stranger, who entered the Chambers of a Lawyer,
being imagined a Client, when the Lawyer was preparing his
Palm for the Fee, should pull out a Writ against him. Suppose
an Apothecary, at the Door of a Chariot containing some great
Doctor of eminent Skill, should, instead of Directions to a
Patient, present him with a Potion for himself. Suppose a Minister
should, instead of a good round Sum, treat my Lord — or Sir—
or Esq; — with a good Broomstick. Suppose a civil Companion,
or a led Captain should, instead of Virtue, and Honour, and
Beauty, and Parts, and Admiration, thunder Vice and Infamy,
WHEN he came back to the Inn, he found Joseph and Fanny sitting together. They were so far from thinking his Absence long, as he had feared they would, that they never once miss'd or thought of him. Indeed, I have been often assured by both, that they spent these Hours in a most delightful Conversation: but as I never could prevail on either to relate it, so I cannot communicate it to the Reader.
Adams acquainted the Lovers with the ill Success of his Enterprize. They were all greatly confounded, none being able to propose any Method of departing, `till Joseph at last advised calling in the Hostess, and desiring her to trust them; which Fanny said she despaired of her doing, as she was one of the sourest-fac'd Women she had ever beheld.
But she was agreeably disappointed; for the Hostess was no
sooner asked the Question than she readily agreed; and with a
Curt'sy and Smile, wished them a good Journey. However, lest
Fanny's Skill in Physiognomy should be called in question, we
will venture to assign one Reason, which might probably incline
her to this Confidence and Good-Humour. When Adams said
he was going to visit his Brother, he had unwittingly imposed on
Joseph and Fanny; who both believed he had meant his natural
Brother, and not his Brother in Divinity; and had so informed the
They were now just on their Departure, when Adams recollected
he had left his Great Coat and Hat at Mr. Trulliber's. As
he was not desirous of renewing his Visit, the Hostess herself,
having no Servant at home, offered to fetch it.
This was an unfortunate Expedient: for the Hostess was soon
undeceived in the Opinion she had entertained of Adams, whom
Trulliber abused in the grossest Terms, especially when he heard
he had had the Assurance to pretend to be his near Relation.
At her Return therefore, she entirely changed her Note. She
said, `Folks might be ashamed of travelling about and pretending
to be what they were not. That Taxes were high, and for her part,
she was obliged to pay for what she had; she could not therefore
possibly, nor would she trust any body, no not her own Father.
That Money was never scarcer, and she wanted to make up a
Sum. That she expected therefore they should pay their Reckoning
before they left the House.'
Adams was now greatly perplexed: but as he knew that he
could easily have borrowed such a Sum in his own Parish, and as
he knew he would have lent it himself to any Mortal in Distress;
so he took fresh Courage, and sallied out all round the Parish,
but to no purpose; he returned as pennyless as he went, groaning
and lamenting, that it was possible in a Country professing
Christianity, for a Wretch to starve in the midst of his FellowCreatures
who abounded.
Whilst he was gone, the Hostess who stayed as a sort of Guard
with Joseph and Fanny entertained them with the Goodness of
Parson Trulliber; and indeed he had not only a very good Character,
as to other Qualities, in the Neighbourhood, but was reputed
a Man of great Charity: for tho' he never gave a Farthing, he
had always that Word in his Mouth.
Adams was no sooner returned the second time, than the Storm
grew exceeding high, the Hostess declaring among other things,
Plato or Aristotle, or some body else hath said, THAT WHEN THE
MOST EXQUISITE CUNNING FAILS,
CHANCE OFTEN HITS THE MARK,AND THAT BY MEANS
EXPECTED. Virgil expresses this very boldly:
I would quote more great Men if I could: but my Memory not
permitting me, I will proceed to exemplify these Observations
by the following Instance.
There chanced (for Adams had not Cunning enough to contrive
it) to be at that time in the Alehouse, a Fellow, who had
been formerly a Drummer in an Irish Regiment, and now travelled
the Country as a Pedlar. This Man having attentively listened
to the Discourse of the Hostess, at last took Adams aside, and
asked him what the Sum was for which they were detained. As
soon as he was informed, he sighed and said, `he was sorry it
was so much: for that he had no more than six Shillings and
Sixpence in his Pocket, which he would lend them with all his
heart.' Adams gave a Caper, and cry'd out, `it would do: for that
he had Sixpence himself.' And thus these poor People, who could
not engage the Compassion of Riches and Piety, were at length
delivered out of their Distress by the Charity of a poor Pedlar.
I shall refer it to my Reader, to make what Observations he
pleases on this Incident: it is sufficient for me to inform him, that
after Adams and his Companions had returned him a thousand
Thanks, and told him where he might call to be repaid, they all
sallied out of the House without any Complements from their
Hostess, or indeed without paying her any; Adams declaring, he
would take particular Care never to call there again, and she on
her side assuring them she wanted no such Guests.
OUR Travellers had walked about two Miles from that Inn,
which they had more reason to have mistaken for a Castle, than
Don Quixote ever had any of those in which he sojourned; seeing
they had met with such Difficulty in escaping out of its Walls;
when they came to a Parish, and beheld a Sign of Invitation
hanging out. A Gentleman sat smoaking a Pipe at the Door;
of whom Adams enquired the Road, and received so courteous
and obliging an Answer, accompanied with so smiling a Countenance,
that the good Parson, whose Heart was naturally disposed
to Love and Affection, began to ask several other Questions;
particularly the Name of the Parish, and who was the Owner
of a large House whose Front they then had in prospect. The
Gentleman answered as obligingly as before; and as to the House,
acquainted him it was his own. He then proceeded in the following
manner: `Sir, I presume by your Habit you are a Clergyman:
and as you are travelling on foot, I suppose a Glass of good Beer
will not be disagreeable to you; and I can recommend my Landlord's
within, as some of the best in all this County. What say
you, will you halt a little and let us take a Pipe together: there is
no better Tobacco in the Kingdom?' This Proposal was not displeasing
to Adams, who had allayed his Thirst that Day, with
no better Liquor than what Mrs. Trulliber's Cellar had produced;
and which was indeed little superior either in Richness or Flavour
to that which distilled from those Grains her generous Husband
bestowed on his Hogs. Having therefore abundantly thanked the
Gentleman for his kind Invitation, and bid Joseph and Fanny
follow him, he entered the Ale-House, where a large Loaf and
Cheese and a Pitcher of Beer, which truly answered the Character
given of it, being set before them, the three Travellers fell to eating
with Appetites infinitely more voracious than are to be found
at the most exquisite Eating-Houses in the Parish of St. James's.
The Gentleman expressed great Delight in the hearty and
chearful Behaviour of Adams; and particularly in the Familiarity
with which he conversed with Joseph and Fanny, whom he often
called his Children, a Term, he explained to mean no more than
his Parishioners; saying, he looked on all those whom God had
entrusted to his Cure, to stand to him in that Relation. The
Gentleman shaking him by the Hand highly applauded those
Sentiments. `They are indeed,' says he, `the true Principles of
a Christian Divine; and I heartily wish they were universal: but
on the contrary, I am sorry to say the Parson of our Parish instead
of esteeming his poor Parishioners as a part of his Family, seems
rather to consider them as not of the same Species with himself.
He seldom speaks to any unless some few of the richest of us;
nay indeed, he will not move his Hat to the others. I often laugh
when I behold him on Sundays strutting along the Church-Yard,
like a Turky-Cock, through Rows of his Parishioners; who bow
to him with as much Submission and are as unregarded as a Sett
of servile Courtiers by the proudest Prince in Christendom. But if
such temporal Pride is ridiculous, surely the spiritual is odious and
detestable: if such a puffed up empty human Bladder strutting in
princely Robes, justly moves one's Derision; surely in the Habit
of a Priest it must raise our Scorn.'
`Doubtless,' answered Adams, `your Opinion is right; but I
hope such Examples are rare. The Clergy whom I have the honour
to know, maintain a different Behaviour; and you will allow
me, Sir, that the Readiness, which too many of the Laity show
to contemn the Order, may be one reason of their avoiding too
much Humility.' `Very true indeed,' says the Gentleman; `I find,
Sir, you are a Man of excellent Sense, and am happy in this
Opportunity of knowing you: perhaps, our accidental meeting
may not be disadvantageous to you neither. At present, I shall
only say to you, that the Incumbent of this Living is old and
infirm; and that it is in my Gift. Doctor, give me your Hand;
and assure yourself of it at his Decease.' Adams told him, `he was
never more confounded in his Life, than at his utter Incapacity
to make any return to such noble and unmerited Generosity.'
`A mere Trifle, Sir,' cries the Gentleman, `scarce worth your
Acceptance; a little more than three hundred a Year. I wish it
was double the Value for your sake.' Adams bowed, and cried
from the Emotions of his Gratitude; when the other asked him,
Mr. Adams rose very early and called Joseph out of his Bed,
between whom a very fierce Dispute ensued, whether Fanny
should ride behind Joseph, or behind the Gentleman's Servant;
Joseph insisting on it, that he was perfectly recovered, and was as
capable of taking care of Fanny, as any other Person could be.
But Adams would not agree to it, and declared he would not trust
her behind him; for that he was weaker than he imagined himself
to be.
This Dispute continued a long time, and had begun to be very
hot, when a Servant arrived from their good Friend, to acquaint
them that he was unfortunately prevented from lending them
any Horses; for that his Groom had, unknown to him, put his
whole Stable under a Course of Physick.
This Advice presently struck the two Disputants dumb; Adams
Fanny being now risen, Joseph paid her a Visit, and left Adams
to write his Letter; which having finished, he dispatched a Boy
with it to the Gentleman, and then seated himself by the Door,
lighted his Pipe, and betook himself to Meditation.
The Boy staying longer than seemed to be necessary, Joseph
who with Fanny was now returned to the Parson, expressed some
Apprehensions, that the Gentleman's Steward had locked up his
Purse too. To which Adams answered, `It might very possibly
be; and he should wonder at no Liberties which the Devil might
put into the Head of a wicked Servant to take with so worthy a
Master:' but added, `that as the Sum was so small, so noble a
Gentleman would be easily able to procure it in the Parish; tho'
he had it not in his own Pocket. Indeed,' says he, `if it was four
or five Guineas, or any such large Quantity of Money, it might
be a different matter.'
They were now sat down to Breakfast over some Toast and
Ale, when the Boy returned; and informed them, that the Gentleman
was not at home. `Very well,' cries Adams; `but why, Child,
did you not stay `till his return? Go back again, my good Boy,
and wait for his coming home: he cannot be gone far, as his
Horses are all sick; and besides, he had no Intention to go abroad;
for he invited us to spend this Day and To-morrow at his House.
Therefore, go back, Child, and tarry `till his return home.' The
The kind Host produced the Liquor, and Joseph with Fanny
retired into the Garden; where while they solaced themselves
with amorous Discourse, Adams sat down with his Host; and both
filling their Glasses and lighting their Pipes, they began that
Dialogue, which the Reader will find in the next Chapter.
`SIR,' said the Host, `I assure you, you are not the first to whom
our Squire hath promised more than he hath performed. He is so
famous for this Practice, that his Word will not be taken for
much by those who know him. I remember a young Fellow whom
he promised his Parents to make an Exciseman. The poor People,
who could ill afford it, bred their Son to Writing and Accounts,
and other Learning, to qualify him for the Place; and the Boy
held up his Head above his Condition with these Hopes; nor
would he go to plough, nor do any other kind of Work; and went
constantly drest as fine as could be, with two clean Holland Shirts
a Week, and this for several Years; `till at last he followed the
Squire up to London, thinking there to mind him of his Promises:
but he could never get sight of him. So that being out of Money
and Business, he fell into evil Company, and wicked Courses;
and in the end came to a Sentence of Transportation, the News
of which broke the Mother's Heart. I will tell you another true
Story of him: There was a Neighbour of mine, a Farmer, who
had two Sons whom he bred up to the Business. Pretty Lads they
were; nothing would serve the Squire, but that the youngest
must be made a Parson. Upon which, he persuaded the Father to
send him to School, promising, that he would afterwards maintain
him at the University; and when he was of a proper Age, give
him a Living. But after the Lad had been seven Years at School,
and his Father brought him to the Squire with a Letter from his
Master, that he was fit for the University; the Squire, instead
of minding his Promise, or sending him thither at his Expence,
only told his Father, that the young Man was a fine Scholar; and
it was pity he could not afford to keep him at Oxford for four or
five Years more, by which Time, if he could get him a Curacy,
he might have him ordained.' The Farmer said, `he was not a
Man sufficient to do any such thing.' `Why then,' answered the
I can go farther in an Afternoon, than you in a Twelve-Month.
What, I suppose you have seen the Pillars of Hercules, and perhaps
the Walls of Carthage. Nay, you may have heard Scylla, and seen
Charybdis; you may have entered the Closet where Archimedes was
found at the taking Syracuse. I suppose you have sailed among the
Cyclades, and passes the famous Streights which take their name
from the unfortunate Helle, whose Fate is sweetly described by
Apollonius Rhodius; you have past the very Spot, I conceive, where
Daedalus fell into that Sea, his waxen Wings being melted by the
Sun; you have traversed the Euxine Sea, I make no doubt; nay,
you may have been on the Banks of the Caspian, and called at
Colchis, to see if there is ever another Golden Fleece.' — `Not I
truly, Master,' answered the Host, `I never touched at any of
these Places.' `But I have been at all these,' replied Adams. `Then
I suppose,' cries the Host, `you have been at the East Indies,
for there are no such, I will be sworn, either in the West or the
Levant.' `Pray where's the Levant?' quoth Adams, `that should
be in the East Indies by right.' — `O ho! you are a pretty Traveller,'
cries the Host, `and not know the Levant. My service to
NOTWITHSTANDING the Preference which may be vulgarly
given to the Authority of those Romance-Writers, who intitle
their Books, the History of England, the History of France, of
Spain, &c. it is most certain, that Truth is only to be found in the
Works of those who celebrate the Lives of Great Men, and are
commonly called Biographers, as the others should indeed be
termed Topographers or Chorographers: Words which might
well mark the Distinction between them; it being the Business
of the latter chiefly to describe Countries and Cities, which, with
the Assistance of Maps, they do pretty justly, and may be depended
upon: But as to the Actions and Characters of Men, their
Writings are not quite so authentic, of which there needs no other
Proof than those eternal Contradictions, occurring between two
Topographers who undertake the History of the same Country:
For instance, between my Lord Clarendon and Mr. Whitlock,
between Mr. Echard and Rapin, and many others, where Facts
But, to return to the former Class, who are contented to copy
Nature, instead of forming Originals from the confused heap of
Matter in their own Brains; is not such a Book as that which
records the Atchievements of the renowned Don Quixotte, more
worthy the Name of a History than even Mariana's, for whereas
the latter is confined to a particular Period of Time, and to a
particular Nation; the former is the History of the World in
general, at least that Part which is polished by Laws, Arts and
Sciences; and of that from the time it was first polished to this
day; nay and forwards, as long as it shall so remain.
I shall now proceed to apply these Observations to the Work
before us; for indeed I have set them down principally to obviate
some Constructions, which the Good-nature of Mankind, who
are always forward to see their Friends Virtues recorded, may
There are besides little Circumstances to be considered, as
the Drapery of a Picture, which tho' Fashion varies at different
Times, the Resemblance of the Countenance is not by those means
I shall detain my Reader no longer than to give him one
Caution more of an opposite Kind: For as in most of our particular
Characters we mean not to lash Individuals, but all of the like
sort; so in our general Descriptions, we mean not Universals,
but would be understood with many Exceptions: For instance,
in our Description of high People, we cannot be intended to include
such, as whilst they are an Honour to their high Rank, by
a well-guided Condescension, make their Superiority as easy as
possible, to those whom Fortune chiefly hath placed below them.
Of this number I could name a Peer no less elevated by Nature
than by Fortune, who whilst he wears the noblest Ensigns of
Honour on his Person, bears the truest Stamp of Dignity on
his Mind, adorned with Greatness, enriched with Knowledge,
and embelished with Genius. I have seen this Man relieve with
Generosity, while he hath conversed with Freedom, and be to the
same Person a Patron and a Companion. I could name a Commoner
raised higher above the Multitude by superiour Talents,
And now, Reader, taking these Hints along with you, you may,
if you please, proceed to the Sequel of this our true History.
IT was so late when our Travellers left the Inn or Ale-house, (for
it might be called either) that they had not travelled many Miles
before Night overtook them, or met them, which you please. The
Reader must excuse me if I am not particular as to the Way they
Darkness had now overspread the Hemisphere, when Fanny
whispered Joseph, `that she begged to rest herself a little, for
that she was so tired, she could walk no farther.' Joseph immediately
prevailed with Parson Adams, who was as brisk as a
Bee, to stop. He had no sooner seated himself, than he lamented
the loss of his dear Aeschylus; but was a little comforted, when
reminded, that if he had it in his possession, he could not see to
read.
The Sky was so clouded, that not a Star appeared. It was
indeed, according to Milton, Darkness visible. This was a Circumstance
however very favourable to Joseph; for Fanny, not
suspicious of being overseen by Adams, gave a loose to her
Passion, which she had never done before; and reclining her
Head on his Bosom, threw her Arm carelesly round him, and
suffered him to lay his Cheek close to hers. All this infused such
Happiness into Joseph, that he would not have changed his Turf
for the finest Down in the finest Palace in the Universe.
Adams sat at some distance from the Lovers, and being unwilling
to disturb them, applied himself to Meditation; in which he
had not spent much time, before he discovered a Light at some
distance, that seemed approaching towards him. He immediately
hailed it, but to his Sorrow and Surprize it stopped for a moment
and then disappeared. He then called to Joseph, asking him, `if
he had not seen the Light.' Joseph answered, `he had.' `And did
you not mark how it vansihed? (returned he) tho' I am not
afraid of Ghosts, I do not absolutely disbelieve them.'
He then entered into a Meditation on those unsubstantial
Beings, which was soon interrupted, by several Voices which he
thought almost at his Elbow, tho' in fact they were not so extremely
near. However, he could distinctly hear them agree on
the Murther of any one they met. And a little after heard one of
them say, `he had killed a dozen since that day Fortnight.'
Adams now fell on his Knees, and committed himself to the
Joseph now drew forth his Penknife, and Adams having finished
his Ejaculations, grasped his Crabstick, his only Weapon, and
coming up to Joseph would have had him quit Fanny, and place
her in their Rear: but his Advice was fruitless, she clung closer
to him, not at all regarding the Presence of Adams, and in a soothing
Voice declared, `she would die in his Arms.' Joseph clasping
her with inexpressible Eagerness, whispered her, `that he preferred
Death in hers, to Life out of them.' Adams brandishing
his Crabstick, said, `he despised Death as much as any Man,' and
then repeated aloud,
Upon this the Voices ceased for a moment, and then one of
them called out, `D-n you, who is there?' To which Adams was
prudent enough to make no Reply; and of a sudden he observed
half a dozen Lights, which seemed to rise all at once from the
Ground, and advance briskly towards him. This he immediately
concluded to be an Apparition, and now beginning to conceive
that the Voices were of the same kind, he called out, `In the
Name of the L-d what would'st thou have? He had no sooner
spoke, than he heard one of the Voices cry out, `D-n them, here
they come;' and soon after heard several hearty Blows, as if a
number of Men had been engaged at Quarterstaff. He was just
advancing towards the Place of Combat, when Joseph catching
him by the Skirts, begged him that they might take the Opportunity
of the dark, to convey away Fanny from the Danger which
threatned her. He presently complied, and Joseph lifting up
Fanny, they all three made the best of their way, and without
looking behind them or being overtaken, they had travelled full
two Miles, poor Fanny not once complaining of being tired; when
they saw far off several Lights scattered at a small distance from
Learn hence, my fair Countrywomen, to consider your own
Weakness, and the many Occasions on which the strength of
a Man may be useful to you; and duly weighing this, take care,
that you match not yourselves with the spindle-shanked Beaus
and Petit Maitres of the Age, who instead of being able like
Joseph Andrews, to carry you in lusty Arms through the rugged
ways and downhill Steeps of Life, will rather want to support
their feeble Limbs with your Strength and Assistance.
Our Travellers now moved forwards, whither the nearest
Light presented itself, and having crossed a common Field, they
came to a Meadow, whence they seemed to be at a very little
distance from the Light, when, to their grief, they arrived at the
Banks of a River. Adams here made a full stop, and declared he
could swim, but doubted how it was possible to get Fanny over;
to which Joseph answered, `if they walked along its Banks they
might be certain of soon finding a Bridge, especially as by the
number of Lights they might be assured a Parish was near.'
`Odso, that's true indeed,' said Adams, `I did not think of that.'
Accordingly Joseph's Advice being taken, they passed over two
Meadows, and came to a little Orchard, which led them to a
House. Fanny begged of Joseph to knock at the Door, assuring
him, `she was so weary that she could hardly stand on her Feet.'
Adams who was foremost performed this Ceremony, and the
Door being immediately opened, a plain kind of a Man appeared
at it; Adams acquainted him, `that they had a young Woman with
them, who was so tired with her Journey, that he should be much
They now sat chearfully round the Fire, `till the Master of
the House having surveyed his Guests, and conceiving that the
Cassock, which having fallen down, appeared under Adams's
Great-Coat, and the shabby Livery on Joseph Andrews, did not
well suit with Familiarity between them, began to entertain
some suspicions, not much to their Advantage: addressing himself
therefore to Adams, he said, `he preceived he was a Clergyman
by his Dress, and supposed that honest Man was his Footman.'
`Sir,' answered Adams, `I am a Clergyman at your Service; but
as to that young Man, whom you have rightly termed honest,
he is at present in no body's Service, he never lived in any other
Family than that of Lady Booby, from whence he was discharged,
I assure you, for no Crime.' Joseph said, `he did not wonder the
Gentleman was surprised to see one of Mr. Adams's Character
condescend to so mugh goodness with a poor Man.' `Child,' said
Adams, `I should be ashamed of my Cloth, if I thought a poor
Man, who is honest, below my notice or my familiarity. I know
not how those who think otherwise, can profess themselves followers
and servants of him who made no distinction, unless,
peradventure, by preferring the Poor to the Rich. Sir,' said
he, addressing himself to the Gentleman, `these two poor young
People are my Parishioners, and I look on them and love them
as my Children. There is something singular enough in their
History, but I have not now time to recount it.' The Master of
the House, notwithstanding the Simplicity which discovered
itself in Adams, knew too much of the World to give a hasty
Belief to Professions. He was not yet quite certain that Adams
had any more of the Clergyman in him than his Cassock. To try
him therefore futher, he asked him, `if Mr. Pope had lately
published any thing new?' Adams answered, `he had heard great
Commendations of that Poet, but that he had never read, nor
knew any of his Works.' `Ho! ho! says the Gentleman to himself,
`have I caught you?' `What,' said he, `have you nver seen his
Homer?' Adams answered, `he had never read any Translation of
`And indeed,' continued he, `what Cicero says of a complete
Orator, may well be applied to a great Poet; He ought to comprehend
all Perfections. Homer did this in the most excellent degree;
it is not without Reason therefore that the Philosopher , in the
22d Chapter of his Poeticks, mentions him by no other Appellation
than that of The Poet: He was the Father of the Drama,
as well as the Epic: Not of Tragedy only, but of Comedy also;
for his Margites, which is deplorably lost, bore, says Aristotle, the
Supper was no sooner ended, than Fanny at her own Request
retired, and the good Woman bore her Company. The Man of
the House, Adams and Joseph, who would modestly have withdrawn,
had not the Gentleman insisted on the contrary, drew
round the Fire-side, where Adams, (to use his own Words)
replenished his Pipe, and the Gentleman produced a Bottle of
excellent Beer, being the best Liquor in his House.
The modest Behaviour of Joseph, with the Gracefulness of his
Person, the Character which Adams gave of him,and the Friendship
he seemed to entertain for him, began to work on the Gentleman's
Affections, and raised in him a Curiosity to know the
Singularity which Adams had mentioned in his History. This
Curiosity Adams was no sooner informed of, than with Joseph's
Consent, he agreed to gratify it, and accordingly related all he
knew, with as much Tenderness as was possible for the Character
of Lady Booby; and concluded with the long, faithful and mutual
Passion between him and Fanny, not concealing the Meanness of
her Birth and Education. These latter Circumstances entirely
cured a Jealousy which had lately risen in the Gentleman's Mind,
that Fanny was the Daughter of some Person of Fashion, and
that Joseph had run away with her, and Adams was concerned
in the Plot. He was now enamour'd of his Guests, drank their
Healths with great Cheerfulness, and return'd many Thanks to
Adams told him it was now in his power to return that Favour;
for his extraordinary Goodness, as well as that Fund of Literature
he was Master of, which he did not expect to find under
such a Roof, had raised in him more Curiosity than he had ever
known. `Therefore,' said he, `if it be not too toublesome, Sir,
your History, if you please.'
The Gentleman answered, he could not refuse him what he
had so much Right to insist on; and after some of the common
Apologies, which are the usual Preface to a Story, he thus began.
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 stay'd 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 though 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 surprized to find so
soon consumed.
The Character I was ambitious of attaining, was that of a fine
Gentleman; the first Requisites to which, I apprehnded were to
be supplied by a Taylor, 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 surprized me; but I have since
learn'd, 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 arrest as soon as they can.
The next Qualifications, namely Dancing, Fencing, Riding the
great Horse, and Musick, came into my head; but as they required
Expence and Time, I comforted myself, with regard to
Dancing, that I had learned a little in my Youth, and could walk
a Minuet genteelly enough; as to Fencing, I thought my GoodHumour
would preserve me from the Danger of a Quarrel; as to
the Horse, I hoped it would not be thought of; and for Musick,
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 publick Places. Accordingly
I paid constant Attendance to them all; by which
means I was soon Master of the fashionable Phrases, learn'd 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, cry'd 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 any thing which I
knew to the contrary. The Reputation of Intriguing with them
was all I sought, and was what I arriv'd at: and perhaps I only
flattered myself even in that; for very probably the Persons to
whom I shewed 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!
O 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 traduce the Character of Women of Distinction.
When another had spoken in Raptures of any one, I have
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 yet mentioned
any.' — Your Remark is just, said the Gentleman smiling,
I should rather have said, in this Course of doing nothing. I remember
some time afterwards I wrote the Journal of one Day,
which would serve, I believe, as well for any other, during the
whole Time; I will endeavour 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 — she had a dirty Face;
laughed heartily at something Captain — said; I can't remember
what, for I did not very well hear it; whispered Lord -; bowed
to the Duke of -; and was going to bid for a Snuff-box; but did
not, fear I should have had it.
At all which places nothing happened worth Remark. At
which Adams said with some Vehemence, `Sir, this is below the
I now forswore 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 Juvenal himself
formerly 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 tho' 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 achevee. `Pray Sir,' 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 une Sotte,
Anglice a Fool.' Sir, answer'd the Gentleman, perhaps you are
not much mistaken: but as it is a particular kind of Folly, I will
endeavour 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 Pretence to any thing beyond Instinct: for
tho' 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 Characteristick is Affectation, and this led and governed
by Whim only: for as Beauty, Wisdom, Wit, Good-nature,
fp 210>
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
Lye, 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 endeavour 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 Surprize 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 play'd at Whisk 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 Eclaircissement 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 Surprize, 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 breaking 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
I now bad 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, Sp-wing,
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,
Harriet Hearty
And what do you think was inclosed? `I don't know,' cried
Adams: `Not less than a Guinea, I hope.' — Sir, it was a BankNote
for 200 l. — `200l.!' 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
sent it 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 disclose to her. I kiss'd 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 Acknowledgments,
which she rejected with an unfeigned 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 endeavoured to express
all the Gratitude in my power to this Profusion of Goodness, tho'
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
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 enquired 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 lost;' but added, `that his Age could not answer that Imagination. However,' says he, `g— 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 amongst 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 a Countenance blooming with fresh Youth and
Sprightliness, like Miss *-, 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 Sun stole softly
from his Wife's Chamber to pay his Addresses to her; when the
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 administring
Consolation to the poor Girl, whose Disposition was too
good hastily to forget the sudden Loss of her little Favourite,
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
importuned 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.
OUR Travellers 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 in which they were directed, travelled 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 apprehend it, concerning public Schools, which pass'd 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,
`It doth not become me,' answer'd Joseph, `to dispute any
thing, 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 Adams, `I believe,
is granted me; that I may without much Vanity pretend to — nay
I believe I may go to the next County too — but gloriari non est
meum.' — `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
Neighbourhood. 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, 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
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 bye, 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, nulli
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, tho'
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 whereever
else you please, he will be in no danger of being corrupted.
Besides, I have often heard my Master say, that the Discipline
practised in public Schools was much better than that in private.'
— `You talk like a Jackanapes,' 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 Chiron'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
Adams continued his Subject till they came to one of the
beautifullest Spots of Ground in the Universe. It was a kind of
natural Amphitheatre, formed by the winding 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 Boughs, they
seemed to have been disposed by the Design of the most skillful
Planter. The Soil was spread with a Verdure 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 refresh
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, and pulling out a cold Fowl, and
a Bottle of Wine, they made a Repast 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,
`I have often wondered, Sir,' said Joseph, `to observe so few
Instances of Charity among Mankind; for tho' the Goodness of
a Man's Heart did not incline him to relieve the Distresses of his
Fellow-Creatures, methinks the Desire of Honour should move
him to it. What inspires a Man to build fine Houses, to purchase
fine Furniture, Pictures, Clothes, and other things at a great
Expence, but an Ambition to be respected more than other
People? Now would not one great Act of Charity, one Instance
of redeeming a poor Family from all the Miseries of Poverty,
restoring an unfortunate Tradesman by a Sum of Money to the
means of procuring a Livelihood by his Industry, discharging
an undone Debtor from his Debts or a Goal, or any such like
Joseph, who, whilst he was speaking, had continued in one
Attitude, with his Head reclining on one side, and his Eyes cast
on the Ground, no sooner perceived, on looking up, the Position
of Adams, who was stretched on his Back, and snored louder than
the usual braying of the Animal with long Ears; than he turned
towards Fanny, and taking her by the Hand, began a Dalliance,
which, tho' consistent with the purest Innocence and Decency,
neither he would have attempted, nor she permitted before any
Witness. Whilst they amused themselves in this harmless and
delightful manner, they heard a Pack of Hounds approaching in
full Cry towards them, and presently afterwards saw a Hare pop
forth from the Wood, and crossing the Water, land within a few
Yards of them in the Meadows. The Hare was no sooner on
Shore, than it seated itself on its hinder Legs, and listened to the
Sound of the Pursuers. Fanny was wonderfully pleased with the
little Wretch, and eagerly longed to have it in her Arms, that she
might preserve it from the Dangers which seemed to threaten it:
but the rational part of the Creation do not always aptly distinguish
their Friends from their Foes; what wonder then if this
silly Creature, the moment it beheld her, fled from the Friend
who would have protected it, and traversing the Meadows again,
past the little Rivulet on the opposite side. It was however so
spent and weak, that it fell down twice or thrice in its way. This
affected the tender Heart of Fanny, who exclaimed with Tears
in her Eyes against the Barbarity of worrying a poor innocent
defenceless Animal out of its Life, and putting it to the extremest
Torture for Diversion. She had not much time to make Reflections
of this kind, for on a sudden the Hounds rushed through
the Wood, which resounded with their Throats, and the Throats
of their Retinue, who attended on them on horseback. The Dogs
now past the Rivulet, and pursued the Footsteps of the Hare;
The Hounds were now very little behind their poor reeling,
staggering Prey, which fainting almost at every Step, crawled
through the Wood, and had almost got round to the Place where
Fanny stood, when it was overtaken by its Enemies; and being
driven out of the Covert was caught, and instantly tore to pieces
before Fanny's Face, who was unable to assist it with any Aid
more powerful than Pity; nor could she prevail on Joseph, who
had been himself a Sportsman in his Youth, to attempt any thing
contrary to the Laws of Hunting, in favour of the Hare, which he
said was killed fairly.
The Hare was caught within a Yard or two of Adams, who
lay asleep at some distance from the Lovers, and the Hounds in
devouring it, and pulling it backwards and forwards, had drawn
it so close to him, that some of them (by Mistake perhaps for the
Hare's Skin) laid hold of the Skirts of his Cassock; others at the
same time applying their Teeth to his Wig, which he had with a
Handkerchief fastened to his Head, they began to pull him about;
and had not the Motion of his Body had more effect on him than
seemed to be wrought by the Noise, they must certainly have
tasted his Flesh, which delicious Flavour might have been fatal
to him: But being roused by these Tuggings, he instantly awaked,
and with a Jerk delivering his Head from his Wig, he with most
admirable Dexterity recovered his Legs, which now seemed the
only Members he could entrust his Safety to. Having therefore
escaped likewise from at least a third Part of his Cassock, which
he willingly left as his Exuviae or Spoils to the Enemy, he fled
with the utmost speed he could summon to his Assistance. Nor
Now thou, whoever thou art, whether a Muse, or by what other
Name soever thou chusest to be called, who presidest over Biography,
and hast inspired all the Writers of Lives in these our
Times: Thou who dist infuse such wonderful Humour into the
Pen of immortal Gulliver, who hast carefully guided the Judgment,
No sooner did Joseph Andrews perceive the Distress of his
Friend, when first the quick-scenting Dogs attacked him, than
he grasped his Cudgel in his right Hand, a Cudgel which his
Father had of his Grandfather, to whom a mighty strong Man
of Kent had given it for a Present in that Day, when he broke
three Heads on the Stage. It was a Cudgel of mighty Strength
and wonderful Art, made by one of Mr. Deard's best Workmen,
No sooner had Joseph grasped this Cudgel in his Hands, than
Lightning darted from his Eyes; and the heroick Youth, swift
of Foot, ran with the utmost speed to his Friend's assistance. He
overtook him just as Rockwood had laid hold of the Skirt of his
Cassock, which being torn hung to the ground. Reader, we would
make a Simile on this Occasion, but for two Reasons: The first
is, it would interrupt the Description, which should be rapid in
this Part; but that doth not weigh much, many Precedents occurring
for such an Interruption: The second, and much the greater
Reason is, that we could find no Simile adequate to our Purpose:
For indeed, what Instance could we bring to set before our
Reader's Eyes at once the Idea of Friendship, Courage, Youth,
Beauty, Strength, and Swiftness; all which blazed in the Person
of Joseph Andrews. Let those therefore that describe Lions and
Tigers, and Heroes fiercer than both, raise their Poems or Plays
with the Simile of Joseph Andrews, who is himself above the reach
of any Simile.
Now Rockwood had laid fast hold on the Parson's Skirts, and
stopt his Flight; which Joseph no sooner perceived, than he
levelled his Cudgel at his Head, and laid him sprawling. Jowler
and Ringwood then fell on his Great-Coat, and had undoubtedly
brought him to the Ground, had not Joseph, collecting all his
Force given Jowler such a Rap on the Back, that quitting his
Hold he ran howling over the Plain: A harder Fate remained for
thee, O Ringwood. Ringwood the best Hound that ever pursued
a Hare, who never threw his Tongue but where the Scent was
undoubtedly true; good at trailing; and sure in a Highway, no
Babler, no Over-runner, respected by the whole Pack: For, whenever
he opened, they knew the Game was at hand. He fell by the
Stroke of Joseph. Thunder, and Plunder, and Wonder, and Blunder,
were the next Victims of his Wrath, and measured their Lengths
on the Ground. Then Fairmaid, a Bitch which Mr. John Temple
had bred up in his House, and fed at his own Table, and lately
sent the Squire fifty Miles for a Present, ran fiercely at Joseph,
and bit him by the Leg; no Dog was ever fiercer than she, being
descended from an Amazonian Breed, and had worried Bulls in
The Parson now faced about, and with his Crab Stick felled
many to the Earth, and scattered others, till he was attacked by
Caesar and pulled to the Ground; then Joseph flew to his Rescue,
and with such Might fell on the Victor, that, O eternal Blot to
his Name! Caesar ran yelping away.
The Battle now raged with the most dreadful Violence,
when lo the Huntsman, a Man of Years and Dignity, lifted
his Voice, and called his Hounds from the Fight; telling them,
in a Language they understood, that it was in vain to contend
longer; for that Fate had decreed the Victory to their Enemies.
Thus far the Muse hath with her usual Dignity related this
prodigious Battle, a Battle we apprehend never equalled by any
Poet, Romance or Life-writer whatever, and having brought it to a
Conclusion she ceased; we shall therefore proceed in our ordinary
Style with the Continuation of this History. The Squire and his
Companions, whom the Figure of Adams and the Gallantry of
Joseph had at first thrown into a violent Fit of Laughter, and
who had hitherto beheld the Engagement with more Delight than
any Chace, Shooting-match, Race, Cock-fighting, Bull or Bearbaiting
had ever given them, began now to apprehend the Danger
of their Hounds, many of which lay sprawling in the Fields. The
Squire therefore having first called his Friends about him, as
Guards for Safety of his Person, rode manfully up to the Combatants,
and summoning all the Terror he was Master of, into
his Countenance, demanded with an authoritative Voice of Joseph,
what he meant by assaulting his Dogs in that Manner. Joseph
answered with great Intrepidity, that they had first fallen on his
Friend; and if they had belonged to the greatest Man in the
Kingdom, he would have treated them in the same Way; for
whilst his Veins contained a single Drop of Blood, he would not
stand idle by, and see that Gentleman (pointing to Adams) abused
either by Man or Beast; and having so said, both he and Adams
brandished their wooden Weapons, and put themselves into such
a Posture, that the Squire and his Company thought proper to
At this Instant Fanny, whom the Apprehension of Joseph's
Danger had alarmed so much, that forgetting her own she had
made the utmost Expedition, came up. The Squire and all the
Horsemen were so surprized with her Beauty, that they immediately
fixed both their Eyes and Thoughts solely on her,
every one declaring he had never seen so charming a Creature.
Neither Mirth nor Anger engaged them a Moment longer; but
all sat in silent Amaze. The Huntsman only was free from her
Attraction, who was busy in cutting the Ears of the Dogs, and
endeavouring to recover them to Life; in which he succeeded so
well, that only two of no great Note remained slaughtered on the
Field of Action. Upon this the Huntsman declard, `'twas well
it was no worse; for his part he could not blame the Gentleman,
and wondered his Master would encourage the Dogs to hunt
Christians; that it was the surest way to spoil them, to make them
follow Vermin instead of sticking to a Hare.'
The Squire being informed of the little Mischief that had been
done; and perhaps having more Mischief of another kind in his
Head, accosted Mr. Admas with a more Favourable Aspect than
before: he told him he was sorry for what had happened; that he
had endeavoured all he could to prevent it, the Moment he was
acquainted with his Cloth, and greatly commended the Courage
of his Servant; for so he imagined Joseph to be. He then invited
Mr. Adams to Dinner, and desired the young Woman might
come with him. Adams refused a long while; but the Invitation
was repeated with so much Earnestness and Courtesy, that at
length he was forced to accept it. His Wig and Hat, and other
Spoils of the Field, being gathered together by Joseph, (for otherwise
probably they would have been forgotten;) he put himslef
into the best Order he could; and then the Horse and Foot
moved forward in the same Pace towards the Squire's House,
which stood at a very little distance.
Whilst they were on the Road, the lovely Fanny attracted the
Eyes of all; they endeavoured to outvie one another in Encomiums
on her Beauty; which the Reader will pardon my not
relating, as they had not any thing new or uncommon in them:
So must he likewise my not setting down the many curious
Jests which were made on Adams, some of them declaring that
THEY arrived at the Squire's House just as his Dinner was ready. A little Dispute arose on the account of Fanny, whom the Squire who was a Batchelor, was desirous to place at his own Table; but she would not consent, nor would Mr. Adams permit her to be parted from Joseph: so that she was at length with him consigned over to the Kitchin, where the Servants were ordered to make him drunk; a Favour which was likewise intended for Adams: which Design being executed, the Squire thought he should easily accomplish, what he had, when he first saw her, intended to perpetrate with Fanny.
It may not be improper, before we proceed farther to open a
little the Character of this Gentleman, and that of his Friends.
The Master of this House then was a Man of a very considerable
Fortune; a Batchelor, as we have said, and about forty Years of
Age: He had been educated (if we may here use that Expression)
in the Country, and at his own Home, under the Care of his
Mother and a Tutor, who had Orders never to correct him nor
to compel him to learn more than he liked, which it seems was
very little, and that only in his Childhood; for from the Age of
fifteen he addicted himself entirely to Hunting and other rural
Amusements, for which his Mother took care to equip him with
Horses, Hounds, and all other Necessaries: and his Tutor endeavouring
to ingratiate himself with his young Pupil, who would,
he knew, be able handsomely to provide for him, became his
Companion, not only at these Exercises, but likewise over a
Bottle, which the young Squire had a very early Relish for. At
the Age of twenty, his Mother began to think she had not fulfilled
As soon as Dinner was served, while Mr. Adams was saying
Grace, the Captain conveyed his Chair from behind him; so that
when he endeavoured to seat himself, he fell down on the Ground;
and thus compleated Joke the first, to the great Entertainment
of the whole Company. The second Joke was performed by the
Poet, who sat next him on the other side, and took an Opportunity,
while poor Adams was respectfully drinking to the Master of the
At which Words the Bard whip'd off the Player's Wig, and
received the Approbation of the Company, rather perhaps for the
Dexterity of his Hand than his Head. The Player, instead of retorting
the Jest on the Poet, began to display his Talents on the
same Subject. He repeated many Scraps of Wit out of Plays,
reflecting on the whole Body of the Clergy, which were received
with great Acclamations by all present. It was now the DancingMaster's
Turn to exhibit his Talents; he therefore addressing
himself to Adams in broken English, told him, `he was a Man ver
Then the Doctor, who had hitherto been silent, and who was
the gravest, but most mischievous Dog of all, in a very pompous
Speech highly applauded what Adams had said; and as much discommended
the Behaviour to him; he proceeded to Economiums
on the Church and Poverty; and lastly recommended Forgiveness
of what had past to Adams, who immediately answered, `that
every thing was forgiven;' and in the Warmth of his Goodness he
filled a Bumper of strong Beer, (a Liquor he preferred to Wine)
and drank a Health to the whole Company, shaking the Captain
and the Poet heartily by the Hand, and addressing himself with
great Respect to the Doctor; who indeed had not laughed outwardly
at any thing that past, as he had a perfect Command of his
Muscles, and could laugh inwardly without betraying the least
Symptoms in his Countenance. The Doctor now began a second
formal Speech, in which he declaimed against all Levity of Conversation;
and what is usually called Mirth. He said, `there were
Amusements fitted for Persons of all Ages and Degrees, from the
Rattle to the discussing a Point of Philosophy, and that Men discovered
themselves in nothing more than in the Choice of their
Amusements; for,' says he, `as it must greatly raise our Expectation
of the future Conduct in Life of Boys, whom in their tender
Years we perceive instead of Taw or Balls, or other childish
Play-things, to chuse, at their Leisure-Hours, to exercise their
Genius in Contentions of Wit, Learning, and such like; so must
it inspire one with equal Contempt of a Man, if we should discover
him playing at Taw or other childish Play.' Adams highly
ADAMS, and Joseph, who was no less enraged than his Friend, at
the Treatment he met with, went out with their Sticks in their
Hands; and carried off Fanny, notwithstanding the Opposition
of the Servants, who did all, without proceeding to Violence, in
their power to detain them. They walked as fast as they could,
not so much from any Apprehension of being pursued, as that
The Night was very dark, in which our Friends began their
Journey; however they made such Expedition, that they soon
arrived at an Inn, which was at seven Miles Distance. Here they
unanimously consented to pass the Evening, Mr. Adams being
now as dry as he was before he had set out on his Embassy.
This Inn, which indeed we might call an Ale-house, had not the
Words, The New Inn, been writ on the Sign, afforded them no
better Provision than Bread and Cheese, and Ale; on which, however,
they made a very comfortable Meal; for Hunger is better
than a French Cook.
They had no sooner supped, than Adams returning Thanks
to the Almighty for his Food, declared he had eat his homely
Commons, with much greater Satisfaction than his splendid
Dinner, and exprest great Contempt for the Folly of Mankind,
who sacrificed their Hopes of Heaven to the Acquisition of vast
Wealth, since so much Comfort was to be found in the humblest
State and the lowest Provision. `Very true, Sir,' says a grave Man
who sat smoaking his Pipe by the Fire, and who was a Traveller
as well as himself. `I have often been as much surprized as you
are, when I consider the Value which Mankind in general set
on Riches, since every day's Experience shews us how little is in
their power; for what indeed truly desirable can they bestow on
us? Can they give Beauty to the Deformed, Strength to the Weak,
or Health to the Infirm? Surely if they could, we should not
see so many ill-favoured Faces haunting the Assemblies of the
Great, nor would such numbers of feeble Wretches languish in
their Coaches and Palaces. No, not the Wealth of a Kingdom can
purchase any Paint, to dress pale Ugliness in the Bloom of that
young Maiden, nor any Drugs to equip Disease with the Vigour
of that young Man. Do not Riches bring us Sollicitude instead of
Rest, Envy instead of Affection, and Danger instead of Safety?
Can they prolong their own Possession, or lengthen his Days who
enjoys them? So far otherwise, that the Sloth, the Luxury, the
`Bless me,' cry'd Adams, `I have certainly lost it, I can never
have spent it. Sir, as I am a Christian I had a whole half Guinea
in my Pocket this Morning, and have not now a single Halfpenny
of it left. Sure the Devil must have taken it from me.' `Sir,'
answered the Priest smiling, `You need make no Excuses; if you
are not willing to lend me the Money, I am contented.' `Sir,'
cries Adams, `if I had the greatest Sum in the World; ay, if
I had ten Pounds about me, I would bestow it all to rescue any
Christian from Distress. I am more vexed at my Loss on your
account than my own. Was ever any thing so unlucky? because
I have no Money in my Pocket, I shall be suspected to be no
Christian.' `I am more unlucky,' quoth the other, `if you are as
generous as you say: For really a Crown would have made me
happy, and conveyed me in plenty to the Place I am going, which
is not above twenty Miles off, and where I can arrive by tomorrow
Night, I assure you I am not accustomed to travel Pennyless.
I am but just arrived in England, and we were forced by
a Storm in our Passage to throw all we had overboard. I don't
suspect but this Fellow will take my Word for the Trifle I owe
him; but I hate to appear so mean as to confess myself without
a Shilling to such People: For these, and indeed too many others
know little Difference in their Estimation between a Beggar and
a Thief.' However, he thought he should deal better with the
Host that Evening than the next Morning; he therefore resolved
to set out immediately, notwithstanding the Darkness; and accordingly
as soon as the Host returned he communicated to him
He was no sooner gone than the Host fell a shaking his Head,
and declared if he had suspected the Fellow had no Money, he
would not have drawn him a single Drop of Drink; saying, he
despaired of ever seeing his Face again; for that he looked like
a confounded Rogue. `Rabbit the Fellow,' cries he, `I thought by
his talking so much about Riches, that he had a hundred Pounds
at least in his Pocket.' Adams chid him for his Suspicions, which
he said were not becoming a Christian; and then without reflecting
on his Loss, or considering how he himself should depart in
the Morning, he retired to a very homely Bed, as his Companions
had before; however, Health and Fatigue gave them a sweeter
Repose than is often in the power of Velvet and Down to bestow.
IT was almost Morning when Joseph Andrews, whose Eyes the
Thoughts of his dear Fanny had opened, as he lay fondly meditating
on that lovely Creature, heard a violent knocking at the Door
over which he lay; he presently jumped out of Bed, and opening
the Window, was asked if there were no Travellers in the House;
and presently by another Voice, If two Men and a young Woman
had not taken up their Lodgings there that Night. Tho' he knew
not the Voices, he began to entertain a Suspicion of the Truth;
for indeed he had received some Information from one of the
Servants of the Squire's House, of his Design; and answered in
the Negative. One of the Servants who knew the Host well,
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 enquired 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 enquired 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
Hitherto Fortune seemed to incline the Victory on the Travellers
side, when, according to her Custom, she began to shew
the Fickleness of her Dispostion: for now the Host entering the
Field, or rather 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, tho' he fought like a
Madman, and looked so black with the Impressions he had
received from the Mop, than Don Quixotte would certainly have
taken him for an inchanted Moor. But now follows the most tragical
Part; for the Captain was risen again, and seeing Joseph on
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 go near them till he had farther Orders,
they departed towards their Master; but happened to take a
different Road from that which the Captain had fallen into.
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 Mushrooms,
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. Tho' 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
Shakespear 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 surprized 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 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
`Hold, hold, hold,' said the Poet, `Do repeat that tender Speech
in the third Act of my Play which you made such a Figure in.' — `I
would willingly,' said the Player, `but I have forgot it.' — `Ay,
you was not quite perfect enough in it when you play'd it,' cries
the Poet, `or you would have had such an Applause as was never
given on the Stage; an Applause I was extremely concerned for
your losing.' — `Sure,' says the Player, `if I remember, that was
hiss'd more than any Passage in the whole Play.' — `Ay your
speaking it was hiss'd,' said the Poet. `My speaking it!' said the
Player. — `I mean your not speaking it,' said the Poet. `You was
out, and then they hiss'd.' — `They hiss'd, and then I was out,
if I remember,' answer'd the Player; `and I must say this for
myself, that the whole Audience allowed I did your Part Justice,
so don't lay the Damnation of your Play to my account.' `I don't
know what you mean by Damnation,' reply'd the Poet. `Why you
know it was acted but one Night,' cried the Player. `No,' said the
Poet, `you and the whole Town know I had Enemies; the Pit
were all my Enemies, Fellows that would cut my Throat, if the
Fear of Hanging did not restrain them. All Taylors, Sir, all
Taylors.' — `Why should the Taylors be so angry with you?' cries
the Player. `I suppose you don't employ so many in making your
Clothes.' `I admit your Jest,' answered the Poet, `but you remember
the Affair as well as myself; you know there was a Party in
the Pit and Upper-Gallery, would not suffer it to be given out
again; tho' much, ay infinitely, the Majority, all the Boxes in
particular, were desirous of it; nay, most of the Ladies swore they
never would come to the House till it was acted again — Indeed
I must own their Policy was good, in not letting it be given out
a second time; for the Rascals knew if it had gone a second Night,
it would have run fifty: for if ever there was Distress in a Tragedy
— I am not fond of my own Performance; but if I should tell you
what the best Judges said of it — Nor was it entirely owing 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,' answer'd 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.'
The Poet, whose Fury was now raised, had just attempted to
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 those 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 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 Surprize, 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,
They remained some time in silence; and Groans and Sighs
issued from them both, at length Joseph burst out into the
following Soliloquy:
Adams asked him what Stuff that was he repeated? — To which
he answer'd, they were some Lines he had gotten by heart out
of a Play. — `Ay, there is nothing but Heathenism to be learn'd
from Plays,' reply'd 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.
NEITHER the facetious Dialogue which pass'd between the Poet
and 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
The Man of War having convey'd 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 this Note, and attempted to sooth
and mollify her, by setting forth the Splendor 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 on him, as the Instrument of her 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 a 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 for 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 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 moment they approached
each other, she begged him with the utmost Earnestness
The Chariot now proceeded towards the Inn, which as Fanny
was informed lay in their way, and where it arrived at that very
time while the Poet and Player were disputing below Stairs, and
Adams and Joseph were discoursing back to back above: just at
that Period to which we brought them both in the two preceding
Chapters, the Chariot stopt at the Door, and in an instant Fanny
Peter being informed by Fanny of the Presence of Adams, stopt
to see him, and receive his Homage; for, as Peter was an Hypocrite,
a sort of People whom Mr. Adams never saw through, the
one paid that Respect to his seeming Goodness which the other
believed to be paid to his Riches; hence Mr. Adams was so much
his Favourite, that he once lent him four Pounds thirteen Shillings
and Sixpence, to prevent his going to Goal, on no greater Security
than a Bond and Judgment, which probably he would have made
no use of, tho' the Money had not been (as it was) paid exactly
at the time.
It is not perhaps easy to describe the Figure of Adams; he had
risen in such a violent Hurry, that he had on neither Breeches nor
Stockings; nor had he taken from his Head a red spotted Handkerchief,
which by Night bound his Wig, that was turned inside
out, around his Head. He had on his torn Cassock, and his GreatCoat;
but as the remainder of his Cassock hung down below his
Great-Coat; so did a small Strip of white, or rather whitish Linnen
appear below that; to which we may add the several Colours
which appeared on his Face, where a long Piss-burnt Beard,
served to retain the Liquor of the Stone Pot, and that of a blacker
hue which distilled from the Mop. — This Figure, which Fanny
had delivered from his Captivity, was no sooner spied by Peter,
than it disordered the composed Gravity of his Muscles; however
he advised him immediately to make himself clean, nor would
accept his Homage in that Pickle.
The Poet and Player no sooner saw the Captain in Captivity,
than they began to consider of their own Safety, of which Flight
presented itself as the only means; they therefore both of them
mounted the Poet's Horse, and made the most expeditious Retreat
in their power.
The Host, who well knew Mr. Pounce and the Lady Booby's
Livery, was not a little surprized at this change of the Scene, nor
Joseph being informed of the Captain's Arrival, and seeing his
Fanny now in Safety, quitted her a moment, and running down
stairs, went directly to him, and stripping off his Coat challenged
him to fight; but the Captain refused, saying he did not understand
Boxing. He then grasped a Cudgel in one Hand, and
catching the Captain by the Collar with the other, gave him a
most severe Drubbing, and ended with telling him, he had now
had some Revenge for what his dear Fanny had suffered.
When Mr. Pounce had a little regaled himself with some Provision
which he had in his Chariot, and Mr. Adams had put on the
best Appearance his Clothes would allow him, Pounce ordered the
Captain into his Presence; for he said he was guilty of Felony,
and the next Justice of Peace should commit him: but the Servants
(whose Appetite for Revenge is soon satisfied) being sufficiently
contented with the Drubbing which Joseph had inflicted
on him, and which was indeed of no very moderate kind, had
suffered him to go off, which he did, threatening a severe Revenge
against Joseph, which I have never heard he thought proper to
take.
The Mistress of the House made her voluntary Appearance
before Mr. Pounce, and with a thousand Curt'sies told him, `she
hoped his Honour would pardon her Husband, who was a very
nonsense Man, for the sake of his poor Family; that indeed if he
could be ruined alone, she should be very willing of it, for because
as why, his Worship very well knew he deserved it: but she had
three poor small Children, who were not capable to get their own
Living; and if her Husband was sent to Goal, they must all come
to the Parish; for she was a poor weak Woman, continually a
breeding, and had no time to work for them. She therefore hoped
his Honour would take it into his Worship's Consideration, and
forgive her Husband this time; for she was sure he never intended
any Harm to Man, Woman, or Child; and if it was not for that
Mr. Pounce was desirous that Fanny should continue her Journey
with him in the Chariot, but she absolutely refused, saying
she would ride behind Joseph, on a Horse which one of Lady
Booby's Servants had equipped him with. But alas! when the
Horse appeared, it was found to be no other than that identical
Beast which Mr. Adams had left behind him at the Inn, and which
these honest Fellows who knew him had redeemed. Indeed whatever
Horse they had provided for Joseph, they would have prevailed
with him to mount none, no not even to ride before his
beloved Fanny, till the Parson was supplied; much less would he
deprive his Friend of the Beast which belonged to him, and which
he knew the moment he saw, tho' Adams did not: however, when
he was reminded of the Affair, and told that they had brought the
Horse with them which he left behind, he answered — Bless me!
and so I did.
Adams was very desirous that Joseph and Fanny should mount
this Horse, and declared he could very easily walk home. `If I
walked alone,' says he, `I would wage a Shilling, that the Pedestrian
out-stripped the Equestrian Travellers: but as I intend to
take the Company of a Pipe, peradventure I may be an Hour
later.' One of the Servants whispered Joseph to take him at his
Word, and suffer the old Put to walk if he would: This Proposal
was answered with an angry Look and a peremptory Refusal
by Joseph, who catching Fanny up in his Arms, aver'd he would
rather carry her home in that manner, than take away Mr. Adams's
Horse, and permit him to walk on foot.
Perhaps, Reader, thou hast seen a Contest between two Gentlemen/, or two Ladies quickly decided, tho' they have both asserted
they would not eat such a nice Morsel, and each insisted on the
other's accepting it; but in reality both were very desirous to
swallow it themselves. Do not therefore conclude hence, that this
Dispute would have come to a speedy Decision: for here both
Parties were heartily in earnest, and it is very probable, they
THE Chariot had not proceeded far, before Mr. Adams observed
it was a very fine Day. `Ay, and a very fine Country too,' answered
Pounce. `I should think so more,' returned Adams, `if I had not
lately travelled over the Downs, which I take to exceed this and all
other Prospects in the Universe.' `A fig for Prospects,' answered
Pounce, `one Acre here is worth ten there; and for my own part,
I have no Delight in the Prospect of any Land but my own.'
`Sir,' said Adams, `you can indulge yourself with many fine Prospects
of that kind.' `I thank God I have a little,' replied the other,
`with which I am content, and envy no Man: I have a little,
Mr. Adams, with which I do as much good as I can.' Adams
answered, that Riches without Charity were nothing worth; for
that they were only a Blessing to him who made them a Blessing
to others. `You and I,' said Peter, `have different Notions of
Charity. I own, as it is generally used, I do not like the Word, nor
do I think it becomes one of us Gentlemen; it is a mean Parsonlike
Quality; tho' I would not infer many Parsons have it neither.'
`Sir,' said Adams, `my Definition of Charity is a generous Disposition
to relieve the Distressed.' `There is something in that
Definition,' answered Peter, `which I like well enough; it is, as
you say, a Disposition — and does not so much consist in the Act
as in the Disposition to do it; but alas, Mr. Adams, Who are
meant by the Distressed? Believe me, the Distresses of Mankind
are mostly imaginary, and it would be rather Folly than Goodness
to relieve them.' `Sure, Sir, replied Adams, Hunger and Thirst,
Cold and Nakedness, and other Distresses which attend the Poor,
THE Coach and Six, in which Lady Booby rode, overtook the other Travellers as they entered the Parish. She no sooner saw Joseph, than her Cheeks glow'd with red, and immediately after became as totally pale. She had in her Surprize almost stopt her Coach; but recollected herself timely enough to prevent it. She entered the Parish amidst the ringing of Bells, and the Acclamations of the Poor, who were rejoiced to see their Patroness retunrd after so long an Absence, during which time all her Rents had been drafted to London, without a Shilling being spent among them, which tended not a little to their utter impoverishing; for if the Court would be severely missed in such a City as London, how much more must the Absence of a Person of great Fortune be felt in a little Country Village, for whose Inhabitants such a Family finds a constant Employment and Supply; and with the Offalls of whose Table the infirm, aged, and infant Poor are abundantly fed, with a Generosity which hath scarce a visible Effect on their Benefactor's Pockets?
But if their Interest inspired so publick a Joy into every Countenance
how much more forcibly did the Affection which they
bore Parson Adams operate upon all who beheld his Return. They
flocked about him like dutiful Children round an indulgent
Parent, and vyed with each other in Demonstrations of Duty, and
Love. The Parson on his side shook every one by the Hand, enquiring
heartily after the Healths of all that were absent, of their
Children and Relations, and exprest a Satisfaction in his Face,
Nor did Joseph and Fanny want a hearty Welcome from all
who saw them. In short, no three Persons could be more kindly
received, as indeed none ever more deserved to be universally
beloved.
Adams carried his Fellow-Travellers home to his House, where
he insisted on their partaking whatever his Wife, whom with his
Children he found in Health and Joy, could provide. Where we
shall leave them, enjoying perfect Happiness over a homely Meal,
to view Scenes of greater Splendor but infinitely less Bliss.
Our more intelligent Readers will doubtless suspect by this
second Appearance of Lady Booby on the Stage, that all was not
ended by the Dismission of Joseph; and to be honest with them,
they are in the right; the Arrow had pierced deeper than she
imagined; nor was the Wound so easily to be cured. The Removal
of the Object soon cooled her Rage, but it had a different
Effect on her Love; that departed with his Person; but this remained
lurking in her Mind with his Image. Restless, interrupted
Slumbers, and confused horrible Dreams were her Portion
the first Night. In the Morning, Fancy painted her a more delicious
Scene; but to delude, not delight her: for before she could
reach the promised Happiness, it vanished, and left her to curse,
not bless the Vision.
She started from her Sleep, her Imagination being all on fire
with the Phantom, when her Eyes accidentally glancing towards
the Spot where yesterday the real Joseph had stood, that little
Circumstance raised his Idea in the liveliest Colours in her
Memory. Each Look, each Word, each Gesture rushed back on
her Mind with Charms which all his Coldness could not abate. Nay,
she imputed that to his Youth, his Folly, his Awe, his Religion,
to every thing, but what would instantly have produced Contempt,
want of Passion for the Sex; or, that which would have roused
her Hatred, want of Liking to her.
Reflection then hurried her farther, and told her she must see
this beautiful Youth no more, nay, suggested to her, that she herself
had dismissed him for no other Fault, than probably that
of too violent an Awe and Respect for herself; and which she
ought rather to have esteemed a Merit, the Effects of which were
besides so easily and surely to have been removed; she then
Mrs. Slipslop being summoned, attended her Mistress, who
had now in her own Opinion totally subdued this Passion. Whilst
she was dressing, she asked if that Fellow had been turned away
according to her Orders. Slipslop answered, she had told her
Ladyship so, (as indeed she had) — `And how did he behave?'
replied the Lady. `Truly Madam,' cries Slipslop, `in such a manner
that infected every body who saw him. The poor Lad had but
little Wages to receive: for he constantly allowed his Father and
Mother half his Income; so that when your Ladyship's Livery
was stript off, he had not wherewithal to buy a Coat, and must
have gone naked, if one of the Footmen had not incommodated
him with one; and whilst he was standing in his Shirt, (and to
say truth, he was an amorous Figure) being told your Ladyship
would not give him a Character, he sighed, and said he had done
nothing willingly to offend; that for his part he should always
give your Ladyship a good Character where-ever he went; and
he pray'd God to bless you; for you was the best of Ladies tho'
his Enemies had set you against him: I wish you had not turned
him away; for I believe you have not a faithfuller Servant in the
House.' — `How came you then,' replied the Lady, `to advise me
to turn him away?' `I, Madam,' said Slipslop, `I am sure you will
The Morning after her Arrival being Sunday, she went to
Church, to the great Surprize of every body, who wondered to
see her Ladyship, being no very constant Churchwoman, there
so suddenly upon her Journey. Joseph was likewise there; and
I have heard it was remarked that she fixed her Eyes on him
much more than on the Parson; but this I believe to be only a
malicious Rumour. When the Prayers were ended Mr. Adams
stood up, and with a loud Voice pronounced: I publish the Banns
of Marriage between Joseph Andrews and Frances Goodwill, both
of this Parish, etc. Whether this had any Effect on Lady Booby
or no, who was then in her Pew, which the Congregation could
not see into, I could never discover; But certain it is, that in
The moment she returned home, she sent for Slipslop into her
Chamber, and told her, she wondered what that impudent Fellow
Joseph did in that Parish? Upon which Slipslop gave her an Account
of her meeting Adams with him on the Road, and likewise
the Adventure with Fanny. At the Relation of which, the
Lady often changed her Countenance; and when she had heard
all, she ordered Mr. Adams into her Presence, to whom she behaved
as the Reader will see in the next Chapter.
MR. Adams was not far off; for he was drinking her Ladyship's
Health below in a Cup of her Ale. He no sooner came before her,
than she began in the following manner: I wonder, Sir, after
the many great Obligations you have had to this Family', (with
all which the Reader hath, in the Course of this History, been
minutely acquainted) `that you will ungratefully show any Respect
to a Fellow who hath been turned out of it for his Misdeeds.
Nor doth it, I can tell you, Sir, become a Man of your Character,
to run about the Country with an idle Fellow and Wench. Indeed,
as for the Girl, I know no harm of her. Slipslop tells me she
was formerly bred up in my House, and behaved as she ought,
till she hankered after this Fellow, and he spoiled her. Nay, she
may still perhaps do very well, if he will let her alone. You are
therefore doing a monstrous thing, in endeavouring to procure
a Match between these two People, which will be the Ruin of
them both.' — `Madam,' says Adams, `if your Ladyship will but
hear me speak, I protest I never heard any harm of Mr. Joseph
Andrews; if I had, I should have corrected him for it: For I never
have, nor will encourage the Faults of those under my Cure. As
for the young Woman, I assure your Ladyship I have as good an
IN the Afternoon the Lady sent for Mr. Scout, whom she attacked
most violently for intermeddling with her Servants, which he
denied, and indeed with Truth; for he had only asserted accidentally,
and perhaps rightly, that a Year's Service gained a
Settlement; and so far he owned he might have formerly informed
the Parson, and believed it was Law. `I am resolved,' said the
Lady, `to have no discarded Servants of mine settled here; and
so, if this be your Law, I shall send to another Lawyer.' Scout
said, `if she sent to a hundred Lawyers, not one nor all of them
could alter the Law. The utmost that was in the power of a
Lawyer, was to prevent the Law's taking effect; and that he himself
could do for her Ladyship as well as any other: And I believe,'
says he, `Madam, your Ladyship not being conversant in these
Matters hath mistaken a Difference: For I asserted only, that
a Man who served a Year was settled. Now there is a material
Difference between being settled in Law and settled in Fact; and
as I affirmed generally he was settled, and Law is preferable to
Fact, my Settlement must be understood in Law, and not in
Fact! And suppose, Madam, we admit he was settled in Law,
what use will they make of it, how doth that relate to Fact? He is
not settled in Fact; and if he be not settled in Fact, he is not an
Inhabitant; and if he is not an Inhabitant, he is not of this Parish;
and then undoubtedly he ought not to be published here; for Mr.
Adams hath told me your Ladyship's Pleasure, and the Reason,
which is a very good one, to prevent burdening us with the Poor,
we have too many already; and I think we ought to have an
Act to hang or transport half of them. If we can prove in Evidence,
that he is not settled in Fact, it is another matter. What
This Scout was one of those Fellows, who without any Knowledge
of the Law, or being bred to it, take upon them, in defiance
of an Act of Parliament, to act as Lawyers in the Country, and are
called so. They are the Pests of Society, and a Scandal to a Profession,
to which indeed they do not belong; and which owes to
such kind of Rascallions the Ill-will which weak Persons bear
towards it. With this Fellow, to whom a little before she would
not have condescended to have spoken, did a certain Passion for
Joseph, and the Jealousy and Disdain of poor innocent Fanny,
betray the Lady Booby, into a familiar Discourse, in which she
inadvertently confirmed many Hints, with which Slipslop, whose
Gallant he was, had pre-acquainted him; and whence he had taken
an Opportunity to assert those severe Falshoods of little Fanny,
which possibly the Reader might not have been well able to account
for, if we had not thought proper to give him this Information.
ALL that Night and the next Day, the Lady Booby past with the
utmost Anxiety; her Mind was distracted, and her Soul tossed up
and down by many turbulent and opposite Passions. She loved,
hated, pitied, scorned, admired, despised the same Person by
Fits, which changed in a very short Interval. On Tuesday Morning,
which happened to be a Holiday, she went to Church,
where, to her surprize, Mr. Adams published the Banns again
with as audible a Voice as before. It was lucky for her, that as
there was no Sermon, she had an immediate Opportunity of
returning home, to vent her Rage, which she could not have concealed
from the Congregation five Minutes; indeed it was not
then very numerous, the Assembly consisting of no more than
Adams, his Clerk, his Wife, the Lady, and one of her Servants.
At her Return she met Slipslop, who accosted her in these Words:
— `O Meam, what doth your Ladyship think? To be sure Lawyer
Scout hath carried Joseph and Fanny both before the Justice. All
the Parish are in Tears, and say they will certainly be hanged: For
no body knows what it is for.' — `I suppose they deserve it,' says
the Lady. `What dost thou mention such Wretches to me?' —
`O dear Madam,' answer'd Slipslop, `is it not a pity such a graceless
young Man should die a virulent Death? I hope the Judge will
take Commensuration on his Youth. As for Fanny, I don't think
it signifies much what becomes of her; and if poor Joseph hath
done any thing, I could venture to swear she traduced him to it:
Few Men ever come to fragrant Punishment, but by those nasty
Creatures who are a Scandal to our Sect.' The Lady was no more
pleased at this News, after a moment's Reflection, than Slipslop
herself: For tho' she wished Fanny far enough, she did not desire
the Removal of Joseph, especially with her. She was puzzled how
to act, or what to say on this Occasion, when a Coach and six
drove into the Court, and a Servant acquainted her with the
Arrival of her Nephew Booby and his Lady. She ordered them to
The Lady Booby apprehended her Servant had made a Mistake,
when he mentioned Mr. Booby's Lady; for she had never
heard of his Marriage: but how great was her Surprize, when at
her entering the Room, her Nephew presented his Wife to her,
saying, `Madam, this is that charming Pamela, of whom I am
convinced you have heard so much.' The Lady received her with
more Civility than he expected; indeed with the utmost: For she
was perfectly polite, nor had any Vice inconsistent with Goodbreeding.
They past some little time in ordinary Discourse, when
a Servant came and whispered Mr. Booby, who presently told the
Ladies he must desert them a little on some Business of Consequence;
and as their Discourse during his Absence would afford
little Improvement or Entertainment to the Reader, we will leave
them for a while to attend Mr. Booby.
THE young Squire and his Lady were no sooner alighted from their Coach, than the Servants began to enquire after Mr. Joseph, from whom they said their Lady had not heard a Word to her great Surprize, since he had left Lady Booby's. Upon this they were instantly informed of what had lately happened, with which they hastily acquainted their Master, who took an immediate Resolution to go himself, and endeavour to restore his Pamela her Brother, before she even knew she had lost him.
The Justice, before whom the Criminals were carried, and
who lived within a short Mile of the Lady's House, was luckily
Mr. Booby's Acquaintance, by his having an Estate in his Neighbourhood.
The Depusition of James Scout, Layer, and Thomas Trotter,
Yeoman, taken befor mee, on of his Magesty's Justasses of the Piece
for Zumersetshire.
`These Deponants saith, and first Thomas Trotter for himself saith,
that on the of this instant October, being Sabbath-Day,
betwin the Ours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon, he zeed Joseph
Andrews and Francis Goodwill walk akross a certane Felde belunging
to Layer Scout, and out of the Path which ledes thru the said
Felde, and there he zede Joseph Andrews with a Nife cut one
Hassel-Twig, of the value, as he believes, of 3 half pence, or
thereabouts; and he saith, that the said Francis Goodwill was
`Jesu!' said the Squire, `would you commit two Persons to
Bridewell for a Twig?' `yes,' said the Lawyer, `and with great
Lenity too; for if we had called it a young Tree they would have
been both hanged.' — `Harkee, (says the Justice, taking aside the
Squire) I should not have been so severe on this Occasion, but
Lady Booby desires to get them out of the Parish; so Lawyer
Scout will give the Constable Orders to let them run away, if they
please; but it seems they intend to marry together, and the Lady
hath no other means, as they are legally settled there, to prevent
their bringing an Incumbrance on her own Parish.' `Well,' said
the Squire, `I will take care my Aunt shall be satisfied in this
Point; and likewise I promise you, Joseph here shall never be any
Incumbrance on her. I shall be oblig'd to you therefore, if, instead
of Bridewell, you will commit them to my Custody.' — `O to be
sure, Sir, if you desire it,' answer'd the Justice; and without more
ado, Joseph and Fanny were delivered over to Squire Booby, whom
Joseph very well knew; but little ghest how nearly he was related
to him. The Justice burnt his Mittimus. The Constable was sent
about his Business. The Lawyer made no Complaint for want of
Justice, and the Prisoners, with exulting Hearts, gave a thousand
Thanks to his Honour Mr. Booby, who did not intend their
Obligations to him should cease here; for ordering his Man to
produce a Cloakbag which he had caused to be brought from
Lady Booby's on purpose, he desired the Justice that he might have
Joseph with him into a Room; where ordering his Servant to take
out a Suit of his own Clothes, with Linnen and other Necessaries,
he left Joseph to dress himself, who not yet knowing the Cause
of all this Civility, excused his accepting such a Favour, as long
as decently he could. Whilst Joseph was dressing, the Squire repaired
to the Justice, whom he found talking with Fanny; for
during the Examination she had lopped her Hat over her Eyes,
which were also bathed in Tears, and had by that means concealed
from his Worship what might perhaps have rendered the Arrival
of Mr. Booby unnecessary, at least for herself. The Justice no
The Squire now returned, and prevented any farther Continuance
of this Conversation; and the Justice out of a pretended
Respect to his Guest, but in reality from an Apprehension of a
Rival; (for he knew nothing of his Marriage,) ordered Fanny into
the Kitchin, whither she gladly retired; nor did the Squire, who
declined the Trouble of explaining the whole matter, oppose it.
It would be unnecessary, if I was able, which indeed I am not, to
relate the Conversation between these two Gentlemen, which rolled,
as I have been informed, entirely on the Subject of Horse-racing.
Joseph was soon drest in the plainest Dress he could find, which
was a blue Coat and Breeches, with a Gold Edging, and a red
Waistcoat with the same; and as this Suit, which was rather too
large for the Squire, exactly fitted him; so he became it so well,
and looked so genteel, that no Person would have doubted its
being as well adapted to his Quality as his Shape; nor have
suspected, as one might when my Lord-, or Sir-, or Mr.—
appear in Lace or Embroidery, that the Taylor's Man wore those
Clothes home on his Back, which he should have carried under
his Arm.
The Squire now took leave of the Justice, and calling for Fanny,
made her and Joseph, against their Wills, get into the Coach with
him, which he then ordered to drive to Lady Booby's. — It had
They were now arrived at the Lady Booby's, and the Squire
desiring them to wait a moment in the Court, walked in to his
Aunt, and calling her out from his Wife, acquainted her with
Joseph's Arrival; saying, `Madam, as I have married a virtuous
and worthy Woman, I am resolved to own her Relations, and
shew them all a proper Respect; I shall think myself therefore
infinitely obliged to all mine, who will do the same. It is true, her
Brother hath been your Servant; but he is now become my
Brother; and I have one Happiness, that neither his Character,
his Behaviour or Appearance give me any Reason to be ashamed
of calling him so. In short, he is now below, drest like a Gentleman,
in which Light I intend he shall hereafter be seen; and you
will oblige me beyond Expression, if you will admit him to be
of our Party; for I know it will give great Pleasure to my Wife,
tho' she will not mention it.'
This was a stroke of Fortune beyond Lady Booby's Hopes
or Expectation; she answered him eagerly, `Nephew, you know
how easily I am prevailed on to do any thing which Joseph Andrews
desires — Phoo, I mean which you desire me, and as he
is now your Relation, I cannot refuse to entertain him as such.'
The Squire told her, he knew his Obligation to her for her Compliance,
and going three Steps, returned and told her — he had
one more Favour, which he believed she would easily grant, as
she had accorded him the former. `There is a young Woman — `
`Nephew,' says she, `don't let my Good-nature make you desire,
as is too commonly the Case, to impose on me. Nor think, because
I have with so much Condescension agreed to suffer your
Brother-in-law to come to my Table, that I will submit to the
Company of all my own Servants, and all the dirty Trollops in the
Country.' `Madam,' answer'd the Squire, `I believe you never saw
this young Creature. I never beheld such Sweetness and Innocence
joined with such Beauty, and withal so genteel.' `Upon
my Soul, I won't admit her,' reply'd the Lady in a Passion; `the
whole World shan't prevail on me, I resent the Desire as
an Affront, and — ` The Squire, who knew her Inflexibility, interrupted
her, by asking Pardon, and promising not to mention it
more. He then returned to Joseph, and she to Pamela. He took
Joseph aside and told him, he would carry him to his Sister; but
could not prevail as yet for Fanny. Joseph begged that he might
see his Sister alone, and then be with his Fanny; but the Squire
knowing the Pleasure his Wife would have in her Brother's Company,
would not admit it, telling Joseph there would be nothing in
so short an Absence from Fanny, whilst he was assured of her
Safety; adding, he hoped he could not so easily quit a Sister
whom he had not seen so long, and who so tenderly loved him —
Joseph immediately complied; for indeed no Brother could love
a Sister more; and recommending Fanny, who rejoiced that she
was not to go before Lady Booby, to the Care of Mr. Adams, he
attended the Squire up stairs, whilst Fanny repaired with the
Parson to his House, where she thought herself secure of a kind
Reception.
THE Meeting between Joseph and Pamela was not without Tears
of Joy on both sides; and their Embraces were full of Tenderness
and Affection. They were however regarded with much more
Pleasure by the Nephew than by the Aunt, to whose Flame they
were Fewel only; and this was increased by the Addition of Dress,
which was indeed not wanted to set off the lively Colours in which
Nature had drawn Health, Strength, Comeliness, and Youth.
In the Afternoon Joseph, at their Request, entertained them with
the Account of his Adventures, nor could Lady Booby conceal her
Dissatisfaction at those Parts in which Fanny was concerned,
especially when Mr. Booby launched forth into such rapturous
Praises of her Beauty. She said, applying to her Niece, that she
wondered her Nephew, who had pretended to marry for Love,
should think such a Subject proper to amuse his Wife with:
adding, that for her part, she should be jealous of a Husband who
spoke so warmly in praise of another Woman. Pamela answer'd,
indeed she thought she had cause; but it was an Instance of
Mr. Booby's aptness to see more Beauty in Women than they
were Mistresses of. At which Words both the Women fixed their
Eyes on two Looking-Glasses; and Lady Booby replied that Men
were in the general very ill Judges of Beauty; and then whilst
both contemplated only their own Faces, they paid a cross Compliment
to each other's Charms. When the Hour of Rest approached,
which the Lady of the House deferred as long as
decently she could, she informed Joseph (whom for the future we
shall call Mr. Joseph, he having as good a Title to that Appellation
as many others, I mean that incontested one of good Clothes)
that she had ordered a Bed to be provided for him; he declined
this Favour to his utmost; for his Heart had long been with his
Fanny; but she insisted on his accepting it, alledging that the
Parish had no proper Accommodation for such a Person, as he
was now to esteem himself. The Squire and his Lady both joining
with her, Mr. Joseph was at last forced to give over his Design
of visiting Fanny that Evening, who on her side as impatiently
Mr. Joseph rose early in the Morning, and visited her in whom
his Soul delighted, She no sooner heard his Voice in the Parson's
Parlour, than she leapt from her Bed, and dressing herself in a
few Minutes, went down to him. They past two Hours with
inexpressible Happiness together, and then having appointed
Monday, by Mr. Adams's permission, for their Marriage, Mr.
Joseph returned according to his Promise, to Breakfast at the
Lady Booby's, with whose Behaviour since the Evening we shall
now acquaint the Reader.
She was no sooner retired to her Chamber than she asked Slipslop
what she thought of this wonderful Creature her Nephew
had married. `Madam?' said Slipslop, not yet sufficiently understanding
what Answer she was to make. `I ask you,' answer'd the
Lady, `what you think of the Dowdy, my Niece I think I am to
call her?' Slipslop, wanting no further Hint, began to pull her to
pieces, and so miserably defaced her, that it would have been
impossible for any one to have known the Person. The Lady
gave her all the Assistance she could, and ended with saying —
`I think, Slipslop, you have done her Justice; but yet, bad as she is,
she is an Angel compared to this Fanny.' Slipslop then fell on
Fanny, whom she lack'd and hew'd in the like barbarous manner,
concluding with an Observation that there was always something
in those low-life Creatures which must eternally distinguish them
from their Betters. `Really,' said the Lady, `I think there is one
Exception to your Rule, I am certain you may ghess who I
mean.' — `Not I, upon my word, Madam,' said Slipslop. — `I mean
a young Fellow; sure you are the dullest Wretch,' said the Lady.
— `O la, I am indeed — Yes truly, Madam, he is an Accession,'
answer'd Slipslop. — `Ay, is he not, Slipslop?' returned the Lady.
`Is he not so genteel that a Prince might without a Blush acknowledge
him for his Son. His Behaviour is such that would not
shame the best Education. He borrows from his Station a Condescension/in every thing to his Superiours, yet unattended by
that mean Servility which is called Good-Behaviour in such
HABIT, my good Reader, hath so vast a Prevalence over the
human Mind, that there is scarce any thing too strange or too
strong to be asserted of it. The Story of the Miser, who from long
accustoming to cheat others, came at last to cheat himself, and
with great Delight and Triumph, picked his own Pocket of a
Guinea, to convey to his Hoard, is not impossible or improbable.
In like manner, it fares with the Practisers of Deceit, who from
having long deceived their Acquaintance, gain at last a Power
of deceiving themselves, and acquire that very Opinion (however
false) of their own Abilities, Excellencies and Virtues, into which
they have for Years perhaps endeavoured to betray their Neighbours.
Now, Reader, to apply this Observation to my present
Purpose, thou must know, that as the Passion generally called
Love, exercises most of the Talents of the Female or fair
World; so in this they now and then discover a small Inclination
to Deceit; for which thou wilt not be angry with the beautiful
Creatures, when thou hast considered, that at the Age of seven
or something earlier, Miss is instructed by her Mother, that
Master is a very monstrous kind of Animal, who will, if she suffers
him to come too near her, infallibly eat her up, and grind her to
pieces. That so far from kissing or toying with him of her own
accord, she must not admit him to kiss or toy with her. And lastly,
that she must never have any Affection towards him; for if she
should, all her Friends in Petticoats would esteem her a Traitress,
point at her, and hunt her out of their Society. These Impressions
being first received, are farther and deeper inculcated by their
School-mistresses and Companions; so that by the Age of Ten
they have contracted such a Dread and Abhorrence of the above
named Monster, that whenever they see him, they fly from him as
She had no sooner risen than she sent for her Nephew; when
he came to her, after many Compliments on his Choice, she told
him, `he might perceive in her Condescension to admit her own
Servant to her Table, that she looked on the Family of Andrews
as his Relations, and indeed her's; that as he had married into
such a Family, it became him to endeavour by all Methods to
raise it as much as possible; at length she advised him to use all
his Art to dissuade Joseph from his intended Match, which would
still enlarge their Relation to Meanness and Poverty; concluding,
that by a Commission in the Army,. or some other genteel Employment,
he might soon put young Mr. Andrews on the foot of
a Gentleman; and that being once done, his Accomplishments
might quickly gain him an Alliance, which would not be to their
Discredit.'
Her Nephew heartily embraced this Proposal; and finding
Mr. Joseph with his Wife, at his Return to her Chamber, he
immediately began thus: `My Love to my dear Pamela, Brother
will extend to all her Relations; nor shall I shew them less Respect
than if I had married into the Family of a Duke. I hope I have
given you some early Testimonies of this, and shall continue to
give you daily more. You will excuse me therefore, Brother, if my
Concern for your Interest makes me mention what may be, perhaps,
disagreeable to you to hear: But I must insist upon it, that
if you have any Value for my Alliance or my Friendship, you will
decline any Thoughts of engaging farther with a Girl, who is, as
you are a Relation of mine, so much beneath you. I know there
may be at first some Difficulty in your Compliance, but that will
daily diminish; and you will in the end sincerely thank me for my
Advice. I own, indeed, the Girl is handsome: But Beauty alone
is a poor Ingredient, and will make but an uncomfortable Marriage.'
`Sir,' said Joseph, `I assure you her Beauty is her least Perfection;
nor do I know a Virtue which that young Creature is not
possest of.' `As to her Virtues,' answered Mr. Booby, `you can be
Fanny was now walking in an Avenue at some distance from
the House, where Joseph had promised to take the first Opportunity
of coming to her. She had not a Shilling in the World, and
had subsisted ever since her Return entirely on the Charity of
Parson Adams. A young Gentleman attended by many Servants,
came up to her, and asked her if that was not the Lady Booby's
House before him? This indeed he well knew; but had framed
the Question for no other Reason than to make her look up and
discover if her Face was equal to the Delicacy of her Shape. He no
sooner saw it, than he was struck with Amazement. He stopt his
Horse, and swore she was the most beautiful Creature he ever
beheld. Then instantly alighting, and delivering his Horse to his
Servant, he rapt out half a dozen Oaths that he would kiss her;
to which she at first submitted, begging he would not be rude:
but he was not satisfied with the Civility of a Salute, nor even
with the rudest Attack he could make on her Lips, but caught
her in his Arms and endeavoured to kiss her Breasts, which
with all her strength she resisted; and as our Spark was not of
the Herculean Race, with some difficulty prevented. The young
Gentleman being soon out of breath in the Struggle, quitted her,
and remounting his Horse called one of his Servants to him, whom
he ordered to stay behind with her, and make her any Offers
whatever, to prevail on her to return home with him in the Evening;
and to assure her he would take her into Keeping. He then
rode on with his other Servants, and arrived at the Lady's House,
to whom he was a distant Relation, and was come to pay a Visit.
The trusty Fellow, who was employ'd in an Office he had been
long accustomed to, discharged his Part with all the Fidelity and
Dexterity imaginable; but to no purpose. She was entirely deaf
to his Offers, and rejected them with the utmost Disdain. At last
the Pimp, who had perhaps more warm Blood about him than
his Master, began to sollicit for himself; he told her, tho' he was
a Servant, he was a Man of some Fortune, which he would make
her Mistress of — and this without any Insult to her Virtue, for
that he would marry her. She answer'd, if his Master himself, or
the greatest Lord in the Land would marry her, she would refuse
him. At last being weary with Persuasions, and on fire with
Charms which would have almost kindled a Flame in the Bosom
When Fanny saw her Joseph receive a Blow in his Face, and
Blood running in a Stream from him, she began to tear her Hair,
and invoke all human and divine Power to his Assistance. She
was not, however, long under this Affliction, before Joseph having
Fanny now begged Joseph to return with her to Parson Adams,
and to promise that he would leave her no more; these were
Propositions so agreeable to Joseph, that had he heard them he
would have given an immediate Assent: but indeed his Eyes were
now his only Sense; for you may remember, Reader, that the
Ravisher had tore her Handkerchief from Fanny's Neck, by
which he had discovered such a Sight; that Joseph hath declared
all the Statues he ever beheld were so much inferiour to it in
Beauty, that it was more capable of converting a Man into a
Statue, than of being imitated by the greatest Master of that Art.
This modest Creature, whom no Warmth in Summer could ever
induce to expose her Charms to the wanton Sun, a Modesty
to which perhaps they owed their inconceivable Whiteness, had
stood many Minutes bare-necked in the Presence of Joseph, before her Apprehension of his Danger, and the Horror of seeing
his Blood would suffer her once to reflect on what concerned herself;
till at last, when the Cause of her Concern had vanished,
an Admiration at his Silence, together with observing the fixed
Position of his Eyes, produced an Idea in the lovely Maid, which
brought more Blood into her Face than had flowed from Joseph's
Nostrils. The snowy Hue of her Bosom was likewise exchanged
to Vermillion at the instant when she clapped her Handkerchief
round her Neck. Joseph saw the Uneasiness she suffered, and
immediately removed his Eyes from an Object, in surveying
which he had felt the greatest Delight which the Organs of Sight
were capable of conveying to his Soul. So great was his Fear of
offending her, and so truly did his Passion for her deserve the
noble Name of Love.
Fanny being recovered from her Confusion, which was almost
equalled by what Joseph had felt from observing it, again
THE Parson and his Wife had just ended a long Dispute when
the Lovers came to the Door. Indeed this young Couple had been
the Subject of the Dispute; for Mrs. Adams was one of those prudent
People who never do any thing to injure their Families, or
perhaps one of those good Mothers who would even stretch their
Conscience to serve their Children. She had long entertained
hopes of seeing her eldest Daughter succeed Mrs. Slipslop, and
of making her second Son an Exciseman by Lady Booby's Interest.
These were Expectations she could not endure the Thoughts of
quitting, and was therefore very uneasy to see her Husband so
resolute to oppose the Lady's Intention in Fanny's Affair. She told
him, `it behoved every Man to take the first Care of his Family;
that he had a Wife and six Children, the maintaining and providing
for whom would be Business enough for him without intermeddling
in other Folks Affairs; that he had always preached up
Submission to Superiours, and would do ill to give an Example of
the contrary Behaviour in his own Conduct; that if Lady Booby
did wrong, she must answer for it herself, and the Sin would not
lie at their Door; that Fanny had been a Servant, and bred up in
the Lady's own Family, and consequently she must have known
more of her than they did, and it was very improbable if she had
behaved herself well, that the Lady would have been so bitterly
her Enemy; that perhaps he was too much inclined to think well
of her because she was handsome, but handsome Women were
often no better than they should be; that G— made ugly Women
as well as handsome ones, and that if a Woman had Virtue, it
When these Tumults were over, the Parson taking Joseph
aside, proceeded thus — `No, Joseph, do not give too much way
to thy Passions, if thou dost expect Happiness.' — The Patience
of Joseph, nor perhaps of Job, could bear no longer; he interrupted
the Parson, saying, `it was easier to give Advice than take it, nor
did he perceive he could so entirely conquer himself, when he
apprehended he had lost his Son, or when he found him recover'd.'
— `Boy,' reply'd Adams, raising his Voice, `it doth not become
green Heads to advise grey Hairs — Thou art ignorant of the
Tenderness of fatherly Affection; when thou art a Father thou
wilt be capable then only of knowing what a Father can feel. No
Man is obliged to Impossibilities, and the Loss of a Child is one
of those great Trials where our Grief may be allowed to become
immoderate.' `Well, Sir,' cries Joseph, `and if I love a Mistress
as well as you your Child, surely her Loss would grieve me
equally.' `Yes, but such Love is Foolishness, and wrong in itself,
and ought to be conquered,' answered Adams, `it savours too
much of the Flesh.' `Sure, Sir,' says Joseph, `it is not sinful to
love my Wife, no not even to doat on her to Distraction!' `Indeed
but it is,' says Adams. `Every Man ought to love his Wife, no
doubt; we are commanded so to do; but we ought to love her
with Moderation and Discretion.' — `I am afraid I shall be guilty
of some Sin, in spight of all my Endeavours', says Joseph; `for I
shall love without any Moderation, I am sure.' — `You talk foolishly
and childlishly,' cries Adams. `Indeed,' says Mrs. Adams,
THE Lady Booby had no sooner had an Account from the Gentleman
of his meeting a wonderful Beauty near her House, and perceived
the Raptures with which he spoke of her, than immediately
concluding it must be Fanny, she began to meditate a Design of
bringing them better acquainted; and to entertain Hopes that
the fine Clothes, Presents and Promises of this Youth, would
prevail on her to abandon Joseph: She therefore proposed to her
Company a Walk in the Fields before Dinner, when she led them
towards Mr. Adams's House; and as she approached it, told them,
if they pleased she would divert them with one of the most
ridiculous Sights they had ever seen, which was an old foolish
Parson, who, she said laughing, kept a Wife and six Brats on a
Salary of about twenty Pounds a Year; adding, that there was not
Mr. Didapper, or Beau Didapper, was a young Gentleman of
about four Foot five Inches in height. He wore his own Hair, tho'
the Scarcity of it might have given him sufficient Excuse for a
Periwig. His Face was thin and pale: The Shape of his Body and
Legs none of the best; for he had very narrow Shoulders, and no
Calf; and his Gait might more properly be called hopping than
walking. The Qualifications of his Mind were well adapted to his
Person. We shall handle them first negatively. He was not entirely
ignorant: For he could talk a little French, and sing two or
three Italian Songs: He had lived too much in the World to be
bashful, and too much at Court to be proud: He seemed not much
inclined to Avarice; for he was profuse in his Expences: Nor had
he all the Features of Prodigality; for he never gave a Shilling:—
No Hater of Women; for he always dangled after them; yet so
little subject to Lust, that he had, among those who knew him
best, the Character of great Moderation in his Pleasures. No
Drinker of Wine; nor so addicted to Passion, but that a hot Word
or two from an Adversary made him immediately cool.
Now, to give him only a Dash or two on the affirmative Side:
`Tho' he was born to an immense Fortune, he chose, for the pitiful
and dirty Consideration of a Place of little consequence, to depend
entirely on the Will of a Fellow, whom they call a Great-Man;
who treated him with the utmost Disrespect, and exacted of him
a plenary Obedience to his Commands; which he implicitly
submitted to, at the Expence of his Conscience, his Honour, and
of his Country; in which he had himself so very large a Share.'
And to finish his Character, `As he was entirely well satisfied with
his own Person and Parts, so he was very apt to ridicule and
laugh at any Imperfection in another.' Such was the little Person
or rather Thing that hopped after Lady Booby into Mr. Adams's
Kitchin.
The Parson and his Company retreated from the Chimneyside,
where they had been seated, to give room to the Lady and
hers. Instead of returning any of the Curt'sies or extraordinary
Civility of Mrs. Adams, the Lady turning to Mr. Booby, cried
out, `Quelle Bete! Quel Animal!' And presently after discovering
Fanny (for she did not need the Circumstance of her standing by
Joseph to assure the Identity of her Person) she asked the Beau,
`whether he did not think her a pretty Girl?' — `Begad, Madam,'
answered he, `'tis the very same I met.' `I did not imagine,'
Mrs. Adams had been all this time begging and praying the
Ladies to sit down, a Favour which she at last obtained. The
little Boy to whom the Accident had happened, still keeping his
Place by the Fire, was chid by his Mother for not being more
mannerly: But Lady Booby took his part, and commending his
Beauty, told the Parson he was his very Picture. She then seeing
a book in his Hand, asked, `if he could read?' `Yes,' cried Adams,
`a little Latin, Madam, he is just got into Quae genus.' — `A Fig
for quere genius,' answered she, `let me hear him read a little
English.' — `Lege, Dick, Lege,' said Adams: But the Boy made no
Answer, till he saw the Parson knit his Brows; and then cried,
`I don't understand you, Father.' `How, Boy,' says Adams, `What
doth Lego make in the imperative Mood? Legito, doth it not?'
`Yes,' answered Dick. — `And what besides?' says the Father.
`Lege,' quoth the Son, after some hesitation. `A good Boy,' says
the Father: `And now, Child, What is the English of Lego?' —
To which the Boy, after long puzzling, answered, he could not
tell. `How,' cries Adams in a Passion, — `What hath the Water
washed away your Learning? Why, what is Latin for the English
Verb read? Consider before you speak.' — The Child considered
some time, and then the Parson cried twice or thrice, `Le-,
Le — .' — Dick answered, `Lego.' — `Very well;-and then, what is
the English,' says the Parson, `of the Verb Lego?' — `To read,' cried
Dick. — `Very well,' said the Parson, `a good Boy, you can do well,
if you will take pains. — I assure your Ladyship he is not much
above eight Years old, and is out of his Propria quae Maribus
`LEONARD and Paul were two Friends.' — `Pronounce it Lennard,
Child,' cry'd the Parson. — `Pray, Mr. Adams,' says Lady Booby,
`let your Son read without Interruption,' Dick then proceeded.
`Lennard and Paul were two Friends, who having been educated
together at the same School, commenced a Friendship which they
preserved a long time for each other. It was so deeply fixed in both
their Minds, that a long Absence, during which they had maintained
no Correspondence, did not eradicate nor lessen it: But it
revived in all its Force at their first Meeting, which was not till
after fifteen Years Absence, most of which Time Lennard had
spent in the East — Indi-es.'-'Pronounce it short Indies,' says
Adams. — `Pray, Sir, be quiet,' says the Lady. — The Boy repeated
— `in the East-Indies, whilst Paul had served his King
and Country in the Army. In which different Services, they had
found such different Success, that Lennard was now married,
and retired with a Fortune of thirty thousand Pound; and Paul
was arrived to the Degree of a Lieutenant of Foot; and was not
worth a single Shilling.
`The Regiment in which Paul was stationed, happened to be
ordered into Quarters, within a small distance from the Estate
which Lennard had purchased; and where he was settled. This
latter, who was now become a Country Gentleman and a Justice
of Peace, came to attend the Quarter-Sessions, in the Town where
his old Friend was quartered, soon after his Arrival. Some Affair
in which a Soldier was concerned, occasioned Paul to attend the
Justices. Manhood, and Time and the Change of Climate had
so much altered Lennard, that Paul did not immediately recollect
the Features of his old Acquaintance. But it was otherwise with
`A Day or two past after Paul's Arrival before any Instances of
this appear'd;but it was impossible to conceal it long. Both she
and her Husband soon lost all Apprehension from their Friend's
Presence, and fell to their Disputes with as much Vigour as ever.
These were still pursued with the utmost Ardour and Eagerness,
however trifling the Causes were whence they first arose. Nay,
however incredible it may seem, the little Consequence of the
matter in Debate was frequently given as a Reason for the Fierceness
of the Contention, as thus: If you loved me, sure you would
never dispute with me such a Trifle as this. The Answer to which is
very obvious; for the Argument would hold equally on both sides,
`Paul now past his time with great Satisfaction; these Disputes
being much less frequent as well as shorter than usual: but the
Devil, or some unlucky Accident in which perhaps the Devil
had no hand, shortly put an end to his Happiness. He was now
eternally the private Referee of every Difference; in which after
having perfectly as he thought established the Doctrine of Submission,
he never scrupled to assure both privately that they were
in the right in every Argument, as before he had followed the
contrary Method. One day a violent Litigation happened in his
Absence, and both Parties agreed to refer it to his Decision. the
Husband professing himself sure the Decision would be in his
favour, the Wife answer'd, he might be mistaken; for she believed
his Friend was convinced how seldom she was to blame — and that
if he knew all. — The Husband reply'd — My Dear, I have no
desire of any Retrospect, but I believe if you knew all too, you
would not imagine my Friend so entirely on your side. Nay, says
she, since you provoke me, I will mention one Instance. You may
remember our Dispute about sending Jacky to School in cold
Weather, which Point I gave up to you from mere Compassion,
knowing myself to be in the right, and Paul himself told me
afterwards, he thought me so. My Dear, replied the Husband,
I will not scruple your Veracity; but I assure you solemnly, on
my applying to him, he gave it absolutely on my side, and said he
would have acted in the same manner. They then proceeded to
produce numberless other Instances, in all which Paul had, on
Vows of Secrecy, given his Opinion on both sides. In the Conclusion,
both believing each other, they fell severely on the
Treachery of Paul, and agreed that he had been the occasion of
almost every Dispute which had fallen out between them. They
then became extremely loving, and so full of Condescension on
`However ungenerous this Behaviour in Lennard may be
esteemed, his Wife obtained a Promise from him (tho' with
difficulty) to follow her Advice; but they both exprest such
unusual Coldness that day to Paul, that he, who was quick of
Apprehension, taking Lennard aside, prest him so home, that he
at last discovered the Secret. Paul ackowledged the Truth, but
told him the Design with which he had done it — To which the
other answered, he would have acted more friendly to have let
him into the whole Design; for that he might have assured himself
of his Secrecy. Paul reply'd, with some Indignation, he had given
him a sufficient Proof how capable he was of concealing a Secret
from his Wife. Lennard returned with some Warmth — He had
more reason to upbraid him, for that he caused most of the
Quarrels between them by his strange Conduct, and might (if
they had not discovered the Affair to each other) have been the
Occasion of their Separation. Paul then said — `But something
now happened, which put a stop to Dick's Reading, and of which
we shall treat in the next Chapter.
JOSEPH Andrews had borne with great Uneasiness the Impertinence
of Beau Didapper to Fanny, who had been talking pretty
freely to her, and offering her Settlements; but the Respect to the
Company had restrained him from interfering, whilst the Beau
confined himself to the Use of his Tongue only; but the said
Beau watching an Opportunity whilst the Ladies Eyes were disposed
another way, offered a Rudeness to her with his Hands;
which Joseph no sooner perceived than he presented him with so
sound a Box on the Ear, that it conveyed him several Paces from
Adams seemed now very much dejected, which his Wife perceiving,
began to apply some matrimonial Balsam. She told him
he had Reason to be concerned; for that he had probably ruined
his Family with his foolish Tricks: But perhaps he was grieved
for the Loss of his two Children, Joseph and Fanny. His eldest
Daughter went on: — `Indeed Father, it is very hard to bring
Strangers here to eat your Children's Bread out of their Mouths.
— You have kept them ever since they came home; and for any
thing I see to the contrary may keep them a Month longer: Are
you obliged to give her Meat, tho'f she was never so handsome?
But I don't see she is so much handsomer than other People. If
People were to be kept for their Beauty, she would scarce fare
better than her Neighbours, I believe. — As for Mr. Joseph, I
have nothing to say, he is a young Man of honest Principles, and
will pay some time or other for what he hath: But for the Girl,
THE Pedlar had been very inquisitive from the time he had first
heard that the great House in this Parish belonged to the Lady
Booby; and had learnt that she was the Widow of Sir Thomas, and
that Sir Thomas had bought Fanny, at about the Age of three or
fours Years, of a travelling Woman; and now their homely but
hearty Meal was ended, he told Fanny, he believed he could
acquaint her with her Parents. The whole Company, especially
she herself, started at this Offer of the Pedlar's. -He then proceeded
thus, while they all lent their strictest Attention: `Tho'
I am now contented with this humble way of getting my Livelihood,
I was formerly a Gentleman; for so all those of my Profession
are called. In a word, I was a Drummer in an Irish Regiment
of Foot. Whilst I was in this honourable Station, I attended an
Officer of our Regiment into England a recruiting. In our March
from Bristol to Froome (for since the Decay of the Woollen Trade,
the clothing Towns have furnished the Army with a great number
of Recruits) we overtook on the Road a Woman who seemed to
be about thirty Years old, or thereabouts, not very handsome; but
well enough for a Soldier. As we came up to her, she mended her
Pace, and falling into Discourse with our Ladies (for every Man
of the Party, namely, a Serjeant, two private Men, and a Drum,
were provided with their Woman, except myself) she continued
to travel on with us. I perceiving she must fall to my Lot, advanced
presently to her, made Love to her in our military way,
and quickly succeeded to my Wishes. We struck a Bargain within
a Mile, and lived together as Man and Wife to her dying Day.'
THE Lady sat down with her Company to Dinner: but eat nothing.
As soon as her Cloth was removed, she whispered Pamela,
that she was taken a little ill, and desired her to entertain her
Husband and Beau Didapper. She then went up into her Chamber,
sent for Slipslop, threw herself on the Bed, in the Agonies of Love,
Rage, and Despair; nor could she conceal these boiling Passions
longer, without bursting. Slipslop now approached her Bed, and
asked how her Ladyship did; but instead of revealing her Disorder,
as she intended, she entered into a long Encomium on the
Beauty and Virtues of Joseph Andrews; ending at last with expressing her Concern, that so much Tenderness should be thrown
away on so despicable an Object as Fanny. Slipslop well knowing
how to humour her Mistress's Frenzy, proceeded to repeat, with
Exaggeration if possible, all her Mistress had said, and concluded
with a Wish, that Joseph had been a Gentleman, and that she
could see her Lady in the Arms of such a Husband. The Lady
then started from the Bed, and taking a Turn or two cross the
Room, cry'd out with a deep Sigh, — Sure he would make any
Woman happy. — `Your Ladyship,' says she, `would be the happiest
Woman in the World with him. — A fig for Custom and
Nonsense. What vails what People say? Shall I be afraid of eating
Sweetmeats, because People may say I have a sweet Tooth? If
I had a mind to marry a Man, all the World should not hinder
me. Your Ladyship hath no Parents to tutelar your Infections;
besides he is of your Ladyship's Family now, and as good a
`What am I doing? How do I suffer this Passion to creep
imperceptibly upon me! How many Days are past since I could
have submitted to ask myself the Question? — Marry a Footman!
Distraction! Can I afterwards bear the Eyes of my Acquaintance?
But I can retire from them; retire with one in whom I
propose more Happiness than the World without him can give
me! Retire — to feed continually on Beauties, which my inflamed
Imagination sickens with eagerly gazing on; to satisfy every
Appetite, every Desire, with their utmost Wish. — Ha! and do I
doat thus on a Footman! I despise, I detest my Passion. — Yet
why? Is he not generous, gentle, kind? — Kind to whom? to the
meanest Wretch, a Creature below my Consideration. Doth he
not? — Yes, he doth prefer her; curse his Beauties, and the little
low Heart that possesses them; which can basely descend to this
despicable Wench, and be ungratefully deaf to all the Honours
I do him. — And can I then love this Monster? No, I will tear
his Image from my Bosom, tread on him, spurn him. I will have
those pitiful Charms which now I despise, mangled in my sight;
for I will not suffer the little Jade I hate to riot in the Beauties
I contemn. No, tho' I despise him myself; tho' I would spurn
him from my Feet, was he to languish at them, no other should
This unexpected Account entirely obliterated all those admirable
Reflections which the supreme Power of Reason had so
wisely made just before. In short, when Despair, which had more
share in producing the Resolutions of Hatred we have seen taken,
began to retreat, the Lady hesitated a Moment, and then forgetting
all the Purport of her Soliloquy, dismissed her Woman
again, with Orders to bid Tom attend her in the Parlour, whither
she now hastened to acquaint Pamela with the News. Pamela said,
she could not believe it: For she had never heard that her Mother
had lost any Child , or that she had ever had any more than Joseph
and herself. The Lady flew into a violent Rage with her, and
talked of Upstarts and disowning Relations, who had so lately
been on a level with her. Pamela made no answer: But her Husband,
taking up her Cause, severely reprimanded his Aunt for
her Behaviour to his Wife; he told her, if it had been earlier in the
Evening, she should not have staid a Moment longer in her
House; that he was covinced, if this young Woman could be
proved her Sister, she would readily embrace her as such; and
The Pedlar now attended, as did Fanny, and Joseph who would
not quit her; the Parson likewise was induced, not only by
Curiosity, of which he had no small Portion, but by his Duty, as
he apprehended, to follow them: for he continued all the way to
exhort them, who were now breaking their Hearts, to offer up
Thanksgivings, and be joyful for so miraculous an Escape.
When they arrived at Booby-Hall, they were presently called into
the Parlour, where the Pedlar repeated the same Story he had told
before, and insisted on the Truth of every Circumstance; so that
all who heard him were extremely well satisfied of the Truth,
except Pamela, who imagined, as she had never heard either of
her Parents mention such an Accident, that it must be certainly
false; and except the Lady Booby, who suspected the Falshood of
the Story, from her ardent Desire that it should be true; and
Joseph who feared its Truth, from his earnest Wishes that it might
prove false.
Mr. Booby now desired them all to suspend their Curiosity
and absolute Belief or Disbelief, till the next Morning, when
he expected old Mr. Andrews and his Wife to fetch himself and
Pamela home in his Coach, and then they might be certain of
perfectly knowing the Truth or Falshood of the Relation; in
which he said, as there were many strong Circumstances to induce
their Credit, so he could not perceive any Interest the
Pedlar could have in inventing it, or in endeavouring to impose
such a Falshood on them.
The Lady Booby, who was very little used to such Company,
entertained them all, viz. Her Nephew, his Wife, her Brother and
Sister, the Beau, and the Parson, with great Good-humour at her
own Table. As to the Pedlar, she ordered him to be made as
welcome as possible, by her Servants. All the Company in the
Parlour, except the disappointed Lovers, who sat sullen and
silent, were full of Mirth: For Mr. Booby had prevailed on Joseph
to ask Mr. Didapper's pardon; with which he was perfectly satisfied.
Many Jokes past between the Beau and the Parson, chiefly
on each other's Dress; these afforded much Diversion to the
This happy Pair proposing to retire (for no other Person gave
the least Symptom of desiring Rest) they all repaired to several
Beds provided for them in the same House; nor was Adams himself
suffered to go home, it being a stormy Night. Fanny indeed
often begged she might go home with the Parson; but her Stay
was so strongly insisted on, that she at last, by Joseph's Advice,
consented.
ABOUT an Hour after they had all separated (it being now past
three in the Morning) Beau Didapper, whose Passion for Fanny
permitted him not to close his Eyes, but had employed his
Imagination in Contrivances how to satisfy his Desires, at last
hit on a Method by which he hoped to effect it. He had ordered
his Servant to bring him word where Fanny lay, and had received
his Information; he therefore arose, put on his Breeches and
Nightgown, and stole softly along the Gallery which led to her
Apartment; and being come to the Door, as he imagined it, he
opened it with the least Noise possible, and entered the Chamber.
A Savour now invaded his Nostrils which he did not expect in
the Room of so sweet a young Creature, and which might have
probably had no good effect on a cooler Lover. However, he
groped out the Bed with difficulty; for there was not a Glimpse
of Light, and opening the Curtains, he whispered in Joseph's
Voice (for he was an excellent Mimick) `Fanny, my Angel, I am
As the Cat or Lapdog of some lovely Nymph for whom ten
thousand Lovers languish, lies quietly by the side of the charming
Maid, and ignorant of the Scene of Delight on which they repose,
meditates the future Capture of a Mouse, or Surprizal of a Plate
of Bread and Butter: so Adams, lay by the side of Fanny, ignorant of
the Paradise to which he was so near, nor could the Emanation
of Sweets which flowed from her Breath, overpower the Fumes of
Tobacco which played in the Parson's Nostrils. And now Sleep
had not overtaken the good Man, when Joseph, who had secretly
appointed Fanny to come to her at the break of Day, rapped softly
at the Chamber-Door, which when he had repeated twice, Adams
cry'd, Come in, whoever you are. Joseph thought he had mistaken
the Door, tho' she had given him the most exact Directions; however,
knowing his Friend's Voice, he opened it, and saw some
female Vestments lying on a Chair. Fanny waking at the same
instant, and stretching out her Hand on Adams's Beard, she cry'd
out, — `O Heavens! where am I?' `Bless me! where am I?' said
the Parson. Then Fanny skreamed, Adams leapt out of Bed, and
Joseph stood , as the Tragedians call it, like the Statue of Surprize.
`how came she into my Room?' cry'd Adams. `How came you into
hers?' cry'd Joseph, in an Astonishment. `I know nothing of the
matter,' answered Adams, `but that she is a Vestal for me. As I am
a Christian, I know not whether she is a Man or Woman. He is
an Infidel who doth not believe in Witchcraft. They as surely
exist now as in the Days of Saul. My Clothes are bewitched away
too, and Fanny's brought into their place.' For he still insisted he
was in his own Apartment; but Fanny denied it vehemently, and
said his attempting to persuade Joseph of such a Falshood, convinced
her of his wicked Designs. `How!' said Joseph, in a Rage,
`Hath he offered any Rudeness to you?' — She answered, she could
not accuse him of any more than villainously stealing to Bed to
her, which she thought Rudeness sufficient, and what no Man
AS soon as Fanny was drest, Joseph returned to her, and they had a long Conversation together, the Conclusion of which was, that if they found themselves to be really Brother and Sister, they vowed a perpetual Celibacy, and to live together all their Days, and indulge a Platonick Friendship for each other.
The Company were all very merry at Breakfast, and Joseph
and Fanny rather more cheerful than the preceding Night. The
Lady Booby produced the Diamond Button, which the Beau most
Their Tea was scarce over, when News came of the Arrival
of old Mr. Andrews and his Wife. They were immediately introduced
and kindly received by the Lady Booby, whose Heart went
now pit-a-pat, as did those of Joseph and Fanny. They felt perhaps
little less Anxiety in this Interval than Oedipus himself whilst his
Fate was revealing.
Mr. Booby first open'd the Cause, by informing the old Gentleman
that he had a Child in the Company more than he knew of,
and taking Fanny by the Hand, told him, this was that Daughter
of his who had been stolen away by the Gypsies in her Infancy.
Mr Andrews, after expressing some Astonishment, assured his
Honour that he had never lost a Daughter by Gypsies, nor ever
had any other Children than Joseph and Pamela. These Words
were a Cordial to the two Lovers; but had a different effect on
Lady Booby. She ordered the Pedlar to be called, who recounted
his Story as he had done before. — At the end of which, old Mrs.
Andrews running to Fanny, embraced her, crying out, She is,
she is my Child. The Company were all amazed at this Disagreement
between the Man and his Wife; and the Blood had now
forsaken the Cheeks of the Lovers, when the old Woman turning
to her Husband, who was more surprized than all the rest, and
having a little recovered her own Spirits, delivered herself as
follows. `You may remember, my Dear, when you went a Serjeant
to Gibraltar tou left me big with Child, you staid abroad
you know upwards of three Years. In your Absence I was brought
to bed, I verily believe of this Daughter, whom I am sure I have
reason to remember, for I suckled her at this very Breast till the
Day she was stolen from me. One Afternoon, when the Child was
about a Year, or a Year and half old, or thereabouts, two Gipsy
Women came to the Door, and offered to tell my Fortune. One
of them had a Child in her Lap; I shewed them my Hand, and
desired to know if you was ever to come home again, which I
remember as well as if it was but yesterday, they faithfully promised
me you should — I left the Girl in the Cradle, and went to
draw them a Cup of Liquor, the best I had; when I returned with
the Pot (I am sure I was not absent longer than whilst I am telling
The Pedlar, who had been summoned by the Order of Lady
Booby, listened with the utmost Attention to Gammar Andrews's
Story, and when she had finished, asked her if the supposititious
Child had no Mark on its Breast? To which she answered, `Yes,
he had as fine a Strawberry as ever grew in a Garden.' This
Joseph acknowledged, and unbuttoning his Coat, at the Intercession
of the Company, shewed to them. `Well,' says Gaffer
Andrews, who was a comical sly old Fellow, and very likely
desired to have no more Children than he could keep, `you have
proved, I think, very plainly that this Boy doth not belong to us;
buy how are you certain that the Girl is ours?' The Parson then
brought the Pedlar forward, and desired him to repeat the Story
which he had communicated to him the preceding Day at the
Alehouse; which he complied with, and related what the Reader,
as well as Mr. Adams, hath seen before. He then confirmed, from
his Wife's Report, all the Circumstances of the Exchange, and
of the Strawberry on Joseph's Breast. At the Repetition of the
Word Strawberry, Adams, who had seen it without any Emotion,
started, and cry'd, Bless me! something comes into my Head. But
before he had time to bring any thing out, a Servant called him
forth. When he was gone, the Pedlar assured Joseph, that his
Parents were Persons of much greater Circumstances than those
he had hitherto mistaken for such; for that he had been stolen
from a Gentleman's House, by those whom they call Gypsies,
and had been kept by them during a whole Year, when looking
on him as in a dying Condition, they had exchanged him for the
other healthier Child, in the manner before related. He said, as
to the Name of his Father, his Wife had either never known or
forgot it; but that she had acquainted him he lived about forty
Miles from the Place where the Exchange had been made, and
which way, promising to spare no Pains in endeavouring with him
to discover the Place.
But Fortune, which seldom doth good or ill, or makes Men
happy or miserable by halves, resolved to spare him this Labour.
The Reader may please to recollect, that Mr. Wilson had intended
a Journey to the West, in which he was to pass through Mr.
Adams's Parish, and had promised to call on him. He was now
arrived at the Lady Booby's Gates for that purpose, being directed
thither from the Parson's House, and had sent in the Servant
whom we have above seen call Mr. Adams forth. This had no
FANNY was very little behind her Joseph, in the Duty she exprest
towards her Parents; and the Joy she evidenced in discovering
them. Gammar Andrews kiss'd her, and said she was heartily
glad to see her: But for her part she could never love any one
better than Joseph. Gaffar Andrews testified no remarkable
Mr. Booby, who knew nothing of his Aunt's Fondness, imputed
her abrupt Departure to her Pride, and Disdain of the
Family into which he was married; he was therefore desirous to
be gone with the utmost Celerity: And now, having congratulated
Mr. Wilson and Joseph on the Discovery, he saluted Fanny, called
her Sister, and introduced her as such to Pamela, who behaved
with great Decency on the Occasion.
He now sent a Message to his Aunt, who returned, that she
wished him a good Journey; but was too disordered to see any
Company: He therefore prepared to set out, having invited Mr.
Wilson to his House, and Pamela and Joseph both so insisted on
his complying, that he as last consented, having first obtained a
Messenger from Mr. Booby, to acquaint his Wife with the News;
which, as he knew it would render her completely happy, he could
not prevail on himself to delay a moment in acquainting her with.
The Company were ranged in this manner. The two old People
with their two Daughters rode in the Coach, the Squire, Mr. Wilson,
Joseph, Parson Adams, and the Pedlar proceeded on Horseback.
In their way Joseph informed his Father of his intended Match
with Fanny; to which, tho' he expressed some Reluctance at first,
on the Eagerness of his Son's Instances he consented, saying if
she was so good a Creature as she appeared, and he described her,
he thought the Disadvantages of Birth and Fortune might be
compensated. He however insisted on the Match being deferred
till he had seen his Mother; in which Joseph perceiving him positive,
with great Duty obeyed him, to the great delight of Parson
Adams, who by these means saw an Opportunity of fulfilling the
Church Forms, and marrying his Parishioners without a Licence.
Mr. Adams greatly exulting on this Occasion, (for such Ceremonies
were Matters of no small moment with him) accidentally
gave Spurs to his Horse, which the generous Beast disdaining, for
he was high of Mettle, and had been used to more expert Riders
than the Gentleman who at present bestrode him: for whose
Horsemanship he had perhaps some Contempt, immediately ran
away full speed, and played so many antic Tricks, that he tumbled
the Parson from his Back; which Joseph perceiving, came to his
Relief. This Accident afforded infinite Merriment to the Servants,
and no less frighted poor Fanny, who beheld him as he past
The Horse having freed himself from his unworthy Rider, as
he probably thought him, proceeded to make the best of his way:
but was stopped by a Gentleman and his Servants, who were
travelling the opposite way; and were now at a little distance from
the Coach. They soon met; and as one of the Servants delivered
Adams his Horse, his Master hailed him, and Adams looking up,
presently recollected he was the Justice of Peace before whom
he and Fanny had made their Appearance. The Parson presently
saluted him very kindly; and the Justice informed him, that he
had found the Fellow who attempted to swear against him and
the young Woman the very next day, and had committed him to
Salisbury Goal, where he was charged with many Robberies.
Many Compliments having past between the Parson and the
Justice, the latter proceeded on his Journey, and the former having
with some disdain refused Joseph's Offer of changing Horses;
and declared he was as able a Horseman as any in the Kingdom,
re-mounted his Beast; and now the Company again proceeded,
and happily arrived at their Journey's End, Mr. Adams by good
Luck, rather than by good Riding, escaping a second Fall.
The Company arriving at Mr. Booby's House, were all received
by him in the most courteous, and entertained in the most
splendid manner, after the Custom of the old English Hospitality,
which is still preserved in some very few Families in the remote
Parts of England. They all past that Day with the utmost Satisfaction;
it being perhaps impossible to find any Set of People
more solidly and sincerely happy. Joseph and Fanny found means
to be alone upwards of two Hours, which were the shortest but
the sweetest imaginable.
In the Morning, Mr. Wilson proposed to his Son to make a
Visit with him to his Mother; which, notwithstanding his dutiful
Inclinations, and a longing Desire he had to see her, a little
concerned him as he must be obliged to leave his Fanny: But
the Goodness of Mr. Booby relieved him; for he proposed to send
his own Coach and six for Mrs. Wilson, whom Pamela so very
earnestly invited, that Mr. Wilson at length agreed with the
Entreaties of Mr. Booby and Joseph, and suffered the Coach to
go empty for his Wife.
On Saturday Night the Coach return'd with Mrs. Wilson,
who added one more to this happy Assembly. The Reader may
imagine much better and quicker too than I can describe, the
many Embraces and Tears of Joy which succeeded her Arrival.
It is sufficient to say, she was easily prevailed with to follow
her Husband's Example, in consenting to the Match.
On Sunday Mr. Adams performed the Service at the Squire's
Parish Church, the Curate of which very kindly exchanged Duty,
and rode twenty Miles to the Lady Booby's Parish, so to do; being
particularly charged not to omit publishing the Banns, being the
third and last Time.
At length the happy Day arrived, which was to put Joseph in
the possession of all his Wishes. He arose and drest himself in a
neat, but plain Suit of Mr. Booby's, which exactly fitted him; for
he refused all Finery; as did Fanny likewise, who could be prevailed
on by Pamela to attire herself in nothing richer than a
white Dimity Night-Gown. Her Shift indeed, which Pamela
presented her, was of the finest Kind, and had an Edging of Lace
round the Bosom; she likewise equipped her with a Pair of fine
white Thread Stockings, which were all she would accept; for
she wore one of her own short round-ear'd Caps, and over it a
little Straw Hat, lined with Cherry-coloured Silk, and tied with a
Cherry-coloured Ribbon. In this Dress she came forth from her
Chamber, blushing, and breathing Sweets; and was by Joseph,
whose Eyes sparkled Fire, led to Church, the whole Family
attending, where Mr. Adams performed the Ceremony; at which
nothing was so remarkable, as the extraordinary and unaffected
Modesty of Fanny, unless the true Christian Piety of Adams, who
publickly rebuked Mr. Booby and Pamela for laughing in so
sacred a Place, and so solemn an Occasion. Our Parson would
have done no less to the highest Prince on Earth: For tho' he paid
all Submission and Deference to his Superiors in other Matters,
where the least Spice of Religion intervened, he immediately lost
all Respect of Persons. It was his Maxim, That he was a Servant
of the Highest, and could not, without departing from his Duty,
give up the least Article of his Honour, or of his Cause, to the
greatest earthly Potentate. Indeed he always asserted, that Mr.
Adams at Church with his Surplice on, and Mr. Adams without
that Ornament, in any other place, were two very different
Persons.
When the Church Rites were over, Joseph led his blooming
Bride back to Mr. Booby's (for the Distance was so very little,
they did not think proper to use a Coach) the whole Company
attended them likewise on foot; and now a most magnificent
Entertainment was provided, at which Parson Adams demonstrated
an Appetite surprizing, as well as surpassing every one
present. Indeed the only Persons who betrayed any Deficiency
on this Occasion, were those on whose account the Feast was
provided. They pampered their Imaginations with the much
more exquisite Repast which the Approach of the Night promised
them; the Thoughts of which filled both their Minds, tho' with
different Sensations; the one all Desire, while the other had her
Wishes tempered with Fears.
At length, after a Day past with the utmost Merriment, corrected
by the strictest Decency; in which, however, Parson Adams,
being well filled with Ale and Pudding, had given a Loose to
more Facetiousness than was usual to him: The happy, the blest
Moment arrived, when Fanny retired with her Mother, her
Mother-in-law, and her Sister. She was soon undrest; for she had
no Jewels to deposite in their Caskets, nor fine Laces to fold with
the nicest Exactness. Undressing to her was properly discovering,
not putting off Ornaments: For as all her Charms were the Gifts
of Nature, she could divest herself of none. How, Reader, shall
I give thee an adequate Idea of this lovely young Creature! the
Bloom of Roses and Lillies might a little illustrate her Complexion,
or their Smell her Sweetness: but to comprehend her
entirely, conceive Youth, Health, Bloom, Beauty, Neatness, and
Innocence in her Bridal-Bed; conceive all these in their utmost
Perfection, and you may place the charming Fanny's Picture
before your Eyes.
Joseph no sooner heard she was in Bed, than he fled with the
utmost Eagerness to her. A Minute carried him into her Arms,
where we shall leave this happy Couple to enjoy the private
Rewards of their Constancy; Rewards so great and sweet, that
I apprehend Joseph neither envied the noblest Duke, nor Fanny
the finest Duchess that Night.
The third Day, Mr. Wilson and his Wife, with their Son and
Daughter returned home; where they now live together in a
State of Bliss scarce ever equalled. Mr Booby hath with unprecedented
Generosity given Fanny a Fortune of two thousand
Mr. Booby hath presented Mr. Adams with a Living of one
hundred and thirty Pounds a Year. He at first refused it, resolving
not to quit his Parishioners, with whom he hath lived so long:
But on recollecting he might keep a Curate at this Living, he
hath been lately induced into it.
The Pedlar, besides several handsome Presents both from
Mr Wilson and Mr. Booby, is, by the latter's Interest, made an
Excise-man; a Trust which he discharges with such Justice, that
he is greatly beloved in his Neighbourhood.
As for the Lady Booby, she returned to London in a few days,
where a young Captain of Dragoons, together with eternal Parties
at Cards, soon obliterated the Memory of Joseph.
Joseph remains blest with his Fanny, whom he doats on with
the utmost Tenderness, which is all returned on her side. The
Happiness of this Couple is a perpetual Fountain of Pleasure to
their fond Parents; and what is particularly remarkable, he
declares he will imitate them in their Retirement; nor will be
prevailed on by any Booksellers, or their Authors, to make his
Appearance in High-Life.