THE
MISCELLANEOUS  WTORKS
op
H E N RY FIELDING.
IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOL. IV.
JOSEPH ANDREWS.-JONATHAN WILD.
NEW YORK:
HI. W. DERBY, 625 BROADWAY.
1861.








JOSEPH ANDREWS.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
Of writing lives in general, and particularly of Pamela: with a word by the
by of Colley Cibber and others.
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 praiseworthy. 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 acquaintance, 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 ancient 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 others which I heard of in my youth; our own
language affords many of excellent use and instruction, finely
calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and very easy to
be comprehended by persons of moderate capacity. Such as
(7)




AD'VENTURES OF
the history of John the Great, who, by his brave and heroic
actions against men of large and athletic bodies, obtained the
glorious appellation of. the Giant-killer; that of an earl of
Warwick, whose Christian name was Guy; the lives of Argalus and Parthenia; and above all, the history of those seven
worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In all
these, delight is mixed with instruction, and the reader is
almost as much improved as entertained.
-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
male virtue, 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 of Mrs. Pamela Andrews.. ow artfully doth the
former, by insinuating that he escaped being promoted to fthe
highest stations in church and state, teach us a contempt of
worldly grandeur! how strongly doth he inculcate an absolute
submission to our superiors I Lastly, how completely doth he
arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a passion as the fear of
shame'l how clearly doth he expose the emptiness and vanity
of that phantom, reputation!
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 history with which I n.ow present the public, is an instance of the
great good that book is likely to do, and of the prevalence of
examples which I have just observed: since it will appear that
it was by keeping the excellent pattern of his sister's virtues
before his eyes, that Mir. Joseph Andrews was chiefly enabled
to preserve his purity in the midst of such great temptations.
I shall only add, that this character of male chastity, though
doubtless as desirable and becoming in one pa-rt of the human.
species as in the other, is almost the only virtue which the g rat
Apologist hath not given himself for the sake of giving the
example to his readers.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                           9
CHAPTER II.
Of Mir. Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, education, and great endoowments; with a word or two concerning ancestors.
MR. Joseph Andrews, the hero of our ensuing history, was
esteemed to be the only son of Gaffer 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 cudgel-player. Whether he had any ancestors before
this, we must leave it to the opinion of our curious reader,
finding nothing of sufficient certainty to rely on.  However,
we cannot omit inserting an epitaph which an ingenious friend
of ours hath communicated:
Stay, traveller, for underneath this pew
Lies fast asleep that merry man Andrew,
When the last day's great sun shall gild the skies,
Then he shall from his tomb get up and rise.
Be merry while thou canst, for surely thou
Shalt shortly be as sad as he is now.
The' words are almost out of the stone with antiquity.  But
it is needless to observe that Andrew here is wrote without an
s, and is, besides, a christian name.  My friend moreover conjectures this to have been the founder of that sect of laughing
philosophers, since called Merry-Andrews.
To waive therefore a circumstance, which, though 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 dung-hill, as the Athenians pretended they themselves did




10                 ADVENTURES OF
from the earth, would not this.autokopros* have been justly
entitled to i,11 the praise arising from his own virtues? Would
it not be hard, that a man who hath no ancestors, should
therefore be rendered incapable of acquiring honour; when we
see 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 ancients 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 dog-kennel, where he was
placed under the huntsman, and made what sportsmen term
whipper-in.  For this place likewise the sweetness of his voice
disqualified him; the dogs preferring the melody of his chiding
to all the alluring notes of the huntsman; who soon became so
incensed at it, that he desired Sir Thomas to provide otherwise for him:-and constantly laid every fault the dogs were at
to the account of the poor boy, who was now transplanted to
the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of strength and agility
beyond his years, and constantly rode the most spirited and
vicious horses to water, with an intrepidity which surprised
every one.  While he was in this station he rode several races
for Sir Thomas, and this withisuch expertness and success that
the neighbouring- gentlemen frequently solicited the knight to
permit little Joey (for so he was called) to ride their matches.
The' best gamesters, before they laid their money, always inquired which horse little Joey was to ride; and the bets were
rather proportioned by the rider than by the horse himself;
especially after he had scornfully refused a considerable bribe to
play booty on such an occasion.  This extremely raised his
character, and so pleased the Lady Booby, that she desired to
have him, (being- now seventeen years of age,) for her own
foot-boy. Joey was now preferred from the stable to attend on
* In English, sprung from a dung-hill.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                      11
his lady, to go on errands, stand behind her chair, wait at her
tea-table, 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
kitchen, to ask the young man- several questions concerning
religion; with his answers to which he was wonderfully pleased.
CHIIAPTER  III.
Of Mr. A braham Adams the curate, Mrs. Slipslop the chambermaid,.and others.
MR. Abraham Adams was: an excellent scholar.  He was a
perfect master of the Greek and Latin languages; to which he
added a great share of knowledge in the oriental tongues; and
could read and translate French, Italian, and Spanish.  He
had applied many years to the most severe study, and had
treasured up a fund of learning rarely to be met with in an.
university.  He was, besides, a man of good sense, good
parts, and good nature; but was at:the same.time as entirely
ignorant of the ways of this world as an. infant just entered
into it could possibly be. As he had never any intention
to deceive, sa he never suspected such a design, in others.
He was generous, friendly, and brave, to an excess; but si-mplicity was his characteristic: he did, no more than Mr. Colley
Cibber, apprehend any such passions as -malice and envy to
exist in mankind; which was indeed less remarkable in a
country parson, than in a gentleman who hath passed his life
behind the scenes, -a place which hath been seldom thought
the school of.innocence, and where a very little observation
would have convinced the great Apologist that those passions
have a real existence in the human mind.
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




12                ADVENTURES OF
year; which, however, he. could not make any great figure
with,- because he lived in a dear country, and was a little encumbered 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 manybooks- there were in the New Testament? which were they?
how many chapters. they contained? and such, like.e;. to all.
which, Mr. Adams privately said, he answered.mUch better
than Sir Thomas, or two other neighbouring justices of the
peace,.could probably have done.
Mr. Adams was wonderfully solicitous to know at what time,
and.by what opportunity, the youth became acquainted with
these matters: Joey- told him, that he had very early learnt to
read- and write by the goodness of his father, who, though he
had not interest enough to. get. him' into a charity school,
because;ac..ousin of his father's landlord did not vote on the
rights-.i'de fora churchwarden.in a borough town, yet had been
himsel.f.at the expense of sixpence a week for.his learning. He
told:him, likewise, that ever since he was in Sir Thomas's
favmily, he had employed all his.hours of leisure in reading good
~bo.os::; that:he had read the Bible, the Whole Duty of.Man,
and. Thomas. Kempis; and that as often as he could, without
being perceived, he had.studied a great book which lay open
in the hall window, where he had read, "as how the devil
carried away half a church in sermon-time, without.hurting
one of the. congregation.; and as how. a field of corn ran down
a hill with all the trees upon it, and covered another man's
meadow.'" This: sufficiently assured Mr.. Adams, that the good
book. meant could be no other than Baker's Chronicle.
The curate, surprised 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 conte.nt with the state t..which he was called; that




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     13
he should endeavour to improve his talent, which was all required of him; but not repine at his own lot, nor envy those
of his betters. "-'; Well said, my lad," replied:the curate,;
" and I wish some who have read many more good books, nay,
and some who have written good books themselves, had -profited so much by them."'Adams had no nearer access to SirThomas or my lady,
than through the waiting-gentlewoman, for Sir Thomas was
too apt tot estimate men merely by their dress,- or fortune; and
my lady was a woman of gaiety, who had been blessed with a
town-education, 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 —biad, of
civil law, with Sir Thomas himself and-the tenants of his manor.
The foundation of this quarrel was a modus, by setting whicli
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 from 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, though he had at
the same time greatly impoverished himself.
Mrs. Slipslop, the waiting-gentlewoman, being herself the
daughter o Fa 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 thai1
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
2




14                ADVENTURES OF
long discourse with her on the essence, (or, as she pleased to
term it, the incense,) of matter, to mentioni 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 a 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.
I"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 gray mares, for she values herself-as much on the one
as the other."  Adams would have interrupted her, but she
proceeded: "And why is Latin more necessitous for a footman
than a gentleman?  It is- very proper that you clergymen
mroust learn it, because you can't preach without it: but I have
heard gentlemen say in London, that it is fit for nobody 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 regulations of his
future conduct, and his perseverance in innocence and industry.
CHAPTER IV.
WVhat happened after their journey to London.
No sooner was young Andrews arrived at London, than he
began to scrape an acquaintance with his party-coloured -breth.
ren,-who endeavoured to mike him despise his former course




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    16
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 dressed 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 outwardlya pretty
fellow, his morals remained entirely uncorrupted, though he
was at the same time smarter and genteeler than aiiy 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 a pity he wanted spirit, began now to find that fault no
longer; on the contrary, she was frequently heard to cry out,
Ay, there is some life in this fellow.  She plainly saw; the
effects which the town air 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 bedside in a morning, leered at him at table, and indulged
him in all those innocent freedoms which women of figure may
permit without ~he'least sully of their. virtue.
But though their virtue remains unsullied, yet now and then
some small arrows will glance on the shadow of it, their reputation; and so it fell out to Lady Booby, who happened to be
walking arm-in-arm with Joey one morning in Hyde Park,
when Lady Tittle and Lady Tattle came accidentally by in
their coach.  "Bless me," says Lady Tittle,'" can I believe
my eyes? Is that Lady Booby?"" Surely," says Tattle.
"But what makes 7ou surprised?" — "Why, is not that heir




16                 ADVEN.TURES OF
footman?" replied Tittle.  At which Tattle laughed, and
cried, "An old business, I assure you: is it possible you should
not have heard it?  The whole town hath known it this halfyear."  The consequence of this interview was a whisper
through a hundred visits, which were separately performed by
the two ladies* the same afternoon, and might have had a
mischievous effect, had it not been stopped by two fresh reputations which were published the day afterwards, and engrossed
the whole talk of the town.
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.
CHAPTER V.
T'he death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the affectionate and mournful behaviour
of his widow, and the great purity of Joseph Andrews.
AT this time an accident happened, which put a stop to
those 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 confined to her house, as closely as if she herself had been attacked by some violent disease.  During the
first six days the poor lady admitted none bitt Mrs. Slipslop,
and three female friends, who made a party at cards; but on
the seventh she ordered Joev, whom, for a good reason, we
shall hereafter call JOSEPh, to bring up her tea-kettle.  The
lady being in bed, called Joseph to her, bade him sit down,
* It may seem an absurdity that Tattle should visit, as she actually
did, td spread a known scandal; but, the reader may reconcile this by
supposing, with me, that; notwithstanding what she says, this was her
first acquaintance with it.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    17
and having accidentally laid her hand on his, she asked him,
if he had ever been in love. Joseph answered, with some confusion, it was time enough for one so young as himself to think
on such things.  "As young as you are," replied the lady,
"I am convinced you are no stranger to that passion.. Come,
Joey," says she, " tell me truly, who is the happy girl whose
eyes have made a conquest of you?" Joseph returned, that
all the women he had ever seen, were equally indifferent to
him.  "0 then," said the lady, "you are a general lover.
Indeed, you handsome fellows, like handsome women, are very
long and difficult in fixing; but yet you shall never persuade
me that your heart -is so insusceptible of affection; I rather
impute what you say to your secrecy, a very commendable
quality, and what I' am far from being angry with you for.
Nothing can be more unworthy in a young man than to betray
any intimacies with the ladies."  "Ladies I madam,' said
Joseph," I am sure I never had the impudence to think of
any that deserve that name."  "Don't pretend to too much
modesty," said she, "for that sometimes may be impertinent;
but pray, answer me this question. Suppose a lady should
happen to like you; suppose she should prefer you to all your
sex, and- admit you to the same familiarities as you might have
hoped for if you had been born her equal, are you certain that
no vanity could tempt you to discover her?  Answer me
honestly, Joseph; have you so much more sense, and so much
more virtue, than you handsome young fellows generally have,
who make no scruple of sacrificing our dear reputation to
your pride, without considering the great obligation we lay on
you by our condescension and confidence?  (Can you keep a
secret, my Joey?"  "Madam," says he, "I hope youi' ladyship can't tax me with ever betraying the secrets of the family;
and I hope, if you was to turn me away, I might have that
character of you."  "I don't intend to turn you away, Joey,"
said she, and sighed, "I am afraid it is not in my power."
She then raised herself a little in her bed, and discovered one
of the whitest necks that ever was seen; at which Joseph
blushed; "La!" says she, in an affected surprise, ".what am
I doing? I have trusted myself with a man alone, naked in
bed; suppose you should have any wicked intentions upon;yr.
2*                  B




18               ADVENTURES OF
honour, how should I defend myself?" Joseph protested that
he never had the least evil design against her.  "No," says
she, "perhaps you may not call your designs wicked; and perhaps they are not so."- -He swore they were not.  "You
misunderstand me," says she; "I mean, if they were against
my honour, they may not be wicked; but the world calls them
so. But then, says you, the world will never know any thing
of the matter; yet, would not that be trusting to your secrecy?
must not my reputation be then in your power? would you not
then be my master?'" Joseph begged her ladyship to be comforted; for that he would never imagine the least wicked thing
against her, and that he had rather die a thousand deaths than
give her any reason to suspect him.  "Yes," says she, "I
must have reason to suspect you. Are you not a man? and
without vanity I may pretend to some charms. But perhaps
you -may'fear I should prosecute you; indeed I hope you do;
and yet Heaven knows I should never have the confidence to
appear before a court of justice; and you know, Joey, I am
of a forgiving temper. Tell me, Joey, don't you think I should
forgive you?"  "Indeed, madam," says Joseph, "I will
never do any thing to disoblige your ladyship."  "How,"
says she,." do you think it would not disoblige me then? do
you think I would willingly suffer you?" "I don't understand
you, madam," says Joseph.  "Don't you?" said she, " then
you' either are a fool, or pretend to be so; I find I was mistaken in you: so get you down stairs, and never let me see
yo(ur face again: your pretended innocence cannot impose on
me."  "Madam," said Joseph, "I would not have your ladyship think any evil of me. I have always endeavoured to be
a dutiful servant both to you and my master."  "O thou villain II" answered my lady, " why didst thou mention the name
of that dear iman, unless to torment me, to bring his precious
memory to my mind," (and then she burst into a fit of tears.)
"Get thee from my sight, I shall never endure thee more."
At which words she turned away from him; and Joseph retreated'from the room in a most disconsolate condition, and
writ that letter which the reader will find in the next'chapter.




JOSEPII AND IEWS.                   19
C.HAPTER VI.
How Joseph Andrews wrote a letter to his sister Pamela.
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 nobody 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
naked in 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 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 from you, I shall return to my old, master's
country-seat, if it be, only to see Parson Adams, who is the
best man in the world.  London is a bad place, and there is
so little good fellowship, that the next door neighbours don't




LO                ADVENTURES OP
know one another. Pray give my service to all friends that
inquire for me; so I rest' Your loving brother,'JOSEPH ANDR.EWS. "
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,
though, beside- 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: though 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 ahy
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 to pay off the debt of pleasure she found she owed herself,
as fast as possible.
With these charms of person, and -in this disposition of mind,
she encountered poor Joseph at the bottom of the stairs, and
asked him if he would drink a glass of something good this
morning. Joseph, whose spirits were not a little cast down,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     21
very readily and thankfully accepted the offer; and together
they went into a -closet, where having delivered him  a full
glass of ratafia, and desired him to sit down, Mrs. Slipslop
thus began:
"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 nave 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 I" replied Mrs. Slipslop with some warinth,_
"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 I 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
fromi 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 wouldrefer 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.' - I"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 showing 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 I
Joseph I"
As when a hungry tigress, who long has traversed the woods
in fruitless search, sees within the reach of her claws a lamb,




22                 ADVENTURES OF
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
violent amorous hands on poor Joseph, when luckily her mistress's bell rung, and delivered the intended martyr from her
clutches. She was obliged-to leave him abruptly, and to defer
the execution of her purpose till some other time. We shall
therefore return to the Lady Booby, and give our reader some
account of her behaviour,'after she was left by Joseph in a temper of mind not greatly different from that of the inflamed iirs.
Slipslop.
CHAPTER VII.
Sayings:of.wise men. A dialogue between the lady and her maid; and a
panegyric, or rather satire, on the passion of love in the sublime style.
IT is-the observation of some ancient -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 greatlylaboured 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 dis.




JOS'EPH  ANDREWS.                   23
miss 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 rang the bell as above.
mentioned, and was presently attended by Mrs. Slipslop, who
was not much better pleased with Joseph than the lady herself.
"Slipslop," said lady Booby, "when did you.see Joseph:?"
The poor woman was so surprised 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 have never heard that
of him."-" 0 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 opheld. "-"Nay," said the lady, "the boy is.well
enough." — " La I ma'am,". cries Slipslop, "I think him the
ragmaticallest fellow in the family." ".- " Sure, Slipslop, ", said
she, "you are mistaken: but. which of the women do you
most suspect?"- "Madam," says Slipslop, "there is Betty
the chambermaid, I am almost convicted, is with child by him."
— "Ay I" 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 your.
self."-" I,' madam I" cries Slipslop, reddening, if not blushing




24                ADVENTURES OF
"fI 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 fulfil 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
send Betty about her business without-delay.  She went out a
second time with much greater alacrity than before;: when the
lady began immediately to accuse herself of want of resolution,
and to apprehend the return of her affection, with its pernicious
consequences; she therefore applied herself again to.the bell,
and re-summoned Mrs. Slipslop into her presence; who again
returned, and was told by her mistress, that she had considered
better of the matter; and was absolutely resolved to turn away
Joseph; which she ordered her to do immediately.  Slipslop,
who knew the violence of her lady's temper, and would not
venture her place for any Adonis or Hercules in the universe,
left her a third time; which she had no sooner done, than the
little god Cupid, fearing he had not yet done the lady's business,.- took a fresh arrow with.the sharpest point out of his
quiver, and shot it directly into her heart; in other and plainer
language, the lady's passion got the better of her reason. She
called back I Slipslop once more, and told her she had resolved
to see the boy, and examine him herself; therefore bid her
send him up.  This wavering in her mistress' temper probably
put something into the waiting-gentlewoman's head not necessarry to mention to the sagacious reader.
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 expense, Iby 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 I




JOSEPII ANDREWS.                        25
Their sighs make thee laugh, and their pangs are thy merriment!
Not the great Rich, who turns men into monkeys and wheelbarrows, and whatever else best humours his fancy, bath so
strangely metamorphosed the human shape; nor the great
Cibber, who confounds all number, gender, and breaks through
every rule of grammar at his will, bath so distorted the English
language as-thou dost metamorphose and distort the human
senses.
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 objects, hear the loudest noise, nor smell the most poignant perfume. Again, when thou pleasest, thou canst make a
molehill appear as a mountain, a Jew's-harp saund like a trum-,
pet, and a daisy smell like a violet.  Thou canst make cowardice brave, avarice generous, pride humble, and cruelty tender-hearted.  In short, thou turnest the heart of a man inside
out, as a juggler doth a petticoat, and bringest whatsoever
pleaseth thee out from it. If there be any one who doubts all
this, let them read the next chapter.
CH AP TER VIII.
In which, after some very fine writing, the history goes on, aizd relates the
i7terview between the lady and Joseph; where the latter hath set an example
which we despair of seeing followed by his sex in this vicious age.
Now the rake Hesperus had called for his breeches, and,
having well rubbed his drowsy eyes, prepared to dress himself
for all night; by whose example his brother rakes on earth likewise leave those beds in which they had slept away the day.
Now Thetis, the good housewife, began to put on the pot in
order to regale the good man Phaibus after his daily labours
were over.  In vulgar language, it was in the evening when
Joseph attended his lady's orders.
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
3




26                ADVENTURES OF
frailty to our reader, it will be proper to give him a lively idea
of the vast temptation, which overcame all the efforts of a
modest and virtuous mind; and then we hunl)ly hope his goodnature will rather pity than condemn the implerfection of human
virtue.
Nay, the ladies themselves will, we hope, be induced, by considering the uncommon variety of charms which united in this
young man'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 formerly amongst beaus from 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 nutbrown 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 was 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. And to this the most perfect neatness in his dress, and an air which to those who have not seen
many noblemen, would give an idea of nobility.
Such was the person who now appeared before the lady.
She viewed bim some time in silence, and twice or thrice before
she spoke 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 qniet;




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    27
I mean those who are not wicked enough to hearken to your
solicitaiions. As to others, they may, perhaps, not 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 thunder
bolt, 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 misillnterpreted to be symptoms of his guilt, and thus went on.
"Come hither, Joseph: another 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."'-"O fy! Joseph," answered the lady, "don't
commit another crime in denying the truth.  I could pardon
the first; but T hate a liar." —  "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 content with kissing! No, Joseph, there is no woman who grants that, but
will grant more; and I am deceived greatly in you, if you
would not put her closely to it. What would you think,
Joseph, if I admitted you to kiss me?"  Joseph replied,
"He would sooner die than have any such thought."  "And
yet, Joseph," returned she, "ladies have admitted their footmen to such familiarities; and footmen, I confess to you, much
less deserving them; fellows without half your charms, — for
such might almost excuse the crime. Tell me therefore, Joseph,




28                 ADVENTURES OF
if I should admit you to such freedom, what would you think
of me? tell me freely."-" AIadam," said Joseph, "I should
thinl( your ladyship condescended -a great deal below yourself."
"Putnhl"  said she, "that. I am to answer to myself: but
would you not insist on more? Would you be contented with
a kiss?' Would not Your inclinations be all on fire rather by
such a favour?"-" Madam,"' said Joseph, "if they were, I
hope I should be able to control them, without suffering them
to get the better of my virtue. "  -You have heard, reader,
poets talk of the statue of surprise; you have heard likewise,
or else you have heard very little, how surprise made one of
the sons of Crcesus speak, though he was dumb.  You have
seen the faces, in the eighteen-penny gallery, when, through
the trap-door, to soft or no music, M[r. Bridcgwater, M[r. William Mills, or some other of ghostly appearance, hath ascended,
with a face all pale with powder, and a shirt all bloody with
ribands; but fiom none of these, nor from I'hidias or Praxiteles, if they should return to life-no, not fiom the inimitable
pencil of my friend'Iogarth, could you receive such an idea
of surprise, as would have entered in at your eyes had they
beheld the Lady Booby, when those last words issued out from
the lips of Joseph.-"Your virtue!" said the lady, recovering
after a silence of two minutes,' "I shall never survive it. Your
virtue!-intolerable confidence! Have you the assurance to
pretend, that when a lady demeans herself to throw aside the
rules of decency, in order to honour you with.the highest
favour in her power, your virtue should resist her inclination?
that when she had conquered her own virtue, she should find
an obstruction in yours?"-" Madam, "' said Joseph, "I can't
see why her having no virtue should be a reason against my
having any: or why, because I am a man, or because I am
poor, my virtue must be subservient to her pleasures." —" I
am out of patience," cries the lady: " Did ever mortal hear
of a man's virtue! Did ever the greatest or the gravest men
pretend to any of this kind! Will magistrates who punish
lewdness, or parsons who preach against it, make any scruple
of committing it?  And can a boy, a stripling, have the
confidence to talk of his virtue?"?-" Madam," says Joseph,




J  s E P   A'N D REWS.                 29
"that boy is the brother of Pamela, and would be ashamed
that the chastity of his family, which is preserved in her, should
be stained in him.  If there are such men as your ladyship
maentions, I am sorry for it; and I wish they had an opportunity of reading over those letters which my father hath sent
me of my sister Pamela's; nor do I doubt but such an exalmple would amend them. " —   " You impudent villain, " cries
the lady in a rage, " do you insult me with the follies of ny
delation, who hath exposed himself all over the country upon
V:our sister's account? a little vixen, whom I have always wondtered my late Lady Booby ever kept in her house.  Sirrah I
get out of my sight, and prepare to set out this night; for I
will order'y o  your wages immediately,.. and you shall be
stripped and turned away.'' -"Madam,"  says Joseph, "I
am sorry I have offended your ladyship, I am  sure I never:intended it.I" —" Yes, sirrah," cries she, "you have had'the
vanity to misconstrue the little innocent freedom I took, in
order to try whether what I heard was true.  0' my conscience, you have had the assurance to imagine I was fond of
you myself."  Joseph answered, he had only spoke out of
tenderness for his virtue; at which words she flew into a violent
paLssion, and, refusing to hear more, ordered him instantly to
leave the room.
Hie 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 mnistress,
and had waited ever since in the antechamber, having carefully
applied.her ears to the key-hole during the whole time that the
preceding conversation passed between Joseph and the lady.
3*'




30                 ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER IX.
What passed between the lady and 2irs. Slipslop, in which we prophesy there
are some strokes which every one will not truly comprehend at the first
readhing.
"SLIPSLOP," said the lady, "I find too much reason to
believe all thou hast told me of this wicked Joseph; I ha-ve
determined to part with him instantly; so go you to the stew..
ard, 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 severely, you should
never have heard a particle of the matter.  Here's a fuss indeed about nothing."  "Nothing!" returned the lady; "IDo
you think I will countenance lewdness in my house?"  "If
you will turn away every footman," said Slipslop, "that is a
lover of the sport, you must soon open the coach-door yourself,
or get a set of mephrodites to wait upon you; and I am sure
I hated the sight of them singing even in an opera."  "Do as
i bid you," says my lady, "and don't shock my ears with
your beastly language."  " Marry-come-up," cries Slipslop,
"people's ears are sometimes the nicest part about them."
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 of the truth, called her back,
and desired to know what she meant by the 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 hear no such impertinence."
" Impertinence! I don't know that I am impertinent," says




JOSEPH A            N D  E  S.       31
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 Mrs. 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 curt'sies
in public places, and, above all, the pleasure of demolishing
the reputation of others, in which innocent amusement she had
an extraordinary delight.  She therefore determined to submit
to any insult from a servant rather than run a risk of losing the
title to so many great privileges.
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 doors that evening.
She then called Slipslop up, and after refreshing her spirits
with a small cordial which she kept in her closet, she began i:,
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 surprised, therefore, that you will take the surest method to offend me: I




32                 ADVENTURES OF
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 ladyship'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, though not quite so handsome, as Joseph; besides, the reader hath already seen her tender advances had not met with that encouragement she might
have reasonably expected.  She thought she had thrown away
a great deal of sack and sweetmeats 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 length gave up Joseph and his cause,
and, with a triumph over her passion highly commendable,
walked off with her present, and with great tranquillity 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
of her servants.  All her comfort as to Joseph was, that she
hoped he did not understand her meaning; at least, she could
say for herself, she had not plainly expressed any thing to him;
and as to Mrs. Slipslop, she imagined she could bribe her to
secrecy.
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, though anger and disdain so hoodwinked her, that
she could *not see him.  She was a thousand times on the
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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS                        33
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 detained 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; and:
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 }Ionour and Tonesty pull one way, and a Bribe and Necessity another.- If it
was our present business only to make similes, we could produce many more to this purpose': but a simile (as well as a
word) to the wise.  We shall therefore see a little after our
hero, for whom the reader is, doubtless, in some pain.
CHAPTER X.
Joseph writes another letter: IHis transactions wilth Ar. Peter Pounce, 4c,with his departure fromn Lady Booby.
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 impute 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 handsorner
than one's neighbours.




34                A DVENTURES OF
He then sat down, and addressed himself to his sister Pa.
mela, in the following words:
"Dear sister Pamela — Ioping you are well, what news
have I to tell you! 0 Pamela I! my mistress has 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, had once almost forgotten every
word Parson Adams had ever said to me.
"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 namesake, and maintain
my virtue against all temptations."
Joseph had not finished this 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, before they
were payable; that is, perhaps, half a year after they were
due; and this at the moderate premium of fifty per cent. or a
little more: by which charitable methods, togrrt-]lher with lending
money to other people, and even to his own master and mis.




JOSEP I AND REWS.                     35
tress, the honest man had, from nothing, in a few years amassed
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 have all lent him any thing:) and being
told by Peter, that he must not stay a moment longet in the
house than was necessary to pack up his linen, 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.
IIe 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 conjuror, cannot possibly guess, till we
have given him those hints which it may be now proper to open.
CHAPTE R  XI.
Of several new matters not expected.
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 choose 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 shown; and secondly, which
will be now shown, 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 countryseat, which he had left on his journey to London.
Be it known, then, that in the same parish where this seat




36                 ADVENTURES OF
stood, there lived a young girl whom Joseph, (though the best
of sons and brothers,) longed more impatiently to see than his
parents or sister. She was a poor girl, who had formerly been
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 pre.
-vented 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 shown
his parishioners, by an uniform behaviour of thirty-five years'
duration, that he had their good entirely at heart, so they consulted him on every occasion, and very seldom acted contrary
to his opinion.
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.)  Though 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, though 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 Bwonder, that so -fond a pair should,
during twelve  months' 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.




JOSEPH  ANDRE WS.                     37
They contented themselves therefore with frequent inquiries
after each other's health, with a mutual confidence in each
dther'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
nmool.
Those who have read alny romance or poetry ancient 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 sign-post:
and the master, who was christened Timotheus, is commonly
called plain Tim.  Some have conceived that he hath particularly chosen the lion for his sign, as he doth in countenance
greatly resemble that magnanimous beast, though his disposition savours more of the sweetness of the lamb.  le.is a person well received among all sorts of men, being qualified to
render himself agreeable to any; as he is well versed in history
and' politics, hath a smattering in law and divinity, cracks a
good jest, and plays wonderfully on the French horn.
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.  Joseph had no sooner seated himself by the kitchen
fire, than Timotheus, observing his livery,.began to condole
the loss of his late master, who was, he said,.his very particular and intimate acquaintance, with whom  he had cracked
many a merry bottle, ay, 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 exceilent 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,
4




38                 ADVENTURES OF
and came and took his place by Joseph's side, who imediately knew him to be the servant of a neighbouring genl.cman, 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 horse, (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.
CHAPTER XII.
Containing many surprising adventures which Joseph Andrews met with on
the road, scarce credible to those who have never travelled in a slage-coach.
NOTHINcG 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 somewhnat
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-1i to you."
"Strip," cried the other, "or I'll blow your brains to the
devil."  Joseph remembering 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, replied, he hoped
they would not insist on his clothes, which were not worth
much, but consider the coldness of the night.  " You are cold,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     39
are you, you rascal!" says one of the robbers; "I'll warm
you with a vengeance;" and, damning his eyes, snapped 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
villain, 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 belabouring poor Joseph
with their sticks, till they were convinced they had put an end
to his miserable being: they then stripped him entirely naked,
threw him into a ditch, and departed with their booty.
The poor wretch, who lay motionless a long time, just
began to recover his senses as a stage-coach came by.  The
postilion, hearing a man's groans, stopped 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 postilion said,
and likewise heard the groan, called eagerly to the coachman
to stop and see what was the matter.  Upon which he bid the
postilion alight, and look into the ditch. I-ec did so, and
returned, "That there was a man sitting upright, as naked als
ever he was born." —" 0 J-sus I" cried the lady; "A naked
man I Dear coachman, drive on and leave him."  Upon this
the gentlemen 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 " HIe
wished they had passed 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
murder. He therefore thought it advisable 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.'Ho




40                 ADVENTURES OF
was therefore'of opinion, to take the man into the coach, and
carry him  to the next inn."  Tile 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
somebody 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 miscb.ef 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 remembered very extraordinary cases in the books, threatened -the coachman, and bid
him  deny taking him up at his peril; for that if he died, he
shoulld be indicted for his murder; and if he lived, and brought
an action against. him, he would willingly take a brief in it.
These words had a sensible effect on the coachman, who was
well acquainted with the person who spoke them; and the old
gentleman above mentioned, thinking the naked manl would
afford him frequent opportunities of showing his wit to the
lady, offered to join with the company in giving a mug of beer
for his fare; till partly alarmed by the threats of the one, and
partly by the promises of the other, and being perhaps a little
moved with compassion at the poor creature's condition, who
stood bleeding and shivering with the cold, he at length agreed;
and Joseph was now advancing to the coach, where, seeing
the lady, who held the sticks of her fan before her eyes, absolutely refused, miserable as he was, to enter, unless he was
furnished with sufficient covering to prevent giving the least
offence to decency, - so perfectly modest was this young man;
such mighty effects had the spotless example of the amiable
Pamela, and the excellent sermons.of Mr. Adams wrought upon
him.
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
should be made bloody; the lady's footman desired to be




JOSEPH  AND REWS.                      41
excused for the same reason, which the lady herself, notwithstanding her abhorrence of a naked man, approved; and it is
more than probable poor Joseph, who obstinately adhered to
his modest resolution, must have perished, unless the postilion,
(a lad who hath been since transported for robbing a hen-roost,)
had voluntarily stripped 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 mniserable a
condition. "
Joseph, ha.ving 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 answered, with some resentment, " She
wondered at his asking her such a question; but assured him
she never'tasted any such thing."'
The lawyer was inquiring into the circumstances of tile robbery, when the coach stopped, and one of the ruffians, putting
a pistol in, demanded their money of the passengers; who
readily gave it theam; 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 he' to fill the bottle with Hungarywater.
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 daylight, 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 highwa.ymen
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 gentlemanl whose ingenuity we have remarked,
as soon as he had parte'd with his money, began to grow wiCn.
4*




42                ADVENTURES OF
derfully facetious.  He made frequent allusions to Adam and
Eve, and said many excellent things on figs and fig-leaves;
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 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 coaclh, that there should be no danger of an ejectment;" with an inundation of the like gibberish, which he
continued to vent till the coach arrived at an inn, where one
servant-maid only was up, in readiness to attend the coachman,
and furnish him with cold meat and a dram.  Joseph desired
to alight, and that he might have a bed prepared for him,
which the maid readily promised to perform; and being a
good-natured wench, and not so squeamish as the lady had
been, she clapped a large faggot on the fire, and furnishing
Joseph with a great-coat belonging to one of the hostlers, desired him to sit down, and warm himself while she made his
bed. The coachman, in the mean time, took an opportunity
to call up a surgeon, who lived within a few doors; after
which he reminded his passengers how late they were, and,
after they had taken le-ave of Joseph, hurried them off as fast
as he could.
The wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to use
her interest to borrow him a shirt; but imagining, 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 dressed, 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 show her blooming cheeks over the




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    43
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 of the inn, Mr. Tow-wouse, arose, and learning from
his maid an account of the robbery, and the situation of his
poor naked guest, he shook his head and cried, " good-lack-aday I" and then ordered the girl to carry him one of his own
shirts.
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 I"-!"  Yes, madam."'
-" Where's your master?-'' He's without, madam; he hatli
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. Tow-wouse: " 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'll throw the chamberpot 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 set of scabby rascals?" — "My dear," said Mr. Towwouse, " this is a poor wretch. "-" Yes," says she, " I know
it is a poor wretch; 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 alehouse? I shall send him packing. as soon as I am
up, I assure you. 2- "M "  y 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,




44                 ADVENTURES  OF
whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler, iNho was one of
her sweethearts, and put it on poor Joseph. The surgeon had
likewise at last visited him, and washed and dressed his wounds,
and was now come to acquaint Mr. Tow-wouse, that his guest
was in such extreme danger of his life, that he scarce saw any
hopes of his recovery. -" HIere's a pretty kettle of fish," cries
Mrs. Tow-wouse, " you have brought upon us! We are like
to have a funeral at our own expense."  Tow-wouse, (who,
notwithstanding his.charity, would have given his vote as freely
as ever he did at an election, that any other house in the kingdom  should have quiet possession of his guest,) answered,
" MIy dear, I am not to blame: he was brought hither by the
stage-coach; and Betty had put him to bed, before I was stirring. "-" I'1 Betty her," says she - At which, with half her
garments on, the other half under her arm, she sallied out in
quest of the unfortunate Betty, whilst Tow-wouse and thoesurgeon went to pay a visit to poor Joseph, and inquire into the
circumstances of this melancholy affair.
CHAPTER XIII..What happened to Joscph during his sickness at the innl, with the curious discourse betwceen him and Aiur. Barnabac$ theparson of the parish.
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 feve.rish, and if his fever should prove more than
symptomatic, 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 God's will be done. "
The surgeon then advised him, if he had any worldly affiairs
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 of his humours should cause a suscitation of his fever,
be might soon grow delirious, and incapable to make his will.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     4'5
Joseph answered, " Tha, it was. impossible for any creatnlre in
the universe to be in a:-o:, "-r condition than himself; for since
the robbery, he had not ul;e tllinlg of any kind whatever, which
he could call his own.  I had," said he, "a poor little
piece of gold, which they took away, that would have been a
comfort to me in all my afflictions; but surely, Fanny, I want
nothing to remind me of thee.  I have thy dear image in my
heart, and no villain can ever tear it thence."'
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,) caine 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:
"0 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 anmy
comfort to such a miserable wretch as I am.  Yet these calr
make me prefer this sick and painful bed to all the pleasures I
should have found in my lady's. These can make me face death
without fear; and though I love my Fanny more than ever
man loved a woman, these can teach me to resign myself to the
divine will without repining.  0, thou delightful charming
creature I If Heaven had indulged thee to my arms, the poorest, humblest state, would have been a paradise; I could have
lived with thee in the lowest cottage, without envying the




46                 ADVENTURES OF
palaces, the dainties, or the riches of any man breathing. But
I must leave thee, leave thee for ever, my dearest angel I I
must think of another world; and I heartily pray that thou
may'st meet comfort in this. " —Barnabas thought he had heard
enough; so down stairs he went, and told Tow-wouse he could
do his guest no service; for that he was very light-headed, and
had uttered nothing but a rhapsody of nonsense all the time he
stayed in the room.
The surgeon returned in the afternoon, and found his patient
illn a higher fever, as he said, than when he left him, though not
delirious; for, notwithstanding Mr. Barnabas's opinion, hb
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 Joseph, "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
heart-strings."  Barnabas bade 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 passions, 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 answered, "By prayer and faith."  He then questioned him concerning his forgiveness of the thieves. Joseph
answered, " He feared that was more than he could do; for
nothing would give him more pleasure than to hear they were




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    V4
taken."-" That," cries Barnabas, " is for the sake of justice."
- " Yes," said Joseph, " but if I was to meet them again, I
am afraid I should attack them, and kill them too, if I could.."
-"Doubtless," answered Barnabas, "it is lawful to kill a
thief: but can you say, you forgive them as a christian ought?'
Joseph desired to know what that forgiveness was. "That is,"
answered Barnabas, "to forgive them as-as-it is to forgive
them as-in short, it is to forgive them as a christian." Joseph
replied, "He forgave them as much as he could. "- "Well,
well, " said Barnabas, "that will do."  He then demanded of
him, "If. he remembered any more sins unrepented of; and if
he did, he desired him to make haste and repent of them as
fast as he could, that they might repeat over a few prayers
together."  Joseph answered, " He could not recollect any
great crimes he had been guilty of, and that those he had committed he was sincerely sorry for it." Barnabas said that was
enough, and then proceeded to prayer with all the expedition
he was master of; some company then waiting for him below
in the parlour, where the ingredients for punch were all in
readiness; but no one would squeeze the oranges till he came.
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 command; but Joseph, as soon
as he had tasted it, said, he feared it would increase 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 brought some herself,
and attended him with it; where we will leave her and Joseph
together for some time, to entertain the readers with other
matters.,.v
CHAPTER XIV.
Being very full of adventures, which succeeded each other at the'lnn.
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 kitchen, and having called for a pipe of




48                 ADVENTURES OF
tobacco, took his place by the filecs.de'; where several other
persons -were likewise assemblec.
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
\Thi)well 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 expense 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. Towwouse, "I suppose that is all we are like to have for the
reckoning. I desire no such gentleman should ever call at the
Diragon," (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
to be fallen not into the most compassionate hahdls.  And indeed, if Mrs. Tow-wouse had given no utterance 4o the sweetiess of her temper, nature had taken such pains in her countenance, that Hogarth himself never gave more expression to a
picture.
1Her person was short, thin, and crooked.  HIer 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.
HIer lips were two bits of skin, which, whenever she spoke, she
drew together in a purse.  Her chin was peaked; and at the
upper end of that skin, which composed her cheeks, stood two
bones, that almost hid a pair of small red eyes. Add to this
a voice most wonderfully adapted to the sentiments it was to
convey, being both loud and hoarse.
It is not easy to say, whether the gentleman had conceived
a greater dislike for his landlady, or compassion for her unhappy guest.  Ite inquired very earnestly of the surgeon, who
was now come into the kitchen, whether he had any hopes of
his recovery?  Ie- begged him to use all possible means




J-OSEPH  ANDREWS.                   49
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 Londonl to do
him any good."-" Pray, sir," said the gentlemaIn, "what are
his wounds?"-" Why, do you know any thing of wounds?"
says the surgeon (winking upon Mrs. Tow-wouse.)  "Sir, I
have a small smattering in surgery," answered the gentleman.
"A slnattering,-ho, ho, ho I" 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..I-I began therefore with an air of triumph: "I suppose,
sir, you have travelled?'-" No really, si'," said the gentleman.
-"  Io! then you have practised in the hospitals perhaps. " —
"No, sir."- " Hum! not that neither I Whence, sir, then,
if I may be so bold to inquire, 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 I" cries the doctor.  " What, I suppose you have -
you have read Galeh andHippocrates I" -"No, sir,"' said
the gentleman.  "How! you understand surgery I" 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 hleart, and very seldom go without them both in
my po 3iket.'7-"  They are pretty large books," said the gentleman.  "Ay," said the doctor, "I believe I know how large'they are, better than you."  (At which he fell a winking, and
the v-hole company burst into a laugh.)
The doctor; pursuing his triumph, asked the gentleman, "If
he did not understand physic as well as surgery."- " Rather
better," answered the gentleman.  "Ay, like enough," cries
the doctor, with a wink. "Why, I know a little of physic
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, though ] say it, within
5                    D




60                ADVENTURES OF
twelve miles of the place, that handle a fever better. - Veniente
accurite morbo: that is my method.  I suppose, brother, you
rUnderstand Latin?"-  "A little," says the gentleman, "Ay,and Greek now, I'll warrant you: Ton dapomibominos polufiosboio thalasses. But I have almost forgot these things: I
could have repeated Homer by heart once." —' Ifags I the
gentleman has caught a traitor," says Mrs. Tow-wouse; 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, he 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
symptomatic, then pneumatic; and he is at length grown
delirious, or delirious, as the vulgar express it. "
He was: proceeding in this learned manner, when a mighty
noise interrupted him.  Some.young fellows in the neighbourhood'had taken one of the thieves, and were bringing him into
the inn. Betty ran up stairs with this news to Joseph; who
begged they might search for a little piece of broken gold,
which had a riband tied to it, and which he could swear to
amongst all the hoards of the richest men in the universe.
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,
witli a bundle which they had found in a ditch, and which was
indeed the clothes which hayd been stripped off from Joseph,
and the other things they had taken from him.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    51.
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 surprise 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 kitchen, 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 perversely, began to rail at those who brought the fellow
into her house; telling her husband, "They were very likely
to thrive, who kept a house of entertainment for beggars and
thieves."
The mob had now finished their search; and could find
nothing about the captive likely to prove any evidence; for as
to the clothes, though the mob were very well satisfied with
that proof, yet, as the surgeon observed, they could not convict
limn, 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 per



52                 AD dENTURES OF
suade me that what a man finds is not his own?"-" I have
heard," (says an old fellow in the corner,) justice Wiseone
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
is iiever found; and a thing may be found that never was
stolen. Now goods that are both stolen and found are wavia'ta;
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 an 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:;ide*; Betty informed them,-that they had overlooked a little
piece of gold, which she had carried up to the man in the bed;
and which he offered to swear to amongst- a million, ay,
amongst ten. thousand.  This immediately turned the scale
against the prisoner; and every one now concluded him guilty.
It was resolved therefore to keep him secured that night, and
early in the morning to carry him before a justice.
C HAPTER XV.
Showing how Mrs. Tow-wouse was a little mollified; and how officious Mr.
Barnabas and the surgeon were to prosecute the thief: with a dissertation
accountingfor their zeal, and that of many other persons not mentioned in
this history.
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




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     53
to her house.  She had a natural antipathy to vagabonds; but
could pity the misfortunes of a Christian as soon as another."
Tow-wouse said, "If the traveller be a gentleman, though 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 sure 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.  God 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 diffi.
culty prevailed upon to show it them; but would by no entreati6s 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; for as to carrying Joseph himself, it
seemed impossible; nor was there any great likelihood of obtainiing it fromn him; for he had fastened it with a riband to
his arm, and solemnly vowed, that nothing but irresistible force
should ever separate them; in which resolution; Mr. Adams,
clenching a fist rather less than the knuckle of an ox, declared
he would support him.
A dispute arose on this occasion concerning evidence, not
very necessary to be related here; after which the surgeon
dressed 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, as he said, by an advertisement
lately set forth by the society of booksellers, who proposed to
purchase any copies offered to them, at a price to be settled




64                ADVENTURES OF
by two persons; but though he imagined he should get a con.
siderable 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 half-penny 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 show his gratitude to such a friend. "  Adams
bade him be cheerful; "for that he plainly saw the surgeon,
besides his ignorance, desired to make a merit' of curing him,
though 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."'
These words infused a spirit into Joseph; be said, "He
found himself very sore from the bruises, but had no reason to
think any of his bones injured, or that he had received any
harm in his inside; unless that he felt something very odd in
his stomach; but he knew not whether that might not arise
from not having eaten one morsel for above twenty-four hours'..
Being then asked, if he had any inclination to eat, he answered
in the affirmative.  Then Parson Adams desired him to name
what he had the greatest fancy for; "whether a poached egg,
or chicken broth:" he answered, "He could eat both very
well; but that he seemed to have the greatest appetite for a
piece of boiled beef and cabbage."
Adams was pleased with so perfect a confirmation that he
had not the least fever; but advised him to a lighter diet that
evening. He accordingly ate 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 into 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 extremely zealous in the business,
though neither of them were in the least interested in the prosecution; neither of them had ever received any private injnry




JQSEPII ANDREWS.                     55
from the fellow, nor had either of them ever been suspected of
loving the public well enough, to give them a sermon or a dose
of physic 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, ands had almost divided the parish;
Mr. Tow-wouse and one-half of the neighbours inclined 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; Barnabas trusted entirely to Wood's
Institutes.  It happened on this occasion, as was pretty frequently the case, that these two learned men differed about.the
sufficiency of evidence; the doctor being of opinion, that the
maid's oath would convict the prisoner without producing the
gold; the parson, e contra, totis viribus. To display their
parts, therefore, before the-justice and. the parish, was the sole
motive, which we can discover, to this zeal, which both of them,
pretended to have for public justice..
0 Vanity! how little is thy force acknowledged, or thy
operations discerned! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different disguises I 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 heroic virtue. Thou odious, deformed monster I! whom
priests have railed at, philosophers despised, and poets ridiculed; is there a wretch so abandoned as to own thee for an
acquaintance in public? 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,
tly.otice.  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




56                 ADVENTURES OF
from  others what we do not want, or to withhold fiom them
what they do. All our passions are thy slaves. Avarice itself
is often no more than thy handmaid, 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 aouse thee I court
thee, and that thy love hath inspired me to write this sarcastical panegyric on thee; but thou art deceived: I value thee
not of a farthing; nor will it give me any pain, if thou shouldst
prevail on the reader to censure this digression as arrant 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.
CHAPTER XVI.
The escape of the thief.'fr. Adams's disappointment. The arrival of two
very extraordinary personages, and the introduction of Parson Adams to
Parson Barnabas.
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 bad 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 choosing, in imitation of
some great men, to distinguish himself at the expense 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 drought 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.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     5.T
The young fellow had not long left the room, before it came
into the constable's head, that the prisoner might leap on him
by surprise, 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, slipped out of
the room himself, and locked the door, waiting without with
his staff in his hand, ready lifted to fell the unhappy prisoner,
if by ill fortune he should attempt to break out.
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 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
without any ceremony stepped into the street andl made the
best of his way.
The young fellow returning with a double mug of strong
beer, was a little surprised to find the constable at the door;
but much more so, when, the dobr being opened, he perceived
the prisoner had made his escape, and which way. HIe threw
down the beer, and without uttering any thing to the constable,
except a hearty curse or two, he nimbly leaped'out of 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 abused; that it was his, constant maxim, thaT a




58                ADVENTURES OF
wise man never refused money on any conditions; that at every
eledtion he always had sold his vote to both parties, &e.
But notwithstanding these and many other such allegations,
I am sufficiently convinced of his innocence; having been positively assured of it, by those who received their informations
from his own mouth; which, in the opinion of some moderns,
is the best and indeed only evidence.
All the family were now up, and with many others assembled
in the kitchen, 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 without:spending a penny, you would never put him in mind of it.
See whether he drinks tea or.coffee for brealfast."-" Yes, 1iy
dear,", cried Tow-wouse.  She then asked the doctor and Mr.
Barnabas what morning's draught they chose, who answered,
they had a pot of cider-and at the fire; which we will leave
them merry over, and return to Joseph.
He had rose pretty early this morning; but though his
wounds were far from threatening 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 expenses 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 cried,
"He had luckily hit on a sure method, and though it would




JOSEPH ANDREWS.'59
oblige him to return himself home together with Joseph, it
mattered not much.?"  He then sent for Tow-wouse, and
taking hirm into another room, told him, "tHe wanted to borrow
three guineas, for which he would put ample security into his
hands."  Tow-wouse, who expected a watch or ring, or something of double the value, answered, " He believed he could
furnish him."  Upon which Adams, pointing to his saddlebag, told him with a face and voice -full of solemnity, "that
there were in that bag no less than nine volumes of manuscript
sermons, as well worth a hundred pound as a shilling was worth
twelve pence, and that he would deposit one of the volumes -in
his hands by way of pledge; not doubting but that he would
have the.honesty to return it on his repayment of the money;
for otherwise he must be a very great loser, seeing that every
volume would at least bring him ten pounds, as he had been
informed by a neighbouring clergyman in the country; "for,"
said he, " as to my own part, having never yet dealt in printing, I do not-pretend to ascertain the exact value of such
things. "
Tow-wouse, who was a little surprised at the pawn, said,
(and not without some truth,) " that. he was no judge of the
price of such kind of goods; and 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."
HIe then cried out, "Coming, sir!" though nobody called:
and ran down stairs without any fear of breaking his neck.
Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this- disappointment,
nor knew he what further stratagem to try.'ie immediately
applied 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.
IHe had on a nightcap, drawn over his wig, and a short
great-coat, which half covered his cassock,. -a dress which,
ad led to something comical enough in his countenance, compeied a figure likely to attract the eyes of those who were not
ovrrgiven to observation.




60                ADVENTURES OF
Whilst he was smoking 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 1" says he
from the coach; "you had almost overtuped 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 nobody 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 grandmother," says the  bther;
"' 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 hlis honour, I
would desire fio 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, Towwouse: 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 bet.  "If you
have a mind for a- bet," cries the coachman, " I will match mly
spotted dog with your white bitch for a hundred, play or pay."
-"Done," says the other: "and I'1l run Baldface against
Slouch with you for another."'-"No," cries he from the box;
"but I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or HIannibal
either. " —-" Go to the devil,'" cries he froin the coach: "I will: To blink, is a term used to signify the dog's passing by a bird with.
ouit pointing at it.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    61
make every bet 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 kitchen; where Barnabas, the surgeon, and an exciseman, were smoking their pip-es
over some cider-and; and where the servants, who attended
the two noble gentlemen we have just seen alight, were now
arrived.
"Tom," cries owe of the footmen, "there's Parson Adams~
smoking his pipe in the gallery.""- "Yes," says Tom; "].
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 he first arrived.)  "Yes,
sir," answered the footman; "and one there be but few like."
-" Ay, " said Barnabas: "if I had known it sooner, I should
have desired his company; I would always show 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 -tle 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 fill1 hour, without the doctor or exciseman's having one opportunity to offer a word.
It was then proposed to- begin a general conversation, an(
the exciseman opened on foreign affairs; but a word unluckily
ilropping from one of them, introduced a dissertation on the
hardships suffered, by the inferior 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 nobody read sermons; would you think
it, Mir. Adams, " said he, " I once intended to print a volume;,f 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
6




G2                ADVENTURES OF
twelve pence, I assure you," answered Barnabas: "nay, thie
dog refused me a Concordance in exchange.-At last I offered
to give him the printing them, for the sake of dedicating them
to that very gentleman, who just now drove his own coach into
the inn; and, I assure you, he had the impudence to refuse my
offer; by which means I lost a good living, that was afterwards
given in exchange for a pointer, to one who - but I will not
say any thing against the cloth.  So you may guess, Mr.
Adams, what you are to expect; for if sermons would have
gone down, I believe — I will not be vain; but to be concise
with you, three bishops said they were the best that ever were
writ: but indeed there'are a pretty moderate number printed
already, and not all sold yet."-" Pray, sir," said Adams,
"to what do you think the numbers may amount?"  "Sir,"
answered Barnabas, "a bookseller told me, he believed five
thousand volumes at least." — "Five thousand!" quothl the
surgeon: " What can they be writ upon?  I remember when
I -was a boy,. I used to read one Tillotson's sermons; and, I
am sure, if a man practised half so much as is in one of those
sermons, he will go to heaven."-" Doctor," cried Barnabas,
" you have a profane way of talking, for which I must reprove
you. A man can never have his duty too frequently inculcated
into him. And as for Tillotson, to be sure, he was a. good
writer, and said things very well; but comparisons are odious;
another man may write as well as he-I believe there are some
of my sermons," — and then he applied the candle to his pipe
-"And I believe there are some of lmy discourses,"7 cries
Adams, "which the bishops would not think totally unworthy
of being printed; and I have been informed I might procllre
a very large sum, (in'deed an immense one,) on tlhem."-" I
doubt that, " answered Barnabas; "however, if'you (lesire to
make some money of them, perhaps you may sell them by
advertising the manuscript sermons of a clergyman lately
-deceased, all warranted originals, and never printed.  And
now I think of it, I should be obliged to you, if there be ever a
funeral one among them, to lend it me; for I am this very day
to preach a funeral sermon, for which I have not penned a line,
though I am  to have a double price."  Adams answered:
"-He had but one,. which he feared would not serve his purpose,




JOSEPH  ANDREW.S.                   63
being sacred to the memory of a magistrate, who had exerted
himself very singularly in the preservation of the morality of
his neighbours, insomuch that he had neither ale-house nor
lewd women in the parish where he lived."- "  No," replied
Barnabas; "that will not do 4uite so well; for the deceased,
upon whose virtues I am to harangue, was a little too much
addicted to liquor, and publicly kept a mistress. -I believe I
must take a common sermon, and trust to my memory, to introduce something handsome on him."-" To your invention
rather," said the doctor; "' your.memory will be apter to put
you out; for no man living remembers any thing good of him."
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 gauge 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 had
escaped the cork, could have contributed to his recovery; for
the medicine had-stood untouched in the window ever since its
arrival.
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




64                 ADVENTURES OF
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 for 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 smoking his pipe on. a bench. Thie
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
shown 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 tlheir knees, and spent a
considerable time in prayer and thanksgiving.
Th'ey 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
niight go to bed, which Adams promised, and in that case
th6y wished one another good night.
CHAPTER X VII.
A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the bookseller, which was
broke off by an unlucky accident happening in the inn, which produced a
dialogue between Mrs. Tow-wouse and her.maid of no gentle kind.
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 lik'ely 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 busiaess to the




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     65
great city, and was heartily desirous of returning with the
ydung man, who was just recovered of his misfortune.  He
then snapped his fingers, (as was usual with him,) and took
two or three turns about the room in an ecstacy. And to induce the bookseller to be as expeditious as possible, as likewise
to offer him a better price for his commodity, he assured them
their meeting was extremely lucky to himself; for that he had
the most pressing occasion for money at that time, his own
being anlost 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 comp out with the name of Whitefield or
Wesley, or some other such great man, as a bishop, or those
sorftt of people, I don't care to touch; unless now it was a
sermon preached on the 30th of January; or we could say in
the title-pagre, Published at the earnest request of the congregaStion, or the inhabitants; but, truly, for a dry piece of sermnonLs, I had rather be excused; especially as my hands are so
full at present.  However, sir, as Mr. Barnabas mentioned
themn to me, I will, if you please, take the manuscript with
me to town, and send you my opinion of it in a very short
time. "
"0!" 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
w:as a play that had been acted twenty hights together, I believe it would be safe."
Adams did not at all relish the last expression; he said, he
6*                  E




66                ADVENTURES. OF
was sorry to hear sermons compared to plays.  "Not by me,
I assure you,".cried the bookseller,,'though I don't know
whether the licensing act may not shortly bring them to the
same footing; but I have formnerly known a hundred guineas
given for a play. - -"More shame for those who gave it, "
cried Barnabas.  "Why so?" said the bookseller, "for they
got hundreds by it." -"But is there no difference between
conveying good or ill instruction 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 hindrance, " 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 that sells best,
will be always the best copy in my opinion; I am no enemy to
sermons, but because they don't sell: for I would as soon print
one.of Whitefield's, as any farce whatever."' Whoever prints such heterodox stuff ought to be hang'd,"'
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 I 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, wni h
was recommended to the church in its infancy, and was oly
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, Fare
not calculated to do half the mischief, as those professed by
this fellow and his followers."
"Sir," answered Adams, "if Mr. Whitefield had carlietl
hisdoctrine no further than you mention, I should have
remained, as I once was, his well-wisher.  I am myself.s
great an enemy to the luxury and splendour of the clergy, as lhe
can be. I do not, more than he, by the flourishing state of
the church, understand the palaces, equipages, dress, furniture,
rich dainties, and vast fortunes; -of her ministers.  Srxely those
things, which savour so strongly of this world, become not tlh
servants of one who professed his kingdom was not of it; bhlt




JoSEPH ANDREWS.                     67
when he began to call nonsermse and enthusiasm to his aid, and
set up the detestable doctrine of faith against good works, I
was his friend no longer; for surely that doctrine was coined
in hell; and one would think none but the devil himself could
have the confidence to preach it. For can any thing be more
derogatory to the honour of God, than for men to imagine that
the all-wise Being will hereafter say to the good and virtuous,' Notwithstanding the purity of thy life, notwithstanding that
constant rule of virtue and goodness, in which thou walkedst
upon earth, still as thou didst not believe every thing in the
true orthodox manner, thy want of faith shall condemn thee?'
Or, on the other side, can any doctrine have a more pernicious
influence on society, than a persuasion, that it will be a good
plea for the villain, at the last day; —' Lord, it is true I never
obeyed one of thy commandments, yet punish me not, for I
believe them all?' " —" I suppose, sir," said the bookseller,
"your sermons are of a different kind." —"Ay, sir," said
Adams; "the contrary, I thank Heayen, is inculcated in
almost; every page, or I should belie my own opinion, which
hath always been, that a virtuous and good Turk or Heathen,
are more acceptable in the sight of their Creator, than a vicious
and wicked Christian, though his faith was as perfectly ortho.
dox as St. Paul's himself. "-" I wish you success," says the
bookseller, " but must beg to be excused, as my hands are so
very full at present; and, indeed, I am afraid you will find a
backwardnless in the trade to engage in a book which the clergy
would be certain to cry down." -" God forbid, " says Adams,' any books should be propagated which the clergy would cry
down; but if you mean by the clergy some few designing
factious men, who have it at heart to establish some favourite
schemes at the price of the liberty of mankind, and the very
essence of religion, it is not in the power of such persons to
decry any book they please; witness that excellent book called,'  Plain Account of the Nature and End of the Sacrament;'
a book written, (if I may venture on the expression,) with the
pen of. an angel, and calculated to restore the true use of
Christianity, and of that sacred institution; for what could
tend more to the noble purposes of religion, than frequent
cheerfiul meet'ngs among the members of a society, in which




6-8               ADVENTURES OF
they should, in the presence of one another, and in the service
of the Supreme Being, make promises of being good, friendly,
and: benevolent to each other? Now, this excellent book was
attacked by a party, but unsuccessfully."  At these words,
Barnabas fell a-ringing with all the violence imaginable; upon
which a servant attending, he bid him bring a bill immediately;
for that he was in company, for aught he knew, with the devil
himself; and he expected to hear the Alcoran, the Leviathan,
or Woolston commended, if he staid a few minutes longer."
Adams desired, "as he was so much moved at his mentioning
a book, which he did without apprehending any possibility of
offence, that he would be so kind to propose any objections he
had to it, which he would endeavour to answer. " —" I propose
objections I" said Barnabas, "I never read a syllable in any
such- wicked book; I never saw it in my life, I assure you."'
Adams was going to answer, when a most hideous uproar
began in.the inn. Mrs. Tow-wouse, Mr. Tow-wouse, and
Betty, all lifting up their voices together; but Mrs. Towwouse's voice, like a bass-viol in a concert, was clearly and
distinctly distinguished among the rest, and was heard to
articulate the following sounds:4_ "0 you damned villain! is
this the return to all the care I have taken of your Camily?
This the reward of my virtue?  Is this the manner in which
you behave to one who brought you a. fortune, and prctlrred
you to so many matches, all your betters? To abuse my bed,
my own bed, with my own servarit! but I'll maul the slut, I'll
tear her nasty eyes out; was ever such a pitiful dog, to take
up-with such a mean trollop? If she had been a gentlewoman,
like myself, it had been some excuse; but a beggarly, saucy,
dirty servant maid! Get you out of my house, yolk. whore.'
To which she added another name, which we do not care to
stain our paper with.  It was a monosyllable beginningwith a
b-, and indeed was the same, as if she had pronounced the
words, she-dog. Which term we shall, to avoid offence, Iuso
on this occasion, though indeed both the mistress and maid
uttered the above mentioned b-, a word extremely disgustful
to females of the lower sort. Betty had borne all hitherto with
patience, and had uttered only lamentations; but the last
appellation stung her to the quick.  "I am a woman as qwell




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    69
as yourself," she roared out, "and no she-dog; and if I have
been a little naughty, I am not the first; if I-have been no
better than I should be," cries she, sobbing, "that's no reason
you should call me out of my name; my be-betters are wo-rse
than me." —" Huzzy, huzzy," says Mrs. Tow-wouse, "have
you the impudence to answer. me? Did I not catch you, you
saucy"-and then again repeated the terrible word so odious
to female ears.  "I can't bear that name," answered Betty:
"if I have been wicked, I am to answer for it myself in the
other world; but I have done nothing that's unnatural; and I
will go out of your house this moment; for I will never be
called'she-dog' by any mistress in England."  Mrs. Towwouse then armed herself with the spit, but was prevented from
executing any dreadful purpose by Mr. Adams, who confined
her arms with the strength of a wrist which Hercules would
not have been ashamed of. Mr. Tow-wouse being caught, as
our lawyers express, it with the manner, and having no defence
to make, very prudently withdrew himself; and Betty committed herself to the protection of the hostler, who, though she
could not conceive him pleased with what had happened, was
in her opinion, rather a gentler beast than her mistress.
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.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The history of Betty the chambermaid, gnd an account of what occasioned
the violent scene in the preceding chapter.
BETTY, who was the occasion of all this flurry, 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 controlled them, were by no




T0                ADVENTURES OF
means able to endure the ticklish situation of a chambermaid
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, stage-coachmen, 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
armoury 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
an 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 rhetoric 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
pressin'g 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 ott
every opportunity of saying tender things to her, squeezing
her -by the hand, and sometimes kissing her lips: for as the
violence of his passion had considerably abated to AIrs. Towwouse, so, like water which is stopped from its usual current




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     T1
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 though 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 hei out of the room, and locked the door.
How ought marl to rejoice, that his chastity is always in his
own power; that if he hath sufficient strength of mind, be hath
always a competent strength of body to defend himself, and
cannot, like a poor weak woman, be ravished against his will I
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, &c.
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,




72                ADVENTURES OF
squeezed her so tenderly, at the same time whispering so many
soft things into her ears, and then pressed her so closely with
kisses, that the vanquished fair one, 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 rooni, and caused all that confusion which we have
before seen, and which is not necessary, at present to take any
farther notice of; since without the assistance of a single hint
fromn us, every reader of any speculation, or experience, though
dot 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 ally more in the like
manner; and lastly, his quietly and contentedly bearing to be
reminded of his trangressions, as a kind of penance, once or
twice a day, during the residue of his life.
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
Of divisions in authors.
THERE are certain mysteries or secrets in all trades, from the
highest to the lowest; from that of prime ministering, 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




J.OSEPH  ANDREW.S.                    73
tailor's bill, servingonly 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 in
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'hilm.  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 bath seen in the parts he hath already passed through:
a consideration which-I take the liberty to recommend a little
to the reader; for however swift his capacity may be, I would
not advise him to travel through these pages too fast: for if
he doth, lie may probably miss the seeing some curious productions of nature which will be observed by the slower and
more accurate reader. A volume without any such places of
rest, resembles the- opening of wilds or seas, which tires the
eye and fatigues the spirit when entered upon.
Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every chapter,
but so many inscriptions over the gates of inns, (to continue
some metaphor,) informing the reader what entertainment he
is to expect, which, if he like 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 passed
over without any injury to the whole.  And in these inscriptions I have been as faithful as possible, not imitating the celebrated Montaigne, who promises you one thing and gives you,another: nor some title-page 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: though 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




74                ADVENTUR.ES or
spoiling the beauty of a book by turning down its leaves, a
method otherwise necessary to those readers who, (though 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
compliment perhaps to the twenty-four letters, to which he had
very particular obligations,) but, according to the opinion of
some very sagacious critics, hawked them all separately, delivering only one book at a time, (probably by subscription.) He
was the first inventor of the art which hath so long lain dormant, of publishing by numbers; an art now brought to such
perfection, that even dictionaries are divided and exhibited
piece-meal to the public; nay, one bookseller hath, (to encourage learning and ease the public,) contrived to give them a
dictionary in. this manner, for only fifteen shillings more than it
would have cost entire.
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 Greeks; 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 critics 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 similes, 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
does 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 to indulge the curiosity
of my reader, who is no doubt impatient to know what he will
find in the subsequent chapters of this book.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                      75
CHAPTER II.
A surp:isig:/ instance of Mr. Adams's short memory, with the unfortunate conseequences which it brought on Joseph.
MR. Ai)AMS 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 do.  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 other necessaries, which Mrs. Adams, who
thought her husband would want shirts more than sermons on
his journey, had carefully provided him.
This discovery was now luckily owing to the presence of Joseph at the opening the saddlebags; 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 answered, " 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, "Ithere is nothingin the
bags."  Upon which Adams starting, and testifying some surprise, cried, "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, au
this accident hath happened, I am resolved to retau-rn'back to
my cure, together with you; which indeed my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This disappointment may perhaps be




s6)               A ~D ADVENTURES OF
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 inclinatioh which the parson expressed 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 surprised
therefore, it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint him that he had
borrowed a guinea of a servant belonging to the coach and six,
who had been formerly one of his parishioners, and whose master, the owner of the coach; then lived within three miles of
him; for so good was the credit of Mr. Adams, that even Mr.
Peter, the lady Booby's steward, would have lent him a guinea
with very little security.
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, 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
our prudent ancestors, who knew that horses had mouths as
well as legs,. and that they could not use the latter without
being at the expense 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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    77
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 favor 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 him to be fed as well as they could feed him,) and the
cash in his pocket amounted to sixpence, (for Adamis had
divided the last shilling with him.). Now, though there have
been some ingenious persons who have contrived to pay twelve
shillings with sixpence, Joseph was not one of them. He had
never contracted a debt in his life, and was consequently the
less ready at an expedient to extricate himself. Tow-wouse
w.as willing to give him credit till next time, to which Mrs.
Tow-wouse would probably have consented, (for such was Joseph's beauty, that it had made some impression even on that
piece of flint which that good woman wore in her bosom by
way of heart.) Joseph would have found therefore, very likely,
the passage free, had, he not, when he honestly discovered the
nakedness of his pockets, pulled out that little piece of gold
which we have mentioned before. This caused Mrs. Towwouse's eyes to water; she told Joseph, she did not conceive
a man could want money whilst he had gold in his pocket.
Joseph answered, he had such a value for that little piece of
gold, that he would not part with it for a hundred times the
riches which the greatest esquire in the country was worth.
" A pretty w~ay, indeed," said Mrs. Tow-wouse, ".to run in
debt, and then refuse to part with your money, because you
have a value for it. I never knew any piece of gold of more
value than as many shillingsas it would change for."-" Not
to preserve my life from starving, nor to redeem it from a robber, would I part with this dear piece!" answered Joseph.
" What," says Mrs. Tow-wouse, "I suppose it was given to
you by some vile trollop, some miss or other; if it had been
the present of a virtuous woman, you would not have had such




78                ADVENT1UtRES OF
a value for it. My husband is a fool if he parts    the- horse
without being paid for him." - "No, no, I can't part with
the horse, indeed, till I have the money," cried Tow-wouse.
A resolution highly commended by a lawyer then in the yard,
who declared Mr. Tow-wouse might justify the detainer.
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 his thread, and being now at the
summit of a hill, he cast his eyes backwards, and wondered
that he could not see any sign of Joseph. As he left him
ready to mount- the horse, he could not apprehend any mischief
had happened, neither could he suspect that he missed his way,
it being so broad and plain; the only reason which presented
itself to him was, that he had met with an acquaintance who
had prevailed with him to delay some time in discourse.
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 footmpath capable of conducting him
without wetting his shoes.
His surprise 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 public
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 3Eschylus.
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, bade him




JOSEPH  AN N   EWS.                   7-9
"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 further notice.
A horseman following immediately after, and being asked
the same question, answered, "Friend, there is one within a
stone's throw; I believe you may see it before you. "': Adams,
lifting up his eyes, -cried, "I protest, and so there is;" and
thanking his informer, proceeded directly to it.
CHA PTER  III.'ie. op.io:,f two taewyers concerning the same gentleman, with Mr. A dams's
inquiry into the religion of his host.
HEz had just entered the house, had called for his pint, and
seated himself, when two horsemen came to the door, and.astenrlLg 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 percciving Mr. Adams.
One of these immediately asked the other, "If he had seen, more comical adv;enture in a great while?" Upon which the
other said, " Ie 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, though he was, as the reader may suspect, a
little inclined to forgetfulness, never wanted more than a hint
to remind him, overhearing their discourse, immediately suggested to himself that this was his own horse, and that he had
forgot to pay for him, which, upon inquiry, he was certified of
by the gentleman; 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,
though 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




80                ADVENTURES OF
good beer; when Adams, who had observed a. gentleman's
house as he passed along the road, inquired to whom it belonged; one of the horsemen had no sooner mentioned the
owner's name, than the other began to revile him in the most
opprobrious terms.  The English language scarce affords a
single reproachful word, which he did not vent on this occa.
sion. He charged him likewise with many particular facts.
IIe said, -" He no more regarded a field of wheat when he
was hunting, than he did the- highway; that he had injured
several poor farmers by trampling their corn under his horse's
heels; and if any of them begged him with the utmost submission to refrain, his horsewhip was always ready to do them
justice."  He said, "That he was the greatest tyrant to the
neighbours in every other instance, and would not suffer a
farmer to keep a gun, though he might justify it by law; and
in his own family so cruel a master, that he never kept a servant a twelvemonth.  In his capacity as a justice, " continued
he, " he behaves so partially, that he commits or acquits just
as he is in the humour, without any regard to truth or evidence;
the devil may darry any one before him for me; I would rather
be tried before some judges, than be a prosecutor before him:
if I had an estate in the neighbourhood, I would sell it for
half the value rather than live near him."
Adams shook his head, and said, " He was sorry such men
were suffered to proceed with impunity, and that riches could
set any man above the law." The reviler, a little after, retiring
into the yard, the gentleman who has first mentioned his name
to Adams began to assure him, "that his companion was a
prejudiced person.  It is true," says he, "perhaps, that he
may have sometimes pursued his game over a field of corn, but
he hath always made the party ample satisfaction; that so far
from tyrannizing over his neighbours, or taking away their
guns, he himself knew several farmers not qualified, who not
only kept guns, but killed game with them; that he was the
best of masters to his servants, and several of them had grown
old in his service; that he was the best justice of peace in
the kingdom, and, to his certain knowledge, had decided many
difficult points, which were referred to him, with the greatest
equity, and the highest wisdom; and he verily believed several




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                      81
persons would give a year's purchase more for an estate near
him, than under the wings of any other great man. "- He had
jlust finished his encomium, when his companion returned, and
acctuainted him the storm was over.  Upon which they presently: mounted their horses and departed.
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," anrwered the host, (a shrewd, cunning fellow,) "' I know the gen-,leman very well of whom they have been speaking, as I do
tle 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;-ups in their houses; but as for killing game with them, no,il.; is stricter; and I believe he would ruin any who did..'-.) i heard one of the gentlemen say, he was the worst master
i tlhe. world, and the other that he is the best; but for my own.i;.rt,' I know all his servants, and never heard from any of
them, that he was either one or the other." —" Ay! ay!" says
A._darms; "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
wlho just went out of this. house; and I am sure he determined
thllaLt justly, for I heard the whole matter."- "Which did he
decide it in favour of?" quoth Adams.  "I think I need not
ntiswer that question," cried the host,_"after the different
characters you have heard of hiu. -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 i" said Adams, "that men should arrive at such a pitch
of wickedness to belie the character of their neighbour from a
little private affection, or, what is infinitely worse, a private
spite. I ratherbelieve we have mistaken them, and they mean
two other persons; for there are many houses on the road4.-.-,
F




82                ADVENTURES OF
"Why, pr'ythee, friend,"' cries the host, "dost thou pretend
never -to have told a lie'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 I no,
no," replied the host, "not malicious with a design to hang:
man, or bring him into trouble I but surely, out of love to
onle's self, one must speak better of a friend than an enemy."
_-" Out of love to yourself, you should confine yourself to
truth," says Adams, "for by doing otherwise you injure the
noblest part of yourself, your immortal soul. I can hardly
believe any man such an idiot to risk the loss of that by any
trifling gain, and the greatest gain in this world is but dirt in
comparison of what shall be revealed hereafter." Upon which
the host, taking up the cup, with a smile, drank a health to
hereafter; adding, he was for something present. -" Why,"
says Adams, very gravely, "do not you Lelieve in another
world?'"  To which the host answered, "Yes; he was no
atheist. " -"And you believe you have an immortal soul?"
cries Adams.- He answered, "God forbid he shoild not;:' —
"And heaven and hell?" said the'parson.  The host then hild
him, "not to profane; for those were things not to be nmetitioned nor thought of but in cliurch."  Adams asked hil-i
" why the went to church, if what he learned there had no influence on his conduct in life?"-" I go to church, " answered
the host, "to say my prayers and behave godly. "-"And dost
not- thou,'" cried Adams, "believe what thou hearest at
church?" -"Most part of it, master," returned the host.
"And dost not thou then tremble,"7 cries Adams, "at the
thought of eternal punishment?"- "As for that, niastcer,"
said he, "I never once thought about it; but what; signinies
talking about matters so far off? The mug is out, shall I diIaw
another?"
Whilst be was going 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




J OS E PH ANDREWS.                  83
Joseph.'.'Ay," 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 surprise when he
saw his old acquaintance madam Slipslop? Hers 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 the
poor woman had not erred designedly; for Mrs, Slipslop
asked for a clergyman, and she had unhappily mistaken Adams
for a person travelling to a neighbouring fair with the thimble
and button, or some other such operation; for he marched in
a swingeing great but short white coat with black buttons, a
short wig and a hat, which, so far from having a black hatband, had nothing black about it.
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 I" says Adams, " as I gather
from some hints which have dropped from Joseph. " — "Ay, 
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




84                ADVENTURES OF
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 unrworthy 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 more like a mad
woman than any thing else." -" Truly, I am heartily concerned," said 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," says Slipslop,
"people that don't see at all, oftenl know nothing.  Many
things have been given away in our family, I do assure you,
without her knowledge.  I have heard you say in the pulpit
we ought not tobrag; but indeed I can't avoid saying, if she
had kept the keys herself, the poor would have wanted many a
cordial which I have let them have. As for my late master,
he was as worthy a man as ever lived, and would have done
infinite good if he had not been controlled; but he loved a
quiet life, Heavens rest his soul! I am confidous he is there,
and- enjoys a quiet life, which some folks would not allow him
here. "  Adams answered, " He had never heard this before,
and was mistaken if she herself," (for he remembered she used
to commend her mistress and blame her master,) "had not
formerly been of another opinion." --  I don't know,' replied
she, "what I might once think; but now I am  confidous
matters are as I tell you; the world will shortly see who bath
been deceived; for my part I say nothing, but that it is wondersome how some people can carry all things with a grave
face.'
Thus Mr. Adams and she discoursed, till they came opposite
to a great house, which stood at somle distance from the road:
a lady in the coach spying it,. cried, "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 owo 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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                      85
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.
C H AP TER  IV.
The history of Leonor'a, or the unfortunate jilt.
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 an insipid air: nor is this kind of beauty less apt to deceive
than allure; the good-humour which it indicates being often
mistaken for good-nature, and the vivacity for true;understanding.
Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived with an
aunt of hers in a town in the north of England. She was an
extreme lover of gayety; and very rarely missed a ball, or any
other public 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-gayety when he happened to be her partner; neither
the fairness of the evening, nor the music of the nightingale,
could lengthen her walk like his company.  She affected no
longer to understand the civilities of others; whilst 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
8




86                 ADVENTURES OF
complexion, and 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 impolitic 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 other
end of the perspective; it was impossible that Horatio's
passion should so blind his disappointment as to prevent his
conceiving hopes from the behaviour of Leonora, whose fondness for. him was now as visible to an indifferent person in their
company, as his for her.
"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 tHoratio
whispered Leonora, that he was desirous td take a turn or two
withl 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 company, 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 fill stop,




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     87
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; "0  Leonora I 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
tnust be miserable I"-" What can that be?"' replied Leonora.
"No wonder," said he, " you are surprised 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. Oh, it is that which
you must part with to bestow all the rest I 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 condescending to be forever mine, which must at once
prevent me from being the most miserable, and will render me
t0e happiest of mankind."
Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as angry a look as
site could possibly put on, told him, " that had she suspected
what his declaration would have been, he should not have
decoyed her from her company, that he had so surprised and
frightened her, that she begged him to convey her back as
quick as possible;" which he, trembling very near as much us
herself, did.  "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. Graveairs 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 passed 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.




88                 ADVENTURES O'F
Mrs. Graveairs objected, to hearing these letters;- but being
pnut to the vote, it was carried against her-by all the rest in the
coach; Parson Adams contending for it with the utmost vehemence..
IHORATIO 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 beea
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 ecstatic happiness of seeing you, I am always desirous to be alone: since my sentimenti
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 I suspect my-eyes then betrayed.  To
fear this discovery, of our thoughts, may perhaps appear too
ridiculous a nicety to minds not susceptible of all the tender.
ness of this. delicate passion.  And surely we shall suspect
there are few such, when we consider that it requires every
human virtue to exert itself in its full extent; since the beloved,
whose happiness it ultimately respects, may give us charming
opportunities of being brave in her defence, generous to her
wants, compassionate to her afflictions, and grateful to her
kindness; and in the same manner of exercising every other
virtue, which he who would not do to any degree, and that
with the utmost rapture, can never deserve the name of a lover.
It is therefore with a vie$v to the delicate modesty of your
nind that I cultivate it so purely in my own: and it is that
which will sufficiently suggest to you the uneasiness.I bear from
those liberties, which Imen, to whom the world allow politeness,
will sometimes give themselves on these occasions.
"Can I tell you with what eagerness I expect the arrival of
that blessed 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 wver tasted: such




30SEPH ANDREWS.                      89
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 satisfaction of conducing to your happi.
ness. "
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 to 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
surprised to find the delicate sentiments expressed there, so far
exceeding what I thought could come- even from you, (although 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 I what a life must that be, where the meanest
domestic 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
pleasuie 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 must I
spend, who am condemned 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
Le 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 for 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
* This letter was written by a young lady on reading the former
8*




90                ADVENTURES OF
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 show 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. "
It, is not very material, said the lady. Hither repaired
Horatio, who, as he hoped by his profession to advance his
fortune, which was not at present very large, for the sake of
his dear Leonora, he resolved to spare no pains, nor lose any
opportunity of improving or advancing himself in it.
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, "0, I am in
love with that equipage;" which, though 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 Horatio
the compliment of refusing to dance in his absence.
0, why have not women as good resolution to maintain their
vows, as they have often good inclinations in making them I
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.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    91
"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 cut
velvet coat of a cinnamon colour, lined with a pink satin,
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, endeayoured by all possible means to prevent: many of them saying
to Leonora, " 0 madam I I suppose we shan't have the pleasure of seeing you dance to-night;" and then crying out in
Bellarmine's hearing, " O  Leonora will not dance I assure
you, her partner is not here." One maliciously attempted to
prevent her, by sending a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that
so she might be obliged to dance with him or sit down; but
this scheme proved abortive.
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 was 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 could 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 ecstacy had
confounded her understanding, so there was nothing so foolish
as her behaviour: she played a thousand childish tricks, dis



92                ADVENTURES OF
torted 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 inquired who
she was, advanced to her, and with a low bow begged the
honour of dancing with her, which she, with as low a curtsey,
immediately granted.  She danced with him  all night, and
enjoyed perhaps the highest pleasure that she was capable of
feeling.
At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, which frightened the ladies, who told him, "they hoped he was not ill."
He answered,'E"He groaned only for the folly, of Leonora."
Leonora retired, (continued the lady,) about six in the morninr, 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 ridottos, which had been the subject of their
conversation.
In the aftermoon, Bellarmine, in the dear coach and six,
came to wait on her. He was indeed charmed with her person,
and was, on inquiry, as well pleased with the circumstances of
herfather, (for he himself, notwithstanding all his finery, was
not quite so rich as a Crcesus or an Attalus.)  "Attalus,"
says Mr. Adams, "but pray how came you'acquainted with
these names?"  The lady smiled at the question, and proceeded.  He was so pleased, I say, that he resolved to make
his addresses to her directly. He did so accordingly, and that
with so much warmth and briskness, that he quickly baffled
her weakl repulses, and obliged the lady to refer him to her
father, who, she knew, would quickly declare in favour of a
coach and six.
Thus, what Horatio had by sighs and tears, love and tenderness, been so long obtaining, the French-English Bellarmine with gayety 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, wllho
began to smoke him, took no notice.




JOSEPH  A ND RE W S.                  93
From the opening of the assembly till the end of Bellarmine's visit, Leonora had scarce once thought of Horatio;
but he now began, though an unwelcome guest, to enter into.ler mind.  She wished she had seen the charming Bellarmine
maid his charming equipage, before matters had gone so far.
"IYet 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?  Ay, but Bellarm-ine
is the genteeller 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?  Ay, 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 affection?  Can he give me an
equipage, or any of those things which Bellarmine will make
me mistress of?  How vast is the difference between being the
wife of a poor counsellor, and the wife of one of Bellarmine's
fortune! If I marry Horatio, I shall triumph over no more
than one rival; but by marrying Bellarmine, I shall be the
envy of all my acquaintance.
"What happiness! But can I suffer Horatio to die? for
he hath sworn he cannot survive my loss; but perhaps'he may
not die: if he should,. can I prevent it?  Must I sacrifice
myself to him? besides, Bellarmine may be as miserable for
me too.," She was thus arguing with herself, when some young
ladies called her to the walks, and a little relieved her anxiety
for the present.
The next morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her in presence of her aunt, whom he sufficiently informed of his passion
for Leonora.  Ile 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' a.'d I hope




94                ADVENTURES OF
you will not withstand your own preferment." Leonora, sighing,: begged her not to mention ally such thing when she knew
her engagements to Horatio.  "Engagements to a fig," cried
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.  0 I I know the world
very well; and you show your ignorance, my dear, by your
objection.  0, 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 has been bred
at the 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."-" 0 1 leave that to me," says the
auant.  " You know your father hath not been acquainted_ with
the affair. Indeed, for my part I thought it might do well
enough, not dreaming of an offer; but I'll disengage you: leave.
me to give the fellow an answer. I warrant you shall have no
farther trouble."
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 on 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 tailor even to imitate it. There is not
one of them can cut, madam; they can't cut. If you' observe




JOSEPH  ANDRE-WS.                    95
how this skirt' is l...ned,.ard this sleeve; a clumsy English rascal car do nothiag likee it. Pray how do you like mly liveries?"
Leonora answered, " shte thought them very p:,etty." "Ail
F-ench," says he, "I assure you, except the,;reat-coats; I
nevei trust arty thing more than a great-coat to an Englishman.  You knew- 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 I 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 clothies.  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 I"
With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bellarmine
entertain his beloved Leonora, when the door opened on a sudden, and Horatio entered the room.  Here'tis impossible to
express the surprise of Leonora.
"Poor woman," says Mrs. Slipslop, "what, a terrible
quandary she must be in!"-" Not at all,'? says Mrs. Graveairs; "such sluts can never be confounded."  "She must
have then more than Corinthian assurance," says 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 surprised Horatio.  At length Leonora, collecting all the spirit 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 upon your repose."' Bellarmine rose from his chair, traversed the room
in a minuet step, and hummed an opera tune; while Horatio,
a.dvancing to Iieonora, asked her, in a whisper, if that gentleman was not a relation of hers; to which she answered with' a
smile, or rather sneer, " No, he is no relation yet;"' adding
" she could not guess the meaning of his question."  Horatio




96                ADVENTURES OF
told her softly " It did not arise from jealousy. "-" JealoIsy!
I assure -ou, it would lC very strange uin a common acquaintance to give himself any of those airs.'  These words a little
surprised IHoratio; but before he had time to answer, Bellarmine danced up to the lady, and told her, "he feared he interrupted some business between her and the gentleman. "-" I
can lave no business, " said she, "with the genllteman. nor any
otlher, which need be'any secret to you."
"You'll pardon me," said Horatio, "if I desire to know
who this gentleman is, who is, to be entrusted with all our
secrets." -" Youll know soon enough, " cries Leonora; " but
I can't guess what secrets can ever pass between us of such
mighty consequence. " —" No, madam 1" 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 unseasonable 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 well-bred 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 good-breeding." — " Sure," says 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 I 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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    9T
you," (shaking his whip at him.)  "Oh! serviteur tres humble," says Bellarmine:' Je vous entend parfaitment bien."
At which time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's visit,
entered the room, and soon satisfied all his doubts.  She convinced him that he was never more awake in his life, and that
nothing more extraordinary had happened in his three days'
absence, than a small alteration in the affections of Leonora;
who now burst into tears,.and wondered what reason she had
given him to use her in:so,,>barharous a manner. Horatio
desired Bellarmine to withdraw with him; but the ladies prevented it, by laying violent hands on the latter; upon which
the former took his leave without any great ceremony, and
departed, leaving the lady with his rival, to consult for his
safety, which Leonora feared her indiscretion might have endangered; but the aunt comforted her with assurances, that
Horatio would not venture his person against so accomplished
a cavalier as Bellarmine, and that, being a lawyer, he would
seek revenge in his own way, and the most they had to apprehend from him was an action.
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 I 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 awakened 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 leaped 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 hnews, 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
9                    0




98'               ADVENTU RE  OF
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," cried the disconsolate Leonora: "is it not owing to
me that poor Bellarmine has lost'his life? Have not these
cursed charms," (at which words she looked steadfastly in the
glass,) " been the ruin of the most charming man of this age 
Can I ever bear to contemplate my own face again?" (with
her eyes still fixed on the glass.) "Am I not the murderess
of the finest gentleman? No other woman in the town could
have made any impression on him." -" Never think of things
past," cries the aunt, "think of regaining the affections of
Horatio. "- "What reason," said the'niece, "have I to hope
he would forgive me? No, I have lost him, as well as the
other, and it was your wicked advice which was the occasion
of all; you seduced me, contrary to my inclinations, to abandon poor Horatio, " (at which words she burst into tears:)
"you prevailed upon me, whether I would or no, to give up
my affections for him: had it not been for you, Bellarmine
never would have entered into my thoughts: had not his ad.
dresses been backed by your persuasions, they never would
have made any impression on me; I should have defied all the
fortune and equipage in the world; but it was you, it was you,
who got the better of my youth and simplicity, and forced me
to lose my dear Horatio for ever."
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 surprised, 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, "though 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




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     99
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 have been fired from your eyes, tout brilliant. Those
are the only cannons by which I am to fall; for my surgeon
gives me hopes of being soon able to attend your ruelle; till
when, unless you do me an honour which I have scarcCine
hardiess~ to think of, your absence will be the greatest anguish
which can be felt by, Madam,
"Avec toute le respecte in the world,
"Your most obedient, most absolute devote,
C  BELLARMINE. "
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 further
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,




lot-,              ADVENTURES OF
the i"psibility 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, though he professed he could scarce wish
success to a lady of so inconstant a disposition.
CHAPTER V.
A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn where the company dined, with
its broody consequences to Mr. Adams.
As soon as the passengers had alighted from the coach, Mr.
Adams, as was his custom, made directly to the kitchen, 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 himself 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,
though an excellent horseman, did not so happily disengage
himself; but falling with his leg under, the beast, received a




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   101
violent contusion, to which the good woman was, as we have
said, applying a warm hand, with some camphorated spirits,
just at the time when the parson entered the kitchen.
He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph's misfortune,
before the host likewise entered.  He was by no means of Mr.
Tow-wouse's gentle disposition, and was, indeed, perfect
master of his house, and every thing in it, but his guests.
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 fetching 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 bade 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 out in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams's
figure, returned the favour with so much gratitude, that the
parson's nostrils began to look a little redder than usual
9*




102              -ADVENTURES OF
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 t( revenge the
blow, which, to all appearance, was the last he would ever
receive; when, lo I a pan full of hog's blood, which unluckily
stood on the. dresser, presented itself first to her hands.  She
seized it in her fury, and, without any reflection, discharged it
into the parson's face; and with so good- an aim, that much
the greater part first saluted his countenance, and trickled
thence in so large a current down to his beard, and all over
his garments, that a more horrible spectacle was hardly to be
seen, or even imagined. All which was perceived by Mrs.
Slipslop, who entered the kitchen at that instant.  This good
gentlewoman, not being of a temper so extremely cool and
patient,.as perhaps-was required to ask many questions on this
occasion, flew with great impetuosity at the hostess's cap,
which, together with some of her hair, she plucked from her
head in a moment, giving her, at the same time, several hearty
cuffs in the face; which, by frequent practice on the inferior:servants, she had learned an excellent knack of delivering with
a good grace.  Poor Joseph could hardly rise from his chair;
-the parson was employed in wiping the blood fiom his eyes,
which had entirely blindedjhim; and the landlord was but just
beginning to stir; whilst Mrs. Slipslop, holding down the
landlady's face with her left hand, made so dexterous a use of
her right, that the poor woman began to roar,. in a key which
alarmed all the company in the inn.
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 stopped at the alehouse with Adams. There was likewise
a gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy; all whom
the horrid outcry of murder presently brought into the kitchen,
where the several combatants were found in the postures
already described.
It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray, the con.




J SEP f ANDREWS.                   103
querors 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; add..
ifig, he was very glad the gentlewoman had paid her, though
not half what she deserved. The poor woman had indeed
fared much the worst; having, besides the unmerciful cuffs
received, lost a quantity of hair, which Mrs. Slipslop in triumph
held in her left hand.
The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs. Graveairs, -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. lie then
went up to Adams, and telling him he looked like 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. "  Ie then returned to the lady a;nd
cried, " I find the bloody gentleman is uno insipido del nullo
senso.  Dammata di ne, if I have seen such a spectaculo in
my way from Viterbo."
One of the gentlemen having learned from the host the
occasion of this bustle; and being assured by him, that Adams
had struck the first blow, whispered in his ear, " IIe'd warrant
he would recover. "- "Recover i 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 scan,




104               ADVENTURES OF
d.-lous fellow indeed, who would put up with 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 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
no'strils. 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
swingeing damages.  That's all." —"Master," cried the host,
scratching his head, "I have no stomach to law, I thank you.
I have seen enough of that in the parish, where two of my
neighbours have been at law about a house, till they have both
lawed themselves into a jail. " At which word he turned about,
and began to inquire about his hogs' puddings; nor would it
probably have been a sufficient excuse for his wife, that she
spilt them in his defence, had not some awe of the company,
especially of the Italian traveller, who was a person of great
dignity, withheld his rage.
Whilst one of,the above-mentioned gentlemen was employed,
as we have seen him, on the behalf of the landlord, the other
was no less hearty on the side of Mr. Adafs, whom he advised
to bring his action immediately. HIe said, the assault of the
wife was in law the assault of the husband, for they were but
one person; and- he was liable to pay damages, which he said
must be considerable, where so bloody a disposition appeared.
Adams answered, if it was true that they were but one person,
he had assaulted the wife; for he was sorry to own he had
struck the husband the first blow.  "I am sorry you own it
too, " cries the gentleman: "for it could not possibly appear
to the court; for here was no evidence present, but the lame
man in the chair, whom I suppose to be your friend; and would
consequently say nothing but what made for you." —  "How
sir, " says Adams, "do you take me for a villain, who would
prosecute revenge in cold blood, and use unjustifiable means to
obtain' it? If you knew me, and my order, I should think you




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    105
affronted both."  At the word order, the gentleman stared,
(for he was too bloody to be of any modern order of knights;)
and turning hastily about, said, "Every man knew his own
business."
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,
", e voi very well, que tuta e pace,
So send up dinner, good Boniface."
T'he coachman began now to grow importunate with his passengers, whose entrance into the coach was retarded by Miss
Graveairs insisting, against the remonstrance of all the rest,
that she would not admit a footman into the coach; for poor
Joseph was too lame to mount a horse. A young lady, who
was, as it seems, an earl's grand-daughter, begged it, with
almost tears in her eyes. Mr. Adams prayed, and Mrs. Slipslop scolded; but all to no purpose. She said, " She would
not demean herself to ride with a footman: that there were
wagons on the road: that if the master of the coach desired
it, she would pay for two places; but would suffer no such
fellow to come in." "_ Madam," says Slipslop, " I am sure
no one can refuse another coming into a stage-coach. "-" I
don't know, madam," says the lady: " I am not much used to
stage-coaches; I seldom travel in them." —"That may be,
madam," replied Slipslop; "very good people do; and some
people's betters, for aught I know."  Miss Graveairs said,
"Some folks might sometimes give their tongues a liberty,
to some people that were their betters, which did not become
them; for her part, she was not used to converse with servants."
Slipslop returned, " Some people kept no servants to converse
with; for her part, she thanked Heaven she lived in a family
where there were a great many; and had more under her own
command, than any paltry little gentlewoman in the kingdom."
Miss Graveairs cried, " She believed her mistress would not encourage such sauciness to her betters." - "My betters," says
Slipslop, "who is my betters, pray?"- " I am your betters,"
answered Miss Graveairs, "and I'll acquaint your mistress."




106               ADVENTURES OF
-At which Mrs. Slipslop laughed aloud, and told her, "Her
lady was one of the great gentry; and such little paltry. gentlewomen, as some folks, who travelled in stage-coaches, would
not easily come at her."
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 Graveairs, immediately accosted
her with "Dear child, how  do you do?"  She presently
answered, "0 I 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 who the gentleman was?"  The coachman answered,
"lHe was now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man; but
times are altered, master," said he; " I remember when he was
no better born than-myself."-" Ay' ay!" says Adams. "My
father drove the squire's coach," answered he, "when that very
man rode postilion; but he is now his steward; and a great
gentleman."  Adams then snapped his fingers and cried, "He
thought she was some such trollop. "
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. The prudent gentlewoman, who despised
the anger of Miss Graveairs, 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 recol.




JOSEPI-I ANDREWS.                  101
lected. she had left her fan, a second her gloves, a third a snuffbox, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her; to find aIt
which occasioned some delay, and much swearing to the coachman.
As soon as the coach had left the inn, the women all together
fell to the character of Miss Graveairs; 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, " 0
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 had something in it so astonishing,
that, for my part, I own I should hardly believe it, if my own
ears had -not been witness to it." —  "Yes, and so handsome a
young fellow,7" cries Slipslop;'"the woman must have no compulsion in her: I believe she is more of a Turk than a. Chris.
tian; I am certain if she had any Christian women's blood in
her veins, the sight of such a young fellow must have warmed
it. Indeed, there are some wretched, miserable old objects,
that turn one's stomach; I should not wonder if she had
refused such a one; I am as nice as herself; and should have
cared no more than herself for the company of stinking old
fellows; but, hold up thy head, Joseph, thou art none of those;
and she who hath not compulsion for thee, is a Myhummetman, and I will maintain it." -This conversation made Joseph
uneasy, as well as the ladies; who, perceiving the spirits which
Mrs. Slipslop was in, (for indeed she was not a cup too low,)
began to fear the consequence; one of them therefore desired
the lady to conclude the story. "C:y, madam," said Slipslop,' I beg your -ladyship to give us that story you commensated
in the morning;" which request that well-bred woman'immediately complied with.




108               ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER VI.
Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt.
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, administered
him his medicines, and, notwithstanding the prudent advice of
her:aunt to the contrary, almost entirely resided in her wounded
lover's apartment.
The ladies of the town began to take her conduct under consideration: it was the chief topic 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, had utterly defeated mauy malicious attacks on
her own reputation; for such was the envy that Lindamira's
virtue had attracted, that, notwithstanding her own strict
behaviour and strict inquiry into the lives of others, she had not
been able to escape being the mark of some arrows herself,
which, however, did her no injury; a blessing, perhaps, owed
by her to the clergy, who were her chief male companions, and
with two or- three of whom she had been barbarously and unjustly calumniated.
" 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 those 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.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   109
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, though 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 inferior fortune, notwithstanding his superior figure. You may
take what measures you please on this occasion: I have performed what I thought my duty; as I have, though 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
truthr one of those fathers who look on children as an unhappy
consequence of their youthful pleasures; which, as he would
have been delighted not to have had.attended them, so was he
no less pleased with an opportunity to rid himself of the incumbrance.  HIe passed, in the world's language, as an exceeding good-father; being not only so rapacious as to rob
and plunder all mankind to the utmost of his power, but even
to deny himself the conveniences, and almost necessaries, of
life; which his neighbours attributed to a desire of raising immense fortunes for his children: but in fact it was not so: he
heaped up money for its own sake only, and looked. on his
children as his rivars, who were to enjoy his beloved mistress
when he was incapable of possessing her, and which he would
have been much more charmed with the power of carrying
along with him: nor had his children any other security of
being his heirs, than that the law would constitute them such
without a will, and that he had not affection enough for any
one living, to take the trouble of writing one.
To this gentleman came Bellarmine, on the errand I have
mentioned.  His person, his equipage, his family, and his
10




1.1.0             ADVENTURES OF
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 her with less than
tie would any other whatever; but that even his love to her
mnade some regard to worldly matters necessary; for it would
be a most distracting sight for him to see her, when he had
the honour to be her husband, in less than a coach and six. "
The -old gentleman answered, "Four will do; four will do;"
and then took a turn'from horses to extravagance, and from
extravagance to horses, till he came round to the equipage
a-gain; whither he was no sooner arrived, than Bellarmine
brought him back to the point; but all to no purpose; he made
his escape from that subject in a minute; till. at last the lover
declared, " That, in the present situation of his affairs, it was
impossible for him,. though he loved Leonora more than tout
le monde, to marry her without any fortune."  To which the
father answered, " He was sorry then his daughter must lose
so.valuable a match: that if he had an inclination, at present
it was not in his power to advance a shilling_: that he had
had. great losses, and been at great expenses.on projects;




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    11A
which though he had great expectation from them, had yet
produced him  nothing. that he- did not know what might
happen hereafter, as on the birth of a son, or such accident;
but he would make no promise, nor enter into any article,
for he would not break his vow for all the daughters in the
world. "
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 des.
patched 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, inca..
pable myself of delivering this triste message, which I intend
to try the French air to cure the consequences of. A jamais!
Coeur! Angel! Au diable!  If your papa obliges you to a
marriage, I hope we shall see you at Paris; till when, the
wind that flows from thence will be the warmest dans le vmonde,
for it will consist almost entirely of my sighs. Adieu, nma
princesse /! Ah l'amour!' BELLARMINE. "
I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's condition,
when she received this letter. It is a picture of horror,- 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 showed
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




112               ADVENTURES OF
artifices of her aunt, very probably, contributed, and to which
very young women are often rendered too liable by that blame.
able 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 Our-asho?"
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.
CHAPTER VII.
A very short chapter, in which Parson Adams went a great way.
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 walking along without his horse. "-" On my
word, and so he is," says Slipslop: "and as sure as twopence
he hath left him behind at the inn. "  Indeed, true it is, the
parson had exhibited a fresh instance of his absence of mind;
for he was so pleased with having got Joseph into the coach,
that he never once thought of the beast in the stable; and
finding his legs as nimble as he -desired, he sallied out, brandishing a crab-stick, and had kept on before the coach, mending-and slackening his pace occasionally; so that he had-never
been much niore or less than a quarter of a mile distant from it.
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, "Ay, ay, catch me if you
can I" till at length the coachman swore he would as soon




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   113
attempt to drive after a greyhound; and giving the parson two
or three hearty curses, he cried, " 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 iEschylus, determined to wait here
for its arrival.
ie 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 surprise 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 smoking likewise the information of the
cassock, to change his thoughts, and made a small advance to
10 *                 H




.114              ADV.ENT U R.E S OF.
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, deserves to be hang'd, d-n
me."  Which words. he spoke with so violent a gesture, so
loud a voice, so strong an accent, and so fierce a countenance,
that he might have frightened a captain of train-bands at the
head of his company; but Mr. Adams was not greatly subject
to fear: he told him intrepidly, that he very much approved
his virtue, but disliked his swearing, and begged him not to
addict himself to so bad a custom, without which he said he
might fight as bravely as Achilles did. Indeed he was charmed
with this discourse: he told the gentleman, he would willingly
have gone many miles to have met a man of his generous way
of thinking: that if he pleased to sit down, he should' be
greatly delighted to commune with him; for though he was a
clergyman, he would himself be ready, if thereto called, to lay
down 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.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   11l
CHAPTER VIII.
- notable dissertation- by MIr. Abraham Adams; wherein that gentleman
appears in a political light.
"I DO assure you, sir," (says le, taking the gentleman by
the hand,) "I am heartily glad to meet with a, man of your
kidney; for though 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, though 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, though 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 bade 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 approach of an
election, and telling me, if I expected to continue in his cure,
that I must bring my nephew to vote for one Colonel Courtly,
a gentleman whom I had never heard tidings of till that instant.
I told the rector I had no power over my nephew's vote, (God
forgive: me for such prevarication,) that I supposed he would
give it according to his conscience; that I would by no means
endeavour to influence him to give it otherwise. He told me
it was in vain to equivocate; that he knew I had already spoke
to him  in favour of Esquire Fickle, my neighbour; and,
indeed, it was true I had; for it was at a, season when the
church was in danger, and when all good men expected they
knew not what would happen to us all. I then answered
boldly, If he thought I had given my promise, he affronted
me in proposing any breach of it.  Not to be too prolix; I
persevered, and so did my nephew, in the esquire's interest,
who was chose chiefly through his means; and so I lst my
curacy. Well, sir; but do you think the esquire ever mentioned a word of the church; Ne verbum quider ut ita dicam,




116               ADVENTURES OF
within two years he got a place, and hath ever since lived in
London; where, I have been informed, (but God forbid I
should believe that,) that he never so much as goeth to church.
I remained, sir, a considerable time without any cure, and
lived a full month on one funeral sermon, which I preached on
the indisposition of a clergyman: but this by-the-bye. At
last, when Mr. Fickle got his place, Colonel Courtly.stood
again; and who should make interest for him but Mr. Fickle
himself I that very identical Mr. Fickle who had formerly told
me the colonel was an enemy to both the church and state, had
the confidence to solicit my nephew for him; and the colonel
himself offered me to make me chaplain to his regiment, which
*I refused in favour of Sir Oliver Hearty, who told us he would
sacrifice} every thing to his country; and I believe he would,
except his hunting, which he stuck so close to, that in five
years together he went but twice up to parliament; and one
of those times, I have been told, never was within sight of the
house. I However, he was a worthy man, and the best friend I
ever had; for, by his interest with a bishop, he got me replaced
into my curacy, and gave me eight pounds out of his own
pocket to buy me a gown and cassock, and furnish my house.
He had our interest while he lived, which was not many years.
On his death I had fresh applications made to me; for all the
world knew the interest I had with my good nephew, who now
was, a leading man in the corporation: and Sir Thomas Booby,
buying the estate which had been Sir Oliver's, proposed himself a candidate. He was then a young gentleman just come
from his travels; and it did me good to hear him discourse on
affairs, which, for my part, I knew nothing of. If I had been
master of a thousand votes, he should have had them all. I
engaged my nephew in his interest, and he was elected; and a
very fine parliament man he was. They tell me he made
speeches of an hour long; and, I have been told, very fine
ones; but he never could persuade the parliament to be of his
opinion. Non omnia possumus omnes. He promised me a
living, poor man; and I believe I should have had it, but an
accident happened, which was, that my lady had promised it
before,'unknown to him.  This, indeed, I never heard till




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    111
afterwards; for my nephew, who died about a month before
the incumbent, always told me I might be assured of it. Since
that time, Sir Thomas, poor man, had always so much business, that he never could find leisure to see me. I believe it
was partly my lady's fault too, who did not think my dress
good enough for the gentry at her table.  However, I must
do him the justice to say, he never was ungrateful; and I have
always found his kitchen, and his cellar too, open to me: many
a time after service on a Sunday-for I preach at four churches
— have I recruited my spirits with a glass of his ale. Since
my nephew's death, the corporation is in other hands, and I
am not a man of that consequence I was formerly. I have
now no longer any talents to lay out in the service of my
country: and to whom nothing is given, of him can nothing
be required. However, on all proper seasons, such as the approach of an election, I throw a suitable dash or two into my
sermons; which I have the pleasure to hear is not disagreeable
to Sir Thomas, and the other honestgentlemen my neighbours,
who have all promised me these five years to procure an ordination for a son of mine, who is now near thirty, hath an infinite stock of learning, and is, I thank Heaven, of an unexceptionable life; though, as he was never at a university, the
bishop refuses to ordain him. Too much care cannot indeed
be taken in admitting any to the sacred office; though I hope
he will never act so as to be a disgrace to any order; but will
serve his God and his country to the utmost of his power, as I
have endeavoured to do before him; nay, and will lay down
his life whenever called to that purpose.  I am sure I have
educated him in those principles; so that I have acquitted my
duty, and shall have nothing to answer for on that account.
But I do not distrust him; for he is a good boy; and if Providence should throw it in his way to be of as much consequence
in a public light as his father once was, I can answer for him
he will use his talents as honestly as I have done."




118               ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER IX.
In which the gentleman descants on bravery and heroic virtue, till.an unlu.clk
accident puts an end to the discourse.
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,
though he pretends to be in love forsooth. I would have all
such fellows hang'd, sir; I would have them hang'd. " Adams
answered, "That would be too severe: that men did not make
themselves; and if fear had too much ascendance in the mind,
the man.was rather to be pitied than abhorred; that reason and
time might teach him to subdue it. " He sand, "A man might
be a coward at one time and brave at another. Homer," says
he, "who so well understood and copied nature, hath taught
us this lesson; for Paris fights, and Hector runs away. Nay,
we have a mighty instance of this in the history of latter ages,
no longer ago than the 705th year of Rome, when the great
Pompey, who had won so many battles, and been honoured
with so many triumphs, and of whose valour several authors,
especiallyCicero and Paterculus, have formed such eulogiums;
this very Pompey left the battle of Pharsalia before he had
lost it, and retreated to his tent, where he sat like the most
pusillanimous rascal in a fit of despair, and yielded-a victory,
which was to determine the empire of the world, to Caesar. I
am not much travelled in the history of modern times, that is
to say, these last thousand years: but those who are, can,. I
make no question, furnish you with parallel instances."  He
concluded, therefore, that had he taken any such hasty resolutions against his nephew, he hoped he would consider better
and retract them. The gentleman answered with great warmth,
and talked much of courage and his country, till, perceiving it
grew late, he asked Adams, " What place he intended for that




JOS EPH A.NDREWS.                  119
night?" He told him, "He waited there for the stage-coach."
- " The stage-coach I sir," said the gentleman;''they are all
past by long ago. You may see the last yourself almost three
miles before us. "-" I protest, and so they are," cries Adams:
"then I must make haste and follow them."  The gentleman
told him, " He would hardly be able to overtake them; and
that if he did not know his way, he would be in danger of
losing himself on the downs; for it would be presently dark;
and he- might ramble about all night, and perhaps find himself
farther from his journey's end in the morning than he was now."
He advised him, therefore, to accompany him to his house,
which was very little out of his way, assuring him, that he
would find some country fellow in his parish, who would conduct him for sixpence to the city, where he -was going., Adams
accepted this proposal, and on they travelled, the gentleman
renewing his discourse on courage, and the infamy of not being
ready at all times to sacrifice our lives to our country. Night
overtook them much about the same time as they arrived near
some bushes; whence, on a sudden, they heard the most violent
shrieks imaginable in a female voice. Adams offered to snatch
the gun out of his companion's hand. " What are you doing?"
said he. "Doing I" says Adams; "I am hastening to the
assistance of the poor creature whom some villains are murdering. "-" You are not mad enough, I hope," says the gentleman, trembling: " Do you consider this gun is only charged
with shot, and that the robbers are most probably furnished
with pistols loaded with bullets? This is no business of ours;
let us make as much haste as possible out of the way, or we
may fall into their hands ourselves." The shrieks now increasing, Adams made no answer, but snapt his fingers, and
brandishing his crabstick made directly to the place whence
the voice issued; and the man of courage made as much expedition towards his own home, whither he escaped in a very
short time without once looking behind him; where we will
leave him to contemplate his own bravery, and to censure the
want of it in others; and return to the good Adams, who, on
coming up to the place whence the noise proceeded, found a
woman struggling with a man, who had thrown her on the
ground, and had almost overpowered her. The great abilities




120                A:DVENTURES OF
of Mr. Adams were not necessary to have formed a right judg.
ment of this affair on-the first sight.  He did not:therefore
want the entreaties of the poor wretch to assist her; but lifting
up his crabstick, he immediately levelled a blow at that part
of the ravisher's. head, where, according to the opinion of the
ancients, the brains of some persons are deposited, and which
he had undoubtedly let forth, had: not. Nature, (who, as wise
men have observed, equips: all creatures with.what is - most expedient for them,) taken a providentcare, (as. she always, doth
with those she intends for encounters,) to make this part of
the head three times as thick as those of:ordinary men, who
are designed to exercise talents which are vulgarly called
rational, and for whom, as brains are necessary, she is obliged
to leave some room for them in the cavity of the skull; whereas,
those ingredients being entirely useless to persons of the
heroic calling, she hath an:opportunity of thickening:the bone,
so as to make it, less subject to any impression, or liable to be
cracked or broken;. and indeed, in some who are. predestined
to the command of armies and empires, she is supposed sometimes; to make that part perfectly solid.
As a game cock, when engaged in amorous toying with a
hen, if by 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 Adam's breast where the heartis lodged. Adams staggered
at the violence of the blow, when, throwing away his staff, he
likewise clenched that fist which we have before commemorated,
iand 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-ramof the ancients, for a
weapon of offence; another reason to admire the cunningness
of rNature, 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 lawsv of
heroism, which would have restrained him from: any further




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   121
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 pan't with his labours, he exerted his utmost force at once,
and with such success, that he overturned him, and became his
superilr; when fixing one of his knees in his breast, he cried
out ill an exulting voice, "It is my turn now;" and after a few
minutes' constant application, he gave him so dexterous 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 often asserted, " he should be concerned to' have
the blood of even the wicked upon him. "
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 God 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
11




122                ADVENTURES OF
a 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
walked 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."  HIe was then silent,
and began to consider with himself whether it would be properer to make his escape, or to deliver himself into the hands
of justice; which meditation ended as the reader will see in
the next chapter.
CHAEP TER X.
Giving an account of the strange catastrophe of. the preceding adventure,.which drew poor Adams into fresh calamities; and who the woman was who
owed the preservation of her chastity to his victorious arm.
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 uses]
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 van



JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   123
quished 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 advisable, 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 geus
tu, Traveller, heus tu! He presently heard several voices
and perceived the light approaching toward him. The persons
who attended the light began some to laugh, others to sing,
and others to hollo, at which the woman testified some fear,
(for she had concealed her suspicions of the parson -himself;)
but Adams said, "Be of good cheer, damsel, and repose thy
trust in the same Providence which hath hitherto protected
thee, and never will forsake the innocent." These people, who
now approached, were no other, reader, than a set of young
fellows, who came to these bushes in pursuit of a diversion
which they call bird-batting. This, if thou art ignorant of it,
(as perhaps if thou hast never travelled beyond Kensington,
Islington, Hackney, or the Borough, thou mayest be,) I will
inform thee, is performed by holding a large clap-net before a
lantern-, and at the same time beating the bushes; for the birds,
when they are disturbed from their place of rest, or roost, immediately make to the light, and so are enticed within the net.
Adams immediately told them what had happened,; and' desired them to hold the lantern to the face of the man on the
ground, for he feared he had smote him fatally.  But indeed
his fears were frivolous; for the fellow, though he had been
stunned by the last blow he received, had long since recovered
his senses, and finding himself quit of Adams, had listened
attentively to the discourse between him  and the young
woman; for whose departure he had patiently waited, that he
might li -VRise withdraw himself, having no longer hopes of
succeedilg in his desires, which were moreover almost as well
cooled by Mr. Adams, as they could have been by the young
woman herself, had he obtained his utmost wish. This fellow,
who had a readiness at improving any accident, thought he




124D'DVE NT-U RE:S OF 
might now' play a better part than that of a -dead man; and
accordingly, the moment the candle was held to his face,-he
leapt up, and laying hold on Adams, cried out, " No, villain,
I amn not dead, though you and your wicked whore might well
think me so, after the barbarous cruelties you have exercised
on me. Gentlemen," said he, "you are luckily come to the
assistance of a poor traveller, who would otherwise have been
robbed and murdered by this vile man and woman, who led me
hither out of my way from the high-road, and both falling on
me have used me as you see."  Adams was going to answer,
when one of the young fellows cried, " ID-n them, let's carry
them both before the justice."  The poor woman began to
tremble, and Adams lifted up his voice, but in vain. Three
or four of them laid hands on him; and one holding the lantern to his face, they all agreed he had the most villanous
countenance they ever beheld; and an attorney's clerk, who
was: of the company, declared, he was sure he had remembered
him at the bar. As to the woman, her hair was dishevelled in
the struggle, and her nose had bled; so that they could not
perceive whether she was handsome or ugly, but they said her
fright-plainly discovered her guilt. And searching her pockets,
as they did those of Adams, for money, which the fellow said
he had lost, they found in her pocket a purse with some gold
in it, which abundantly convinced them, especially as the fellow
offered to swear to it. Mir. Adams was found to have no
more than one half-penny about him. This the clerk said" was
a great presumption that he was an old offender, by cunningly
giving all the booty to the woman. "  To which all the rest
readily assented.
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 lantern 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.




JOSEPHI ANDREWS.                    12.5
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 801. for apprehending the robbers. This occasioned a contention concerning the parts which they had severally borne in taking
them': one insisting he ought to have the greatest share, for he
had first laid his -hands on Adams; another claiming a superior
part for having first held-the lantern 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 seemed all to agree
that the clerk was entitled to a moiety.  They then debated
what money should be allotted to the young fellow who had
been employed only in holding the nets.  He very modestly
said, " That he did not apprehend any large proportion would
fall to his share, but hoped they would allow him something;
he desired them to consider, that they had assigned their nets
to his care, which'prevented him from being.as forward as any
in laying hold of the robbers," (for so those innocent people
were called;) "that if he had not occupied the nets, some
other must; " concluding however, "that he should be contented with the smallest share imaginable, and should think
that rather their bounty than his merit.' But they were all
unanimous in excluding him from any part whatever, the clerk
particularly swearing, "If they gave him a shilling, they might
do what they pleased with the rest; for he would not concern
himself with the affair. "  This contention was so hot, and so
totally engaged the attention of all the parties, that a dexter-ous- nimble thief, had he been in Mr. Adams's situation, would
have taken care to have given the justice no trouble that evening.  Indeed it required not the art of a Shepherd to escape,
especially as the darkness of the night would -have so much
befriended him; but Adams trusted rather to his innocence
than his heels, and without thinking of flight, which was easy,
or resistance, (which was impossible, as there- were six lusty
young fellows. besides the villain himself, present,) he walked
11*




126               ADVENTURES OF
with perfect resignation the way they thought proper to conduct him.
Adams frequently vented himself in ejaculation during their
journey. At last poor Joseph Andrews occurring 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 of him?"
-" I left him, child, this afternoon," said Adams, "in the
stage-coach, in his way towards our parish, whither he is going
to see you. "-" To see me I La, sir," answered. Fanny, " sure
you jeer me; what should he be going to see me for?"" Can you ask that?" replied Adams.  "I hope, Fanny, you
are not: inconstant; I assure you he deserves much better of
you." —" La! Mr. Adams," said she, " what is Mr. Joseph to
me? I am sure I never had any thing to say to him, but as
one fellow-servant might to another."- "I am sorry to hear
this," said Adams; " a virtuous passion for a young man, is
what no woman need be ashamed of. You either do not tell
me the truth, or you are false to a very worthy man."' Adams
then told her what had happened at the inn, to which she listened very attentively; and a sigh often escaped from her, notwithstanding her utmost endeavours to the contrary; nor could
she prevent herself from asking a thousand questions, which
would have assured any one but Adams, who never saw farther
into people than they desired to let him, of the truth of a passion she endeavoured to conceal. Indeed, the fact was, that
this poor girl having heard of Joseph's" misfortune, by some of
the servants belonging to the coach, which we have formerly
mentioned to have stopt at the inn while the poor youth was
confined to his bed, that instant abandoned the cow she was
milking, and taking with her a little bundle of clothes under




JOSEPH  ANDHREWS.                    127
her arm, and all the money she was worth in her own purse,
without consulting any one, immediately set forward in pursuit
of one, whom, notwithstanding her shyness to the parson; she
loved with inexpressible violence, though with the purest and
most delicate passion.  This shyness, therefore, as we trust it
will recommend her character to all our female readers, and not
greatly surprise such of our males as are well acquainted with
the younger part of the other sex, we shall not give ourselves
any trouble to vindicate.
CHAPTER XI.
What happened to them while before the justice. A chapter very full of
learning.
THEIR fellow-travellers were so engaged in the hot dispute,
concerning the cdivision 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 had 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-chase, 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 in the neighbourhood, who flocked 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 now being 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 depositions of
the witnesses against them."  Which he bid him do, and he
would light his pipe in the mean time.  Whilst the clerk was




128               ADVENTURES OF
employed in writing down the deposition 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 wit, shaking
his head, and then his sides, answered, " He believed she was
nearer related to Turpis;" at which there was a universal
laugh. They were proceeding thus with the poor girl, when
somebody, smoking the cassock peeping forth from under the
great-coat of Adams, cried out, "What have we here, a parson?"-" How, sirrah," says the justice, "do you go robbing
in the dress of a clergyman? let me tell you, your habit will
not entitle yon to the benefit of the clergy."- "Yes," said
the witty fellow, "he will have one benefit of clergy; he will
be exalted above the heads of the people;" at which there was
a second laugh.  And now the witty spark, seeing his jokes
take, began to rise in spirits; and turning to Adams, challenged
him to cap verses, -and provoking him by giving the first blow,
he repeated,
"Molle meren levibus cord est vilebile telis."
Upon which Adams, with a look full of ineffable contempt,
told him, "He deserved scourging for his pronunciation."
The witty fellow answered, " What do you deserve, doctor,
for not being able to answer the first time? Why, I'll give
one, you blockhead, with an S.
"Si licetiot fulvum spectatur in ignibus haurum."
"What, can'st not with an M neither? thou art 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 catch a fresh-man; for nobody that knew you would
engage with you." - " I have forgot those things now," cried
the wit.  "I believe I could have done pretty well formerly.
Let's see, what did I end with-an M again-ay —
"Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.'




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                  129
I could have done it once."  "Ah I evil betide you. and. so
you can now," said the other; " nobody in - this country 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:
Ut sunt Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum."
" I'll hold thee a guinea of that, " said the wit, throwing the
money on the table.  "And Ijll 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, " IIe hoped he should not be condemned
unheard." -- "No, no," cries the justice, "you will be asked
what you have to, say for yourself, when you come on your
trial: we are not trying you now; I shall only commit you to
jail: if you can prove your innocence at'size, you will be
found ignoramus, and so no harm done." - "Is it no punishment, sir, for an innocent man to lie several months in jail I"
cries Adams: "I beg you would at least hear me before you
sign the mittimus."-" What signifies all you can say?" says
the justice: " is it not here in black and white against you? I
must tell you, you are a very impertinent fellow, to take up so
much of my time.  So make haste with his mittimus. "
The clerk. now acquainted the justice, that among other
suspicious things, as a penknife, &c., 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, "the fellow may be more than a common robber, he
may be in a plot against the government-produce the book."
I




130               ADVENTURES OF
Upon which the poor manuscript of XAschylus, 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 I"
answered Adams; "it is a, manuscript of XEschylus." —
"Who? who?" said the justice. Adams repeated, ".Eschylus."  -" That is an outlandish name,7" 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. "-" No, "
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,Eschylus?" says the justice.  "Pooh I"
answered the doctor, with a contemptuous grin, " do you think
that fellow knows any thing of this book?  AEschylus I ho,
ho II 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
beginning is the catechism in Greek. Ay, ay,'Polloki toi:
What's your name?"- "A-y, what's your name?" says the
justice to Adams; who answered, "It is 2E schylus, and I will
maintain it.r''" O! it is," says the justice; "make Mr.
X.schylus his mittimus. I will teach you to banter me with a
false name."
One of the company, having looked steadfastly at Adams,
asked him, " If he did not know Lady Booby?"', Upon which,
Adams, presently calling him to mind, answered, in a rapture,
"0, 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 surprised 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,




JOSEPH ANDREWS                     131
and a gentleman of a very good character. I wish you would
inquire a little -farther into this affair; for I am convinced of'
his innocence. "-I"Nay,' says the justice, "if he is a gen-tleman, 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 BMr.
Adams's relation."  " "With all my heart," answered the
justice; "and give the gentleman a-glass, to wet his whistle,
before he begins. I know how to behave myself to a gentleman, as well as another.  Nobody 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 hahs 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 to take, had privily withdrawn, without
attending -the issue. The justice now flew into a violent passion, — and was hardly prevailed with not to commit the innocent
fellows, who had been imposed on as well ag himself.'He
swore, " They had best find out the fellow who was guilty of
perjury, and bring him before him within two days, or he would
bind them all over to their good behaviour.'7  They all promised to use their best endeavours to that purpose, and were
dismissed.  Then the justice insisted that Mr. Adams should
sit down and take a glass with him; and the parson of the
parish delivered him back' the manuscript without saying a
word; nor would Adams, who plainly discerned his ignorance,
expose it. As for Fanny, she was, at her own request, recommended to the care of a maid servant -of the house, who helped
her to new dress and clean herself.




132               AD-VENTU RES OF
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 ho other
than a dispute, to whom, if Adams: had been convicted, the
greater share of the rewardfor 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,'"  e
was concerned to see so litigious. a -temper in men. - That lihe
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 con.
gregation, 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 able to vent
itself in singirig, it now broke forth in- fighting.  It produced
many battles, (for they were very near a match,) and I believe
would have ended fatally, i had not the death of-the clerk given
me an:opportunity to promote one of them to his place; which
presently'put an end to thle dispute, and'-entirely reconciled
the contending parties."  Adams: then proceeded to make
some philosophical observations on the folly of growing warm
in, disputes in which neither party is interested. -He then
applied himself vigorously:;to smoking; and a- long silence
ensued, which was at length:broke by the justice, who began
to: sing. forth his own praises, and to value himself exceedingly
on:his nice discernment in the cause which had lately been




JOSEPH  ANDRE:WS.                  133
before him. Hie was quickly: interrupted by Mr. Adams,
between whom and his worship a dispute now arose, whether
he ought not, in strictness of law,- to have committed him, the
said Adams; in which the latter maintained -he ought to have
been committed, and the justice as vehemently held he ought
not. This had most probably produced a quarrel, (for both
were very violent and positive in their- opinions,) had not
Fanny accidentally heard that a young fellow was going from
the justice's house to the very inn where the stage-coach in
which Joseph was, put up. -Upon this news, she immediately
sent for the parson out of the parlour. Adams, when he found
her resolute to go, (though she would not own the reason, but
pretended she could not bear to see the faces of those who-had
suspected her of such a crime,) was as fully determined to go
with her;,he accordingly took leave of the justice and company; and so ended a dispute in which the law seemed shamefully to intend to set. a magistrate and a divine together by the
ears.
CHAPTER XII.
A very delightful adventure, as well to the persons concerned as to the good.
natured reader.
ArMbis, Fanny, and the guide, set out together about one in
the morning, the moon being then just risen. They had not
gone above a mile, before a most violent storm ofrain obliged
them to take shelter in an inn, or rather ale-house;. where
Adams immediately procured himself a good fire, a toast and
ale, and a pipe, and began to smoke with great content, utterly
forgetting every thing that had happened.
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, andd the young fellow- who
was their guide; they alt- 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 Pyg
malion; for if it should happen to us, or to thee, to be struck




134                ADVENTURES OF
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 a situation,
and might say to our desires, Ccelum ipsum petimus stullitia.
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 though they were a little reddened 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 chesnut 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 eyebrows'-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 was'o large, it might have been mistaken for a dimple, had not her left cheek produced one so near
a neighbour to it, that the former served only for a foil to the
latter.  Her complexion was fair, a little injured by the sun,
but overspread with such a bloom, that the finest ladies would
have exchanged all their white for it: add to these a countenance in which, though she was extremely bashful, a sensibility
appeared, almost incredible; and- a sweetness, whenever she
smiled, beyond either- imitation or description.  To conclude
all, she had a natural gentility, superior to the acquisition of
art, and which surprised all who beheld her.
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-:




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                           135
THE SONG.
SAY, Chloe, where must the swain stray,
Who is by thy beauties undone?
To wash their remembrance away,
To what distant Lethe must he run?
The wretch who is sentenc'd to die
May escape and leave justice behind;
From his country perhaps he may fly;
But 0O! can he fly from his mind?
0 rapture unthought of before!
To be thus of- Chloe possest;
Nor she, nor no tyrant's hard power,
lIer image can tear from my breast,
But felt not Narcissus more joy,
With his eyes he beheld his lov'd charms!
Yet what he beheld, the fond boy
More eagerly wish'd in his arms.
How can it thy dear image be,
Which fills this my bosom with wo?
Can aught bear resemblance to thee
Which grief and not joy can bestow?
This counterfeit snatch from my heart,
Ye Pow'rs, tho' with torment I rave,
Tho' mortal will prove the fell smart:
I then shall find rest in my grave.
Ah see the dear nymph o'er the plain
Come smiling and tripping along!
A thousand Loves dance in her train!
The Graces around her all throng.
To meet her soft Zephyrus flies,
And wafts all the sweets from the flow'rs;
Ah rogue! whilst he kisses her eyes,
More sweets from her breath he devours.
My soul, whilst I gaze, is on fire:
But her looks were so tender and kind,
My hope almost reach'd my desire,
And left lame Despair far behind.
Transported with madness, I flew,
And eagerly seiz'd on my bliss;
Her bosom but half she withdrew,
But half she refus'd the fond kiss.




133                ADVENTURES OF
Advances like these made me bold,
I whisper'd her, — Love, we're alone. -
The rest let immortals unfold,
No language can tell but their own.
Ah Chloe, expiring I cried,
How long I thy cruelty bore!
Ah Strephon, she blushing replied,
You ne'er was so pressing before.
Adams had been ruminating all this time on a passage in
Eschylus, without attending in the least to the voice, though
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 I Mr. Adams," says she;''  Jesus I" and
fell backwards in her chair.  Adams jumped up, flung his
A.Eschylus 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 1 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, waive that meditation to behold his happiness, when,
clasping her in his arms, he found life and blood returning into
her cheeks; when he saw her open her beloved eyes, and heard
her with the softest accent whisper, " Are you Joseph Andrews?"
- "Art thou my Fanny?" he answered eagerly; and pulling
her to his heart, he imprinted numberless kisses on her lips,
without considering who were present.
If prudes are offended at the lusciousness of this picture, 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
hypothesis, 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 raptures were over, he cast his eyes towards the




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     137
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 either of 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.
CHAPTER XIII.
A dissertation concerning hig, people and low people, with Mrs. Slipslop's
departure in no very good tenper of mind, and tti evil plight in which she
left Adams and his company.
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
12*




138                ADVENTURES 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
snuspicion, be seen publicly to speak to those of the other,
though they often held a very good correspondence in private.
In this contention, it is difficult to say which party succeeded;
for whilst the people of fashion seized several places to their
own use, such as courts, assemblies, operas, balls, &c.; the
people of no fashion, besides one royal place, called His
Majesty's Bear-garden, have been in constant possession of all
hops, fairs, revels, &c. Two places have been agreed to be
divided between them, namely; the church and the playhouse:
where they segregate themselves from each other in a remarkable- manner: for as the people of fashion exalt themselves at
church over the heads of the people of no fashion; so in the
playhouse they abase themselves in the same degree under their
feet.  This distinction I have never met with any one able to
account for: it is sufficient, that so far from looking on each
other as brethren in the christian language, they seem scarce
to regard each other as of the same species. This the terms,
" Strange persons, people one does not know, the creatures,
wretches, beasts, brutes,"' and many other appellations, evi..
dently demonstrate; which Mrs. Slipslop having often heard
her mistress use, thought she had also a right to use in her
turn; and perhaps she was not mistaken; for these two parties,
especially those bordering nearly on each other, to wit, the
lowest of the high, and the highest of the low, often change
their parties according to place and time; for those who are
people of fashion in one place, are often people of no fashion
in another. And with regard to time, it may not be unpleasant to survey the picture of dependence like a kind of




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    1'39
ladder: as for instance; early in the morning arises the postilion, or some other boy, which great families, no more than
great ships, are without,'and falls to brushing the clothes and
cleaning the shoes of John the footman; who being drest himself, applies his hands to the same labour for Mr. -Secondhand, the squire's- gentleman; the gentleman in the like
manner, a little later in the day, attends the squire; the squire
is no sooner equipped, than -he attends -the levee of my lord;
which is no sooner over, than my lord himself is seen at the
levee of the favourite, who, after the hour of homage is at an
end, -appears himself to pay homage to the levee of his
sovereign. Nor is there, perhaps, in this whole ladder of dependence, any one step at a greater distance from the other
than the first from the second; so that to a philosopher the
question might only seem, whether you would choose to be a
great man at six in the morning, or at two in the afternoon.
And yet there- are scarce two of these who do not think the
least familiarity with the persons below them a condescension,
and if they were to go one step farther, a degradation.
And now, reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long digriession,- 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
endeavoured; 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 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 Slips.lop,
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




140               AD'VENTURE S OF
telling him, "whein 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
commiseration 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 expressed 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 heartly wish, I heartily wish," cried
he, (snapping his fingers,) "that all her betters were as good."
HIe then proceeded to inform her of the accident of their meeting; but when he came to mention the circumstance of delivering her from the rape, she said, " She thought him properer
for the army than the clergy; that it did not become a clergyman to lay violent hands on any one; that he should have
rather prayed that she might be strengthened."  Adams said,
"He was very far from being ashamed of what he had done:"
she replied, " Want of shame was not the currycuristic of a
clergyman.'' This dialogue might have probably grown
warmer, had not Joseph opportunely entered the room, to ask
leave of -Madam Slipslop to introduce Fanny; but she positively refused to admit any such trollops; and told him, " She
would have been burnt before she would -have suffered him to
get into a chaise with her, if she had -once suspected him of
having his sluts way-laid on the road for him;" adding, "that
Mr. Adams acted a very pretty part, and she did not doubt but
to see him a bishop."  He made the best bow he could, and
cried out, "I thank you, madam, for that right-reverend appellation, which I shall take all honest means to deserve."-'Very honest means," returned she with a sneer, "to bring
people together."  At these words Adams took two or three
strides across the room, when the coachman came to inform
Mrs. Slipslop, " That the storm was over, and the moon shone
very-bright'" She then sent for Joseph, who was sitting with.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   141
out, with his Fanny, and would have had him gone with her;
but he peremptorily refused to leave Fanny behind; which
threw the good woman, into a violent rage.  She said, " She
would inform her lady what doings were carrying onj and did
not doubt but she would rid the parish of all such people;"
and concluded a long speech full of bitterness and very hard
words, with some reflections on the clergy, not decent to repeat;
at last, finding Joseph unmoveable, she flung herself into' the
chaise, casting a look at Fanny as she went, not unlike- that
which Cleopatra gives Octavia in the play. To say.-the truth,
she was most disagreeably disappointed by the presence of
Fanny; she had, from her first seeing Joseph at the inn, conceived hopes of something which might have been accomplished
at an alehouse as well as a palace. Indeed it is probable Mr.
Adams had rescued more than Fanny from the danger of a rape
that evening.
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 be very entertaining to the reader, we
shall hasten to the morning; only observing that none of them
went to bed that night. Adams, when he had smoked three
pipes, took a comfortable nap in a great chair, and left the
lovers, whose eyes were too well employed to permit any desire
of shutting them, to enjoy by themselves, during some hours,
a happiness of which none of my readers, who have never been
in love, are capable of the least conception, though we had- as
many tongues as Homer desired to describe it with, and which
all true lovers will represent to their own minds, without the
least assistance from us.
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 forever."  Joseph having thanked her on his knees,
and embraced her with an eagerness which she now almost
returned, leapt up in rapture, and awakened the parson, earnestly begging him, "that he would that instant join their hands




l42              ADVENTURES OF
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 license, 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
ChriJtians 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 igreed with
the parson, saying to Joseph, with a blush, " she assured him
she would not consent to any such thing, and that she wondered
at his offering it." In which resolution she was Comforted and
commended by. Adams; and Joseph was obliged to wait
patiently till after the third publication of the banns, which
however he obtained the consent of Fanny, in the presence of
Adams, to put in at their arrival.
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 fcrgot to return it,
So that the account stood thus:
-. s. d.
Mr. Adams and company, Dr..    0  7  0
In Mr. Adams's pocket... O  0  60
In Mr. Joseph's.....0 00
In Mrs. Fanny's..0  0  0
Balance..'O  6  5They 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,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   143
"There was. 7"-" 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,
"Heureka,- HIeureka;" which not being understood, he told
them in plain English, "They need give themselves no trouble;
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."
CHAPTER XIV.
An interview between- Parson A dams and Parson Trulliber.
PARSON Adams came to the house of Parson Trulliber,
wnom 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 days
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
inferior 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 accent extremely-broad.
To complete the whole, he had a stateliness in his gait, 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 slipped 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.
Adam's arrival, had made a small- mistake; for she had told
her husband, " She believed here was a man come for "-me of




144               ADVENTURES OF
his hogs."  This supposition made Mr. Trulliber hasten with
the utmost expedition to attend his guest. He no sooner saw
Parson 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 time; that' he expected a dealer that
very afternoon; and added, they were all pure and ft., and
upwards of twenty score a-piece."  Adams aaiswered,,  He
believed he did not know him."-" Yes, yes," Iried Trulliber,
"I have seen you often at fair; why, we have dealt before
now, mun, I warrant you. Yes, yes," cries he, " I remember
thy face very well, but won't mention a word more till you
have seen them, though I have never sold thee a flitch of such
bacon as is now in the stye."  Upon which he laid violent
hands on Adams, and dragged him- into the hog-stye, which
was indeed, but two steps from his parlour window. They
were no sooner arrived there, than he cried out, "Do but
handle them; step in, friend; art welcome to handle them,
whether dost buy or no?"  At which words, opening the
gate, he pushed Adam-s into a pig-stye, insisting on it that he
should handle them before he would talk one word with him.
Adams, whose natural compliance was beyond any artificial,
was obliged to comply before he was suffered to explain himself; and, laying hold on one of their tails, the unruly beast
gave such a sudden spring, that he threw poor Adams all along
in the mire.  Trulliber, instead of assisting hlm to get up,
burst into a fit of laughter, and, entering the stye, said to
Adams, with some contempt, "Why dost not know how to
handle a hog?" and was going to lay hold of one himself;
but. Adams, who thought he had carried his complaisance far
enough, was no sooner on his legs, than he.escaped out of
the reach of the animals, and- cried -out, "Nil habeo curn
porcis-: I -am a clergyman, sir, and am not come to buy hogs."
Trulliber-answered," IHe was sorry for the mistake; but that
he must blame his wife;" adding, "she was a fool, and always
committed blunders."  He then desired him to walk in and
clean himself; that he would only fasten up the stye and follow
himn. Adams desired leave to dry his great-coat, wig,. and hat
by the fire, which Trulliber granted. Mrs. Trulliber would
have brought him a basin of water to wash his face; but her




JOSEPr   ANDREWS.                  145
husband bid her -be quiet like a fool as she was, -or she would
commit more blunders, and then directed Adams to the pump.
While Adams was thus employed, Truiliber, conceiving no
great respect for the, appearance of his guest, fastened the
parlour door, and now conducted him into the kitchen; telling
him he believed a cup of drink would do him no harm, and
whispered his wife to drawa little of the worst ale. After a
short silence, Adams said, "I fancy, sir, you already perceive
me to be a clergyman."  "Ay, ay," cries Trulliber, grinning,
"I perceive you have some cassock; I will not venture to caale
it a whole one."' Adams answered, "It was indeed none of
the best; but he had the misfortune to tear it, about ten years
ago, in passing over a style."  Mrs. Trulliber, returning with
the drink, told her husband, "She fancied the gentleman was
a traveller, and that he would be glad to eat a bit. " Trulliber
bid her hold her impertinent tongue; and asked her, "If
parsons used to travel without horses?" adding, " He supposed
the gentleman had none, by his having no boots on."-" Yes,
sir, yes," says Adams; "I have a horse, but I have left him
behind me."-" I am glad to hear you have. one, " says Trulliber; "for I assure you I don't love to see clergymen on foot;
it is not seemly, nor suiting the dignity of the cloth.."  Here
Trulliber made a long oration on the dignity of the cloth, (or
rather gown,) not much worth relating, tili his wife had spread
the table, and set a mess of porridge on it, for his breakfast.:He then said to Adajms, "I don't know, friend, how you came
to caale on me; however, as you are here, if you think proper,
to eat a morsel, you may."  Adams accepted the invitation,
and the two parsons sat down together, Mrs. Trulliber waiting
behind her husband's chair, as was, it seems, her custom.
Trulliber ate heartily, but scarce put any thing in his mouth
without finding fault with his wife's cookery. All which the
poor woman bore patiently. Indeed, she was so absolute an
admirer of her husband's greatness and importance, of which
she had frequent hints from his own mouth, that she almost
carried her adoration to an opinion of his infallibility. To say
the truth, the parson had exercised her more ways than one;
and the pious- woman had so well edified by her husband's
sermons, that she had resolved to receive the bad things of
13                  K




146               ADVENTURES OF
this world together with the good.  She had, indeed,
been at first a little contentious; but he had long since got
the better; partly by her love for this; partly by her fear of
that; partly by her religion; partly by the respect he paid
himself; and partly by that which he received from the parish.
She had, in short, absolutely submitted, and now worshipped
her husband, as Sarah did Abraham, calling him (not lord,
but) master. Whilst they were at table, her husband gave her
a fresh example of his greatness; for as she had just delivered
a cup of ale to Adams, he snatched it out of his hand,-and
crying out, "I caal'd vurst," swallowed down the ale. Adams
denied it; it was referred to the wife, who, though her conscience was on the side of Adams, durst not give it against
her husband.  Upon which, he said, "No, sir, no; I should
not have been so rude to have taken it from you, if you had
caal'd vurst; but I'd have you know I'm a better man than to
suffer the best he in the kingdom to drink before me, in my
own house, when I caale vurst."
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. — " Though 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 arie, 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 -fr the fee, should pull out a writ against him. Suppose




J  SE P   AXDRE WS.                  147
an apothecary, at the door of a chariot containing some
greater 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 broom-stick.
Suppose a civil companion, or a led captain, should, instead
of virtue, and beauty, and parts, and admiration; thunder vice,
and infamy, and ugliness, and folly, and contempt, in his
patron's ears.  Suppose when a tradesman first carries in his
bill, the man of fashion should pay it; or suppose, if he did so,
the tradesman should abate what he had overcharged, on the
supposition of waiting. In short, — suppose what you will,
you never can nor will suppose any thing equal to the astonishment which seized on Trulliber, as soon as Adams had ended
his speech. A while he rolled his eyes in silence; sometimes
surveying Adams, then his wife; then casting them on the
ground, then lifting them up to heaven. At last he burst forth
in the following accents: " Sir, I believe I know where to lay
up my little treasure as well as another.  I thank G-, if I am
not so warm as some, I am content; that is a blessing greater
than riches; and he to whom that is given, need ask no more.
To be content with a little, is greater than to possess the world;
which a man may possess without being so. Lay up my treasure i! what matters it Where a man's treasure is, whose heart
is in the scriptures? there is the treasure of a Christian.J' At
these words the water ran from Adams's eyes; and catching
Trulliber by the hand in a rapture, "Brother," says he,
"heavens bless the accident by which I came to see you  I
would have walked many a mile to have communed with you;
and, believe me, I will shortly pay you a second visit; but my
friends, I fancy, by this time wonder at my stay; so let me
have the money immediately. "  Trulliber then put on a stern
look, and cried out, " Thou dost not intend to rob me?"' At
which the wife, bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and
roared out, "0, dear sir! for heaven's sake don't rob my
master: we are but poor people."-" Get up for a fool, as thou
art, and go about thy business," said Trulliber: "dost think
the man will venture his life? he is a beggar, and no robber.."
— " Very true, indeed, " answered Adams.  "I wish, with all




148                ADVENTURES OF'
my heart, the tithing-man was here," cries Trullibel: " I would
have thee punished as a vagabond for thy impudence. Fourteen shillings, indeed I I won't give thee a farthing.  I believe
thou art no more a clergyman than the woman there, (pointing
to his wife;) but if thou art, dost deserve to have thy gown
stript over thy shoulders, for running about the country in such
a manner." —" I forgive your suspicions,"' says Adams; "but
suppose I am not a clergyman, I am nevertheless thy brother;
and thou, as a Christian, much more as a clergyman, art
obliged to relieve my distress."- "Dost preach to me?"
replied Trulliber: " dost pretend to instruct me in my duty?"
- " Isacks, a good story," cries Mrs. Trulliber; "to preach to
my master. "-" Silence, woman, " cries Trulliber, "I would
have thee know, friend," (addressing himself to Adams,) "I
shall not learn my duty from such as thee.  I know what
charity is, better than to give to vagabonds." - "Besides, if
we were inclined, the poor's rate obliges us to give so much
charity," cries the wife.  "Pugh! thou art a fool.  Poor's
rate I Hold thy nonsense," answered Trulliber; and then
turning to Adams, he told him, " He would give him nothing.". -"I  am sorry,'.' answered Adams, "that you do know what
charity is, since you practise it no better: I must tell you, if
you trust to your knowledge for your justification, you will find
yourself deceived, though you should add faith to it, without
good works." — "Fellow," cries Trulliber, " dost thou speak
against faith in my house?  Get out of my doors: I will no
longer remain under the same roof with a wretch who speaks
wantonly of faith and the scriptures."-" Name not the scriptures," says Adams.  "How! not name the scriptures I Do
you disbelieve the Scriptures?" cries Trulliber.  " No, but you
do," answered Adams, "'if I may reason from your practice;
for their commands are so explicit, and their rewards and punishments so immense, that it is impossible a man should steadfastly believe without obeying.  Now, there is no command
more express, no duty more frequently enjoined, than charity.
Whoever, therefore, is void of charity, I make no scruple of
pronouncing that he is no Christian."-"  I would not advise
thee, " says Trulliber, " to say that I am no Christian: I won't
take it of you; for I believe I am as gocd a man as thyself;"




Jo-SEPH  ANDREWS.                  149
(and indeed though he was now rather- too corpulent for
athletic exercise, he had, in his youth, been one of the best
boxers and cudgel-players in the county.)  His wife, seeing
him clench his fist, interposed, and begged him not to fight,
but show himself a true Christian, and take the law of him.
As nothing could provoke Adams to strike, but an absolute
assault on himself or his friend, he smiled at the angry look
and gestures of Trulliber; and telling him, he was sorry to
see such men in orders, departed without further ceremony.
-4 —CHAPTER XV.
An adventure, th'e consequence of a new instance which Parson Adams gave
of his forgetfulness.
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 missed
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
enterprise. 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-faced 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 curtesy and smile, wished them a good journey. However,
lest Fanny's skill in physiognomy should be called into 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
meant his natural brother, and-not his brother in divinity; and
had so informed the hostess, on her inquiry after him. Now
13 *




150               AD VENT URES OF
Mr. Trulliber had, by his professions of piety, by his gravity,
austerity, reserve, and the opinion of his great wealth, so great
an authority in his parish, that they all lived in the utmost fear
and apprehension -of him. It was therefore no wonder that
the hostess, who knew it was in his option whether she should
ever sell another mug of drink, did not dare to affront his supposed brother, by denying him credit.
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 them.
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 fellow-creatures who abounded.
Whilst he was gone, the hostess, who staid as a sort of
guard with Joseph and Fanny, entertained them with the good.
ness 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 though he never
gave a farthing, he had always that word in his mouth




JOSEPIi ANDREWS.                   151
Adams was no sooner returned, the second time, than the
storm grew exceeding high, the hostess declaring, among other
things, that if they offered to stir without paying her, she
would soon overtake them with a warrant.
Plato and Aristotle, or somebody else, hath said, that when
the most exquisite cunning fails, chance often hits'the mnark,
and that by means the least expected. Virgil expresses this
very boldly, —
Turne, quod optanti divum promittere nemo
Auderet, volvenda dies, en! attulit ultro.
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 havinlg 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 cried 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 compliments 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.




152               ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER XVI.
A veiry curious adventure, in which Mir. Adams gave a much greater irnstance
of the honest simplicity of his heart, than of his experience in the ways of
this world.
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 smoking a pipe at the
door; of whom Adams inquired 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 country. 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 riches or flavour, to that which distilled
froin 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 alehouse, 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




JOSEPI  ANDREWS.                   153
cheerful 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, " Ie looked on all those whom
God had intrusted to his care, to stand to him in that relation."
The gentleman, shaking him by the hand, highly applauded
these 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 turkey-cock,
through rows of his parishioners; who bow to him with as
much submission, and are as unregarded.as a set 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




154               ADVENTURES OF
sake." Adams bowed, and cried, from the emnotionls of
gratitude; when the other asked him, "If he was married, or
had any children, besides those in the spiritual sense he had
mentioned." —" Sir," replied the parson, "I have a wife and
six at your service."-" That is unlucky," says the gentleman;
"for I would otherwise have taken you into my own house as
my chaplain; however, I have another in the parish, (for the
parsonage-house is not good enough,) which I will furnish for
you. Pray, does your wife understand a dairy?"- " I can't
profess she does," says Adams.  " I am sorry for it," quoth
the gentleman; " I would have given you half a dozen cows,
and very good grounds to have maintained them. — "  Sir,"
said Adams, in an extacy, "you are too liberal; indeed you
are. "- "Not at all," cries the gentleman; "I esteem riches
only as they give me an opportunity of doing good; and I
never saw one whom I had a greater inclination to serve. " At
which words he shook him heartily by the hand, and told him,
he had sufficient room in his house to entertain him and his
friends. Adams begged he might give him no such trouble;
that they could be very well accommodated in the house where
they were; forgetting they had not a sixpenny piece among
them. The gentleman would not be denied; and informing
himself how far they were travelling, he said, it was too long
a journey to take on foot, and begged they would favour him,
by suffering him to lend them. a servant and horses; adding
withal, that if they would do him the pleasure of their company
only two days, he would furnish them with his coach and six.
Adams turning to Joseph, said, " How lucky is this gentleman's
goodness to you, who I am afraid would be scarce able to hold
out on your lame leg;" and then addressing the person who
made him these liberal promises, after much bowing, he cried
out, "Blessed be the hour which first introduced me to a man
of your charity; you are indeed a Christian of the true primitive kind, and an honour tb the country wherein you live.  I
would willingly have taken a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to
have beheld you; for the advantages which we draw from your
goodness, give me little pleasure, in comparison of what I enjoy
for your own sake, when I consider the treasures you are by
these means laying up for yourself in a country that passeth




J OSEPH AND R EWS.                 155
not away. We will therefore, most generous sir,. accept your
goodness, as well, the entertainment you have so kindly offered
us at your house this evening, as the accommodation of your
horses to-morrow morning."  He then began to' search for his
hat, as did Joseph for his; and both they and Fanny were in
order of departure, when the gentleman stopping short, and
seeming to meditate by himself for the space of a minute,
exclaimed thus: "Sure never any thing was so unlucky; 1 had
forgot my house-keeper was gone abroad, and hath lock'd up
all my rooms; indeed, I would break them open for you, but
shall not be able to furnish you with a bed; for she has likewise put away all my linen. I am glad it entered into my head,
before I had given you the trouble of walking there; besides,
I believe you will find better accommodations here than you
expected. Landlord, you can provide good beds for these
people, can't you?" - " Yes, and please your worship," cries
the host, "and such as no lord or justice of the peace in the
kingdom need be ashamed to lie in. "-" I am heartily sorry,"
says the gentleman, " for this disappointment. I am resolved
I will never suffer her to carry away the keys again. "-" Pray,
sir, let it not make you uneasy," cries Adams; "we shall do
very well here; and the loan of your horses is a favour we
shall be incapable of making any return to. "-" Ay!" said
the squire, "the horses shall attend you here, at what hour in
the morning you please. "  And now, after many civilities too
tedious to enumerate, many squeezes by the hand, with most
affectionate looks and smiles at each other, and after appointing
the horses at seven the next morning, the gentleman took his
leave of them and departed to his own house.  Adams and
his companions returned to the table, where the parson smoked
another pipe, and then they all retired to rest.
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.




156               ADVENTURES OF
This dispute continued a long time, and had begun to be
very hot, when a servant arrived from their good friend, to ac.
quaint 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 physic.
This advice presently struck the two disputants dumb:
Adams cried out, "Was ever any thing so unlucky as this
poor gentleman?  I protest I am more sorry on his account
than on my own. You see, Joseph, how this good-natured
man is treated by his servants; one locks up his linen, another
physics his horses; and I suppose, by his being at this house
last night, the butler had locked up his cellar. Bless us! how
good-nature is used in this world I I protest I am more concerned on his account than my own." —" So am not I," cries
Joseph; "not that I am much troubled about walking on
foot; all my concern is, how we shall get out of the house, unless God sends another pedlar to redeem us. But certainly
this gentleman has such an affection for you, that he would
lend you a larger sum than we owe here, which is not above
four or- five shillings." —" Very true, child,"'' answered Adams;
"I will write a letter to him, and will even venture to solicit
him for three half crowns; there will be no harm in having two
or three shillings in our pockets; as we have full forty miles
to travel, we may possibly have occasion for them."
Fanny being now risen, Joseph paid her a visit, and left
Adams to write his letter, which, having finished, he despatched a boy with it to the gentleman, and then seated himself by the door, lighted his pipe, and betook himself tc
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 miglht
very. possibly be; and he should wonder. at no liberties which
the devil might put into the head of a wicked servant to takel
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, though 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. "




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   1]5
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 welll" 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 messenger departed, and was back
again with great expedition, bringing an account that the gentleman was gone a long journey, and would not be at home
again this month. At these words Adams seemed greatly
confounded, saying, " This must be a sudden accident, as the
sickness or. death of a relation, or some such unforeseen misfortune;" and then turning to Joseph, cried, "I wish you had
reminded me to have borrowed this monev last night."
Joseph, smiling, answered, " He was very much deceived, if
the gentleman would not havefound some excuse to avoid
lending it."-" I own," says he, "I was never much pleased
with his professing so much kindness for you at first sight; for
I have heard the gentlemen of our cloth in London tell, many
such stories of their masters. But when the boy brought the
message back of his not being at home, I presently knew what
would follow; for whenever a man of fashion doth not care to
fulfil his promises, the custom is, to order his servants that he
will never, be at home to the person so promised. In London,
they call it denying him. I have myself denied Sir Thomas
Booby above a hundred times; and when the man hath danced
attendance for about a month, or sometimes longer, he is acquainted, in the end, that the gentleman is gone out of town,
and could do nothing in the business.-"-" Good Lord!" says
Adams, " what wickedness is there in the christian world! I
profess almost equal to what I have read of the.heathens.
But surely, Joseph, your suspicions of this gentleman must be
unjust; for what a silly fellow must he be, who would do the
devil's work for' nothing I and canst thou tell the any interest
he could possibly propose to himself, by deceiving us in his
professions?"- " It is not forme, " answered Joseph, " to give
reasonsm for what men do, to a gentleman of your learning. " —
14




158               ADVENTURES OF
"You say right," quoth Adams: " knowledge of men is only
to be learnt from books; Plato and Seneca-for that; and tlhose
are authors, I am afraid, child, you never read."- "Not I,
sir, truly," answered Joseph; "all I know is, it is a maxim
among the gentlemen of our cloth, that those masters, who
promise the most, perform the least; and I have often heard
them say, they-have found the largest vails in those families
where they were not promised any. But, sir, instead of considering any farther these matters, it would be our wisest way
to contrive some method of getting out of this house; for the
generous gentleman, instead of doing us any service, hath left
us the whole reckoning to pay." Adams was going to answer,
when their host came in, and with a kind of jeering smile,
said, " Well, masters I the squire hath not sent his horses for
you yet. Laud help me! how easily some folks make promises!" —" How!" says Adams, "have you ever known him
to do any thing of this kind before?"'-"Ay! marry have I, "
answered the host; "it is no. business of mine, you know, sir,
to say any thing to a gentleman to his face; but now he is not
here, I will assure you, he hath not his fellow within the three
next market towns. I own I could not help laughing, when I
heard him offer you the living; for thereby hangs a good jest.
I thought he would have offered you my house next, for one is
no more his to dispose of than the other."  At these words,
Adams, blessing himself, declared, " he had never read of such
a monster. But what vexes me most, " says he, "is, that he
hath decoyed us into running up a long debt with you, which
we are not able to pay, for we have no money about us; and
what is worse, live at such a distance, that if you should trust
us, I am afraid you would lose your money, for want of our
finding any conveniency of sending it. "-"-Trust you, master!"
says the host; "that I will with all my. heart.  I honour the
clergy too much to deny trusting one of them for such a
trifle; besides, I like your fear of never paying me. I have
lost many a debt in my life-time; but was promised to be paid
them all in a very short time. I will score this reckoning foi
the novelty of it.  It is the first, I do assure you, of its kind,
But what say you, master, shall we have t'other pot before we
part? It will waste but a little chalk more; and if you never




JOSEPH  ANDRENWS.                    159
payr me a shilling, the loss will not ruin me."  Adams liked
the invitation very well, especially as it was delivered with so
hearty an accent.  He shook his host by the hand, and thanking him, said, " lie would tarry another pot, rather for the
pleasure of such worthy company, than for the liquor;"
adding, "he was glad to find some Christians left in the kingdom, for that he almost began to suspect that he was sojourning in a country inhabited only by Jews and Turks."
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.
CHAPTER XVII.
A dialogue between ODr. Abraham Adams and his host, which, by the disagreement in their opinions, seemed to threaten an unlucky catastrophe, had
it not been timely prevented by the return of the lovers.
"SIR," said the host, " I assure you, you are not the first to
whom our squire hath promised more than he hath performed.
lie 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 t(
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 to 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.




~160              ADVENTURES OF
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 expense,
only told his fathdr that the young man was a fine scholar, and
it was a 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, "I-He
was not a man sufficient to do any such thing. "-" Why then,"
answered the squire, "I am very sorry you have given him so
much learning; for if he cannot get his living by that, it will
rather spoil him for any thing else; and your other son, who
can hardly write Ihis name, will do more at ploughing and sowing, and is in a better condition than he."  And indeed so it
proved; for the poor lad, not finding friends to maintain him
in his learning, as he had expected, and being unwilling to
work, fell to drinking, though he was a very sober lad before;
and in a short time, partly with grief, and partly with good
liquor, fell into a consumption, and died.-Nay, I can tell you
more still: There was another, a young woman, and the handsomaest in all this neighbourhood, whom he enticed up to London, promising to make her a genflewoman to one of your
women of quality; but instead of keeping his word, we have
since heard, after having a child by her himself, she became a
common whore; then kept a coffee-house in Covent-garden;
and a little after died of the French distemper in a jail. - I
could tell you many more stories: but how do you imagine he
served me myself? You must know, sir, I was bred a seafaring
man, and have been many voyages; till at last I caine to be
master of a ship myself, and was in a fair way of making a
fortune, when I was attacked by one of those cursed guardacostas, who took our ships before the beginning of the war;
and after a fight, wherein I lost the greater part of my crew,
my rigging being all demolished, and two shots received between
wind and water, I was forced to strike. The villains carried




JOSE] H  ANDREWS.                   161
off my ship, a brigantine of 150 tons, - a pretty creature she
was,-and put me, a man, and a boy, into a little bad pink, in
which, with much ado, we at last made Falmouth; though I
believe the Spaniards did not imagine she could possibly live a
day at-sea. Upon my return hither, where my wife, who was
of this country, then lived, the squire told me he was so pleased
with the defence I had made against the enemy, that he did not
fear getting me promoted to a lieutenancy of a man of war, if
I would accept of it; which I thankfully assured him I would.
Well sir, two or three years passed, during which I had many
repeated promises, not only from the squire, but, (as he told
me,) from the lords of the admiralty. He never returned from
London, but I was assured I might be satisfied now, for I was
certain of the first vacancy; and what surprises me still, when
I reflect on it, these assurances were given me with no less confidence, after so many disappointments, than at first. At last,
sir, growing weary, and somewhat suspicious, after so much
delay, I wrote to a friend in London, who I knew had some
acquaintance at the best house in the admiralty, and desired
him to back the squire's interest; for indeed I feared he had
solicited the affair with more coldness than he pretended. And
what answer do you think my firiend sent me?  Truly, sir, he
acquainted me that the squire had never mentioned my name at
the admiralty in his life; and unless I had much faithfuller
interest, advised me to give over my pretensions; which I
immediately did, and, with the concurrence of my wife,
resolved to set up an alehouse, where you are heartily welcome;
and so my service to you; and may the squire, and all such
sneaking rascals, go to the devil together." - " 0 fie!" says
Adams, "O fie  I He is indeed a wicked man; but G —d will,
I hope, turn his heart to repentance.  Nay, if he could but
once see the meanness of this detestable vice; would he but
once reflect that he is one of the most scandalous, as well as
pernicious liars, sure he must despise himself to so intolerable
a degree, that it would be impossible for him to continue a
moment in such a course.  And to confess the truth, notwithstanding the baseness of this character, which he hath too well
deserved, he bhath ill his countenance sufficient symptoms of
that bona indoles, that sweetness of disposition, which fur
14*                 L




162               ADVENTUtRES OR 
nishes out a good Christian."-" Ah, master, master!" says
the host, " if you had travelled as far as I have, and conversed
with the many nations where I have traded, you would not give
any credit to a man's countenance. _ Symptoms in his countenance, quotha! I would look there perhaps, to see whether a man
had had.the small-pox, but for nothing else."  He spoke this
with so little regard to the parson's observation, that it a good
deal nettled him; and taking his pipe hastily from his mouth,
he thus answered: " Master of mine, perhaps I have travelled
a great deal farther than you, without the assistance of a ship.
Do you imagine sailing by different cities or countries is travelling? No.
" Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare curiunt."
" 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 of Syracuse. I
suppose you have sailed among the Cyclades, and passed the
famous straits which take their name from the unfortunate
Helle, whose fate is sweetly described by Apollonius Rhodius:
you have passed the very spot, I conceive, where Daodalus 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 areno such, I will be sworn, either in
the West or the Levant." - "Pray, where is 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 you, master; you must
not talk of these things with me, you must not tip us the traveller; it won't go here."''-"  Since thou art so dull to misunderstand me still," quoth Adams, "I will inform thee, the travel.
ling I mean is in books, the only way of travelling by whiclh
any knowledge is to be acquired.  From them I learn whal I




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    163
asserted just now, that nature generally imprints such a portraiture of the mind in the countenance, that a skilful physiognomist will rarely be deceived. I presume you have never read
the story of Socrates to this purpose, and therefore I will tell
it you: A certain physiognomist asserted of Socrates, that he
plainly discovered by his features that he was a rogue in his
nature. A character so contrary to the tenour of all this great
man's actions, and the generally received opinion concerning
him, incensed the boys of Athens so that they threw stones at
the physiognomist, and would have demolished him for his
ignorance, had not Socrates himself prevented them by confessing the truth of his observations, and acknowledging, that,
though he corrected his disposition by philosophy, he was indeed
naturally as inclined to vice as had been predicated of him.
Now, pray resolve me,-how should a man know this story, if
he had not read it?"- "Well, master, " said the host, "and
what signifies it whether a man knows it or no? tHe who goes
abroad as I have done, will always have opportunities enough
of knowing the world without troubling his head with Socrates
or any such fellows.'-" Friend, " cries Adams, " if a man
should sail round the world, and anchor in every harbour of
it without learning, he would return home as ignorant as he
went out." — "Lord help you," answered the host: "there
was my boatswain, poor fellow I he could scarce either write
or read, and yet he would navigate a ship with any master of
a man of war; and a very pretty knowledge of trade he had
too."- "Trade," answered Adams, "as Aristotle proves in
his first chapter of Politics, is below a philosopher, and unnatural as it is -managed now."  The host looked steadfastly at
Adams, and after a minute's silence asked him, "If he was one
of the writers of the Gazetteers? for I have heard, " says he,
"they are writ by parsors "'-" Gazetteers!" answered Adams;
"What is that?" —"It is a dirty newspaper," replied the
host, "which hath been given away all over the nation for
these many years, to abuse trade and honest men, which I
would not suffer to lie on my table, though it hath been offered
me for nothing. "
"Not I, truly," said Adams; "I never write any thing but
sermons; and I assure you I am no enemy to trade, whilst it is




164               ADVENTURES OF
consistent with honesty; nay, I have always looked on the
tradesman as a very valuable member of society, and, perhaps,
inferior to none but the man of learning. "-" No, I believe he
is not, nor to him neither," answered the host.  "Of what use
would learning be in a country without trade? What would
all you parsons do to clothe your backs and feed your bellies?
Who fetches you your silks, and your linens, and your wines,
and all the necessaries of life? I speak chiefly with regard to
the sailors." — " You should say the extravagancies of life,"
replied the parson; "but admit they were the necessaries,
there is something more necessary than life itself, which is
provided by learning; I mean the learning of the clergy. Who
clothes you with piety, meekness, humility, charity, patience,
and all the other christian virtues? Who feeds your souls with
the milk of brotherly love, and diets them with all the dainty
food of holiness, which at once cleanses them of all impure
carnal affections, and fattens them with the truly rich spirit of
grace.  Who doth this? — "Ay, who, indeed " cries the
host; "for I do not remember ever to have seen any such
clothing, or such feeding. And so in the mean time, master,
my service to you. " - Adams was going to answer with some
severity, when Joseph and Fanny returned, and pressed his
departure so eagerly, that he would not refuse them; and so
grasping his crabstick, he took leave of his host, (neither of
them being so well pleased with each other as they had been at
their first sitting down together,) and with Joseph and Fanny,
who both expressed much impatience, departed, and now all
together renewed their journey.
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
Matter prefatory in praise of biography.
NOTWITHSTANDING the preference which may be vulgarly
given to the authority of those romance-writers who entitle
their books, "the History of England, the History of France,
of Spain, &c." it is most certain, that truth is to be found only
in the works of those who celebrate the lives of great men,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    16.5
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 being set forth in a different
light, every reader believes as he pleases; and, indeed, the
more judicious and suspicious very justly esteem the whole as
no other than a romance, in which the writer hath indtilged a
happy and fertile invention. But though these widely differ in
the narrative of facts;- some ascribing victory to the one, and
otheis to the other party; some representing the same man as
a rogue, while others give him a great and honest character;
yet all agree in the scene where the fact is supposed to have
happened; and where the person, who is both a rogue and an
honest man, lived. Now, with us biographers the case is
different; the facts we deliver may be relied on, though we
often mistake the age and country wherein they happened: for
though it may be worth the examination of critics, whether the
shepherd Chrysostom, who, as Cervantes informs us, died for
love of the fair Marcella, who hated him, was ever in Spain,
will any one doubt but that such a silly fellow hath really
existed? Is there in the world. such a sceptic as to disbelieve
the madness of Cardenio, the perfidy of Ferdinand, the impertinent curiosity of Anselmo, the weakness of Camilla, the
irresolute friendship of Lothario; though perhaps, as to the
time and place where those several persons lived, that good
historian may be deplorably deficient. But the most known
instance of this kind is in the true history of Gil Blas, where
the inimitable biographer hath made a notorious blunder in
the country of Dr. Sangrado, who used his patients as a vintnur
does his wine-vessels, by letting out their blood, and filling
them up with water.  Doth not every one, who is the least




166                ADVENTURES OF
versed in physical history, know that Spain was not the country
in which this doctor lived?  The same writer hath likewise
erred in the country of his archbishop, as well as that of those
great personages whose understandings were too sublime to
taste any thing but tragedy, and in many others. The same
mistakes- may likewise be observed in Scarron, the Arabian
Nights, the History of Marianne and le Paison Parvenu, and
perhaps some few other writers of this class, whom I have not
read, or do not at present recollect; for I would by no means
be thought to comprehend those persons of surprising genius,
the authors of immense romances, or the modern novel and
Atalantis writers; who, without any assistance from nature or
history, record persons who never were, or will be, and facts
which never did, nor possibly can, happen; whose heroes are
of their own creation, and their brains the chaos whence all the
materials are selected.  Not that such writers deserve no
honour; so far otherwise, that perhaps they merit the highest:
for what can be nobler than to be as an example of the wonderful extent of human genius? One may apply to them what
Balzac says of' Aristotle, that they are a second nature, (for
they have no communication with the first; by which authors
of an.inferior class, who cannot. stand alone, are obliged tc
support themselves, as with, crutchef;) but these of whom I am
now speaking seem to be possessed of those stilts, which the
excellent Voltaire tells us, in his Letters, "carry the genius
far off, but with an irregular pace."  Indeed, far out of the
sight of the reader.
Beyond the realms of Chaos and old Night.
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 achievements of the renowned Don Quixote, more
worthy the name of a history that 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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     167
before us; for indeed I have set them down principally to obviate some constructions, which the good-natured of mankind,
who are always forward to see their friends' virtues recorded,
may put to particular parts. I question not but several of my
readers will know the lawyer in the stage-coach the moment
they hear his voice.  It is likewise odds but the wit and the
prude meet with some of their acquaintance, as well as all the
rest of my characters.  To prevent, therefore, any such malicious applications, I declare here, once for all, I describe not
men, but manners; not an individual, but a species. Perhaps
it will be answered, Are not the characters then taken from
life? To which I answer in the affirmative; nay, I believe I
might aver, that I have writ little more than I have seen. The
lawyer is not only alive, but hath been so these four thousand
years; and I hope G- will indulge his life as many yet to come.
He hath not, indeed, confined himself to one profession, one
religion, or one country; but when the first mean selfish creature appeared on the human stage, who made self the centre
of the whole creation, would give himself no pain, incur no
danger, advance no money, to assist or preserve his fellow-creatures; then was our lawyer born; and whilst such a person as
I have described, exists on earth, so long shall he remain upon it.
It is therefore doing him little honour, to imagine he endeavours
to maimic some little obscure fellow, because he happens to resemble him. in one particular feature, or perhaps in his profession; whereas his appearance in the world is calculated for much
more general and noble purposes; not to expose one pitiful wretch
to the small and contemptible circle of his acquaintance; but to
hold the glass to thousands in their closets, that they may contemplate their deformity, and -endeavour to reduce it, and thus
by suffering private mortification, may avoid public shame. This
places the boundary between, and distinguishes, the satirist
from the libeller: for the former privately corrects the fault for
the benefit of- the person, like a parent; the latter publicly
exposes the person himself, as an example to others, like an
executioner.
There are, besides, little circumstances to be considered; as
the drapery of a picture, which, though fashion varies at
different times, the resemblance of the countenance is not by




168               ADVENTURES O0
those means diminished. Thus I believe we may venture to
say Mrs. Tow-wouse is coeval with our lawyer: and though,
perhaps, during the changes which so long an existence must
have passed through, she may in her turn have stood behind
the bar at an inn; I will not scruple to affirm, she hath likewise in the revolution of ages sat on a throne. In short,
where extreme turbulency of temper, avarice, and an insensibility of human misery, with a degree of hypocrisy, have united
in a female composition, Mrs. Tow-wouse was that woman;
and where a good inclination, eclipsed by a poverty of spirit
and understanding, hath glimmered forth in a man, that man
hath been no other than her sneaking husband.
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 meant 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 exclude 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 bath 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 embellished 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 superior talents, than is in the power of his prince to exalt him;
whose behaviour to those he hath obliged is more amiable than
the obligation itself; and who is so great a master of affability, that, if he could divest himself of an inherent greatness
in his manner, would often make the lowest of his acquaintance
forget who was the master of that palace in which they are so
courteously entertained. These are pictures which must be, I
believe, known: I declare they are taken froma the life, and not
intended to exceed it. By those high people, therefore, whom
I have described, I mean a set of wretches, who, while they




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     169
are a disgrace to their ancestors, whose honours and fortunes
they inherit, (or, perhaps, a greater to their mother, for such
degeneracy is scarce credible,).have the insolence to treat those
with disregard who are at least equal to the founders of their
own splendour.  It is, I fancy, impossible to conceive a
spectacle more worthy of our indignation, than that of a fel.
low, who is not only a blot in the escutcheon of a great family,
but a scandal to the human species, maintaining a supercilious
behaviour to men, who are an honour to their nature and a
disgrace to their fortune.
And now, reader, taking these hints along with you, you
may, if you please, proceed-to the sequel of this our true history.
CHAPTER II.
A night scene, wherein several wonderful adventures befel A dams and his fellow-travellers.
IT was so late when our travellers left the inn or alehouse,
(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 took; for, as we are now drawing near
the seat of the Boobies, and as that is a ticklish name, which
malicious persons may apply, according to their evil inclinations, to several worthy country squires, a race of men whom
we look upon as entirely inoffensive, and for whom we havean
adequate regard, we shall lend no assistance to any such
malicious purposes.
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 couldwalk 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,Eschylus; 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
15




170               ADVENTURES OF
circumstance, however, very favourable to Joseph; for Fanny,
not suspicious o.; being overseen by Adams, gave a loose to
her passion whicli she had never done before, and, reclining her
head on his bosom, threw her arm carelessly 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 surprise, it
stopped for a moment, and then disappeared. He then called
to Joseph, asking him, "if he had not seen the lighlt?"
Joseph answered, "he had. " —"And did you not mark how
it vanished?'" returned he: "though 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, though in fact they were not
so extremely near. However, he could distinctly hear them
agree on the murder 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
care of Providence; and poor Fanny, who likewise heard
those terrible words, embraced Joseph so closely, that had not
he, whose ears were also open, been apprehensive on her account, he would have thought no danger which threatened only
himself too dear a price for such embraces.
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 the 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.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS                    1i1
Est hic, est animus lucis contemptor et ilium,
Qui vita bene credat emi quo tendis, honorem.'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 wouldst 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 heartyblows, as if a number of men had been
engaged at quarters:tff.  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 threatened 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
each other, and at the same time found themselves on the descent of a very steep hill. Adams's foot slipping, he instantly
disappeared, which greatly frightened both Joseph and Fanny;
indeed, if the light had permitted them to see it, they would
scarce have refrained laughing to see the parson rolling down
the hill; which he did from top to bottom, without receiving
any harm. He then hollaed as loud as he could, to inform
them of his safety, and relieve them from the fears which they
had conceived for him. Joseph and Fanny halted some time,
considering what to do; at last they advanced a few paces,
where, the declivity seemed least steep; and then Joseph, taking
his Fanny in his- arms, walked firmly down the hill without
making a false step, and at length landed her at the bottom,
where Adaims soon came to them.
Learn hehnce, my- fair country-women, 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




172               A DV-ENTURE S OF
that you match not yourselves with the spindle-shanked beaux
petit maitres of the age, who, instead of being able, like
Joseph Andrews, to carry you in his 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 where the nearest light
presented itself; and having crossed a common field, they
came to a meadow, where 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 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 obliged to him if he would
suffer her to come in and rest herself." The man, who saw
Fanny by the light of the candle which he held in his hand,
perceiving her innocent and modest look, and having no apprehensions, fiom the civil, behaviour of Adams, presently answered, "That the young woman -was very welcome to rest
herself in his house, and so were her company."  He tlien
ushered them into a very decent room, where his wife was
sitting at a table: she immediately rose up, -and assisted them
in setting forth chairs, and desired them to sit down; which
they had no sooner done, than the man of the house asked
them if they would have any thing to refresh themselves with?
Adams thanked him, and answered, he should be obliged to
him for a cup of his ale, which was likewise chosen by Joseph
and Fanny. Whilst he was gone to fill a very large jng with




JOS.EPH  ANDUREWS.                1N.3
this liquor, his wife told Fanny she seemed greatly fatigued,
and desired her to take something stronger than ale; but sho
refused with many thanks, saying it was true she was very
much tired, but a little rest she hoped would. restore her.
As soon as the. company were all seated, Mr. Adams, who
had filled himself with ale, and by public permission had
lighted his pipe, turned to the master of the house, asking
him, " If evil spirits did not use to walk in that neighbourhlood?"'  To which receiving no answer, he began to inform
him of the adventure which they had met with on the downs;
nor had he proceeded far in his story, when somebody knocked
very hard at the door. The company expressed some amazement, and Fanny and the good woman turned pale: her husband went forth, and whilst he was absent, which was some
time, they all remained silent, looking at one another, and
heard several voices discoursing pretty loudly. Adams was.
fully persuaded that spirits. were abroad, and began to meditate
some exorcisms: Joseph a little inclined to the same opinion;
Fallny was more afraid of men; and the good woman herself
began to suspect her guests, and imagined those without were
rogues belonging to their gang.  At length the master of the
house returned, and, laughing, told Adams he had discovered
his apparition; that the murderers were sheep-stealers, and the
twelve persons murdered, were no other than twelve' sheep;
adding, that the shepherds had got the better of them, had
secured two, and were proceeding with them to a justice of
peace. This account greatly relieved the fears of the whole
company; but Adams murmured to himself, " He was convinced
of the truth of apparitions for all that. "
They now sat cheerfully round the fire, till the master of the
house, having Purveyed 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 the familiarity.between them, began to entertain
some suspicions, not much to their advantage: addressing  himself therefore to Adams, he said, "He perceived he was a
clergyman by his dress, and supposed that honest man was his
footman."-" Sir,' aiswered Adams,"' I am a clergyman, at
your service; but as to that young man, whom. you have rightly
5 *




174              AD'VENTURES OF
termed honest, he is at present in nobody'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
much goodness with a poor man."-"' Child," said Adams,
" I sh-ould be ashamed of my cloth, if I thought a poor manl,
who is honest, below my notice or my familiarity. I know
nobt 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 further, 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 I"
says the gentleman to himself, "have I caught you?-What,"
says he, "have you never seen his Homer?"  Adams answered, " He had never read any translation of the classics.""Why truly," replied the gentleman, "there is a dignity in
the Greek language, which I think no modern tongue can
reach."-" Do you understand Greek, sir?" said Adams,
hastily.  "A little, sir," answered the gentleman.  "Do you
know, sir," cries Adams, " where I can buy an,{Eschylus? an
unlucky misfortune lately happened to mine."
2Eschylus was beyond the gentleman, though he knew him
very well by name; -he therefore, returning back to Homer,
asked Adams, "What part of the Iliad he thought most excellent?" Adams returned, "Ilis question would be properer,
What kind of beauty was the chief in poetry? for that Homer
was equally excellent in them all. And, indeed, "' continued
he, "what Cicero says of a complete orator- may well be ap.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                       175
plied to a great poet:' He ought to comprehend all perfections.'  fiomcr did this in the most excellent degree: it is
not without reason, therefore, that the philosopher, in the
twenty-second chapter of his Poetics, 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 same analogy to comedy, as his Odyssey
and Iliad to tragedy.  To him, therefore, we owe Aristophanes, as well as Euripides, Sophocles, and my poor _Eschylus.  But, if you please, we will confine ourselves (at least for
the present) to the Iliad, his noblest work, though neither
Aristotle nor Horace give it the preference, as I remember, to
the Odyssey.  First, then, as to his subject; can any thing be
more simple, and at the same time more noble?  He isrightly
praised by the first of those judicious critics, for not choosing
the whole war, which, though he says it hath a complete beginning and end, would have been too great for the understanding to comprehend at one view.  I have, therefore, often wondered why so correct a writer as Horace -should, in his epistle
to Lollins, call him the Trojani Belli Scriptorem. Secondly,
his action, termed, by Aristotle, Pragmaton Systassis; is it
possible for the mind of man to conceive an idea of such perfeet unity, and at the same time so replete with greatness?
And here I must observe what I do not remember to have seen
nloticed by any, the Harmotton, that agreement of his action
to. his subject; for, as the subject is anger, how agreeable is
his action, which is war; from  which every incident arises,
and to which every episode immediately relates. Thirdly, his
manners, which Aristotle places second in his description of
the several parts of tragedy, and which, he says, are included
in the action; I am at a loss whether I should rather admire
the- exactness of his judgment in the nice distinction, or the
immensity of his imagination in their variety.  For, as to the
fnrmer of these, how accurately is the sedate, injured resentment of Achilles, distinguished from the hot insulting passion
of Agamemnon! how widely doth the brutal courage of Ajax
differ from the amiable bravery of- Diomedes; and the wisdom
of Nestor, which is the result of long reflection and experience,




1M6                ADVENTURES OF
from' -the cunning of Ulysses, the effect of art and subtlety
only! if we consider their variety, -we may cry out with Aristotle, in his twenty-fourth chapter, that no part of this divine:
poem is destitute of manners.  Indeed, I might affirm., that
there is scarce a character in human' nature untouched in some
part or other.  And as there is no passion which he is not
able to describe, so is there none in- his reader which he cannot
raise.  If he hath any superior excellence to. the rest, I have
been inclined to fancy it is in the pathetic.  I am sure I- never
read with dry eyes the-two episodes where Andromache is introduced, in the former lamenting the danger, and in the- latter
the death of Hector.  The images are so extremely tender in
these, that I am convinced the poet had the worthiest and best
heart imaginable'.  Nor can I help" observing how Sophocles
falls short of the beauties of the original, in that imitation of
the dissuasive speech of Andromache, which he-bath put into
the mouth of Teemessa.  And yet Sophocles was the greatest
genius who ever wrote tragedy: nor have any of his successors
in that -art, that is to, say, neither Euripides nor Seneca' the
tragedian, been able to come near him.  As to his sentiments
and diction I need say nothing; the former are particularly remarkable for the utmost perfection on that head, namely, propriety; and as't-o the latter,. Aristotle, whom, doubtless, you
have read over and over, is very diffuse.  I shalL mention but
one thing more, which that great critic, in his division of
tragedy calls Opsis, or the scenery; and which is as proper to
the epic as to the drama, with this difference, that in the former
it falls to the share of the poet, and in the latter to that of the
painter.  But did ever painter imagine a scene like that inll
the thirteenth and fourteenth Iliads? where the reader sees at
one view the prospect of Ttoy, with the army drawn up before
it; the Grecian army, camp, and fleet; Jupiter sitting on
mount Ida, with his head wrapt in a cloud, and a thunderbolt
in his hand, looking towards Thrace; Neptune driving through
the sea, which divides on each side to permit his passage, and
then seating himself on mount Samos  the heavens opened and
the deities all seated on their thrones.  This is sublime! This
is poetry!" Adams then-rapt out a hundred Greek verses, and
with such a voice, empliasis, and action, that he almost fright



J'OSEPIH  ANDREWS.                 171.ene-d the women; and as for the gentleman, he was so far, from
entertaining any further suspicion of Adams, that he now doubted
whether he'had not a bishop in his house.  He ran into the
most extravagant encomiums on his learning: and the goodness of his heart began to dilate to all the strangers. He said
he -had great compassion for the poor young woman, who
looked pale and faint with her journey: and in truth he conceived a much higher opinion of her quality than it deserved.
He said he was sorry he could not accommodate them all; -but
if they were contented with his fireside, he would sit up with
the men, and the young woman might, if she pleased, partake
his wife's bed, which he advised her to; for that they must walk
upwards of a mile to any house of entertainment, and not very
good neither. Adams, who liked his seat, his ale, his tobacco,
and his company, persuaded Fanny to accept this kind proposal, in which solicitation, he was seconded by Joseph. Nor
was she very difficultly prevailed on; for she had slept but little
the last night, and not at all the preceding; so that love itself
was scarce able to keep her eyes open any longer. The offer,
therefore, being kindly accepted, the good woman produced
every thing eatable in her house on the table, and the guests
being heartily invited, as heartily regaled themselves, especially
Parson Adams. As to the other two, they were examples of
the truth of that, physical observation, that love, like other
sweet things, is no whetter of the stomach.
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 gentlemnan insisted on the contrary, drew
round the fireside, 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
M4




178                  ADVENTURES O'F
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
enamoured of his guests, drank their healths with great cheerfulness, and returned many thanks to Adams, who had.spent
much breath, for he was a circumstantial teller of- a story.
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 lihe
had ever known.  "Therefore,;" said he, "if it be not too
troublesome, 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.
CHAPTER III.
In which the gentleman relates the history of his life.
SiR, I am descended of a good family, and was born a gentleman.  My education was liberal, ahd at a public school; in
which I proceeded so far as to become master of the Latin,
* The author hath by some been represented to have made a blunder
here; for Adams had indeed shown some learning, (say they,) perhaps
all the author had; but the gentleman hath shown none, unless his
approbation of Mr. Adams be such: but surely it would be preposterous
in him to call it so. I have, however, notwithstanding this criticism,
which I am told came,from the mouth of a great orator in a'public coffeehouse, left this blunder as it stood in the first edition. I will not have
the vanity to apply to any thing in this work the observation which' M.
Dacier makes in her preface to her Aristophanes: Je tiens pour une maxime
constante qu'une beautM mediocre plait.plus genercaement qu'une beault sans
defaut. Mr. Congreve hath made such another blunder in his Love for
Love, where Tattle tells Miss Prue, "She should admire himl as much for
the beauty he ommta nds in her ps if he himself was possessed of it."




JOSEPII ANDRBWS.                    179
-and to be tolerably versed in the Greek language.  My fathel
died when I was sixteen, and left me master of myself.  He
bequeathed me a moderate fortune, which he intended I should
not receive till I attained the age of twenty-five: for he constantly asserted that was full early enough to give up any man
entirely to the guidance of his own discretion. However, as
this intention was so obscurely worded in his will that the
lawyers advised me to contest the point with my trustees, I own
I paid so little regard to the inclinations of my dead father,
which were sufficiently certain to me, that I followed their
advice, and soon succeeded, for the trustees did not contest
the matter very obstinately on their side. " Sir," said Adams,
"may I crave the favour of your name?"  The gentleman
answered, "his name was Wilson," and then proceeded.
I staid a very little while at school after his death; for, being
a forward youth, I was extremely impatient to be in the world:
for which I thought my parts, knowledge, and manhood,
thoroughly qualified me. And to this early introduction into
life, without a guide, I impute all my future misfortunes; for
besides the obvious mischiefs which attend this, there is one
which hath not been so generally observed: the first impression
which mankind receives of you will be very difficult to eradicate.
How unhappy, therefore, must it be to fix your character in
life, before you can possibly know its value, or weigh the consequences of those actions which are to establish your future
reputation?
A little under seventeen, I left my school, and went to
London, with no more than six pounds in my pocket, a great
sum, as I then conceived, and which I was afterwards surprised
to find so soon consumed.
The character I was ambitious of obtaining was that of a
fine gentleman; the first requisites to which, I apprehended,
were to be supplied by a tailor, a perriwig-maker, and some
few more tradesmen, who deal in furnishing out the human
body.  Notwithstanding the lowness. of my purse, I found
credit with them more easily than I expected, and was soon
equipped to my wish. This, I own, then agreeably surprised
me; but I have since learned, that it is a maxim among many
tradesmen at the polite end of the town, to deal as largely as




1.80              ADVENTURES: OF
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 music, came into my head: but as they
required expense and time, I comforted myself, with regard to
dancing, that I had learned a little in my youth, and could
walk a minuet genteelly enough; as to fencing, I thought my
good-humour would preserve me from the danger of a quarrel;
as to the horse, I hoped it would not be thought of; and for
music, I imagined I could easily acquire the reputation of it;
for I had heard some of my school-fellows pretend to knowledge
in operas, without being able to sing or play on the fiddle.
Knowledge of the town seemed another ingredient; this I
thought I should arrive at by frequenting public places.
Accordingly, I paid constant attendance to them all; by which
means, I was soon master of the fashionable phrases, learned
to cry up the fashionable diversions,.and knew the names and
faces of the most fashionable men and women.
Nothing now seemed to remain but an intrigue, which I was
resolved to have immediately; I mean the reputation of it;,and indeed I was so successful, that in a very short time I had
half a dozen, with the finest women in the town.
At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, and then,
blessing himself, cried out, " Good Lord! what wicked times
these are II"
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 arrived at; and
perhaps I only fiattered myself even in that; for very probably,
the person to whom I showed their billets knew, as well as I,
that they were counterfeits, and that I had written them to my..
self. " 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
answered, "'D-n her, she l We shall have her at lH-d'.,




JO:SEPH ANDREWS.                   1'8.1
very soon."  When he hath replied,'"He thought her virtuous," I have answered, "Ay, thou wilt always think a
wviman vi-rtuous, till she is in the street; but you and I, Jack
or -Tom, (turning to another in company,) know better. "  At
which, I have drawn a paper out of my pocket, perhaps a
tailor's bill, and kissed it, crying, at-the same time, "By Gad,
I was once fond of her."
" Proceed, if you please, but do not sweatr any more, " said
Adams.
Sir, said the gentleman, I ask your pardon. Well, sir, in
this course of life I continued full three years.-" What course
of life?" answered Adams; "I do not remember you have
mentioned any."-Your remark is just, said the gentleman,
smiling; I should rather have said, in this course of doing
nothing. I remember, some time afterwards, I wrote the journal of one day, which would Nerve, 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,
for fear I should have had it.
From 2 to 4, dressed myself. A groan.
4 to 6, dined.       A groan.
6 to 8, coffee-house.
8 to 9, Drury Lane play-house.
9 to 10, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
10 to 12, Drawing-room. -A great groan.
At all which places nothing happened worth remark.
At which Adams said, with some vehemence, "Sir, this is
below the life of an animal, hardly above vegetation; and I
am surprised what could lead a man of your sense into it."
What leads us into more follies than- you imagine, doctor,
answered the gentleman, - vanity: for as contemptible a
16




182               A:DVYENTURES OF
creature as 1 was, and I assure you, yourself cannot have more
oontempt for such a wretch than I now have, I then admired
myself, and should have despised a person of your present
appearance, (you will pardon me,) with all your learning, and
those excellent qualities which I have remarked in you.
Adams bowed, and begged him to proceed. After I had continued two years in this course of life, said the gentleman, an
accident happened which obliged me to change the scene. As
I was one day at St. James's coffee-house, making very free
with the character of a young lady of quality, an officer of the
guards, who was present, thought proper to give me the lie.
I answered, I might possibly be mistaken; but I intended to
tell no more than the truth.  To which he made no reply, but
by a scornful sneer.  After this I observed a strange coldness
in all my acquaintance: none of them spoke -to me first, and
very few returned me even the- civility of a bow.  The company I used to dine with left me out, and within a week I found
myself in as much solitude at St. James's, as if I had been in
a desert. An honest elderly man, with a great hat and long
sword, at last toldme, he had a compassion for my youth, and
therefore advised me to show the world I was not such a rascal
as they thought me to be. I did not at first understand him:
but'he explained himself, and ended with telling me, if I would
write a challenge to the captain, he would, out of pure charity,
go to him with it.  "A very charitable person, truly!" cried
Adams.  I desired till the next day, continued the gentleman,
to consider on it, and, retiring to my lodgings, I weighed the
consequences on both sides as fairly as I could.  On the one,
I saw the risk of this alternative, either losing my own life, or
having on my hands the blood of a man with whom I was not
in the least angry.  I soon determined, that the good which
appeared on -the other, was not worth this hazard. I therefore
resolved to quit, the scene, and presently retired to the Temple,
v:here I took chambers.  Here I soon got a fresh set of acquaintance, who knew nothing of what had happened to me.
Indeed they were not greatly to my approbation; for the beaus
of the Temple are only the shadows of the others. They are
the affectation of affectation.  The vanity of these is still more
ridiculous, if possible, than of the others. Here I met with




JO-SEPH ANDREWS.                    183
smart fellows who drank with lords they did not know, and
intrigued with women they never saw.  Covent Garden was
now the fartherest stretch of my ambition; where I shone forth
in the balconies at the play-houses, visited whores, made love
to orange wenches, and damned plays. This career was soon
put a stop to by my surgeon, who convinced me of the necessity of confining myself to my room for a month. At the end
of which, having had leisure to reflect, I'resolved to quit all
farther conversation with beaus and smarts of every kind, and
to avoid, if possible, any occasion of returning to this place
of confinement.
"I think," said Adams, "the advice of a month's retirement and reflection was very proper; but I should rather have
expected it from a divine than a surgeon." The gentleman
smiled at Adams's simplicity, and without explaining himself
farther on such an odious subject, went on thus: I was no
sooner perfectly restored to health, than I found my passion
for women, which I was afraid to satisfy as I had done, made
me very uneasy; I determined therefore to keep a mistress.
Nor, was I long before I fixed my choice on a young woman,
who had before been kept by two gentlemien, and to whom I
was recommended by a celebrated bawd. I took her home to
my chambers, and made her a settlement during cohabitation.
This would, perhaps, have been very ill paid: however, she
did not suffer me to be perplexed on that account; for, before
quarter-day, I found her at my chambers in too familiar conversation with a young fellow, who was dressed like an officer,
but was indeed a city apprentice.  Instead of excusing her
inconstancy, she rapt out half a dozen oaths, and snapping
her fingers at me, swore she scorned to confine herself to the
best man in England.  Upon this we parted, and the same
bawd presently provided her another keeper.  I was not so
much concerned at our separation, as I found within a day or
two I had reason to be for our meeting: for I was obliged to
pay a second visit to my surgeon. I was now forced to do
penance for some weeks, during which time I contracted an
acquaintance with a beautiful young girl, the daughter of a
gentleman, who, after having been forty years in the army, and
in all the campaigns mnder the Duke of Marlborough, died a




1S4               ADVENTURES OF
lieutenant on half-pay; and had left a widow with this only
ihild, in very distressed circumstances: they had only a small
pension from the government, with what little the daughter
could add to it by her work; for she had great excellence at
her needle.  This girl was, at my first acquaintance with her,
solicited in marriage by a young fellow in good circumstances.
He was apprentice to a linen-draper, and had a little fortune,
sufficient to set up his trade.  The mother was greatly pleased
with this match, as indeed she had sufficient reason. However,
I soon prevented it.  I represented him in so low a light to
his mistress, and made so good a use of flattery, promises, and
presents, that, not to dwell longer on this subject than is
necessary, I prevailed with the poor girl, and conveyed her
away from her mother! In a word I debauched her. -(At
which words Adams started up, fetched three strides across the
room, and then replaced himself inl the chair.)  You are not
more affected with this part of my story than myself;- I assure
you it will never be sufficiently repented of in my own opinion:
but if you already detest it, how much more will your indignation be raised, when you hear the fatal consequences of this
barbarous, this villanous action I If you please, therefore,
I will here desist. —" By no means," cries Adams; " go on, I
beseech you; and Heaven grant you may sincerely repent of
this and many other things you have related." — I was now,
continued the gentleman, as happy as the possession of a fine
young creature, who had a good education, and was endued
with many agreeable qualities, could make me.  We lived
some months with vast fondness together, without any company
or conversation, more than we found in one another: but this
could not continue always; and though I still preserved great
Sffection for her, I began more and more to want the relief of
)ther company, and consequently to leave her by degrees; at
last, whole days to herself.  She failed not to testify some
uneasiness on these occasions, and complained of the melancholy life she led; to remedy which, I introduced her into the
acquaintance of some other kept mistresses, with whom she
used to play at cards, and frequent plays and-other diversions.
She had not lived long' in this intimacy, before I perceived a
visible alteration in her behaviour; all her modesty and inno



JOSETPH: ANDREWS.                   185
cencen  vanished by degrees, till her mind became thoroughly
tainted.  She affected. the company of rakes, gave herself all
manner of airs, was never easy but abroad, or when she had a
party at my chambers.  She was rapacious of money, extravagant to excess, loose in her conversation; and if ever I demurred to any of her demands, oaths, tears, and fits were the
immediate consequences.  As the first raptures of fondness
were long since over, this behaviour soon estranged my affections from her; I began to reflect with pleasure that she was
not my wife; and to conceive an intention of parting with her;
of which, having given her a hint, she took care to prevent me
the pains of turning her out of doors, and accordingly departed
herself, having first broken open my escritoie, and taken with
her all she could find, to the amount of about 2001. In the
first heat of my resentment, I resolved to pursue her with all
the vengeance of the law: but as she had the good. luck to
escape me during that ferment, my passion afterwards cooled;
and having reflected that I had been the first aggressor, and
had done her an injury for which I could make her no reparation, by robbing her of the innocence of her mind; and hearing
at the same time that the poor old woman, her mother, had
broke her heart on her daughter's elopement from her, I, concluding myself her murderer, ("As you very well might," cries
Adams, with a groan;) was pleased that God Almighty had
taken this method of punishing me, and resolved quietly to
submit to the loss.  Indeed I could wish I had never heard
more of the poor creature, who became in the end -an abandonedl profligate; and, after being some years a common prostitute, at last ended her miserable life in Newgate. - Here the
gentleman fetched a deep sigh, which Mr. Adams. echoed very
loudly; and both continued silent, looking on each other for
some minutes.  At last the gentleman proceeded thus: I had
been perfectly constant to this girl the whole time I kept her;
but she had scarce depaet.ed before I discovered more marks
of her infidelity to me than the loss of my money.  In short, I
was forced to make a third visit to my surgeon, out of whose
hands I did not get a hasty discharge.
I now forswore all future dealings with the sex, complained
loudly that the pleasure dicd not compensate the pain, an:d
16'*




186              ADVENTURES OF
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 though I was no longer
the absolute slave, I found some reasons to own myself still the
subject of love. My hatred for women decreased daily; and I
am not positive but time might have betrayed me again to some
common harlot, had I not been secured by a passion for the
charming Sapphira, which having once entered upon, Made a
violent progress in my heart.  Sapphira 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 achevede. " Pray,
sir," said Adams, "what is a coquette?  I have met with the
word in Frtnch authors, but I never could assign any idea to
it.  I believe. it is the same with une sotte, Anglice, a fool."
Sir, answered 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
though sometimes we might imagine it was animated by the
passion of vanity, yet far the greater part of its actions will fall
beneath even that low motive; for instance, several absurd
gestures and tricks, infinitely more foolish than what can be
observed in the most ridiculous birds and beasts, and which
would persuade the beholder that the silly wretch was aiming
at our contempt.  Indeed its characteristic is affectation, and
this led and governed by whim only: for as beauty, wisdom,
wit, good-nature, politeness and health, are sometimes affected
by this creature, so are ugliness, folly, nonsense, ill-nature, illbreeding, and sickness, likewise put on by it in their turn. Its
life is one constant lie; and the only rule by which you can
form any judgment of them is, that they are never what they
seem.  If it was possible for a coquette to love, (as it is not,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    187
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
Sapphira, who no sooner saw me in the number of her admirers
than she gave me what is commonly called encouragement: she
would often look at me, and when she perceived me meet her
eyes, would instantly take them off, discovering at the same
time as much surprise and emotion as possible. These arts
failed not of the success she intended; and as I grew more
particular to her than the rest of her admirers, she advanced,
in proportion more directly to me than -to the others.  She
affected the low voice, whisper, lisp, sigh, start, laugh, and
many other indications of passion which daily deceive thousands. When I played at whist 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, "Lal 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 till she could. no longer pretend not to see my
drift, she first affected a violent surprise, and immediately after
as violent a passion: she wondered what I had seen in her
conduct which could induce me to affront-her in this manner;
and 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
off from following this ignis fatuus by some advances which
were made me by the wife of a citizen, who, though neither
very young nor handsome, was yet too agreeable to be rejected




188               ADVENTURES OF
by my amorous constitution.  I accordingly soon satisfied, her
that she had not cast away her hints on a barren: or cold soil:
on the contrary, they instantly produced her an eager- and
desiring lover.  Nor did she give me any reason to complain;
she met the warmth she had raised with equal ardour.  I had
no longer a coquette to deal with, but one who was- wiser than
to prostitute the noble passion of love to the ridiculous lust
of vanity. We presently understood one another; and as the
pleasures we sought lay in a mutual gratification,. we soon
found and enjoyed them. I thought myself at first greatly
happy in the possession of this new mistress, whose fondness
would have quickly surfeited a more sickly appetite; but it
had a different effect, on mine: she carried; my passion higher
by it than youth or beauty had been able. But my happiness
could not long continue uninterrupted.  The apprehensions we
lay under from the jealousy of her husband gave us great
uneasiness.
" Poor wretch! I pity him," cried Adams. He did indeed
deserve it, said the gentleman; for he loved his wife with great
tenderness; and, I assure you, it is a great satisfaction to me
that I was not the man who first seduced her affections from
him. These apprehensions appeared also too well grounded;
for in the end he discovered us, and procured witnesses of our
caresses. He then prosecuted me at law, and recovered 30001.
damages, which much distressed my fortune to pay; and what
was worse, his wife, being divorced, came upon my hands.  I
led a very uneasy life with her; for, besides that my passion
was now much abated, her excessive jealousy was very troublesome. At length deat-h rid me of an inconvenience, which the
consideration of my having been the author of her misfortunes,
would never suffer me to take any other method of discarding.
I now bade adieu to love, and resolved to pursue other less
dangerous and expensive pleasures. I fell into the acquaintance
of a:set of jolly companions, who slept all day, and drank all
night; fellows who might rather be said to consume time than
to live.  Their best conversation was nothing but noise; sing~
iilg, hollaing, wrangling, drinking, toasting, sp-wing, smoking,
were the chief ingredients of our entertainment. And yet,,
bad as they were, they were more tolerable than our graver




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     159
scenes, which were- either excessive tedious narratives of dull
common:matters of fact, or hot disputes about trifling matters,
which commonly ended in a wager. This way of life the first
serious reflection put a period to; and I became member of a
club frequented by young men of great abilities. -The bottle
was now only called in to the assistance -of our conversation,
which rolled on the deepest point of philosophy.  These gentlemen were engaged in a search after truth, in the pursuit of
which, they threw aside all the prejudices of education, and
governed themselves only by theinfallible guide of human reason.
This great guide, after having shown them the falsehood of that
very ancient but simple tenet, that there is such a being as a
Deity in the universe, helped them to establish in his stead a
certain rule of right, by adhering to which, they all arrived at
the utmost purity of morals.  Reflection made me as much
delighted with this society, as it had-taught me to despise and
detest the former.  I began now to esteem myself a being of a
higher order than I had ever before conceived; and was the
more charmed with:this rule of right, as I really found in my
own nature nothing repugnant to it.  I held in utter contempt
all persons who wanted any other inducement to virtue, besides
her intrinsic beauty and excellence; and had so high an opinion
of my present companions, with regard to their morality, that
I would have trusted them  with whatever was'nearest and
dearest to me. Whilst I was engaged in this delightful tdream,
two or three accidents happened successively, which at first
much surprised me; - for one of our greatest philosophers, or
rule-of-right men withdrew himself from us, taking with him
the wife of one of his most intimate friends. Secondly, another
of the same society left the club, without remembering to take
leave of his bail.  A third having borrowed a sum of money
of me, for which I received no security, when I asked him to
repay it, absolutely denied the loan. These several practices,
so inconsistent with our golden rule, made me begin to suspect
its infallibility; but when I communicated my thoughts to one
of the club, he said, " There was nothing absolutely good or
evil in itself; that actions were denominated good or bad by
the circumstances of the agent.  That possibly the man who
ran away with his neighbour's wife might be one of very g.t'd]




190                ADVENTURES O.F
inclinations, but over-prevailed on by the violence of an unruly
passion; and in other particulars, might be a very worthy
member of society; that if the beauty of any woman created
in him an uneasiness, he had a right, from nature, to relieve
hirfiself;" - with many other things which I then detested so
much, that I took leave of the society that very evening, and
never returned to it again.
Being now reduced to a state of solitude, which I did not
like, I became a great frequenter of the playhouses, which
indeed was always my favourite diversion; and most evenings
passed away two or three hours behind the scenes, where I met
with several poets, with whom I made engagements at the
taverns.  Some of the players were likewise of our parties.
At these meetings we were generally entertained by the poets
with reading their performances, and by the players with
repeating their parts: upon which occasions, I observed the
gentleman who furnished our entertainment was commonly the
best pleased of the company; who, though they were pretty
civil to him to his face, seldom failed to take the first opportunity of his absence to ridicule him. Now I made some remarks,
which probably are too obvious to be worth relating.  "Sir,"
says Adams, "your remarks, if you please."   First, then, says
he, I concluded that the general observation, that wits are most
iinclined to vanity, is not true. Men are equally vain of riches,
strength, beauty, honours, &c. But-these appeari of themselves to the eyes of the beholders, whereas the poor wit is
obliged to produce his performance to show you his perfection;
and on his readiness to do this, that vulgar opinion I have
before mentioned is grounded: but doth not the person who
expends vast sums in the furniture of his house or the ornaments
of his person, who consumes much time and employs great
pains in dressing himself, or who thinks himself paid for selfdenial, labour, or even villany, by a title or a riband, sacrifice
as much to vanity as the poor wit who is desirous to read you
his poem or his play? My second remark was, that vanity is
the worst of passions, and more apt to contaminate the mind
than any other: for as selfishness. is much more general than
we please to allow it; so it is natural to hate and envy those
who stand between us and the good we desire.  Now, in lust




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   191
and ambition these are few; and even in avarice we find -many
who are no obstacles to our pursuits: but the vain man seeks
pre-eminence; and every thing which is excellent or praiseworthy in another, renders him the mark of his antipathy.
Adams now began to fumble in his pockets, and soon cried out,
" O la  I have it not about me."  Upon this the gentleman
asking him what he was searching for? he said he searched
after a sermon, which he thought his masterpiece, against
vanity.  "Fie upon it, fie upon it," cries he, " why do I ever
leave that sermon out of my pocket?  I wish it was within
five miles, I would willingly fetch it, to read to you." The
gentleman answered, that there was no need, for he was cured
of the passion.  "And for that very reason," quoth Adams,
"I would read it, for I am confident you would admire it:
indeed, I have never been a greater enemy to any passion, than
that silly one of vanity. " The gentleman smiled, and proceeded.
- From this society I easily passed to that of the gamesters,
where nothing remarkable happened but the finishing of my
fortune, which those gentlemen soon helped me to the end of.
This opened scene's of life hitherto unknown; poverty and
distress, with their horrid train of duns, attorneys, bailiffs,
haunted me day and night. My clothes grew shabby, my
credit bad, my friends and acquaintance of all kinds cold. In
this situation, the strangest thought imaginable came into my
head; and what was this but to write a play; for I had sufficient leisure: fear of bailiffs confined me every day to my room;
and having always had a little inclination, and something of a
genius that way, I set myself to work, and within a few months
produced a piece of five acts, which was accepted of at the
theatre.
I remembered to have formerly taken tickets of other poets for
their benefits, long before the appearance of their performances;
and resolving to follow a precedent which was so well suited
to my present circumstances, I immediately provided myself
with a large number of little papers.  Happy indeed would be
the state of poetry, would these tickets pass current at the
oake-house, the ale-house, and the chandler's-shop: but, alas!
car otherwise; no tailor will take them in payment for buckram,
canvass, staytape; nor no bailiff for civility-money. They are




ADVEN T-URES OF,indeed, n'o more than.a passport to beg with; a certificate that
the owner wants five shillings, which induces well-disposed
Christians to charity.  I now experienced what is worse than
poverty, or rather what is the worst consequence of poverty,
-I mean, attendance and dependence on the great.  Many a
morning have I Pwaited hours in the cold parlours of men of
quality; where, after.seeing the lowest rascals in'lace and embroidery, the pimps and buffoons in fashion, admitted, I have
been sometimes told, on sending in my name, that the lord
could not possibly see me this morning: a sufficient assurance
that I should never more get entrance into that house. Sometimes l-have been at last admitted:; and the great man hath
thought proper to.excuse himself, by telling me he was tied up.
"Tied up," says Adams, "pray what's that?"  Sir, says the
gentleman, the profit which booksellers allowed authors for the
best works, was so very small,:that certain men of birth and
fortune some years ago, who were the patrons of wit and learning,:thought fit:to encourage them farther, by entering into
voluntary. subscriptions for- their encouragement. Thus Prior,
Rowe, Pope, and some other men of genius, received large
sums-for their labours from the public. This seemed sot easy
a method of getting money, that many of the lowest scribblers
of the times ventured to publish their works:in the same way;
and many had the assurance to take in subscriptions for what
was not writ,. nor ever intended. Subscriptions in this manner
growing infinite, and a kind of tax on the public, -some persons
finding it not so, easy a task to discern good fiom: bad authors,
or to know what genius was worthy encouragement and what
was not, to prevent the expense of subscribing to so many, invented a method to excuse themselves from all subscriptions
whatever; and this.was to receive a small sum of money in
consideration of giving a large one if ever they subscribed;
which many have done, and many more have pretended to
have -done, in order to silence all solicitations. The same
method was likewise taken with' playhouse tickets, which were
no less a public grievance; and this is what they call being
tied up from subscribing-.  "I:can't say but the term is apt:enough, and somewhat typical, " said Adams; "for a man of
large fortune, who ties himself up, as you call it, from the en.




.TOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   192
couragement of men of merit, ought to be tied up in reality.'
Well, sir, says the -gentleman, to return to my story.  Some.
times I have received a guinea from a man of quality, given
with as ill a grace as alms are generally to the meanest beggar;
and purchased too with as much time spent in attendance, as,
if it had been spent in honest industry, might have brought me
more profit with infinitely more satisfaction. After about two
months spent in this disagreeable way, with the utmost mortification, when I was pluming my hopes on the prospect of a
plentiful harvest from my play, upon applying to the prompter,
to know when it came into rehearsal, he informed me, he had
received orders from the managers to return me the play again,
for that they could not possibly act it that season; but if I
srould take it and revise it, against the next, they would be
glad to see it again. I snatched it from him with great indignation, and retired to my room, where I threw myself on the
bed in a fit of despair. -" You should rather have thrown
yourself on your knees," says Adams, "for despair is sinful."
As soon, continued the gentleman, as I had indulged the
first tumult of my passion, I began to consider coolly what
course I should take, in a situation without friends, money,
credit, or reputation of any kind.  After revolving many
things in my mind, I could see no other possibility of furnishing myself with the miserable necessaries of life, than to retire
to a garret near the Temple, and commence hackney-writer to
the lawyers; for which I was well qualified, being an excellent
penman. This purpose I resolved on, and immediately put it
in execution, I had an acquaintance with an attorney, who
had formerly transacted affairs for me, and to him I applied;
but, instead of furnishing me with any business, he laughed at
my undertaking, and told me, " He was afraid I should turn
his deeds into plays, and he should expect to see them on the
stage."  Not to tire you with instances of this kind fronm
others, I found that Plato himself did not hold poets ir.
greater abhorrence than these men of business do. Whenever
I durst venture to a coffee-house, which was on Sundays only,
a whisper ran round the room, which was constantly attended
with a sneer, That's poet Wilson; for I know not whether you
have observed it, but there is a malignity in the nature of man,
1i                   N




194               ADVENTURES OF
which, when not weeded. out, or at least covered by a good
education and politeness, delights in making another uneasy or
dissatisfied with himself. This abundantly appears in all assemblies, except those which are filled by people of fashion,
and especially among the younger people of both sexes, whose
birth and fortunes place them just without the polite circles; I
mean the lower class of the gentry, and the higher of the mercantile world, who are, in reality, the worst-bred of mankind.
Well, sir, whilst I continued in this miserable state, with scarce
sufficient business to keep me from starving, the reputation of
a poet being my bane, I accidentally became acquainted with
a bookseller, who told me, " It was a pity a man of my learning and- genius should be obliged to such a method of getting
his livelihood; that he had a compassion for me, and if I
would engage with him, he would undertake to provide handsomely for me. " A man in my circumstances, as he very well
knew, had no choice. I accordingly accepted his proposal,
with his conditions, which were none of the most favourable,
and -fell to translating with all my might. I had no longer
reason to lament the want of business; for he furnished me
with so much, that in half a year I almost writ myself blind.
I likewise contracted a distemper, by my sedentary life, in
which no part of my body was exercised but my right arm,
which- rendered me incapable of writing for a long time. This,
unluckily, happening to delay the publication of a work, and
my last performance not having sold well, the bookseller declined any further engagement, and aspersed me to his brethren, as a careless, idle fellow. I had, however, by having halfworked and half-starved myself to death, during the time I was
in his service, saved a few guineas, with which I bought a
lottery-ticket, resolving to throw myself into Fortune's lap,
and try if she would make amends for the injuries she had
done me at the gaming-table.  This purchase being made, left
me almost pennyless; when, as if I had not been sufficiently
miserable, a bailiff, in woman's clothes, got admittance to my
chamber, whither he was directed by the counsellor.  IIe arrested me, at my tailor's suit, for thirty-five pounds; a sum for
which I could not procure bail; and was therefore conveyed to
his house where I was locked up in an upper chamber. I had




JOSEPH  ANDRE-WS.                  195
now neither health, (for I was scarce recovered from my indisposition,) liberty, money, or friends; and had abandoned all
hopes and even the desire of life. - "But this could not last
long," said Adams; " for doubtless the tailor released you the
moment he was truly acquainted with your affairs, and knew
that your circumstances would not permit you -to pay him. "
Oh, sir, answered the gentleman, he knew that before he arrested me; nay, he knew that nothing but incapacity could
prevent me from paying my debts; for I had been his customer
many years, had spent vast sums of money with him, and had
always paid most punctually in my prosperous days: but when
I reminded him of this, with assurances, that if he would not
molest my endeavours, I would pay him all the money I could
by my utmost labour and industry procure, reserving only what
was sufficient to preserve me alive: he answered, his patience
was worn out; that I had put him off from time to time; that
he wanted the money; that he had put it into a lawyer's
hands; and if I did not pay him immediately, or find security,
I must lay in jail, and expect no mercy.  "He may expect
mercy," cries Adams, starting from his chair, "where he will
find none! How can such a wretch repeat the Lord's prayer;
where the word, which is translated, I know not for what
reason, trespasses, is in the original debts I And as surely as
we do not forgive others their debts, when they are unable to
pay them, so surely shall we ourselves be unforgiven, when we
are in no condition of paying. " He ceased, and the gentleman proceeded. While I was in this deplorable situation, a
former acquaintance, to whom I had communicated my lotteryticket, found me out, and making me a visit, with great delight
in his countenance,. shook me heartily by the hand, and wished
me joy of'my good fortune: for, says he, your ticket is come
up a prize of 30001. Adams snapt his fingers at these words
in an ecstacy of joy; which, however, did not continue long,
for -the gentleman thus proceeded: Alas I! sir, this was only a
trick of Fortune to sink me the deeper; for I had disposed of
this lottery-ticket two days before, to a relation who refused
lending me a shilling without it, in order to procure myself
bread. ]As soon as my friend was acquainted with my unfor.
tunate sale, ha began to revile me, and remind me of all the ill




196               ADVENTURES OF
conduct and miscarriages of my life. He said I was one whom
Fortune could not save, if she would; that I was now ruined
without any hopes of retrieval, nor must expect any pity from
my friends; that it would be extreme weakness to compassionate
the misfortunes of a man who ran headlong to his own destruction. He then painted to me, in as lively colours as he was
able, the happiness I should have now enjoyed, had I not
foolishly disposed of my ticket. I urged the plea of necessity; but he made no answer to that, and began again to revile me, till I could bear it no longer, and desired him to finish
his visit. I soon exchanged the bailiff's house for a prison;
where,` as I had not money sufficient to procure a separate
apartment, I was crowded in with a great number of miserable
wretches, in common with whom I was destitute of every convenience of life, even that which all the brutes enjoy, wholesome air.  In these dreadful circumstances I applied by letter
to several of my old acquaintance, and such to whom I had
formerly lent money without any great prospect of its being returned, for their assistance; but in vain.  An excuse, instead
of a denial, was the gentlest answer I received. — Whilst I
languished in a condition too horrible to be described, and
which, in a land of humanity, and what is much more, christianity, seems a' strange punishment for a little inadvertency
and indiscretion; whilst I was in this condition, a fellow came
into the prison, and inquiring me out, delivered the following
letter:
i Sir,
"My father, to whom you sold your ticket in the last lottery,
died the same day in which it came up a prize, as you have
possibly heard, and left me sole heiress of all his fortune.
I am so much touched with your present circumstances, and
the uneasiness you must feel at having been driven to dispose
of what might have made you happy, that I must desire your
acceptance of the enclosed, and am'Your humble servant,' HARRIET HEARTT'. "
And what do you think was inclosed?  "I don't know,'
cried Adams; "not less than a guinea, I hope "-Sir, it was a




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   197
bank-onote for 2001. -— " 2001." says Adams, in 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 kissed
her name a thousand times, my eyes overflowing with 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,
though perhaps it was my enemy, and began to afflict my mind
with more agonies than all the miseries I had underwent; it
affected me with severer reflections than poverty, distress, and
prisons united, had been able to make me feel; for, sir, these
acts gnd professions of kindness, which were sufficient to have
raised in a good heart the most violent passion of friendship to
one of the same, or to age and ugliness in a different sex, came
to me from a woman, a young and beautiful woman; one whose
perfections I had long known, and for whom I had long conceived a violent passion, though with a despair which made me
endeavour rather to curb and conceal, than to nourish or
acquaint her with it.  In short, they came upon me united
with beauty, softness, and tenderness: such bewitching smiles'
-0 Mr. Adams, in that moment I lost myself, and forgetting
17*




198               ADVENTURES OF
our different situations, nor considering what return I was
making to her goodness, by desiring her, who had given me so
much, to bestow her all, I laid gently hold on her hand, and
conveying it to my lips, I pressed it with inconceivable ardour;
then, lifting up my swimming eyes I saw her face and neck
overspread with one blush; she offered to withdraw her hand,
yet not so as to deliver it from mine, though I held it with the
gentlest force. We both stood trembling; her eyes cast on
the ground, and mine steadfastly fixed on her.  Good G-d,
what was then the condition of my soul I burning with love,
desire, admiration, gratitude, and every tender passion, all
bent on-: one charming object. Passion at last got the better
of both reason and respect, and softly letting go her hand, I
offered madly to clasp her in my arms; when, a little recovering herself, she started fiom me, asking me, with some show of
anger, " If she had any reason to expect this treatment from
me?"  I then fell prostrate before her, and told her, if I had
offended, my life was absolutely in her power, which I would
in any manner lose for her sake.
Nay, madam, said I, you shall not be so ready to punish
me, as I to suffer.  I own my guilt.  I detest the reflection
that I would have sacrificed your happiness to mine. Believe
me, I sincerely repent my ingratitude; yet believe me too, it
was my passion, my unbounded passion for you, which hurried
me so far: I have loved you long and tenderly; and the goodness you have shown me, hath innocently weighed do~wn a
wretch undone before. Acquit me of all mean, mercenary
views, and before I take my leave of you for ever, which I am
resolved instantly to do, believe me, that Fortune could have
raised me to no height to which I could not have lifted you.
0, cursed be Fortune! " Do not," says she, interrupting me
with the sweetest voice, "Do not curse Fortune, since she hath
made me happy; and, if she hath put your happiness in my
power, I have told you you shall ask nothing in reason which
I will refuse."  Madam, said 1, you mistake me, if you
imagine, as you seem, my happiness is in the power of Fortune
snow. You have obliged me too much already; if I have any
wish, it is for some blessed accident, by which I may contribute
with my life to the least augmentation of your felicity. As




JOSEPHII ANDREWS.                   199
fot myself, the only happiness I can ever have, will be hearing
of yours; and if Fortune will make that complete, I will forgive her all her wrongs to me.  "You may, indeed," answered
she, smiling, "for your own happiness must be included in
mine. I have long known your worth; nay, I must confess,"
said she, blushing, "I have long discovered that passion for
me you profess, notwithstanding those endeavours, which I
am convinced were unaffected, to conceal it; and if all I
can give with reason will not suffice, - take reason away,
and now I believe you cannot ask me what I will deny."-She
uttered these words with a sweetness not to be imagined. I
immediately started; my blood, which lay freezing at my
heart, rushed tumultuously through every vein. I stood for a
moment silent; then, flying to her, I caught her in my arms,
no longer resisting, and softly told her, she must give me then
herself.  0, sir! can I describe her. look?  She remained
silent, and almost motionless, several minutes. At last, recovering herself a little, she insisted on my leaving her, and in
such a manner, that I instantly obeyed: you may imagine,
however, I soon saw her again. -But I ask pardon: I fear I
have detained you too long in relating the particulars of the
former interview.  "So far otherwise," says Adams, licking
his lips, "'that I could willingly hear it over again."  Well,
sir, continued the gentleman, to be as concise as possible,
within a week she consented to make me the happiest of mankind.
We'were married shortly after; and when I came to examine
the circumstances of my wife's fortune, (which, I do assure
you, I was not presently at leisure enough to do,) I found it
amounted to about six thousand pounds, most part of which
lay in effects; for her father had been a wine-merchant: and
she seemed willing, if I liked it, that I should carry on the
same trade.  I readily, and too inconsiderately, undertook it;
for, not having been bred to the secrets of the business, and
endeavouring to deal with the utmost honesty and uprightness,
I soon found our fortune in a declining way, and my trade
decreasing by little and little; for my wines, which I never
adulterated after their importation, and were sold as neat as
they came over, were universally decried by the vintners, to
whom I could not allow them quite as cheap as those who




200                ADPVENTURES OF
gained double tle profit by a less price. I soon began to
despair of improving our fortune by these means; nor was I
at all easy at the visits and familiarity of many who had been
my acquaintance in my prosperity, but denied and shunned me
in my adversity, and now very forwardly renewed their acquaintance with me. In short, I had sufficiently seen, that
the pleasures of the world are chiefly folly, and the business of
it mostly knavery; and both, nothing better than vanity: the
men of pleasure tearing one another to pieces, from the emulation of spending money, and the men of business, from envy
in getting it.
My happiness consisted entirely in my wife, whom I loved
with an inexpressible fondness, which was perfectly returned;
and my prospects were no other than-to provide for our growing family; for she was now big of her second child: I therefore took an opportunity to ask her opinion of entering into a
retired life, which, after hearing my reasons, and perceiving
my affection for it, she readily embraced.  We soon put our
small fortune, now reduced underthree thousand pounds, into
money, with part of which we purchased this little place,
whither we retired soon after her delivery, from a world full of
bustle, noise, hatred, envy, and ingratitude, to ease, quiet,
ond love.  We have here lived almost twenty years, with little
other conversation than our own, most of the neighbourhood
taking us for very strange people; the squire of the parish representing me as a madman, and the parson as a presbyterian,
because I will not hunt with the one, nor drink with the other.
"Sir," says Adams, " Fortune hath, I think, paid you all her
debts, in this sweet retirement."  Sir, replied the gentleman, I
am thankful to the great-Author of all things, for the blessings
I here enjoy.  I have the best of wives, and three pretty children, for whom I have the true tenderness of a. parent.  But
no blessings are pure in this world: within three years of my
arrival here, I lost my eldest son. (Here he sighed bitterly.)
"Sir," said Adams, "we must submit to providence, and
consider death as common to all. " We must submit, indeed,
answered the gentleman; and if he had died, I could have
borne the loss with patience; but, alas! sir, he was stolen
away from my door, by some wicked travelling people, whom




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                     201
they call Gipsies; nor could I ever, with the most diligent
search, recover him.  Poor child I' he had the sweetest look-.
the exact picture of his mother; at which, some tears unwittingly dropt from his eyes, as did likewise from those of Adams,
who always sympathised with his friends on those occasions.
Thus, sir, said the gentleman, I have finished my story, in
which, if I have been too particular, I ask your pardon; and
now, if you please, I will fetch you another bottle; which
proposal the parson thankfully accepted.
CHAPTER IVT.
A descmiption of lMr. Wilson's way of living. The tragical adventure of the
dog, and other grave matters.
THE gentleman returned with the bottle; and Adams and he
sat some time silent, when the former started up and cried,
"No, that won't do."' The gentleman inquired into his meaning; he answered, "He had been considering that it was
possible the late famous king Theodore might have been the
very son whom he had 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
yo'u 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.
The 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 walks 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 gentleman asked his guest if he would walk forth and
survey his little garden; which he readily agreed to; and
Joseph, at the same time, awakening from a sleep, in which he
had been two hours buried, went with them.
No parterres, no fountains, no statues, embellished this little
* Whoever the reader pleases,




2029,              ADVENTURES OF
garden.  Its only ornament was a short walk shaded on each
side by a filbert-hE dge, with a small alcove at one end, whither
in hot weather the gentleman and his wife used to retire and
divert themselves with their children, who played in the walk
before them.  But though vanity had no votary in this little
spot, here was variety of fruit, and every thing useful for the
kitchen; which was abundantly sufficient to catch the admiration of Adams, who told the gentleman he had certainly a good
gardener. Sir, answered he, that gardener is now before you:
whatever you see here is the work solely of my own hands.
Whilst I am providing necessaries for my table, I likewise procure myself an appetite for them. In fair seasons, I seldom
pass less than six hours of the twenty-four in this place, where
I am not idle; and by these means I have been able to preserve
my health ever since my arrival here without assistance from
physic. Hither I generally repair at the dawn, and exercise
myself whilst my wife dresses her children and prepares our
breakfast; after which we are seldom asunder during the residue
of the day; for when the weather will not permit them to
accompany me here, I am usually within with them; for I am
neither ashamed of conversing with my wife nor of playing with
my children: to say the truth, I do not perceive that inferiority
of understanding which the levity of rakes, the dulness of men
of business, or the austerity of the learned, would persuade us
of in women. As for my woman, I declare I have found none
of my own sex capable of making juster observations on life,
or of delivering them more agreeably; nor do I believe'any
one possessed of a faithfuller or braver' friend. And sure, as
this friendship is sweetened with more delicacy and tenderness,
so is it confirmed by dearer pledges than can attend the:cltosest
male alliance; for what union can be so fast as our common
interest in the fruits of our embraces? Perhaps, sir, you are
not yourself a father; if you are  not, be assured you cannot
conceive the delight I have in my little ones. Would you not
despise me, if you saw me stretched on the ground, and my
children playing round me?  "I should reverence the sight,"
quoth Adams; "I myself am now the father of six, and have
been of eleven, and I can say I never scourged a child of my
own, unless as his schoolmaster, and then have felt every stroke




J O S     E P   A X N D RE W S.     203
on my own posteriors. And as to what you can say concerning
women, I have often lamented my own wife did not understand
Greek.' - The gentleman smiled, and answered, he would not
be apprehended to insinuate that his own had understanding
above the care of her family; on the contrary, says he, my
Harriet, I assure you, is a notable housewife, and few gentlemen's housekeepers understand cookery or confectionary better;
but these are arts which she hath no great occasion for now:
however, the wine you commended so much last night at supper.
was of her own making, as is indeed all the liquor in my house,
except my beer, which falls to my province.  "And I assure
you it is as excellent," quoth Adams, "as ever I tasted. " We
formerly kept a maid-servant,. but since, my girls have been
growing up, she is unwilling to indulge them in idleness; for
as the fortunes I shall give them will be very small, we intend
not.to.breed them above the rank they are likely to fill hereafter,
nor to teach them to despise or ruin a plain husband. Indeed,
I could wish a man of my own temper, and retired life, might
fall to their lot; for I have experienced, that calm serene
happiness, which is seated in content, is inconsistent with the
hurry and bustle of the world. He was proceeding thus, when
the little things, being just risen, ran eagerly towards him and
asked his blessing.  They were shy to the strangers; but the
eldest acquainted her father, that her mother and the young
gentlewoman were up, and that breakfast was ready.
They all went in, where the gentleman was surprised at the
beauty of Fanny, who had now recovered herself from her'fatigue, and was entirely clean dressed; for the rogues who had
taken away her purse had left her her bundle. But if he was.So much amazed at the beauty of this young creature, his
guests were no less charmed at the tenderness which appeared
in the behaviour of the husband and wife to each other and to
their children; and at the dutiful and affectionate behaviour of
these to their parents. These instances pleased the well-disposed mind of Adams, equally with the readiness which they
expressed to oblige their guests, and their forwardness to offer
them the best of every thijag in their house; and what delighted
him still more, was an instance or two of their charity; for
whilst they were at breakfast, the good woman was called




204               ADVENTURES OF'
forth to assist her sick neighbour, which she did with some
cordials made for the public use; and the good man went
into his garden at the same time, to supply another with
something which he wanted thence; foeP they had nothing
which those who wanted it were not welcome to. These good
people were in the utmost cheerfulness, when they heard the
report of a gun, and immediately afterwards a little dog, the
favourite of the eldest daughter, came limping in all bloody,
and laid himself at his mistress's feet; the poor girl, who was
about eleven years old, burst into tears at the sight; -and presently one of the neighbours came in and informed them, that
the young squire, the son of the lord. of the manor, had shot
him as he passed by, swearing at the same time he would prosecute the master of him for keeping a spaniel, for that he had
given notice he would not suffer one in the parish. The dog,
whom  his mistress had taken into her lap, died in a few
minutes, licking her hand. She expressed great agony at his
loss; and the other children began to cry for their sister's
misfortune; nor could Fanny herself refrain. Whilst the
father and mother attempted to comfort her, Adams grasped
his crabstick, and would have sallied out after the squire, had
not Joseph withheld him.  He could not, however, bridle his
tongue-he pronounced the word rascal with great emphasis;
said, he deserved to be hanged more than a highwayman, and
wished he had the scourging him. The mother took her child,
lamenting and carrying the dead favourite in her arms out of
the room; when the gentleman said, this was the second time
this squire had endeavoured to kill the little wretch, and had
wounded him smartly once before; adding, he could have no
motive but ill-nature, for the little thing, which was not near
as big as one's fist, had never been twenty yards from the house
in the six years his daughter had had it. lie said he had done
nothing to deserve this usage; but his father had too great a
fortune to contend with: that he was as absolute as any tyrant
in the universe, arid had killed all the dogs and taken away
all the guns in the neighbourhood; and not only that, but he
trampled down hedges, and rode over corn and gardens, with
no more regard than if' they were the highway.  "I wish I
could catch him in my gfarden," said Adams; -"though I




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   205
would rather forgive him riding through my house, than such
an ill-natured act as this."
The cheerfulness of the conversation being interrupted by
this accident, in which the guests could be of no service to
their kind entertainer; and as the mother was taken up in administering consolation to the poor girl, whose disposition was
too good hastily to forget the sudden loss of her little 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 to dinner; but when
he found their eagerness to depart, he summoned his wife; and
accordingly, having performed all the usual ceremonies of bows
and courtesies, 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.
CHAPTER V.
A disputation on schools, held on the road, between Air. A braham Adams and
Josephl; and a discovery not unwelcome to them both.
Oun travellers having well refreshedthemselves 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
relatingr, In this interval, we shall present our readers with a
very curious discourse, as we apprehend it, concerning public
schools, which passed between Mr. Joseph Andrews and Mr.
Abraham Adams.
They had not gone far, before Adams, calling to Joseph,
asked him, "If he had attended to the gentleman's story;;' he
answered, " To all the former part. "-" And don't you think,"
says he, "he was a very unhappy man in his youth?"- " A
very unhappy man, indeed," answered the other.  "Joseph,"
18




20-6               ADVENTURES OF
cries Adams, screwing up his mouth, "I have found it; I
have discovered the cause of all the misfortunes which befel
him:. a public school, Joseph, was the cause of all the calamities which he afterwards suffered. Public schools are the nurseries of all vice and immorality. All the wicked fellows whom
I remember at the university, were bred at them.-Ah, Lord!
I can remember, as well as if it was but yesterday, a knot of
them; they called them King's Scholars, I forget why —
very wicked fellows! Joseph, you may thank the Lord you
were not bred at a public school: you would never have preserved your virtue as you have. The first care I always take
is of a boy's morals; I had rather he should be a blockhead
than an atheist or a presbyterian. What is all the learning of
the world compared to his immortal soul?  What shall a man
take in exchange for his soul? But the masters of great
schools trouble themselves about no such thing. I have known
a lad of eighteen at the university, who hath not been able to
say his catechism; but for my own part, I always scourged a
lad sooner for missing that than any other lesson. Believe me,
child, all that gentleman's misfortunes arose from his being
educated at a public school."
"-It doth not become me,"' answered 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 meurn." - "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 wouldc
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 epitolmlo




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    20T
what he will afterwards find in the world at large." —" Hinc;ll1w  lachrymcw: for that very reason," quoth Adams, "I
prefer a private school, where boys may be kept in innocence
and ignorance; for, according to that fine passage in the play
of Cato, the only English tragedy I ever read,
" If knowledge of the world must make them villains,
May Juba ever live in ignorance."
Who would not rather preserve the purity of his child, than
wish him to attain the whole circle of arts and sciences? which,
by the by, he may learn in the classes of a private school; for
I would not be vain, but I esteem myself to be second to none,
nulla secundum, in teaching these things; so that a lad may
have as much learning in a private as in a public education."
-"And, with submission," answered Joseph, " he may get as
much vice: witness several country gentlemen, who were educated within five miles of their own houses, and are as wicked as
if they had known the world from their infancy.  I remember
when I was in the stable, if a, young horse was vicious in his
nature, no correction would make him otherwise: I take it to
be equally the same among men: if a boy be of a mischievous
wicked inclination, no school, though ever so private, will ever
make him good: on the contrary, if he be of a righteous temper, you may trust him to London, or wherever else you please
-he will be in no danger of being corrupted.  Besides, I
have often heard my master say, that the discipline 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 knowledge of the world: Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit."  Joseph seeing him run on in




208               ADVENTURES OF
this manner, asked pardon many times, assuring him he had no
intention to offend.  "I believe you had not, child," said he,
" and I am not angry with you: but for maintaining good discipline in a school; for this"' -And then he ran on as before,
named all the masters who are recorded in old books, and preferred himself to them all. Indeed, if this good man had an
enthusiasm, or what the vulgar call a blind side, it was this:
he thought a schoolmaster the greatest character in the world,
and himself the greatest of all schoolmasters; neither of which
points he would have given up to Alexander the Great at the
head of his army.
Adams continued his subject till they came to one of the
beautifulest spots of ground in the universe. It was a kind of
natural 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 skilful
planter. The soil was spread with a verdure which no paint
could imitate; and the whole place might hate 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 awhile 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
che.erfulness which might have attracted the envy of more
splendid tables. I should not omit, that they found among
their provision a little paper, containing a piece of gold, which
Adams imagining had been put there by mistake, would have
returned back to restore it; but he was at last convinced by
Joseph, that Mr. Wilson had taken this handsome way of furnishing them with a supply for their journey, on his having
related the. distress which they had been in, when they were
relieved by the generosity of the pedlar.  Adams said he was
glad to see such an instance of goodness, not so much for the
conveniency which it brought them, as for the sake of the doer




JOSEPH  ANDREWS                      209
whose reward would be great in heaven. He likewise comforted
himself with a reflection that he should shortly have an opportunity of returning it to him; for the gentleman was within a
week to make a journey into Somersetshire, to pass through
Adams's parish, and had faithfully promised to call on him;
a circumstance which we thought too immaterial to mention
before, but which those who have as great an affection for that
gentleman as ourselves will rejoice at, as it may give them
hopes of seeing him again. Then Joseph made a speech on
charity, which the reader, if he is so disposed, may see in the
next chapter; for we scorn to betray him into any such reading,
without first giving him warning.
CHAPTER VI.
Moral reflections by Joseph Andrews; with the hunting adventure, and Parson Adams's miraculous escape.
"I HAVE often wondered, sir," said Joseph, "to observe
so few instances of charity among mankind; for though 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 expense, 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 jail,
or any such like example of goodness, create a man more
honour and respect than he could acquire by the finest house,
furniture, pictures, or clothes; that were ever beheld?  For
not only the object himself, who was thus relieved, but all who
heard the name of such a person, must, I imagine, reverence
him infinitely more than the possessor of all those other things,
which, when we so admire, we rather praise the builder, the
workman, the painter, the lace-maker, the tailor, and the rest,
by whose ingenuity they are produced, than the person who,
18*                  o




210               ADVENTURES OF
by his money, makes them his own. For my own part, when
I have waited behind my lady, in a room hung with fine pictures, while I have been looking at them, I have never once
thought of their owner, nor hath any one else, as I ever observed; for when it has been asked whose picture that was, it
was never once answered, the master's of the house; but Ammyconni, Paul Varnish, Hannibal Scratchi, or Hogarthi,
which I suppose were the names of the painters; but if it was
asked, Who redeemed such a one out of prison? Who lent
such a ruined tradesman money to set up? Who clothed that
family of poor small children? It is very plain what must be
the answer. And besides, these great folks are mistaken, if
they imagine they get any honour at all by these means; for I
do not remember I ever was with my lady at any house, where
she commended the house or furniture, but I have heard her,
at her return home, make sport and jeer at whatever she had
before commended; and I have been told, by other gentlemen
in livery, that it is the same in their families; but I defy the
wisest man in the world to turn a true good action into ridicule. I defy him to do. it. He who should endeavour it,
would be lauOhed at himself, instead of making others laugh.
"Nobody scarce doth any good, yet they all agree in praising those who do. Indeed, it is strange that all men should
consent in commending- goodness, and no man endeavour to
deserve that commendation; whilst on the contrary, all rail at
wickedness, and all are as eager to be what they abuse. This
I know not the reason of; but it is as plain as. daylight to
those who converse in the world, as I have done these three
years."-"Are all the great folks wicked, then?" says Fanny.
"To be sure there are some exceptions," answered Joseph.
"Some gentlemen of our -cloth report charitable actions done
by their lords and masters; and I have heard squire Pope, the
great poet, at my lady's table, tell stories of a man that lived
at a place called Ross, and another at the Bath, one Al- Al
-I forget his name, but it is in the book of verses.  This
gentleman hath built up a stately house too, which the squire
likes very well; but his charity is seen farther than his house,
though it stands on a hill, — ay, and brings him more honour
too. It was his charity that put him in the book, where the




O S EPH ANDREWS.                    211
squire says he puts all those who deserve it; and to be sure, as
he lives among all the great people, if there were any such, he
would know them. "-This was all of lMr. Joseph Andrews's
speech, which I could get him to recollect, which I have delivered as near as was possible in his own words, with a very
small embellishment.  But I believe the reader hath not been
a little surprised at the long silence of Parson Adams, especially as so many occasions offered themselves to exert his
curiosity and observation. The truth is, he was fast asleep,
and had so been from the beginning of the preceding narrative; and indeed, if the reader considers that so many hours
had passed since he had closed his eyes, he will not wonder at
his repose, though even Henley himself, or as great an orator,
(if any such be,) had been in his rostrum or tub before him.
Joseph, who whilst he was speaking had continued inl 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 though 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, passed 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,




212               ADVENTURES OF
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 passed the rivulet, and pursued
the footsteps of the hare; five horsemen attempted to leap over,
three of whom succeeded, and two were in the attempt thrown
from their saddles into the water; their companions, and their
own horses too, proceeded after their sport, and left their
friends and riders to invoke the assistance of Fortune, cr
employ the more active means of strength and agility for their
deliverance. Joseph, however, was not so unconcerned on this
occasion; he left Fanny for a moment to herself, and ran to
the gentlemen, who were immediately on their'legs, shaking
their ears, and easily, with the help of his hand, obtained the
bank, (for the rivulet was not at all deep;) and without staying
to thank their kind assister, ran dripping across the meadow,
calling to their brother sportsmen to stop their horses; but
they heard them not.
The hourids 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 ahandkerchieffastened to his head, began to pull
him.about; and had not the motion of his body hadl more




JOSEP H ANDREWS.                    213
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 intrust his
safety to.  Having, therefore, escaped likewise from at least a
third part of his cassock, which he willingly left as his exuvica
or spoils to the enemy, he fled with the utmost speed he could
summon to his assistance.   Nor let this be any detraction from
the bravery of his character; let the number of the enemies,
and the surprise in which he was taken, be considered; and if
there be any modern so outrageously brave that Se cannot
admit of flight in any circumstance whatever, I say, (but I
whisper that softly, and I solemnly declare without any intention of giving offence to any brave mall in the nation,) I say,
or rather I whisper, that he is an ignorant fellow, and hath
never read Homer, nor Virgil, nor knows he any thing of
Hector or Turnus: nay, he is unacquain'ted with the history
of some great men living, who, though as brave as lions, ay,
as tigers, have run away, the Lord knows how far, and the
Lord knows why, to the surprise of their friends aind the entertainment of their enemies. But if persons of such heroic disposition are a little offended at the behaviour of Adams, we
assure them they shall be as much pleased with what we shall
immediately relate of Joseph Andrews. The master of the
pack was just arrived, or as the sportsmen call it, come in,
when Adams set out as we have before mentioned.
This gentleman was generally said to be a great lover of
humour; but, not to mince the matter, especially as we are
upon this subject, he was a great hunter of men; indeed, he
had hitherto followed- the sport only with dogs of his own
species: for he kept two or three couple of barking curs for
that use only. However, as he thought he had now found a
man nimble enough, he was willing to indulge himself with
other sport, and accordingly crying out, Stole away, encouraged the hounds to pursue Mr. Adams, swearing it was the
largest jack-hare he ever saw; at the same time hallooing and
whooping as if a conquered foe was flying before him; in




214               ADVENTURES Or
which he was imitated by those two or three couple of human
or rather two-legged curs on horseback which we have mentioned before.
Now thou, whoever thou art, whether a muse, or by what
other name soever thou choosest to be called, who presidest
over biography, and hast inspired all the writers of lives in
these our times: thou who didst infuse such wonderful humour
into the pen of immortal Gulliver; who hast carefully guided
the judgment, whilst thou hast exalted the nervous manly style
of thy Mallet: thou who hadst no hand in that dedication and
preface, or the translations, which thou wouldst willingly have
struck out of the life of Cicero: lastly, thou, who, without the
assistance of the least spice of literature, and even against his
inclination, hast, in some pages of his book, forced Colley
Gibber to write English; do thou assist me in what I find
myself unequal to.  Do thou introduce on the plain, the
young, the gay, the brave Joseph Andrews, whilst men shall
view him with admiration and envy, tender virgins with love
and anxious concern for his safety.
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,
whom no other artificer can equal, and who hath made all those
sticks which the beaus have lately walked with about the Park
in a morning; but this was far his masterpiece. On its head
was engraved a nose and chin, which might have been mistaken
for a pair of nutcrackers. The learned have imagined it designed to represent the Gorgon; but it was in fact copied from
the face of a certain long English baronet, of infinite wit,
humour, and gravity.  He did intend to have engraved here
many histories; as the first night of Captain B-'s play,
where you would have seen critics in embroidery transplanted
from the boxes to the pit, whose ancient inhabitants were
exalted to the galleries, where' they played on catcalls. He
did intend to have painted an auction-room, where Mr. Cock




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    215
would have appeared aloft in his pulpit, trumpeting forth the
praises of a china basin, and with astonishment wondering that,
"Nobody bids more for that fine, that superb" — He did intend to have engraved many other things, but was forced to
leave all out for want of room.
No sooner had Joseph grasped his cudgel in his hands, than
lightning darted from his eyes; and the heroic 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 skirts 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 stopped 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, col
lecting 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, 0 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 babbler, no over-runner; respected
by the whole pack, who, whenever he opened, 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




216               ADVENTURES OF
-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 her own country,
but now waged an unequal fight, and had shared the fate of
those we have mentioned before, had not Diana, (the reader
may believe or not if he pleases,) in that instant interposed,
and, in the shape of the huntsman, snatched her favourite -up
in her arms.
The parson now faced about, and with his crabstick 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, 0, 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
ally 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 chase, shooting-match, race, cock-fighting, bull or bear-baiting, 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 his:safety of 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 ir,
trepidity, 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 Cointained a single drop of'blood, he would not stand idle by aid




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   211
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 preponderate, before they offered to revenge the cause of their four-footed
allies.
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 surprised 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 declared, "' Twas well it was
no worse; for his part he could not blame the gentlemen, 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. Adams 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, anti 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 himself 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
19




218               ADVENTURES OF
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
parson-hunting was the best sport in the world; others coDLmending his standing at-bay, which they said he had done as
well as any badger; with such like merriment, which though
it would ill become the dignity of this history, afforded much
laughter and diversion to the squire and his facetious companions.
CHAP TER VII.
A scene of roasting very nicely adapted to the present taste and times.
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 bachelor, 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 kitchen, where the servants wert
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 bachelor, as we have said, and about forty
years of age: he had been educated, (if we may use the
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




JOSEPIH ANDREWS.                   219
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 the duty of a parent; she therefore
resolved to persuade her son, if possible, to that which she
imagined would well supply all that he might have learned at
a public school or university, -this is what they commonly
call travelling; which, with the help of the tutor, who was
fixed on to attend him, she easily succeeded in. He made in
three years the tour of Europe, as they term it, and returned
home well furnished with French clothes, phrases, and servants,
with a hearty contempt for his own country: especially what
had any savour of the plain spirit and honesty of our ancestors.
His mother greatly applauded herself at his return.  And now
being master of his own fortune, he soon procured himself a
seat in parliament, and was in the common opinion one of the
finest gentlemen of his age: but what distinguished him chiefly,
was a strange delight which he took in every thing which is
ridiculous, odious, and absurd in his own species; so that he
never chose a companion without one or more of these ingredients, and those who were marked by nature in the most
eminent degree with them, were most his favourites. If he ever
found a man who either had not, or endeavoured to conceal,
these imperfections, he took great pleasure in inventing methods
of forcing him into absurdities which were not natural to him,
or in drawing forth and exposing those that were; for which
purpose he was always provided with a set of fellows, whom
we have before called curs, and who did, indeed, no great
honour to the canine kind; their business was to hunt out and
display every thing that had any savour of the above-mentioned
qualities, and especially in the gravest and best characters;
but if they failed in their search, they were to turn even virtue
ahd wisdom themselves into ridicule, for the diversion of their
master and feeder. The gentlemen of cur-like disposition who
were now at his house, and, whom he had brought with him
from London, were, an old half-pay officer, a player, a dull
poet, a quack doctor, a scraping fiddler, and a lame German
dancing-master.




220                ADVENTURES OF
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 completed 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 Adamhs was respectfully drinking to the master of the house, to overturn a plate of soup into
his breeches; which, with the many apologies he made, and
the parson's gentle answers, caused much mirth to the company.
Joke the third was served up by one of the waiting-men, who
had been ordered to convey a quantity of gin into Mr. Adams's
ale, which he declaring to be the best liquor he ever drank,
but rather too rich of the malt, contributed again to their
laughter. Mr. Adams, from whom we had most of this relation, could not recollect all the jests of this kind practised on
him, which the inoffensive disposition of his own heart made
him slow in discovering; and indeed, had it not been for the
information which we received from a servant of the family, this
part of our history, which we take to be none the least curious,
must have been deplorably imperfect: though we must own it
probable, that some more jokes were, (as they call it,) cracked
during their dinner; but we have by no means been able to
come at the knowledge of them.  When dinner was removed,
the poet began to repeat some verses, which, he said, were
made extempore.- The following is a copy of them, procured
with the greatest difficulty.
An extempore Poem on Parson Adams.
Did ever mortal such a parson view?
His cassock old, his wig not over-new.
Well might the hounds have him for fox mistaken,
In smell more like to that than rusty bacon:*
But would it not make any mortal stare,
To see this parson taken for a hare?
Could Phoebus err thus grossly, even he
For a good player might have taken thee.
At which words the bard whipt off the player's wig, and
* All hounds that will hunt fox or other vermin will hunt a piece of
rusty bacon trailed on the ground.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   221
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 dancing-master's turn to exhibit his talents: he therefore,
addressing himself to Adams in broken English, told him,
"He was a man ver well made for de dance, and he suppose
by his walk, dat he learn of some great master."  He said,
"It was ver pretty quality in clergyman to dance;" and concluded with desiring him to dance a minuet, telling him, "his
cassock would serve for petticoats; and that he would himself
be his partner." At which words, without waiting for an
answer, he pulled out his gloves, and the fiddler was preparing
his fiddle. The company all offered the dancing-master wagers
that the parson out-danced him, which he refused, saying, "' He
believed so too; for he had never seen any man in his life who
looked de dance so well as de gentleman:" he then stepped
forwards to take Adams by the hand, which the latter hastily
withdrew, and at the same time clenching his fist, advised him
not to carry the jest too far, for he would not endure being put
upon. The dancing-master no sooner saw the fist, than he
prudently retired out of its reach, and stood aloof, mimicking
Adams, whose eyes were fixed on him, not guessing what he
was at, but to avoid his laying hold on him, which he had once
attempted.  In the mean while, the captain, perceiving an
opportunity, pinned a cracker or devil to the cassock, and then
lighted it with their little smoking-candle  Adams being a
stranger to this sport, and believing he had been blown up in
reality, started from his chair, and jumped about the room to
the infinite joy of the beholders, who declared he was the best
dancer in the universe. As soon as the devil had done tormenting him, and he had a little recovered his confusion, he
returned to the table, standing up in a posture of one who
intended to make a speech. They all cried out, Hear him, hear
him; and he then spoke in the following manner: " Sir, I am
sorry to see one to whom Providence hath been so bountiful in
bestowing his favours, make so ill and ungrateful return for
19*




222               ADVENTURES OP
them; for though you have not insulted me yourself, it is visiuae
you have delighted in those that do it, nor have once discouraged the many rudenesses which have been shown towards
me, indeed, towards yourself if you rightly understood them;
for I am your guest, and by the laws of hospitality entitled to
your protection.
" Oe gentleman hath thought proper to produce some poetry
upon me, of which I shall only say, that I had rather be the
subject than the composer.  He hath been pleased to treat me
with disrespect as a parson. I apprehend my order is not the
bbject of scorn, nor that I can become so, unless by being a
disgrace to it, which I hope poverty will never be called.
Another gentleman, indeed, hath repeated some sentences,
where the order itself is mentioned with contempt. He says,
they are taken from plays. I am sure such plays are a scandal
to the government which permits them, and cursed will be the
nation where they are represented.  How others have treated
me, I need not observe; they themselves, when they reflect,
must allow the'behaviour to be as improper to my years as to
my cloth. You found me, sir, travelling with two of my
parishioners, (I omit your hounds falling on me; for I have
quite forgiven-it, whether it proceeded from the wantonness or
negligence of the huntsman;) my appearance might very well
persuade you, that your invitation was an act of charity,
though in reality we were well provided; yes, sir, if we had
had an hundred miles to travel, we had sufficient to bear our
expenses in a noble manner."  (At which words he produced
the half-guinea which was found in the basket.) "I do not
show you this out of ostentation of riches, but to convince you
I speak truth.  Your seating me at your table was an honour
which I did not ambitiously affect. When I was here, I endeavoured to behave towards you with the utmost respect; if
I have failed, it was not with design; nor could I, certainly,
so far be guilty as to deserve the insults I have suffered.  If
they were meant, therefore, either to my order or my poverty,
(and you see I am not very poor,) the shame doth not lie at
my door, and I heartily pray that the sin may be averted from
yours." He thus finished, and received a general clap from the
whole c6mpany. Then the gentleman of the house told him,




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    223
C'He was sorry for what had happened; that he could not
accuse him of any share in it; that the verses were, as himself
had well observed, so bad, that he might easily answer them;
and for the serpent, it was undoubtedly a very great affront
done him by the dancing-master, for which, if he well thrashed
him, as he deserved, he should be very much pleased to see it,"
(in which probably he spoke the truth.)  Adams answered,
"Whoever had done it, it was not his profession to punish him
that way; but for the person whom he had accused, I am a
witness," says he, "of his innocence: for I had my eye on
him all the while. Whoever he was, God forgive him, and bestow on him a little more sense as well as humanity."  The
captain answered with a surly look and accent, " That he hoped
he did not mean to reflect upon him; d-n him, he had as
much imanity as another, and if any man said he had not, he
would convince him of his mistake by cutting his throat."
Adams smiling said, " He believed he had spoke right by accident."  To which the captain returned, "What do you
mean by my speaking right? if you was not a parson, I would
not take these words; but your gown protects you. If any
man who wears a sword had said so. much, I had pulled him
by the nose before this."  Adams replied, " If he attempted
any rudeness to his person, he would not find any protection
for himself in his gown;" and clenching his fist, declared " he
had thrashed many a stouter man. " The gentleman did all he
could to encourage this warlike disposition in Adams, a.nd was
in hopes to have produced a battle; but he was disappointed;
for the captain made no other answer than, " It is very well you
are a parson;" and so drinking off a bumper to old mother
Church, ended the dispute.
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 encomiums on the church and poverty; and lastly recommended
forgiveness of what had passed 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




224               ADVENTURES OF
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
passed, 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 dis..
covered themselves in nothing more than in the choice of their
amusements: for," says he, " as it must greatly raise our ex..
pectation 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 choose, 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 commended the doctor's opinion, and said,
"lHe'had often wondered at some passages in ancient authors,
where Scipio, LDelius, and other great men, were represented
to have passed many hours in amusements of the most trifling
kind."  The doctor replied, "He had by him an old Greek
manuscript where a favourite diversion of Socrates was recorded."-"Ay," says the parson eagerly: "I should be most
infinitely obliged to you for the favour of perusing it. "  The
doctor promised to send it him, and farther said, " That he
believed he could describe it. I think, " says he, " as near as
I can remember, it was this; there was a throne erected on
one side of which sat a king, and on the other a queen, with
their guards and attendants ranged on both sides; to them was
introduced an ambassador, which part Socrates always used to
perform himself; and when he was led up to the footsteps of
the throne, he addressed himself to the monarchs in some grave
speech, full of virtue, and goodness, and morality, and such
like. After which, he was seated between the king and queen,
and royally entertained. This I think was the chief part.
Perhaps I may have forgot some particulars: for it is long
since I read it."  Adams said, "It was, indeed, a diversion




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   2'5
worthy the relaxation of so great a man; and thought something resembling it should be instituted among our great men,
instead of cards and other idle pastime, in which, he was informed, they trifled away too much of their lives." He added,
"The christian religion was a nobler subject for these speeches
than any Socrates could have invented." The gentleman of
the house approved what Mr. Adams said, and declared, " He
resolved to perform the ceremony this very evening. " To which
the doctor objected, as no one was prepared with a speech,
-"unless," said he, (turning to Adams with a gravity of countenance which would have deceived a more knowing man,)
"' you have a sermon about you, doctor. "-" Sir," says Adams,
" I never travel without one, for fear of what may happen." —
He was easily prevailed on by his worthy friend, as he now
called the doctor, to undertake the part of the ambassador; so
that the gentleman sent immediate orders to have the throne
erected; which was performed before they had drank two
bottles: and perhaps the reader will hereafter have no great
reason to admire the nimbleness of the servants.
Indeed, to confess the truth, the throne was no more than
this; there was a great tub of water provided, on each side of
which was placed two stools raised higher than the surface of
the tub, and over the whole was laid a blanket; on these stools
were placed the king and queen, namely, the master of the
house and the captain. And now the ambassador was introduced, between the poet and the doctor, who, having read his
sermon, to the great entertainment of all present, was led up
to his place, and seated between their majesties. They immediately rose up, when the blanket wanting its supports at
either end, gave way, and soused Adams over head and ears
in the water. The captain made his escape, but, unluckily, the
gentleman himself not being as nimble as he thought, Adams
caught hold of him before he descended from his throne, and
pulled him in with him, to the entire secret satisfaction of all
the company. Adams, after ducking the squire twice or
thrice, leaped out of the tub, and looked sharp for the doctor,
whom he would certainly have conveyed to the same place
of honour; but he had wisely withdrawn; he then searched foi
his crabstick, and having found that, as well as his fellow'
P




226               ADVENTURES OF
traveller's, he declared he would not stay a moment longer in
such a house.  He then departed, without taking -leave of his
host; whom he had exacted a more severe revenge on than he
intended; for as he did not use sufficient care to dry himself in
time, he caught a cold by the accident, which threw him into
a fever that had like to have cost him his life.
CHAPTER VIII.
Which some readers will think too short, others too long.
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 powerto detain them.  They walked as fast
as they could, not so much from any apprehension of being
pursued, as that AMr. Adams might by exercise prevent any
harm from the water.  The gentleman, who had given such
orders to his servants concerning Fanny that he did not in the
least fear her getting away, no sooner heard that she was gone,
than he began to rave, and immediately despatched several
with orders, either to bring her back or never return. The
poet, the player, and all but the dancing-master and doctor,
went on this errand.
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 alehouse, had not
-the words The New Inn, been writ on the sign, afforded them
no better provisions 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 ate his homely
commons with much greater satisfaction than his splendid




JOSEPHE ANDREWS.                    22i
dinner; and expressed great contempt for the folly of mankind,
who sacrificed their hopes of lheaven to the acquisition of vast
wealth, since so much comfort was to be found in the humblest
state and the lowest provisions.  "Very true, sir," says a
grave man who sat smoking his pipe by the fire, and who was
a traveller as well as himself.  "I have often been as much
surprised as you are, when I consider the value which mankind
in general set on riches; since every day's experience shows 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 solicitude 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 care
which attend them, shorten the lives of millions, and bring
them with pain and misery to an untimely grave. Where then
is their value, if they can neither embellish nor strengthen our
forms, sweeten nor prolong our lives?- Again: Can they
adorn the mind more than the body? Do they not rather
swell the heart with vanity, puff up the cheeks with pride,
shut our ears to every call of virtue, and our bowels to every
motive of compassion?"-" Give me your hand, brother,"
said Adams in a rapture, " for I suppose you are a clergyman. "
" No, truly," answered the other, (indeed he was a priest of
the church of RPome; but those. who understand our laws, will
not wonder he was not over-ready to own it.) -" Whatever
you are," cries Adams, "you have spoken my sentiments: I
believe I have preached every syllable of your speech twenty
times over; for it hath always appeared to me easier for a
cable rope," (which by the way is the true rendering of that
word we have translated camel,) "to go through the eye of a
needle, than for a rich man to get into the kingdom  of




228               ADVENTURES OF
Heaven."-" That, sir," said the other, "will be easily granted
you by divines, and is deplorably true: but as the prospect of
our good at a distance doth not so forcibly affect us, it might
be of some service to mankind to be made thoroughly sensible,
-which I think they might be with very little serious attention,
-that even the blessings of this world are not to be purchased
with riches; — a doctrine, in my opinion, not only metaphysically, but if I may so say, mathematically demonstrable; and
which I Pave been always so perfectly convinced of, that I
have a contempt for nothing so much as for gold."  Adams
nowr began a long discourse; but as most which he said, occuramong many authors who have treated this subject, I shall
omit inserting it. During its continuance Joseph and Fanny
retired to rest, and the host likewise left the room. When
the English parson had concluded, the Romish resumed the
discourse, which he continued with great bitterness and invective; and at last ended by desiring Adams to lend him eighteenpence to pay his reckoning; promising, if he never paid him,
he might be assured of his prayers.  The good man answered,
that eighteen-pence would be too little to carry him any very
long journey; that he had half a guinea in his pocket, which
-he would divide with him.  He then fell to searching his
pockeis, but could find no money; for indeed the company
with whom he dined had passed one jest upon him which we
did not then enumerate, and had picked his pocket of all that
treasure which he had so ostentatiously produced.
"Bless me," cried 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 aF




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   229
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
to-morrow 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 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 the situation of his affairs; uponwhich the host, scratching
his head, answered, "Why, I do not know, master; if it be
so., and you have no money, I must trust, I think, though I
had rather always have ready money if I could; but, marry,
you look like so honest a gentleman, that I don't fear your
paying me, if it was twenty times as much." The priest made
no reply,-but taking leave of him and Adams as fast as hbe
could, not without confusion, and perhaps with some.distrust
of Adams's sincerity, departed.
Hle 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 % sweeter repose than is often in the power
of velvet and dowh to bestow.
20




230                ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER IX.
Containing as surprising and bloody adventures as can be found in this or per
haps an authentic history.
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
thedoor, over which he lay.  He presentlyjumped 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 taken up their lodgings there that
night? Though he knew not the voices, he began to entertain
a suspicion of the truth: for indeed he had received some informa.tion 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, called out to him by his name, just as
he had opened another window, and -asked him the same
question.;- to which he answered in the affirmative. 0 ho!
said another, have we found you? and ordered the host to
come down and open his door. Fanny, who was as wakeful as
Joseph, no sooner heard all this, than she leaped from her bed,
and hastily putting on her gown and petticoats, ran as fast as
possible to Joseph's room, who then was almost dressed.  Ie
immediately let her in, and.embracing her with the most passionate tenderness, bid her fear nothing, for he would die in
her defence.  "Is that a reason why I should not fear, " says
she, "when I should lose what is dearer to me than the whole
world?" Joseph then kissing her hand, said, " He could
almost thank the occasion which had extorted from her a ten-;:derness she would never indulge him with before."'  He then
ran and waked his bedfellow Adams, who was yet fast asleep,
notwithstanding many calls from Joseph; but was no sooner
made sensible of their danger, than he leaped from his bed,
without considering the presence of Fanny, who hastily turned
her face from him, and enjoyed a double benefit from the-dark,
which, as it would have prevented any offence to an innocence
less-pure, or a modesty less delicate, so it concealed even those
blushes which were raised in her.
Adams had soon put on all his clothes but his breeches, which




JOSEPH  AlNDREWS.                  231
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, ankd three
servants came in. The captain told the host, that twd fellows
who were in his house, had run away with a young woman, and
desired to know in which room she lay. The host, who presently
believed the story, directed them, and instantly the captain
and poet, jostling one another, ran up. The poet, who was
the nimblest, entering the chamber first, searched the bed and
every other part, but to no purpose; the bird was flown, as
the impatient reader, who might otherwise have been in pain
for her, was before advertised. They then inquired where the
men lay, and were approaching the chamber, when Joseph
roared out in a loud voice, that he would shoot the first man
who offered to attack the door. The captain inquired what
fire-arms they had; to which the host answered, He believed
they had none; nay, he was almost convinced of it, for he had
heard one ask the other in the evening what they should have
done if they had been overtaken, when they had no arms; to
which the other answered, They would have defended themselves with their sticks as long as they were able, and God
would assist a just cause.  This satisfied the captain, but not
the poet, who prudently retreated down stairs, saying, It was
his business to record great actions, and not to do them. The
captain was no sooner well satisfied that there were no fire-arms,
than bidding defiance to-gunpowder, and swearing he loved the
smell of it, he ordered the servants to follow him, and marching
boldly up, immediately attempted to force the door, which the
servants soon helped him to accomplish. When it was opened,
they discovered the enemy drawn up three deep; Adams in
the front, and Fanny in the rear. The captain told Adams,
That if they would go all back to the house again, they should
be civilly treated; but unless they consented, he had orders to
carry the young lady with him, whom there was great reason
to believe they had stolen from her parents; for notwithstanding
her disguise, her air, which she could not conceal, sufficiently
discovered her birth to be infinitely superior to theirs. Fanny,
bursting into tears, solemnly assured him he was mistaken;
that she was a poor helpless foundling,: and had no relation in




2-32              ADVENTUR-ES OF
the world which she knew of: and throwing herself on her
knees, begged that he would not attempt to take her from her
friends, who she was convinced would die before they would
lose her; which Adams confirmed with words not far from
amounting to an oath.  The captain swore he. had no leisure
to talk, and bidding them thank themselves for what happened,
he ordered the servants to fall on, at the same time endeavouring to pass by Adams, in order to lay hold on Fanny; but the
parson interrupting him received a blow from one of them
which without considering whence it came, he returned to the
captain, and gave him so dexterous a knock in that part of the
stomach which is vulgarly called the pit, that he staggered
some paces backwards. The captain, who was not accustomed
to this kind of play, and who wisely apprehended the consequence of such another blow, two of them seeming to him
equal to a thrust through the body, drew forth his hanger. as
Adams approached him, and was levelling a blow at his head,
which would probably have silenced the preacher for ever, had
not Joseph in that instant lifted up a certain huge stone pot of
the chamber with one hand, which six beaus could not have
lifted with both, and discharged it, together with the contents,
full in the captain's face. The uplifted hanger dropped from
his hand, and he fell prostrated on the foor with a lumpish
noise, and-his halfpence rattled in his pocket; the red liquor
which his veins contained, and the white liquor which the pot
contained, ran in one stream down his face and his clothes.
Nor had Adams quite escaped, some of the water having in
its passage shed its honours on his head, and began to trickle
down the wrinkles or rather furrows of his cheeks, when one
of the servants, snatching a mop out of a pail of water which
had already done its duty in washing the house, pushed it in
the parson's face; -yet could not he bear him down, for the
parson wresting the mop from the fellow with one hand, with
his other brought the enemy as low as the earth, having given
him a stroke over that part of the face where, in some men of
pleasure, the natural and artificial noses are conjoined.
Hitherto Fortune seemed to incline the victory on the travellers' side, when, according to her custom, she began to show
the fickleness of her disposition; for now the host entering the




JOSEPH  ANDREWS. -:233
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 all sense, and he measured his length
on the ground.
Fanny rent the air with her cries; and Adams was coming
to the assistance of Joseph; but the two serving-men and the
host now fell on him, and soon subdued him, though he fought
like a madman, and looked so black with the impressions he
had received from the mop, that Don Quixote would certainly
have taken him for an enchanted Moor. But now follows the
most tragical part; for the captain was risen again, and seeing
Joseph on the floor, and Adams secured, he instantly laid hold
on Fanny, and, with the assistance of the poet and player, who,
hearing the battle was over, were now come up, dragged her,
crying and tearing her hair, from the sight of her Joseph, and
with a perfect deafness to all her entreaties, carried her down
stairs by violence, and fastened her on the player's horse; and
the captain mounting his own, and leading that on which this
poor miserable wretch was, departed, without any more consideration of her cries than a butcher hath of those of a lamb;
for indeed his thoughts were entertained only with the degree
of favour which he promised himself from the squire on the
success of this adventure.
The servants, who were ordered to secure Adams and Joseph
as safe as possible, that the squire might receive no interruption
to his design on poor Fanny, immediately, by the poet's,advice, tied Adams to one of the bed-posts, as they did Joseph
on the other side, as soon as they could bring him to himself;
and then leaving them together, back to back, and desiring
the host not to set them at liberty, nor to go near them till he
had further orders, they departed towards their master; but
happene I to take a different road from that which the captain
had fallen into.
20 *




2-34               ADVENTURES OF
CHOAPTER X.
A discouxse between the poet and the player; of no other use in this history
but to divert the reader.
BEFORE, we proceed any farther in this tragedy, we shall
leave Mr. Joseph and Mr. Adams to themselves, and imitate
the wise conductors of the stage, who, in the midst of a grave
action, entertain you with some excellent piece of satire or
humour, called a dance. Which piece, indeed, is therefore
danced, and not spoke, as it is delivered to the audience by
persons, whose thinking faculty is, by most people, held to
lie in their heels; and to whom, as well as heroes, who think
with their hands, Nature hath only given heads for the sake
of conformity, and as they are of use in dancing, to hang their
hats on.
The poet, addressing the player, proceeded thus: "As I
was saying, " (for they had been at this discourse all the time
of the engagement above stairs,) "the reason you have no
good new plays is evident; it is from your discouragement of
authors.  Gentlemen will not write, sir, they will not write,
without the expectation of fame or profit, or perhaps both.
Plays are like trees, which will not grow without nourishment;
but, like 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. Though I believe one reason of
their depravity is the badness of the actors. If a man writes
like an angel, sir, those fellows know not how to give a sentiment utterance.' —"Not so fast," says the player:  "the
modern actors are as good at least as their authors; nay, they
come nearer their illustrious predecessors; and I expect a Booth
on the stage again, sooner than a Shakspeare or an Otway;
and indeed I may turn your observations against you, and
with truth say, that the reason no actors are encouraged, is
because we have no good new plays." —" I have not affirmed




JOS-EPH  ANDREWS.                  235
the ccl:trary," said the poet; " but I am surprised you grow
so warm; you cannot but imagine yourself interested in this
dispute; I hope you have a better opinion of my taste, than to
epprehend I squinted at yourself.  No, sir, if we had six such.ectors as you, we should soon rival the Bettertons and SandfIrds of former times; for, without a compliment to you, I
t;hink 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 acquired some new excellence, like a snowball. You have deceived me in my estimation of perfection,
and have outdone what I thought inimitable. " --  "You are as
little interested," answered the player, "in what I have said
of other poets; for d-n me if there are not many strokes, ay,
whole scenes, in your last tragedy, which at least equal Shakspeare. There is a delicacy of sentiment, a dignity of expression
in it, which, I will own, many of our gentlemen did not do
adequate justice to. To confess the truth, they are bad enough;
and I pity an author who is present at the murder of his
works." —" Nay, it is but seldom that it can happen," returned
the poet; "the works of most modern authors, like dead-born
children, cannot be murdered. It is such wretched, halfbegotten, half-writ, lifeless, spiritless, low, grovelling stuff,
that I almost pity the actor who is obliged to get it by heart,
which must be almost as difficult to remember, as words in a
language you do not understand. "- "I am sure," said the
player, "if the sentences have little meaning whel they are
writ, when they are spoken, they have less. I know scarce one
who ever lays an emphasis right, and much less adapts his
action to his character.  I have seen a tender lover in an
attitude of fighting with his mistress, and a brave hero suing
to his enemy with his sword in his hand.  I don't care to
abuse my profession, but rot me if, in my heart, I am not inclined to the poet's side."
"It is rather generous in you than just," said the poet;
"and though I hate to speak ill of any person's production,-.
nay, I never do it, nor will, -but yet, to do justice to the




236                ADVENTURES OF
actors, what could Booth or Betterton have made of such
horrible stuff as Fenton's Mariamne, Frowd's Philotas, or
Mallet's Eurydice; or those low, dirty, last-dying speeches,
which a.fellow in the city of Wapping, your Dillo or Li1o,
what was his name, called tragedies?"-'" Very well," says the
player; " and pray what do you think of such fellows as Quin
and Delane, or that face-making puppy, young Cibber, that ill.look'd dog Macklin, or that saucy slut, Mrs. Clive? What
work would they make with your Shakspeares, Otways, and
Lees?  How would those harmonious lines of the last come
from their tongues?
--  No more; for I disdain
All pomp when thou art by: far be the noise
Of kings and crowds from us, whose gentle souls
Our kinder fates have steer'd another way.
Free as the forest birds we'll pair together,
Without remembering who our fathers were:
Fly-to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads;
There in soft murmurs interchange our souls;
Together drink the crystal of the stream,
Or taste the yellow fruit which autumn yields;
And when the golden evening calls us home,
Wing to our downy nests and sleep till morn.
"Or how would this disdain of OtwayWho'd be that foolish sordid thing call'd man?
" Hold I hdld! hold!" said the poet: "Do repeat that tender
speech in the third act of my play, which you made such afigure in." —"I would willingly," said the player, "but I
have forgot it."-" Ay, you was not quite perfect enough in it
when you played 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 hissed more than any
passage in the whole play." —"Ay, your speaking it was
hissed," said the poet.  " My speaking it!" said the player.
-" I mean your not speaking it, " said the poet.  "You was
out, and then they hissed." - "They hissed, and then I was
out, if I remember,"' answered the player; "and I must say




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   237
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,"
replied the poet. -"Why, you know it was acted but one
night, " cried the player.-" No," said the poet, "you and the
whole town were enemies: the pit were all my enemies, fellows
that would cut my throat, if the fear of hanging did not restrain
them. All tailors, sir, all tailors. -" Why should the tailors
be so angry ivith 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; though
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," answered the player, "the performers did the
distress of it justice; for I am sure we were in distress enough,
who were pelted with oranges all the last act; we all imagined
it would have been the last act of our lives."
The poet, whose fury was now raised, had just attempted to
answer, when they were interrupted and an end put to- their
discourse by an accident; which if the reader is impatient to
know, he must skip over the next chapter, which is a sort of
counterpart to this, and contains some of the best and gravest
matters in the whole book, being a discourse between Parson
Abraham Adams and Mr. Joseph Andrews.




238                A-D V E'N TU RES- OF
CHAPTER XI.
Containing the exhortations of Parson Adams to his friend in dffiction; da..
culatedfor the instruction and improvement of the reader.
JOSEPv 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, hot 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, 0 my dear
Fanny! 0 my love I shall I never, never see thee more? his
eyes overflowed with tears, which would have become any thing
but a hero. In a word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related.
Mr. Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to
Joseph, began thus in a sorrowful tone: "You cannot imagine,
my good child, that I entirely blame these first agonies of your
grief; for when misfortunes attack us by surprise, it must require infinitely more learning than you are master of to resist
them; but it is the business of a man and a Christian, to summon reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and she will presently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted,
therefore, child; I say be comforted. It is true, you have lost
the prettiest, kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one
with whom you might have expected to have lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence; by whom you might have promised
yourself many little darlings, who would have been the delight
of your youth, and the comfort of your age. You have not
only lost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence which
lust and power can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may
easily raise ideas of horror, which might drive you to despair."
— " 0, I shall run mad!" cries Joseph. " 0 that I could but
command my hands to-tear my eyes out, and my flesh off I""If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad you
can't, " answered Adams.  "I have stated your misfortunes as
strong as I possibly can; but, on the other side, you are to




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   239
consider you are a Christian; that no accident happens to us
without the divine permission, and that it is the duty of a man
and a Christian to submit. We did not make ourselves; but
the same power which made us, rules over us, and we are absolutely at his disposal; he may do'with us what he pleases,
nor have we any right to complain.  A second reason against
our complaint is our ignorance; for as we know not future
events, so neither can we tell to what purpose any accident
tends; and that which at first threatens us with evil, may in
the end produce our good. I should indeed have said our ignorance is twofold, (but I have not at present time to divide
properly,) for as we know not to what purpose any event is
ultimately directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause
it originally sprung.  You are a man, and consequently a
sinner; and this may be a punishment to you for your sins:
indeed in this sense it may be esteemed as a good, yea, as the
greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and averts
that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction.
Thirdly, our impotency in relieving ourselves, demonstrates the
folly and absurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist,
or against whom do we complain, but a power from whose
shafts no armour can guard us,'no speed can fly? - a power
which leaves us no hope but in submission."
" 0, sir!" cries Joseph, " all this is very true, and very fine,
and I could hear you all day, if I was not so grieved at
heart as now I am." —" Would you take physic, " says Adams,
" when you are well, and refuse it when you are sick? Is not
comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not to those
who rejoice, or those who are at ease?" -"! you have- not
spoken one word of comfort to me yet!" returned Joseph.
" No!" cries Adams; "What am I then doing? what can I
say to comfort you?"- " O! tell me," cries Joseph, "that
Fanny will escape back to my arms; that they shall again enclose that lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untainted innocence about her " — "Why, perhaps you may,"
cries Adams; "but I can't promise you what's to come. You
must, with perfect resignation, wait the event: if she be restored
to you again, it is your duty to be thankful, and so it is if she
be not.  Joseph, if you are wise, and truly know your own




2:40              ADVENTURES.0
interest, -you will peaceably and quietly submit to all -the dispensations of Providence, being thoroughly assured, that all
the misfortunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, happen to them for their own good. Nay, it is not your
interest only, but your duty, to abstain from immoderate grief,
which, if you indulge, you are not worthy the' name of a
Christian."  He spoke these last words with an accent a little
severer than usual: upon which, Joseph begged him not to be
angry, saying, he mistook him if he thought he denied it was
his duty, for he had known that long ago.  " What signifies
knowing your duty, if you do not perform  it?" answered
Adams.  "Your knowledge increases your guilt.  0 Joseph I
I never thought you had this stubbornness in your mind."
Joseph replied, " he fancied he misunderstood him; which I
assure you," says he, "you do, if you imagine I endeavour
to grieve; upon my soul I don't."  Adams rebuked him for
swearing; and then proceeded to enlarge on the folly of grief,
telling him, all the wise men and philosophers, even among the
heathens, had written against it, quoting several passages
from Seneca, and the consolation, which, though it was not
Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works;
and concluded all by hinting, that immoderate grief, in this
case, might incense that power which alone could restore him
his Fanny. This reason, or, indeed, rather the idea which it
raised of the restoration of his mistress, had more effect than
all which the parson had said before, and for a moment abated
his agonies; but when his fears sufficiently set before his eyes
the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returned again
with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least assuage
it; though it may be doubted, in his behalf, whether Socrates
himself could have prevailed any better.
They remained some time in silence; and groans and sighs
issued from them both: at length Joseph burst out into the
following soliloquy:
Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man,
But I must also feel them as a man.
I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.
Adams asked him -what stuff that was he repeated T? -To




JOSEPHI  ANDREWS.                  241
which he answered, they were some lines he had gotten -by
heart out of a play. -"Ay, there is nothing but heathenism to
be learned from plays," replied he.  "I never heard of any
plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the Conscious
Lovers; and I must own, in the latter there,are some things
almost solemn enough for a sermon.". But we shall now leave
them a little, and inquire after the subject of their conversation.
CHAPTER XII.
More adventures, which we hope will as much please as surprise the reader.
NiITHER the facetious dialogue which passed between the
poet and the player, nor the grave and truly solemnr discourse
of Mr. Adams, will, we conceive, make the reader sufficient
amends for the anxiety which he must have felt on the account
of poor Fanny, whom we left in so deplorable a condition.
We shall therefore now proceed to the relation of what happened to that beautiful and innocent virgin, after she fell into
the wicked hands of the captain.
The man of war having conveyed his charming prize out of
the inn a little before day, made the utmost expedition in his
power towards the squire's house, where this delicate creature
was to be offered up a sacrifice to the lust of a ravisher.  He
was not only deaf to all her bewailings and entreaties on the
road, but accosted her ears with impurities, which, having
been never before accustomed to them, she happily for herself
very little understood. At last he changed this note, -and attempted to soothe and mollify her, by setting forth the splendour and luxury which would be her fortune with a man who
would have the inclination, and power too, to give her whatever her utmost wishes oould 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, not-:withstanding your fondness for him?" She returned, that she
21                   Q




242               ADVENTURES OF
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 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, to relieve a distressed creature who was in the hands of a ravisher. The
fellow stopped at those words; but the captain assured him it
was his wife, and that he was carrying her home from her
adulterer: which so satisfied the fellow, who was an old one,
(and perhaps a married one too,) that he wished him a good
journey, and rode on.
He was no sooner passed, than the captain abused her
violently for breaking his commands, and threatened to gag
her, when two more horsemen, armed with pistols, came into
the road just before them. She again solicited their assistance,
and the captain told the same story as before. Upon which
one said to the other, "That's a charming wench, Jack; I
wish I had been in the fellow's place, whoeve'r he is."  But
the other, instead of-answering him, cried out, "Zounds, I
know her;" and then turning to her, said, " Sure you are not
Fanny Goodwill?"-" Indeed, indeed I am," she cried —" 0
John I I know you now:Heaven hath sent you to my assistance, to deliver me from this wicked man, who is carrying me




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    243
away for his vile purposes — 0, for God's sake rescue me from
him 1" A fierce dialogue immediately ensued between the
captain and these two men, who being both armed with pistols,
and the chariot which they attended being now arrived, the
captain saw both force and stratagem were vain, and endeavoured to make his escape; in which however he could not
succeed. The gentleman who rode in the chariot, ordered it
to stop, and with an air of authority examined into the merits
of the cause; of which being advertised by Fanny, whose
credit was confirmed by the fellow who knew her, he ordered
the captain, who was all bloody, from his encounter at the inn,
to be conveyed as a prisoner behind the chariot, and very gallantly took Fanny into it; for, to say the truth, this gentleman,
(who was no other than the celebrated Mr. Peter Pounce, and
who preceded the Lady Booby only a few miles, by setting out
earlier in the morning,) was a very gallant person, and loved
a pretty girl better than any thing, besides his own money or
the money of other people.
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, leaping from it, ran up to her Joseph. — 0
reader! conceive if thou canst the joy which fired the breasts
of these lovers on this meeting; and if thy own heart doth-not
sympathetically assist thee in this conception, I pity thee sincerely from my own; for let the hard-hearted villain know this,
that there is a pleasure in a tender sensation beyond any thing
which he is capable of tasting.
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
jail, on no greater security than a bond and judgment, which




-244              ADVENTURES OFprobably he would have made no use of,.though 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 hurry, that he had on neither breeches,
garters, nor stockings; nor had he taken from his head a red
spotted handkerchief, which by night bound his wig, turned
inside out, around his head. He had on his torn cassock, and
his great-coat; but as the remainder of his cassock hung down
below his great-coat; so did a small stripe of white, or rather
whitish, linen appear below that; to which we may add the
several colours which appeared on his face, where a long pissburnt 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 he 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 Lady Booby's
livery, was not a little surprised at this change of the scene:
nor was this confusion much helped by' his wife, who was now
just risen, and having heard from him the account of what had
passed, comforted him with a decent number of fools and blockheads; asked him why he did not consult her; and told him
he would never leave following the nonsensical dictates of his
own numskull, till she and her family were ruined.
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 some revenge for what his dear Fanny had suffered.
When Mr. Pounce had a little regaled himself with some




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   245
provision which he had in his chariot, and Mr. Adams had put
on his 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 courtesies- 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 jail,
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 blockhead of his own, the
man in some things was well enough; for she had had three
children by him in less than three years, and was almost ready
to cry out the fourth time."  She would have proceeded in
this manner much longer, had not Peter stopped her tongue,
by telling her he had nothing to say to her husband, nor her
neither. So as Adams and the rest had assured her of forgiveness, she cried and courtesied out of the room.
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 re.
deemed. Indeed, whatever horse they had provided for
21*




246               ADVENTURES OF
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 mo~ment he
saw, though 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 outstripped 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,
averred he would rather carry her home in that manner, than
to 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, though 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 would have remained in the inn-yard to
this day, had not the good Peter Pounce put a stop to it; for
finding he had no longer hopes of satisfying his old appetite
with Fanny, and being desirous of having some one to whom
he might communicate his grandeur, he told the parson he
would convey him home in his chariot. This favour was, by
Adams, with many bows and acknowledgments, accepted;
though he afterwards said, "he ascended the chariot, rather
that he might not offend, than from any desire of riding in it;
for that in his heart he preferred the pedestrian even to the vehicular expedition." All matters being now settled, the chariot,
in which rode Adams and Pounce, moved forwards; and




JOSEPII ANDREWS.                     241
Joseph, having borrowed a pillion from the host, Fanny had
just seated herself thereon, and had laid hold of the girdle
which her lover wore for that purpose, when the wise beast, who
concluded that one at a time was sufficient, that two to one
were odds, &c. discovered much uneasiness at his double load,,
and began to consider his hinder as his fore legs, moving the
direct contrary way to that which is called forwards. Nor
could Joseph, with all his horsemanship, persuade him  to
advance; but, without having any regard to the lovely part of
the lovely girl which was on his back, he used such agitations,
that, had not one of the men come immediately to her assistance, she had, in plain English, tumbled backwards on the
ground. This inconvenience was presently remedied by an
exchange of horses; and then Fanny being again placed on
her pillion, on a better-natured and somewhat a better-fed
beast, the parson's horse, finding he had no longer odds to
contend with, agreed to march; and.the whole procession set
forwards for Booby-hall, where they arrived in a few hours,
without anything remarkable happening on the road, unless it
was -a curious dialogue between the parson and the steward;
which, to use the language of a late Apologist, a pattern to all
biographers, " waits for the reader in the next chapter."
-----
CHAPTER XIII.
A curious dialogue which passed between Air. Abraham Adams and Mr. Peter
Pounce, better worth reading than all the works of Colley Cibber, and many
others.
THE chariot had not proceeded far, before  Mr. Adam;
observed, it was a very fine day.  "Ay, and a very fine country too," answered Pounce.  "I should think so more,'
returned A-dams, "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




-248              ADVENTURES OF
other, "with which I am content, and envy no man: I have a
little, Mm. Adams, with which I do as much good as I
can."  Adams answered, " That riches without charity were
nothing worth; for that they were a blessing only 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 parson-like quality; though 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, can never be said to be imaginary
evils. "-" Hiow can any man complain of hunger, " said Peter,
"in a country where such excellent salads are to be gathered
in almost every field? or of thirst, where every river and
stream produces such delicious potations? And as for cold
and nakledness, they are evils introduced by luxury and custom.
A man naturally wants clothes no more than a horse or any
other animal; and there are whole nations who go without
them; but these are things perhaps which you, who do not
know the world"-    "You will pardon me, sir," returned
Adams, "I have read of the Gymnosophists." — "A plague
of your Jehosaphats, " cried Peter: "the greatest fault in our
constitution is the provision made for the poor, except that
perhaps made for some others. Sir, I have not an estate which
doth not contribute almost as much again to the poor as to
the land-tax: and I do assure you I expect to come myself to
the parish in the end."  To which Adams giving a dissenting
smile, Peter thus proceeded: "I fancy, Mr. Adams, you are
one of those who imagine I am a lump of money; for there
are many who, I fancy, believe that not only my pockets, but
my whole clothes, are lined with bank-bills; but I assule you




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   249
you are all mistaken; I am not the man the world esteems me.
If I can hold my head above water, it is all I can'. I have
injured myself by purchasing. I have been too liberal of my
money. Indeed, I fear my heir will find my affairs in a worse
situation than they are reputed to be. Ah! he will have
reason to wish I had loved money more, and land less. Pray,
my good neighbour, where should I have that quantity of
riches, the world is so liberal to bestow on me? Where could
I possibly, without I had stole it, acquire such a treasure?""Why truly," says Adams, "I have been always of your
opinion; I have wondered as well as yourself with what confidence they could report such things of you, which have to me
appeared as mere impossibilities; for you know, sir, and I
have often heard you say it, that your wealth is of your own
acquisition; and can it be credible that in your short time you
should have amassed such a heap of treasure as these people
will have you worth?  Indeed, had you inherited an estate
like Sir Thomas Booby, which had descended in your family
for many generations, they might have had a colour for their
assertions."
"Why, what do they say I am worth?" cries Peter with a
malicious sneer.  "Sir,"' answered Adams, "I have heard
some aver you are not worth less than twenty thousand pounds."
At which Peter frowned.  "Nay, sir," said Adams, "you
ask me only the opinion of others; for my own part I have
always denied it, nor did I ever believe you could possibly be
worth half that sum." - "However, Mr. Adams," said he,
squeezing him by the hand, "I would not sell them all I am
worth for double that sum; and as to what you believe, -or
they believe, I care not a fig, no, not a fart. I am not poor
because you think me so, nor because you attempt to undervalue me in the country.  I know the envy of mankind very
well; but I thank heaven I am above them. It is true, my
wealth is of my own acquisition.  I have not an estate like
Sir Thomas Booby, that has descended in my family through
many generations; but I know heirs of such estates who are
forced to travel about the country like some people in torn
cassocks, and might be glad to accept of a pitiful: curacy for
what I know. Yes, sir, as shabby fellows as yourself, whom




.250               ADVENTURES OF
no man of my figure, without that vice of good-nature about
him, would suffer to ride in a chariot with him. " —" Sir, " said
Adams, "I value not your chariot of a rush; and if I had
known you had intended to affront me, I would have walked
to the world's end on foot, ere I would have accepted a place
in it. However, sir, I will soon rid you of that inconvenience;"
and so saying, he opened the chariot-door, without calling to
the coachman, and leaped out into the highway, forgetting to
take his hat along with him; which, however, Mr. Pounce
threw after him with great violence. Joseph and Fanny stopt
to bear him company the rest of the way, which was not above
a mile.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
The arrival of Lady Booby and the rest at Booby-Hall.
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 glowed with red, and immediately
after became as totally pale.  She had in her surprise almost
stopped 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 returned 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 theabsence of a person of great fortune be felt in a little country
village, for whose inhabitants such a family finds constant employment and supply; and with the offals 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 public a joy into every countenance, how much more foircibly did the affection which they
bore. Parson Adams operate upon all who beheld his return I




J.OSEPH  ANDREW S.                  251
They flocked about him like dutiful children round an indulgent parent, and. vied with each other in demonstrations of
duty and love. The parson on his side shook every one by the
hand, inquired heartily after the healths of all that were
absent, of their children and relations; and expressed a satisfaction in his face, which nothing but benevolence made happy
by its objects could infuse.
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 splendour, 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.




252                ADVENTURES OF
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 blamed, she cursed the hasty rashness of her temper; her
fury was vented all on herself, and Joseph appeared innocent
in her eyes. Her passion at length grew so violent, that it
forced her on seeking relief, and now she thought of recalling
him; but pride forbad that; pride, which soon drove all softer
passions from her soul, and represented to her the meanness
of him she was fond of.  That thought soon began to obscure
his beauties; contempt succeeded -next, and then disdain,
which presently introduced her hatred of the creature who had
given her so much uneasiness.  These enemies of Joseph bad
no sooner taken possession of her mind, than they insinuated
to her a thousand things in his disfavour; every thing but dislike of her person; a thought, which, as it would have been
intolerable to bear, she checked the moment it endeavored to
arise.  Revenge came now to her assistance; and she considered her dismission of him, stripped, and without a character, with the utmost pleasure.  She rioted in the several kinds
of misery which her imagination suggested to her might be his
fate; and with a smile, composed of anger, mirth, and scorn,
viewed him in the rags in which her fancy had dressed him.
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 stripped 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 the frutli he was an amo,




J.OSEPH ANDREWS.                   253
rous 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 wherever he went; and he prayed God
to bless you; for you was the best of ladies, though his enemies
had set you against him. I wish you had not turned him away;
for I believe you had 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 do me the justice to say, I did all in my power to prevent it; but I saw your ladyship was angry; and it is not the
business of us upper servants to hinterfear on these occasions."
— "And was it not you, audacious wretch!" cried the lady,
"who made me angry? Was it not your tittle-tattle, in which
I believe you belied the poor fellow, which incensed me against
him? He may thank you for all that hath happened; and so
may I for the loss of so good a servant, and one who probably
had more merit than all of you. Poor fellow I I am charmed
with his goodness to his parents. Why did not you tell me of
that, but suffer me to dismiss so good a creature without a
character? I see the reason of your whole behaviour now as
well as your complaint; you was jealous of the wenches." "I
jealous 1" said Slipslop; " I assure you, I look upon myself
as his betters; I am not meat for a footman, I hope."  These
words threw the lady into a violent passion, and she sent Slip.
slop from her presence, who departed tossing her nose, and cry
ing, " Marry come up! there are some people more jealous
than I, I believe. "
Her lady affected not to hear these words, though in reality
she did, and understood them too. Now ensued a second conflict, so like the former, that it might savour of repetition to
relate it minutely. It may suffice to say, that Lady Booby
found. good reason to doubt whether she had so absolutely conquered her passion as she had flattered herself; and in order
to accomplish it quite, took a resolution more common than
wise, to retire immediately into the country. The reader hath
long ago seen the arrival of Mrs. Slipslop, whom no pertness
could make ber mistress resolve to partwith; lately, that of
o,29




254                A-D-VENTURES OF
Mr. Pounce, her forerunners; and lastly, that of the lady her.
self.
The morning after her arrival, being Sunday, she went to
church, to the great surprise of every body, who wondered to
see her ladyship, being no very constant church-woman, 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," &c. 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 about a quarter of an hour she stood up,
and directed her eyes to that part of the church where the
women sat, and persisted in looking that way during the remain,
der of the sermon, in so scrutinizing a manner, and with so
angry a countenance,,.that most of the women were afraid she
was offended at them. 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 changedl' 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.
CHAPTER II.
A dialogiue between Mr. Abraham A dams and the Lady.Booby.
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 yoll will ungratefully show any respect to a fellow who hath been turned




JOSEPH ANIDREWS.                   255
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 to the rtiin 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 under my
cure. As for the young woman, I assure your ladyship I have
as good an opinion of her as your ladyship yourself, or any
other can have.  She is the sweetest tempered, honestest,
worthiest, young creature; indeed, as to her beauty, I do not
commend her on that account, though all men allow she is the
handsomest woman, gentle or simple, that ever appeared in the
parish."
"You are very impertinent," says she, "to talk such ful.
some stuff to me. It is mighty becoming truly in a clergyman
to trouble himself about handsome women, and you are a delicate judge of beauty, no doubt.  A man who bath lived all
his life in such a parish as this, is a rare judge of beauty.
Ridiculous l  Beauty indeed! a country-wench a beauty!- I
shall be sick whenever I hear beauty mentioned again. And
so this wench is to stock the parish with beauties, I hope.
But, sir, our poor is numerous enough already; I will have no
more vagabonds settled here." — " Madam,"' says Adams,
"your ladyship is offended with me, I protest, without any
reason. This couple were desirous to consummate long ago,
and I dissuaded them from it; nay, I may venture to say, I
believe I was the sole cause of their delaying it."  "Well,"7
says she, "and you did very wisely and honestly too, notwithstanding she is the greatest beauty in the parish. —"   And
now, madam," continued he, "I only perform my office to Mr.
Joseph.  d'-" Pray, don't;mister such fellows to me," cries the
lady.  "He," said the parsoxi, "with the consent of Fanny,




256               ADVENTURES OF
before my face put in the banns."-"Yes," answered the lady,' I suppose the slut is forward enough; Slipslop tells me how
her head runs upon fellows; that is one of her beauties, I suppose. But if they have put in the banns, I desire you will
publish them no more without my orders. "-" Madam, " cries
Adams, " if any one puts in sufficient caution, and assigns a
proper reason against them, I am willing to surcease. "- " I
tell you a reason, " says she: " he is a- vagabond, and he shall
not settle here, and bring a nest of beggars into the parish; it
will make us but little amends that they will be beauties." —
4 Madam," answered Adams, " with the utmost submission to
your ladyship, I have been informed by lawyer Scout, that any
person who serves a year gains a settlement in the parish where
he serves."-" Lawyer Scout," replied the lady,'"is an impudent coxcomb; I will have no lawyer Scout interfere with me.
I repeat to you again, I will have no more incumbrances
brought on us; so I desire you will proceed no farther.""Madam, " returned Adams, "I would obey your ladyship in
every thing that is lawful: but surely the parties being poor is
no reason against their marrying. God forbid there should be
any such law. The poor have little share of this world already; ~it would be barbarous indeed, to deny them the common
privileges, and innocent enjoyments, which nature indulges to
the animal creation."- " Since you understand yourself no
better," cries the lady, "nor the respect due from such as you
to a woman of my distinction, than to affront my ears by such
loose discourse, I shall mention but one short word; it is my
orders to you, that you publish these banns no more; and if
you dare, I will recommend it to your master, the doctor, to
discard you from his service. I will, sir, notwithstanding your
poor family; and then you and the greatest beauty in the
parish may go- and beg together."- " Madam," answered
Adams, " I know not what your ladyship means by the terms
master and service. I am in the service of a Master who will
never discard,me for doing my duty; and if the doctor, (for
indeed I have never been able to pay for a licence,) thinks
proper to turn me from my cure, God will provide me, I hope,
another. At least, my family, as well as myself, have hands:
and he will prosper, I doubt not, our endeavours to get out




JOSEPH' ANDREWS.                    257
bread honestly with them.  Whilst my conscience is pure, I
shall never fear what man can do unto me."-" I condemn my
humility," said the lady, "for demeaning, myself to converse
with you so long.  I shall take other measures; for I see you
are a confederate with them. But the sooner you leave me
the better; and I shall give orders that my doors may no
longer be open to you. I will suffer no parsons who run about
the country with beauties to be entertained here."-" Madam,"
said Adams, "I shall enter into no person's doors against
their will: but I am assured, when you, have inquired farther
into this matter, you will applaud, not blame, my proceeding;
and so I humbly take my leave;" which -he did with many
bows, or at least many attempts at a bow.
CHAPTER III.
What passed between the lady and Lawyer Scout.
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 or 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
lie 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
22*        *




258                ADVENTURES OF
in fact; and if he be not settled in fact, he is not an inhabi.
tant, 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 I said to Mr.
Adams, was on a supposition that he was settled in fact; and,
indeed, if that was the case, I should doubt." —" Don't tell
me your facts and your ifs,  said the lady; "I don't understand your gibberish; you take too much upon you, and are
very impertinent, in pretending to direct in this parish; and
you shall be taught better, I assure you, you shall. But as to
the wench, I am resolved she shall not settle here; I will not
suffer such beauties as these to produce children for us to
keep." — "Beauties, indeed I your ladyship is pleased to be
merry," answered Scout.  "Mr. Adams described her so to
me," said the lady.  "Pray what sort of dowdy is it, Mr.
Scout?"-" The ugliest creature almost I ever beheld; a poor,
dirty drab; your ladyship never saw such a wretch. "-" Well,
but dear Mr. Scout, let her be what she will, these ugly women
will bring children, you know; so that we must prevent the
marriage. -" True, madam,"' replied Scout, "for the subsequent marriage co-operating with the law, will carry law into
fact. When a man is married, he is settled in fact, and then
he is not removable.  I will see Mr. Adams, and I make no
doubt of prevailing with him. His only objection is, doubtless,
that he shall lose his fee; but that being once made easy, as it
shall be, I am confident no farther objection will remain. No,
no, it is impossible; but your ladyship can't discommend his
unwillingness to depart from his fee. Every man ought to
have a proper value for his fee.
"As'to the matter in question, if your ladyship pleases to
employ me in it, I will venture to promise you success.  The
laws of this land are not so vulgar, as to permit a mean fellow
to contend with one of your ladyship's fortune.  We have one
sure card, which is, to carry him before Justice Frolick, who,
upon hearing your ladyship's name; will commit him without




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     259
any farther questions.  As for the dirty slut, we shall have
nothing to do with her; for if we get rid of the fellow, the
ugly jade will"-" Take what measures you please, good Mr.
Scout," answered the lady: "but I wish you could rid the
parish of both; for Slipslop tells me such stories of this
wench, that I abhor the thoughts of her; and though you say
she is such an ugly slut, yet you know, dear Mr. Scout, these'
forward creatures, who run after men, will always find some as
forward as themselves; so that, to prevent -the increase of
beggars, we must get rid of her. "- "Your ladyship is very
much in the right, " answered Scout;, " but I am afraid the law
is a little deficient in giving us any such power of prevention;
however, the justice will stretch it as far as he is able, to
oblige your ladyship. To say truth, it is a great blessing to
the country that he is in the commission; for he bath taken
several poor off our hands that the law would never lay hold
on. I know some justices who think as much of committing a
man to Bridewell, as his lordship at'size would of hanging
him; but it would do a man good to see his worship, our justice, commit a fellow to Bridewell, he takes so much pleasure
in it; and when once we ha'um there we seldom hear any more
o'um.  He's either starved or eat up by vermin in a month's
time. "-Here the arrival of a visitor put an end to the conversation, and Mr. Scout, having undertaken the cause, and promised it success, departed.
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 the disdain of poor
innocent Fanny, betray the Lady Booby into'a familiar dis.
course, 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




260               ADVENTURES OF
falsehoods 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.
CHAPTER IV.
A short chapter, but very full of matter: particularly the arrival of AIr.
Booby and his lady.
ALL that night, and the nekt day, the Lady Booby passed
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 holyday, she went
to church, where, to her surprise, 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: "0 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 nobody knows what
it is for. " —" I suppose they deserve it," says the lady. "Why
dost thou mention such wretches to me?"-" 0 dear madam!"
answered 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 I 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, which are a scandal to our sect."  The lady was
no more pleased at this news, after a moment's reflection, than
Slipslop herself; for though she wished Fanny far enough, she




JO SEPHI ANDREWS.                   261
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 be conducted into a drawing-room, whither
she presentlr repaired, having composed her countenance as
well as she could; and being a little satisfied that the wedding
would by these means be at least interrupted, and that she
should have an opportunity to execute any resolutions she
might take, for which she saw herself provided with an excellent
instrument in Scout.
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 sui'prise, 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
good-breeding. They passed 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. Bodby.
CHAPTER V.
Containing justice-business; curious precedents of depositions, and other
matters necessary to be perused by all justices of the peace and their clerks.
THrE young squire and his lady were no sooner alighted from
their coach, than the' servants began to inquire after Mr. Joseph,
from whom they said their lady had not heard a word, to her
great surprise, 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




262                ADVENTURES OF
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.  Ordering therefore his horses to his coach,
he set out for the judgment-seat, and arrived when the justice
had almost finished his business. He was conducted into a
hall, where he was acquainted that his worship would wait on
him in a moment; for he had only a man and a woman to commit to Bridewell first.  As he was now convinced he had not a
minute to lose, he insisted on the servant's introducing him
directly into the room where the justice was then executing his
office, as he called it. Being brought thither, and the first
compliments being passed between the squire and his worship,
the former asked the latter what crime those two young people
had been guilty of? " No great crime, " answered the justice;
" I have only ordered them to Bridewell for a month. "-" But
what is their crime?" repeated the squire.  "Larceny, ann't
please your honour," said Scout.  "Ay," says the justice, " a
kind of felonious larcenous thing. I believe I must order them
a little correction too, a little stripping and whipping. " (Poor
Fanny, who had hitherto supported all with the thoughts of
Joseph's company, trembled at that sound; but indeed, without reason; for none but the devil himself would have executed
such a sentence on her.)  "Still," said the squire, "I am
ignorant of the crime - the fact I mean."-" "Why, there it is
in peaper," answered the justice, showing him a deposition,
which, in the absence of his clerk, he had written himself, of
which we have with great difficulty procured an authentic copy;
and here it follows, verbatim et literatim:The depusition of Jamles Scout, layer, and Thomas Trotter, yeoman, takers
before mne, one of his majesty'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, between the hours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon, he zeed
Joseph Andrews and Francis Goodwill walk akross a certane
felde belonging 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 hazel-twig, of the value, as he believes, of 3 halfpence, or thereabouts; and he saith that the said Francis




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    263
Goodwill was. likewise walking on the grass out of the said
path in the said felde, and did receive and karry in her hand
the said twig, aqnd so was cemfarting, eading, and abating to
the said Joseph therein. And the said James Scout for himself says, that he verily believes the said twig to be his own
proper twig," &c.
"Jesu!1 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 obliged to you, therefore, if, instead
of Bridewell, you will commit them to my custody." -" 0!
to be sure, sir, if you desire it," answered the justice: and
without more ado, Joseph and Fanny were delivered over to
Squire Booby, whom Joseph very well knew, but little guessed
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 cloak-bag, 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 a servant
to take out a suit of his own clothes, with linen and other
necessaries, he left Joseph to dress himself, who, not yet knowinlg 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




2-64              ADVENTURES OF
flopped 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 sooner saw her countenance
cleared up, and her bright eyes shining through her tears, than
he secretly cursed himself for having once thought of Bridewell
for her. He would willingly have sent his own wife thither, to
have had Fanny in her place. And conceiving almost at the
same instant desires and schemes to accomplish them, he employed the minutes, whilst the squire'was absent with Joseph,
in assuring her how sorry he was for having treated her so
roughly before he knew her merit; and told her that since Lady
Booby was unwilling that she should settle in her parish, she
was heartily welcome to his, where he promised her'his protection, adding, that he would take Joseph and her into his
own family, if she liked; which assurance he confirmed with a
squeeze by the hand.  She thanked him very kindly, and said,
" She would acquaint Joseph with the offer, which he would
be certainly glad to accept; for that Lady Booby was angry
with them both; though she did not know either had done any
thing to offend her; but imputed it to madam Slipslop, who
had always been her enemy."
The squire now returned, and prevented any farther contin'uance of this conversation; and the justice out of a pretended
respect for his guest, but in reality from an apprehension of a
rival, (for he knew nothing of his marriage,) ordered Fanny
into the kitchen, 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 aim
-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 dressed 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




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   265
-, or Sir ---—, or Mr. -  appear in lace or embroidery,
that the tailor'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 the Lady
Booby's.  It had moved a few yards only, when the squire
asked Joseph if he knew who that man was crossing the field;
for, added he, I never saw one take such strides before. Joseph answered eagerly, " 0 sir, it is Parson Adams 1"  "0
la, indeed and so it is," said Fanny; " poor man, he is coming
to do what he could for us. Well, he is the worthiest bestnatured creature."
"Ay," said Joseph; "God bless him! for there is not such
another in the universe."  "The best creature living sure,"
cries Fanny.  " Is he?" says the squire; " then I am resolved
to have the best creature living in my coach;" and so: saying,
he ordered it to stop, whilst Joseph, at his request, halloed to
the parson, who, well knowing his voice, made all the haste
imaginable, and soon came up with them. He was desired by
the master, who could scarce refrain from laughter at his figure,
to mount into the coach, which he with many thanks refused,
saying he could walk by its side, and-he'd warrant he kept up
with it; but he was at length over-prevailed on. The squire
now acquainted Joseph with his marriage; but he might have
spared himself that labor; for his servant, whilst Joseph was
dressing, had performed that office before. He continued to
express the vast happiness he enjoyed in his sister, and the
value he had for all who belonged to her. Joseph made many
bows, and expressed as many acknowledgments: and Parson
Adams, who now first perceived Joseph's new apparel, burst
into tears with joy, and fell to rubbing his hands and snapping
his fingers, as if he had been mad.
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 show them all a proper respect: I shall think myself there.
23




266               ADVENTURES OF
fore 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, dressed
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, though she will not mention it. "
This was a stroke of fortune beyond the 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. I"  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," answered 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, " replied the lady in a passion; ".the whole world
shan't prevail on me; I resent even 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;
hut 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 notsno




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    267
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.
-4 —
CHAPTEER VI.
Of which you are desired to read no more Ithan you like.
TIIHE 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 fuel only; and being assisted 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 an 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 answered, " 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 lookingglasses; and Lady Booby replied, that men were, in 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




268               ADVENTURES OF
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, alleging 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 expected him till midnight; when, in complaisance
to Mr. Adams' family, who haa sat up two hours out of respect
to her, she retired to bed, but not to sleep; the thoughts of her
love kept her waking, and his not returning according to his
promise, filled her with uneasiness; of which, however, she
could not assign any other cause than merely that of being
absent from him.
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 leaped from her bed, and, dressing herself in a few minutes, went down to him. They passed
two hours with inexpressible happiness together; and then,
having appointed Monday, by Mr. Adams' 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," answered 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 that Fanny."
Slipslop then fell on Fanny, whom she hacked and hewed
in the like barbarous manner, concluding with an observation,
that there was always something in those low-life creatures




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   269
which must eternally extinguish them  from  their betters.
"Really," said the lady, "I think there is one exception to
your rule; I am certain you may guess 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.  "0
laI I am indeed. Yes, truly, madam, he is an accession,"
answered 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 superiors, yet
unattended by that mean servility which is called good-beha,viour in such persons. Every thing he doth hath no mark of
the base motive of fear, but visibly shows some respect and
gratitude, and carries with it the persuasion of love. And
then for his virtues; such piety to his parents, such tender
affection to his sister, such integrity in his friendship, such
bravery, such goodness; that if he had been born a gentleman,
his wife would have possessed the most invaluable blessing."I
-"To be sure, ma'am," says Slipslop.  "But as he is,"
answered the lady, " if he had a thousand more good qualities,
it must render a woman of fashion contemptible, even to be
suspected of thinking of him; yes, I should despise myself for
such a thought."'-"To be sure, ma'am," said Slipslop.
" And why to be sure?" replied the lady; "thou art always
one's echo. Is he not more worthy of affection than a dirty
country' clown, though born of a family as old as the flood? or
an idle worthless rake, or little puisny beau of quality? And
yet these we must condemn ourselves to, in order to avoid the
censure of the world; to shun the contempt of others, we must
ally ourselves to those we despise; we must prefer birth, title,
and fortune, to real merit. It is a tyranny of custom, a tyranny
we must comply with; -for we people of fashion are the slaves
of custom."-'' Marry come up!" said Slipslop, who now well
knew which party to take: " If I was a woman of your ladyship's fortune and quality, I would be a slave to nobody.' —
"Me," said the lady; "I am speaking, if a young woman of
fashion, who had seen nothing of the world, should happen to
like such a fellow. - Me, indeed! I hope thou dost not
23 *




S27t-              ADVENTURES OF
imagine"       No, ma'am, to be sure," cried Slipslop. -- "No I
what no?" cried the lady.  "Thou art always ready to
answer, before thou hast heard one. So far I must allow he is
a charming fellow.  Me, indeed! No, Slipslop, all thoughts
of men are over with me. I have lost, a husband, who-but ifI should reflect, I should run mad.  My future ease must
depend upon forgetfulness.  Slipslop, let me hear some of thy
nonsense, to turn my thoughts another way. What dost thou
think of Mr.Andrews?" —"Why, I think," says Slipslop,
"he is the handsomest, most properest man I ever saw; and
if I was a lady of the greatest degree, it would be well for some
folks. Your ladyship may talk of custom, if you please; but
I am confidous there is no more comparison between young
Mr. Andrews, and most of the young gentlemen who come to
your ladyship's house in London; a parcel of whipper-snapper
sparks: I would sooner marry our old Parson Adams. Never
tell me what people say, whilst I am happy in the arms of him
I love.  Some folks rail against other folks, because other
folks have what some folks would be glad of."
"And so," answered the lady, "if you was a woman of
condition, you would really marry Mr. Andrews?"-" Yes, I
assure your ladyship," replied Slipslop, "if he would have
me."-" Fool, idiot!" cries the lady; "if he would have a
woman of fashion! is that a question?" " No, truly, madam,".said Slipslop, "I believe it would be none, if Fanny was out
of the way; and I am confidous, if I was in your ladyship's
place, and liked Mr. Joseph Ahdrews, she should not stay in
the parish a moment.  I am sure lawyer Scout would send her
a-packing, if your ladyship would but say the word." This
last speech of Slipslop raised a tempest in the mind of her
mistress.  She feared Scout had betrayed her, or rather that
she had betrayed herself. After some silence, and a double
change of her complexion, first to pale and then to red, she
thus spoke: "I am astonished at the liberty you give your
tongue. Would you insinuate that I employed Scout against
this wench, on account of the fellow?"-" La, ma'am," said
Slipslop, frighted out of her wits, " I assassinate such a thing I"
-" I think you dare not," answered the lady; "I believe my
conduct may defy malice itself to assert so cursed a slander.




JOSEPHn  ANDREWS.                 2ii
If I had ever discovered any wantonness, any lightness iln my
behaviour; if I had followed the example of some whom thou
hast, I believe, seen, in allowing myself indecent liberties, even
with a husband; but the dear man who is gone," (here she
began to sob,) " was he alive again," (then she produced tears,)
"could not upbraid me with any one act of tenderness or
passion. No, Slipslop, all the time I cohabited with him, he
never obtained even a kiss from me, without my expressing
reluctance in the granting it. I am sure he himself never
suspected how much I loved him. Since his death, thou
knowest, though it is almost six weeks (it wants but a day,)
ago, I have not admitted one visitor, till this fool, my nephew,
arrived.  I have confined myself quite to one party of friends.
And can such a conduct as this fear to be arraigned?  To be
accused of a passion which I have always -despised, but of
fixing it on such an object, a creature so much beneath my
notice!" —" Upon my word, ma'am," says Slipslop, "I do
not understand your ladyship; nor know I any thing of the
matter. " —" I believe, indeed, thou dost not understand me.
Those are delicacies which exist only in superior minds; thy
coarse ideas cannot comprehend them.  Thou art a low
creature of the Andrews' breed; a reptile of a lower
order; a weed that grows in the common garden of the
creation. -" I assure your ladyship," says Slipslop, whose
passions were almost of as high an order as her lady's, "I
have no more to do with the common garden than other folks.
Really, your ladyship talks of servants, as if they were not
born of the Christian specious. Servants have flesh and blood,
as well as quality; and Mr. Andrews himself is a proof that
they have as good, if not better. And for my own part, I
can't perceive my dears* are coarser than other people's; and
I am sure, if Mr. Andrews was a dear of mine, I should not
be ashamed of him in company with gentlemen; for whoever
hath seen him in his new clothes, must-confess he looks as much
like a gentleman as anybody. -Coarse, quotha! I can't bear
to hear the poor young fellow run down neither; for I will say
this, I never heard him say an ill word of any body in his life.
I am sure his coarseness doth not lay in his heart, for he is the
* Meaning, perhaps, ideas.




272                ADVENTURES OF
best-natured man in the world; and as for his skin, it is no
coarser than other people's, I am sure. His bosom, when a
boy, was as white as driven snow; and, where it is not covered
with hairs, is so still.  Ifackins! if I was Mrs. Andrews, with
a hundred a-year, I should not envy the best she who wears a
head. A woman that could not be happy with such a man,
ought never to be so: for if he can't make a woman happy, I
never yet beheld the man who could. I say again, I wish I
was a great lady, for his sake. I believe when I had made a
gentleman of him, he'd behave so, that nobody should deprecate what -I had done; and I fancy, few would venture to
tell him:h-e was no gentleman, to his face, nor to mine neither."
At which words, taking up the candles, she asked her mistress, who had been hiome time in her bed, if she had any farther commands? Who' imildly answered, she had none; and
telling her she wag a comical creature, bid her good-night.
CHA PTER  V II.
Philosophical reflections, the like not to be found in any light French romance.
Mr. Booby's grave advice to Joseph, and Fanny's encounter with a beau.
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 considlered, that at




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                     273
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 on 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 receiveqd, are farther and deeper inculcated by their school-rmistresses 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 the
innocent hare doth from the greyhound.  Hence, to the age
of fourteen or fifteen, they entertain a mighty antipathy to
master; they resolve, and frequently profess, that they will
never have any commerce with him, and entertain fond hopes
of passing their lives out of his reach, of the possibility of
which they have so visible an example in their good maiden
aunt. But when they arrive at this period, and have now
passed their second climacteric, when their wisdom, grown
riper, begins to see a little farther, and, from almost daily
falling in master's way, to apprehend the great difficulty of
keeping out of it; and when they observe him look often at
them, and sometimes very eagerly and earnestly too, (for the
monster seldom takes any notice of them till at this age,) then
they begin to think of their danger; and as they perceive they
cannot easily avoid him, the wiser part bethink themselves of
providing by other means for their security.
They endeavour by all the methods they can invent, to render themselves so amiable in his eyes, that he may have no inclination to hurt them; in which they generally succeed so well
that his eyes, by frequent languishing, soon lessen their idea
of his fierceness, and so far abate their fears, that they venture
to parley with him; and when they perceive him so different
from what he hath been described, all gentleness, softness,
kindness, tenderness, fondness, their dreadful apprehensions
vanish in a moment; and now, (it being usual with the human
mind to skip from one extreme to its opposite, as easily, and
Q




274               ADVENTURES OF
almost as suddenly, as a bird from one bough to another,)
love instantly succeeds to fear: but as it happens to persons
who have in their infancy been thoroughly frightened with certain no-persons called ghosts, that they retain their dread of
those beings after they are convinced that there are no such
things; so these young ladies, though they no longer apprehend devouring, cannot so entirely shake off all that hath been
instilled into them; they still entertain the idea of that censure,
which was so strongly imprinted on their tender minds, to
which the declarations of abhorrence they every day hear from
their companions greatly contribute.  To avoid this censure,
therefore, is now their only care; for which purpose they still
pretend the same aversion to the monster; and the more they
love him, the more ardently they counterfeit the antipathy. By
the continual and constant practice of which deceit on others
they at length impose on themselves, and really believe they
hate what they love. Thus indeed, it happened to Lady
Booby, who loved Joseph long before she knew it; and now
loved him much more than she suspected. She had indeed,
from the time of his sister's arrival in the quality of her niece,
and from the instant she viewed him in the dress and character
of a gentleman, began to conceive secretly a design which love
had concealed from herself, till a dream betrayed it to her.
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 hers; 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 im.




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   275
mediately began thus: "My love to my dear Pamela, brother,
will extend to all her relations; nor shall I show 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 possessed of."'"As to her virtues," answered Mr. Booby, "you can be yet
but a slender judge of them; but if she had never so many,
you will find her equal in these among her superiors in birth
and fortune, which now you are to esteem on a footing with
yourself; at least I will take care they shall shortly be so, unless you prevent me by degrading yourself with such a match,
a match I have hardly patience to think of, and which would
break the hearts of your parents, -who now rejoice. in the expectation of seeing you make a figure in the world." — "I
know not, " replied Joseph, "that my parents have any power
over my inclinations; nor am I obliged to sacrifice my happiness to their whim or ambition: besides, I shall be very sorry
to see that the unexpected advancement of my sister should so
suddenly inspire them with this wicked pride, and make them
despise their equals. I am resolved on no account to quit my
dear Fanny; no, though I could raise her as high above her
present station as you have raised my sister."-'' Your sister,
as well as myself," said Booby, "are greatly obliged to you
for the comparison; but, sir, she is not worthy to be compared
in beauty to my Pamela; nor hath she half the merit.  And
besides, sir, as you civilly throw my marriage with your sister




276               ADVENTURES OF
in my teeth, I must teach you the wide difference between us-;
my fortune enabled me to please myself; and it would have
been as overgrown a folly in me to have omitted it, as in you
to do it."- " My fortune- enables me to please myself likewise, " said Joseph; " for all my pleasure is centred in Fanny;
and whilst I have health, I shall be able to support her with
my labour in that station to which she was born, and with
which she is content."-" Brother," said Pamela, " Mr.
Booby advises you as a friend; and no doubt my papa and
mamma will be of his opinion, and will have great reason to
be angry with you for destroying what his goodness hath done,
and throwing down our family again, after he hath raised it.
It would become you better, brother, to pray for the assistance
of grace against such a passion, than to indulge it."-" Sure,
sister, you are not in earnest; I am sure she is your equal at
least. "-" She was my equal, " answered Pamela; "but I am
no longer Pamela Andrews, I am now this gentleman's lady,
and as such, am above her.-I hope I shall never behave with
an unbecoming pride: but, at the same time, I shall always
endeavour to know myself, and question not the assistance of
grace to that-purpose. "  They were now summoned to breakfast, and thus ended their discourse for- the present, very little
to the satisfaction of any of the parties.
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 ler face was equal to the delicacy
of her shape. He no sooner saw it, than he was struck with
amazement.  He stopped 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, not even with the rudest attack he




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   27-l
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 tHerculean 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 employed in an office he had long
been 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 solicit for himself; he told
her, though 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 answered,
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 of an ancient philosopher, or
modern divine, he fastened his horse to the ground, and attacked
her with much more force than the gentleman had exerted. Poor
Fanny would not have been able to resist his rudeness a short
time, but the deity who presides over chaste love sent her Joseph
to her assistance.  He no sooner came within sight, and perceived her struggling with a man, than like a cannon-ball, or
like lightning, or anything that is swifter, if anything be, he
ran towards her, and coming up just as the ravisher had torn
her handkerchief from her breasts, before his lips had touched
that seat of innocence and bliss, he dealt him so lusty a blow
in that part of his neck which a rope would have become with
the utmost propriety, that the fellow staggered backwards, and
perceiving he had to do with something rougher than the little,
tender, trembling hand of Fanny, he quitted her, and turning
24




278               ADVENTURES OF
about, saw his rival, with fire flashing from his eyes, again ready
to assail him; and, indeed, before he could well defend himseif, or return the first blow, he received a second, which, had
it fallen on that part of the stomach to which it was directed,
would have been probably the last he would have had any
occasion for: but the ravisher, lifting up his hand, drove the
blow upwards to his mouth, whence it dislodged three of his
teeth; and now, not conceiving any extraordinary affection for
the beauty of Joseph's person, nor being extremely pleased
with this method of salutation, he collected all his force, and
aimed a blow at Joseph's breast, which he artfully parried
with one fist, so that it lost its force entirely in air; and stepping one foot backward, he darted -his fist so fiercely at his
enemy, that had he not caught it in his hand, (for he was a
boxer of no inferior fame,) it must have tumbled him on the
ground. And now the ravisher meditated another blow, which
he aimed at that part of the breast where the heart is lodged;
Joseph did not catch it as before, yet so prevented its aim, that
it fell directly on his nose, but with abated force. Joseph,
then, moving both fist and foot forwards at the same time,
-threw his head so dexterously into the stomach of the ravisher,
that he fell a lifeless lump on the field, where he lay many
minutes breathless and motionless.
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 conquered his enemy, ran to her, and assured her he
was not hurt; she then instantly fell on her knees, and thanked
God that he made Joseph the means of her rescue, and at the
same time preserved him from being injured in attempting it.
She offered with her handkerchief to wipe his blood from his
face; but he, seeing his rival attempting to recover his legs,
turned to him, and asked him, if he had enough? To which
the other answered, he had; for he believed he had fought with
the devil, instead of a man; and loosening his horse, said he
should not have attempted the wench, if he had known she had
been so well provided for.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    27 9
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
inferior 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 changed to vermilion, at the instant
when she clapped her handkerchief around 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 now recovered from her confusion, which was
almost equalled by what Joseph had felt from observing it,
again mentioned her request; this was instantly and gladly
complied with: and together they crossed two or three fields,
which brought them   o the habitation of Mr. Adams.




280                ADVENTURES OF
CHAPTER VIII.
A discourse which happened between Mr. Adams, Mrs. Adams, J.oseph, and
Fanny; with some behaviour of Mr. Adams, which will be called by some
few readers very low, absurd, and unnatural.
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 anything 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
MIrs. 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 behooved 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 superiors, 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 signified nothing whether she had beauty or no. "  For
all which reasons she concluded he should oblige the lady, and
stop the future publication of the banns.
But all these excellent arguments had no effect on the parson, who persisted in doing his duty without regarding the consequence it might have on his worldly interest.  He endeavoured to answer her as well as he could; to which she had




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   281
just finished her reply, (for she had always the last word every
where but at church,) when Joseph and Fanny entered their
kitchen, where the parson and his wife then sat at breakfast
over some bacon and cabbage.  There was a coldness in the
civility of Mrs. Adams, which persons of accurate speculation
might have observed, but escaped her present guests;:indeed,
it was a -good deal, covered by the heartiness of Adams, who no
sooner heard that Fanny had-neither eat nor drank that morning, than he presented her a bone of bacon he had just been
gnawing, being the only remains of his provision, and then ran
nimbly to the tap, and produced a mug of small beer, which he
called ale; however it was the best in his house. Joseph, addressing himself to the parson, told him the discourse which
had passed between Squire Booby, his sister, and himself, concerning Fanny: he then acquainted him with the dangers whence
he had rescued her, and communicated some apprehensions on
her account. He concluded, that he should never have an easy
moment till Fanny was absolutely his, and begged that he
might be suffered to fetch a licence, saying he could easily borrow the money. The parson answered, That he had already
given his sentiments concerning a licence, and that a very few
days would make it unnecessary.  "Joseph," says he, " I wish
this haste doth not arise rather from your impatience than your
fear; but as it certainly springs from one of these causes, I will
examine both.  Of each of these therefore in their turn; and
first, for the first of these, namely, impatience. Now child, I
must inform you, that if, in your purposed marriage with this
young woman, you have no intention but the indulgence of carnal appetites, you are guilty of a very heinous sin. Marriage
was ordained for nobler purposes, as you will learn when you
hear the service provided oni that occasion read to you. Nay,
perhaps, if you are a good lad, I, child, shall give you a sermon gratis, wherein I shall demonstrate how little regard ought
to be had to the flesh on such occasions. The text will be, Matthew the 5th, and part of the 28th verse, Whosoever lookceth on
a woman, so as to lust after her.  The latter part I shall omit,
as foreign to -my purpose. Indeed, all such brutal lusts and
affections are to be greatly subdued, if not totally eradicated
before the vessel can be said to be consecrated to honour.'To
24*




2:82               ADVENTURES OF
marry with a view of gratifying those inclinations, is a prosti,
tution of that holy ceremony, and must entail a curse on all who
so lightly undertake it.  If, therefore, this haste arises from
impatience, you are to correct,. and not give way to it. Now,
as to the second head which I proposed to speak to, namely,
fear: it argues a diffidence highly criminal of that Power in
which alone we should put our trust, seeing we may be well
assured that he is able, not only to defeat the designs of our
enemies, but even to turn their hearts. Instead of taking,
therefore, any unjustifiable or desperate means to rid ourselves
of fear, we should resort to prayer only, on these occasions;
and we may be then certain of obtaining what is best for us.
When any accident threatens us, we. are not to despair, nor,
when it overtakes us, to grieve; we must submit in all things
to the will of Providence, and set our affections so muchl on
nothing here, that we cannot quit it without reluctance.
"You are a young man, and can know but little of this world;
I am older, and have seen a great deal. All passions are criminal in their excess; and even love itself, if it is not subservient to our duty, may render us blind to it. Had Abraharm
so loved his son Isaac, as to refuse the sacrifice required, is
there any of us who would not condemn him?  Joseph, I know
your many good qualities, and value you for them; but as I am
to render an account of your soul, which is committed to my
care, I cannot see any fault without reminding you of it. You
are too much inclined to passion, child, and have set your affections so absolutely on this young woman, that if G- required
her at your hands, I fear you would- reluctantly part with her.
Now, believe -me, no Christian ought so to set his heart on any
person or thing in this.world, but that whenever it shall be
required, or taken from him in any manner by divine providence, he may be able peaceably, quietly, and contentedly to
resign it."  At which words one came hastily in and acquainted
Mr. Adams, that his youngest son was drowned.  lHe stood
silent a moment, and soon began to stamp about the room and
deplore his loss with the bitterest agony. Joseph, who was
overwhelmed with concern likewise, recovered himself suffi.
ciently to endeavour to comfort the parson; in which attempt
he used many arguments, that he had at several times remem



JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    283
bered, out of his own discourses, both in private and public,
(for he was a great enemy to the passions, and preached nothing
more than the conquest of them by reason and grace,) but he
was not at leisure now to hearken to his advice.  " Chila,
child," said he, "do not go about impossibilities.  Had it
been any other of my children, I could have borne it with patience; but my little prattler, the darling and comfort of my old
age, — the little wretch, to be snatched out of life just at his
entrance into it; the best-tempered boy, who never did a thing
to offend me. It was but this morning I gave him his first lesson in Quce Genus.  This was the very book he learnt; poor
childI it is of no further use to thee now. He would have
made the best scholar, and have been an ornament to the church;
-such parts and such goodness, never met in one so young."
"And the handsomest lad, too," says Mrs. Adams, recovering
from a swoon in Fanny's arms. "IMy poor Jacky, shall I
never see thee more?" cries the parson.  "Yes, surely, " says
Joseph, "and in a better place, you will meet again, never to
part more."  I believe the parson did not hear these words,
for he paid little regard to them, but went on lamenting, whilst
the tears trickled down into his bosom.  At last he cried out,
"Where is my little darling?" and was sallying out, when, to
his great surprise and joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathise, he met his son in a wet condition indeed, but alive, and
running towards him. The person who brought the news of
his misfortune, had been a little too eager, as people sometimes
are, from, I believe, no very good principle, to relate ill news;
and seeing him fall into the river, instead of running to his
assistance, directly ran to acquaint his father of a fate which
he had concluded to be inevitable, but whence the child was
relieved by the same poor pedlar who had relieved his father
before from a less distress. The parson's joy was now as extravagant as his grief had been before; he kissed and embraced
his son a thousand times, and danced about the room like one
frantic; but as soon as he discovered the face of his old friend
the pedlar, and heard the fresh obligation he had to him, what
were his sensations? not those which two courtiers. feel in one
another's embraces; not those with which a great man receives
the vile treacherous engines of his wicked-purposes; not those




284               ADV E NTURES OF
with which a worthless younger brother wishes his elder joy of
a son, or a man congratulates his rival on his obtaining a mistress, a place, or an honour.  No, reader, he felt the ebullition,
the overflowings of a full, honest, open heart, towards the person who had conferred a real obligation, and of which, if thou
canst not conceive an idea within, I will not vainly endeavour
to assist thee.
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 recovered." —"Boy," replied 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 dote 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 spite of all my endeavours," says
Joseph; "for I shall love without any; moderation, I am
sure."-"  You talk foolishly and childishly, " cries Adams."Indeed," says Mrs. Adams, who had listened to the latter
part of their conversation, "you talk more foolish yourself.  I
hope, my dear, you will never preach any such doctrines, as
that husbands can love their wives too well. If I knew you
had such a sermon in the house, I am sure I would burn it;
and I declare, if I had not been convinced you had loved me




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    285
as well as you could, I can answer for myself, I should have
hated and despised you.  Marry come up! Fine doctrine, indeed I A wife hath a right to insist on her husband's loving
her as much as ever he can; and he is a sinful villain who
doth not.  Doth he not promise to love her, and comfort her,
and to cherish her, and all that? I am sure I remember it all,
as well as if I had repeated it over but yesterday, and shall
never forget it. Besides, I am certain you do not preach as
you practice; for you have been a loving and cherishing husband to me, that's the truth on't, and why you should endeavour to.put such wicked nonsense'into this young man's head
I cannot devise. Don't hearken to him, Mr. Joseph; be as
good a husband as you are able, and love your wife with all
your body and soul too."  Here a violent rap at the door put
an end to their discourse, and produced a scene which the
reader will find in the next chapter.
CHAPTER IX.
A visit which the polite Lady Booby and her polite friend paid to the Parson.
THE Lady Booby had no sooner had an' account from the
gentleman, of his meeting a wonderful beauty near her house,
and perceiving the raptures with which he spoke of her, than
immediately concluding it must be Fanny, she began to medi.
tate 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' 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 such another ragged family in the
parish.
They all readily agreed to this visit, and arrived whilst Mrs.
Adams was declaiming, as in the last chapter. Beau Didapper,
which was the name of the young gentleman we have seen riding




286               ADVENTURES OF
towards Lady Booby's, with his cane mimicked the rap of a
London footman at the door. The people within, namely,
Adams, his wife, and three children, Joseph, Fanny, and the
pedlar, were all thrown into confusion by this knock; but
Adams went directly to the door, which being opened, the
Lady Booby and her company walked in, and were received
by the parson with about two hundred bows, and by his wife
with as many curtesies; the latter telling the lady, " She was
ashamed to be seen in such a pickle, and that her house was in
such a litter; but that if she had expected such an honour from
her ladyship, she should have found her in a better manner."
The parson made no apologies, though he was in his half cassock, and a flannel night-cap. He said, " They were heartily
welcome to his poor cottage," and, turning to Mr. Didapper,
cried out, "Non mnea renidet in domo lacunar."  The beau
answered, "He did not understand Welch;" at which the
parson stared and made no reply.
Mr. Didapper, or Beau Didapper, was a young gentleman
of about four foot five inches in height. He wore his own
hair, though 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 the 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 expenses: nor had he all the features
of prodigality; for he never gave a shilling: no hater of?vomen, 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:
though he was born to an immense fortune, he chose, for the
pitiful and dirty consideration of a place of little consequence,




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   287
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 expense 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' kitchen.
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 curtesies 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," replied the lady, "you had so
good a taste."  "Because I never liked you, I warrant," cries
the beau.  "Ridiculous!" said she; "you know you were
always my aversion."  "I would never mention aversion,"
answered the beau, "with that face;* dear Lady Booby, wash
your face before you mention aversion, I beseech you."- He
then laughed, and turned about to coquet it with Fanny.
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 Qume Genus.  "A fig for quere geniuas," answered she,
"let me hear him read a little English."-" Lege, Dick, Lege,"'
said Adams; but the boy made him no answer, till he saw the
* Lest this should appear unnatural to some readers, we think proper
to acquaint them, that it is taken verbatim from very polite conversativn.




2S88              ADVENTURES OF
parson knit his brows; and then cried, "I'  don't understand
you, father.I"-" How, boy I" says Adams; "what doth Logo
make in the imperative mood? Legito, doth it not?" " Yes,"
answered Dickl.  "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 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 Propia quee
Maribus, already. -Come, Dick, read to her ladyship;" -
which she again desiring, in order to give the beau time and
opportunity with-Fanny, Dick began as in the following chapter.
CHAPTER X.
The history of two friends, which may afford an useful lesson to all those
persons who happen to take up their residence in married families.
"LEONARD and Paul were two friends;"- " Pronounce it
Lennard, child," cried 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,



JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   289
"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 Lennard.  He knew Paul the moment
he saw him; nor could lhe contain himself from quitting the
bench, and running hastily to. embrace him. Paul stood at
first a little surprised; but had soon sufficient information from
his friend, whom he no sooner remembered, than he returned
his embrace, with a passion which made many of the spectators laugh, and gave to some few a much higher and more
agreeable sensation.
"Not to detain the reader with minute circumstances, Lennard insisted on his friend's returning with him to his house
that evening; which request was complied with, and leave for a
month's absence obtained for Paul of the commanding officer.
" If it was possible for any circumstance to give any addition
to the happiness which Paul proposed in this visit, he received
that additional pleasure, by finding, on his arrival at his
friend's house, that his lady was an old acquaintance which he
had formerly contracted at his quprters, and who had always
appeared to be of a most agreeable temper; a character she
had ever maintained among her intimates, being of that number,
every individual of which is called quite the best sort of woman
in the world.
"But, good as this lady was, she was still a woman; that
is to say, an angel, and not an angel. "-" You must mistake,
25                   T




290                ADVENTURES Oh'
child, " cries the parson, "for you read nonsense. "-"' It is so
in the book," answered the son. Mr. Adams was then silenced
by authority, and Dick proceeded.-" For though her person
was of that kind to which men attribute the name of angel, yet,
in her mind, she was perfectly woman. Of which, a great
degree of obstinacy gave the most remarkable, and, perhaps,
most pernicious instance.
"A day or two passed after Paul's arrival, before any instances of this appeared; 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 dispnte with me such a
trifle as this."  The answer to which is very obvious; for the
argument would hold equally on both sides, and was constantly
retorted, with some addition, as — "I am sure. I have much
more reason to say so, who am in the right. " During all these
disputes, Paul always kept strict silence, and preserved an even
countenance, without showing the least visible inclination to
either party.  One day, however, when madam had left the
room in a violent filry, Lennard could not refrain from referring
his cause to his friend.  Was ever any thing so unreasonable,
says he, as this woman?  What shall I do with her? I dote
on her to distraction; nor have I any cause to complain of;
more than this obstinacy in her tem per; whatever she asserts,
she will maintain against all the reason and conviction in the
world. Pray give me your advice. "
"First, says Paul, I will give my opinion, which is, flatly,
that you are in the wrong; for supposing she is in the wrong,
was the subject of your contention any ways material?  What
signified it whether you was married in a red or yellow waistcoat? for that was your dispute.  Now, suppose she was mistaken, as you love her you say so tenderly, and I believe she
deserves it, would it not lhave been wiser to have yielded,
though. you certainly knew yourself in the right, than to give




JOSEr1'I A N. DEWS.                 291
either  or yourself any uneasiness?  For my own part, if
ever I narry, I am resolved to enter into an agreement with
my wife, that in all disputes, (especially about trifles,) that
party who is most convinced they are right, shall always surrender the victory; by which meanis we shall both be forward
to give up) the cause.  I own, said Lennard, my dear friend,
shlaking him by the hand, there is great truth and reason in
what you say; and I will for the future endeavour to follow
your advice. They -soon after broke up their conversation, and
Leinnard, going to his wife, asked her pardon, and told her,
his friend had convinced him he had been in the wrong.  She
immediately began a vast encomium  on Paul, ill which he
seconded her, and both agreed he was the worthiest and wisest
man upon earth.  When next they met, which was at supper,
though she'hiad promised not to mention what her husband told
her, she could not forbear casting the kindest and most affectionate looks on Paul, and asked him with the sweetest voice,
whether she should help him  to some potted woodcock?
Potted partridge, my dear, you mean, says the husband.  My
dear, says she, I ask your friend if he will eat any potted woodcock; and I am sure I must know, who potted it.  I think I
should know, too, who shot them, replied the'husband, and I
am  convinced that I have not seen a woodcock this year;
however, though I know I am in the right, I submit, and the
potted partridge is potted woodcock, if you desire to have it
so. It is equal to me, says she, whether it is one or the other;
but you would persuade one out of one's senses; to be sure,
you are always in the right in your own opinion; but your
frlend, I believe, knows which he is eating.  Paul answered
nothing, and the dispute continued, as usual, the greatest part
of the evening.  The next morning the lady accidentally meeting Paul, and being convinced he was her friend, and of her
side, accosted him thus:-I am certain, sir, you have long
since wondered at the unreasonableness of -my husband.  He
is indeed, in other respects, a good sort of man; but so positive, thlat no woman but one of my complying temper could
possibly live with hinm.  Why, last -night now, was ever any
creature so unreasonable? I am certain-you -must condemn
him. Pray, answer me, was he not in the wrong? Paunl, after




292                AD VENTUR  E S oF 
a short silence, spoke as follows: I am sorry, madam, that es
good manners obliges me to answer against my will, so an
adherence to truth forces me to declare myself of a different
opinion.  To be plain and honesj, you was entirely in the
wrong; the~ cause I own not worth disputing, but the bird wag
undoubtedly a partridge.  0, sir! replied the lady, I cannot
possibly help your taste. Madam, returned Paul, that is very
-little material; for had it been otherwise, a husband might
have expected submission. -- Indeed I sir, says sihe, I assure
you! —Yes, madam, cried he, he might, from a person of your
excellent understanding; and pardon me for saying such a
condescension would have shown a superiority of sense even to
your husband himself. -But, dear sir, said she, why should I
submit when I am in the right? —For that very reason, answered he; it would be the greatest instance of affection
imaginable; for can any thing be a greater object of our col mpassion than a person we love in the wrong?
"Ay, but I should endeavour, said she, to set him right
Pardon me, madam, answered Paul  I will apply to your own
experience, if you ever, found your arguments had that effect.
The more our judgments err, the less we are willing to own it;
for my own part, I have always observed the persons who
maintain the worst side in any contest are the warmest. Why,
says she, I must confess there is truth in what you say, and I
will endeavour to practise it. The husband then coming in,
Paul departed.  And Lennard approaching his wife, with an
air of good-humour, told her, he was sorry for their foolish
dispute the last night; but he was now convinced of his error.
She answered smiling, she believed she owed his condescension
to his complaisance; that she was ashamed to think a word
had passed on so silly an occasion, especially as she was satisfied she had been mistaken. A little contention followed, but
with the utmost good-will to each other, and was concluded by
her asserting that Paul had thoroughly convinced her she had
been in the wrong.  Upon which they both united in tre
praises of their common friend.
" Paul now passed 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 per



JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                   293
haps 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 answered, lie might be nmistaken; for she believed his friend was
convinced how seldom she was to )lame-and that if he knew
all-The husband replied - 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,
T 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. Th.ey 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 both sides, that they vied with each other in censuring
their own conduct, and jointly vented their indignation on
Paul, whom the wife, fearing a bloody consequence, earnestly
entreated her husband to suffer quietly to depart the next day,
which was the time fixed for his return to quarters, and then
drop his acquaintance.
"However ungenerous this behaviour in Lennard may be
esteemed, his wife obtained a promise from him, (though with
difficulty,) to follow her advice; but they both expressed such
unusual coldness that day to Paul, that he, who was quick.of
apprehension, taking Lennard aside, pressed him so home, that
25 *




224               ADVENTU IES OF
he at last disc cvered the secret. Paul acknowledged the truth,
but told him the design with which he had done it-To which
the other answered, tie would have acted more friendly to
have let him into the whole design; for that he might'have
assured himself of his secrecy.  Paul replied, 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 u1pbraid him, for
he had caused most of the quarrels between them by his strange
conduct, and might, (if they had not discovered the affa.ir 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 ill the'next
chapter.
CHIAPTER XI.
In which the story is continued.
JOSEPIr ANDREWS had borne with great uneasiness the inpertinence 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 where he stood.  The ladies immediately screamed out, rose from their chairs; and the beau, as
soon as he recovered himself, drew his hanger; which Adanms
observing, snatched up the lid of a pot in his left hand, and
covering himself with it as with a shield, without any weapon
of offence in his other hand, stepped in before Joseph, and exposed himself to the enraged beau, who threatened such perdition and destruction, that it frightened the women, who were
all got in a huddle together, out of their wits, even to hear
his denunciations of vengeance.  Joseph was of a different
complexion, and begged Adams to let his rival come on; for
he had a good cudgel in his hand, and did not fear him.




JOSEP() 11  ANDREWS.                2095
Fatnny now fainted illto Mrs. Adams's armns, alnd the whole
room was in confusion, when Mr. Booby, passing by Adams,
who lay snug under the pot-lid, came up to Didapper, and insisted on. his sheathing the hanger, promising he should have
satisfaction: which Joseph declared he would give him, and
fight him at any weapon whatever.  The beau now sheathled
his hanger, and taking oft a pocket-glass, and vowing vengeance all the time, re-adjusted his hair; the parson deposited
his shield, fnd Joseph running to Fanny, soon brouighlt her
back to life.  Lady Booby cilii Joseph for his insult on Didapper; but he answered, Heo would have attacked an army in
the same cause.  "What cause?" said the lady.  "Madamn,'
answered Joseph, - he was rude to that young wom'an.7";' What," says the lady, " I suppose he would have kissed thle
wench; and is a gentleman to be struck for such an. offer?  I,ilust tell you, Joseph, these airs do not become you." —
"Madam,I" said Mr. Booby, " I saw the whole affair, and I
dol not commend my brother; for I cannot perceive why he
should take upon him to be this girl's champion." -" I can
commend him. " said Adams; " lhe is a brave lad; and it becomes any mn.all to be tile champion of the innocent; and he
must be the basest coward, who would not vindicate a, woman
with whomrn he is oll the brink of marriage." -" Sir," says
Mlr. Booby, "my brother is not a match for such a young
woman as tllis "-" No," says Lady Booby; "nor do you,
Mr. Adams, act in your proper character, by encouraging any
such doings; and I amn very much surprised you should concern yourself in it.  I think your wife and family your proper
care. "-'' Indeed, madam, your ladyship says very true, " answered Mrs. Adams: "lle talks a pack of nonsense, and the
whole parish are his children.  I am sure I don't understand
what he means by it; it would make some women suspect lie
had gone astray; but I acquit hiln of that; I can read scrip..
ture as well as he, and I never found that the parson was
obliged to provide for other folks' children; and besides, lie is
but a.poor curate, and hath little enough, as ypur ladyship
knows, for me and mine.'"
" You say very well, Mrs. Adams," quotll the Lady Booby,
who had not spokA  a word to her before; "you seem to be a




296               ADVENTURES OF
very sensible woman; and I assure you, your husband is acting
a very foolish part, and opposing his own interest, seeing my
nephew is violently set against this mstchl; and, indeed, I can't
b)lame him; it is by no means one suitable to otur family."  In
this manner the lady proceeded with Mrs. Adams; whilst the
beau hopped about the room, shaking his head, partly from;
pain and partly from anger; and PIamela was chiding Fanny
for assurance, in aiming at such a ma.tchl as her brother. Poor
Fanny answered only with tears, which had long since begun
to wet her handkerchief; wrhicb Joseph perceiving, took her'by
the arm, and wrapping it in his, carried her off, swearing lhe
would own no relation to any one who was an enemy to her he
loved more than all the world. He went out with Fanny under
his left arm, brandishing a cudgel in his right, and neither Mr.
Booby nor the beau thought proper to oppose him.  Lady
Booby and her company'made a very short stay behind him;
for the lady's bell now summoned them to dress; for which
th'ey had just time before dinner.
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 tricks almost; but perhaps he was
grieved for the loss of his two childrel, 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 3Mr. Joseph, I have nothing to say: lie is a young man
of honest principles, and will pay some time or other for what
lie hath: but for the girl, -why doth she not return to her
lplace she ran away from?  I would not give such a vagabond
slut a halfpenlly, though I Ilad a million of money I no, though
she was starving. "-" In deed, but I would," cries little Dick;
"and father, rather than poor Fanny shall be starved, I will
give her all this bread and cheese,"- (offering what lie held




JOSEPTI  ANDREWS.                    29p'
i.n h.is hand.)  Adams smiled on the-boy, and told him, he
rejoiced to see he was a Christian; and that if he had a halfpenny in his pocket, he would have given it him; telling him
it was his duty to look upon all his neighbours as his brothers
and sisters, and love them accordingly.  "Yes, papa," says
he, "'. love them better than my sisters; for. she is handsomer
than any of thenl." — " Is she so, sauce-box?" says the sister,
giving hllim a box on tLe. ear; which the father would probably
nave resented, had not Joseph, Fanny, and the pedlar at that
instant returned together.  Adams bid his wife prepare some
food for their dinner; she said, " Truly she could not, she had
something else to do."  Adams rebuked her for disputing his
commands, and quoted many texts of scripture to prove, " That
the husband is the head of the wife, and she is to submit and
obey. "  The wife answered, " It was blasphemy to talk scripture out of church; that such things were very proper to be
said in the pulpit; but it was profane to talk of them in corn.
nion discourse. " Joseph told Mr. Adams, " He was not come
v^ ith any design to give Mrs. Adams any trouble; but to desire
the favour of all their company to the George, (an alehouse in
the parish,) where he had bespoke a piece of bacon and greens
fov their dihner.'"  Mrs. Adams, who was a very good sort of
woman, only rather l oo strict in economies, readily accepted
this invitation, as did tlhe parson himself by her example; and
away they walked togethe_, not omitting little Dick, to whom
Joseph gave a shilling, when he heard of his intended liberality
to Fanny.
C:HAPTE:R XII.
Whlere thIe good-natured reader will see something which will give him no great
pleasure.
- TIE 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 four years, of a travelling woman; and, now
their homely but hearty nmeal was ended? he told Fanny. he




298               )ADVENTURES OF
believed he co-ld acquaint her with her parents.  The wholo
company, especially she herself, started at the offer of the
pedlar's. - He then proceeded- thus, while they all lent t heir
strictest attention: Though I am  now contented withI 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 on foot. Whilst I was ill
this honourable station, I attended an officer of on,1 regiment into
England, a recruiting.  In our march from Bristol to Frome,
(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, nalnely,
a serjeant, two private men, and a drum, were provided with
their woman, except myself,) she continued to travel on with
us.. I perceived she must fall to my lot, advanced presently to
her,-and made love to her in our military way, and quickly
succeeded in mny wishes.  We struck a bargain within a mile.
and lived together as iman and wife to her dying day." — " T
suppose," says Adams, interrupting him, "you were nlarried
with a licence; for-I don't see how you could contrive to,alvo
the banns published, while you were marching fiom place to
place." — "No, sir." said the pedlar, "we took a licence to
go to bed together without any banns. — "Ay! ay!" said
the parson: "ex necessitate, a licence may be allowable enough;
but surely,'surely, the other is more the regular and eligible
way." —The pedlar proceeded thus: "she returned with me
to our regiment, and removed with us (romi quarters to quarters,
till at last, whilst we lay at Galway, she fell ill of a fever, and
died.  When she was on her death-bed she called me to her,
and, crying bitterly, declared she could not depart this world
without discovering a secret to tne, which, she said, was the
only sin which sat heavy on her heart.  She said, she had
formerly travelled in a company of gipsies, who had made a
practice of stealing away children; that for her own part, she
had been only once guilty of the crime; which, she said, she
-.lamented more tha.n all the rest of her sins, since jilobably it




J 0 d E PH A N DI tE WS.             299
might have occasioned the death of the parents; for, added
she. it is almost impossible to describe the beauty of the young
creature, which was about a year and a half old when I kidnapped it. We kept her, (for she was a girl,) above two years
in our company, when I sold her myself, for three guineas, to
Sir ThonmaL Booby, in Somersetshire. Now, you know whether
there are any more of that name in this county."
"Yes," says Adams, "there are several Boobys who are
squires, but I believe no baronet now alive; besides, it answers
so exactly in every point, there is no room for doub';; but you
havce forgot to tell us the parents from whom the child was
stolen. "-'" Their name," answered the pedlar, " was Andrews.
They lived about thirty miles from the squire; and she told me
that i might be sure to find them out by one circumstance; for
that they had a daughter of a very strange name, Pamela or
Pamela; some pronounced it one way, and some the- other."
Panny, who had changed colour at the first mention of the
nariae, now fainted away; Joseph turned pale, and poor Dicky
bUgan to roar; the parson fell on his knees, and ejaculated
many thanksgiv i thanksgivings that this,discovery had been made before
the dre(adfill sin of incest was committed; and the pedlar was
struck with amazement, not being able to account fbr all this
confnsion; tlh  cause of which was presently opened by the
parson's daughter., who was the only unconcerned person, (for
the mother was chafing Fanny's temples, and taking the
utmost care of her;) and, indeed, Fanny was the only creature
whom the daughter would not have pitied in her situation;
wherein, though we compassionate her ourselves, we shall leave
her for a little while, and pay a sh-6rt visit to the Lady Booby.
CHAPTER XIII.
The history returning to the Lady Booby, gives some account of the terrible
conflict in her breast between love and pride; with what happened on the
present discovery.
T'HIE lady sat down with her company to -dinner, but ate
nothing.  As soon as her cloth was removed, she whispered
Pamela, That she was taken a little ill, and desired her to




300                ADVENTURES OF
entertain her husband and Beau Didappei.  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 the 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 virtu;es of
Joseph Andrews; ending, at last, with expressing her colleeri,
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 exaggc..
ration, 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 across the
room, cried out, with a deep sigh, "Sure he would make any
woman happy i"-" Your ladyship,". says she, "would be the
happiest woman in the world with him.  A figr 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 shou'ld
not hinder me. Your ladyship hath no parents to tutelar your
infections; besides, he is of your ladyship's famjl& now, and as
good a gentleman as any in the country; and why sho'ild not
a woman follow her mind as well as a man?  Why should not
your ladyship marry the brother, as well as yol l nephew the
sister?  I am sure, if it was a fragrant crime, I would not
persuade your ladyship to it." —"But, dear Slipslop," answered the lady, " if I could prevail on myself to commit suce
a weakness, there is that cursed Fanny in the way, whom the
idiot —O, how I hate and despise him!"-" She I a little, u gly
minx," cries Slipslop, "leave her to me.  I suppose your ladyship hath heard of Joseph's fitting with one of Mr. Didapper's
servants about her; and his master hath ordereil thern to carry
her away by force this everning.  I'll take care they shall not
want assistance.  I was talkinrg with this gentleman, who was
below just when your ladshi.p sent for me." -  "Go back,'
says the Lady Booby, "this instant; for I expect Mr. Didapper will soon be going. Do  l you can; fror T amn resolved




J.OSEP.H  ANDRE-WS.                 301
this wench shall not be in our family; I will endeavour to
return to the company; but let me know as soon as she is
carried off."  Slipslop went away; and her mistress began, to
arraign her own conduct in the following manner:
"What am I doing?t How do I suffer this passion to creep
imperceptibly upon me! How manydays are passed since I
could have submitted to ask myself the question?-Marry a
footman! Distraction! Call 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 canl give me I 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.  IHa I and do I dote thus on a footman! I desplse, 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, though I despise him myself; though I would
spurn him from my feet, was he to languish at them, no'other
shall taste the happiness I scorn.  Why do I say happiness?
To me it would be misery. To sacrifice my reputation, my
character, my rank in life, to the indulgence of a mean and a
vile appetite! IHow I detest the thought! How much more
exquisite is the pleasure resulting from the reflection of virtue
and prudence, than the faint relish of what flows from vice and
folly I Whither did I suffer this improper, this mad passion
to hurry me, only by neglecting to summon the aids of reason
to my assistance? Reason, which hath now set before me my
desires in their proper colours, and immediately helped me to
expel them.  Yes, I thank Heaveq and my pride, I have now
perfectly conquered this unworthy passion; and if there was,no obstacle in its way, my pride would disdain ally pleasures
26




S.02               A.DVEN.TURES OF
which could be the consequence of so base, so mean, so vulgar".-Slipslop returned at this instant in a violent hurry, and with
the utmost eagerness cried out, " 0, madam! I have strange
news.  Tom the footman is just come from the George; where
it seems Joseph and the rest of them are a jinketing; and he
says there is a strange man, who hath discovered that Fanny
and Joseph are brother and sister."' —" How, Slipslop!" cries
the lady in a surprise. —" I had not time, madam," cries Slipslop, "to inquire about particles, but Tom  says it is most
certainly true."
This unexpected account entirely obliterated all those admirable reflections which the supreme power of reason had so
wisely made just before.  Inl 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
womahn 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 cany more
than Joseph and herself.  The lady flew into a very violent
rage with her, and talked of upstarts and disowning relations
who had so lately been.oil a level with her.  Pamela made no
answer; but her husband, taking up her cause, severely reprimanded his aunt for her behavionr to his wife: lie told her, If,
it had been earlier in the evening, she should not have staid a
moment longer in her house; that he was convinced if this
young woman could be proved her sister, she would readily
embrace her as such; and he himself would do the same.  He
then desired the fellow might be sent for, and the young.;woman
with; him; which Lady Booby immediately ordered; and thinkilng proper to make some apology,to Pamela for what she had
said, it was readily accepted, and all things reconciled.
The pedlar now attended, as did Fanny and. Josephl, who
would not quit her: the parson likewise was induced, not only
by curiosity, of which he had no small portion, but his duty,
as he apprehended it, to follow them; for he continued.-all the
way to exhort them, who were now breaking their hearts. to
offer up thanklsgivings, and be joyful for so miraclnlolls anl
escape.




JOSEPHI ANDREWS.                     303
~When they-arrived at Booby-H1all, they were presently called
in-to the pario:ur, 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
falsehood 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
certainly knowing the truth or falsehood of this 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 endeavrouriing to impose
such a falsehood on them.
The Lady Booby, who was very little used to such company,
entertained them  all l-viz. her nephew, his wife, her brother
and sister, the beau, and the parson, with great good-humour.It her own table.  As to the pedlar, she ordered him to be
mlade 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 passed- between the beau and the
parson, chiefly on each other's dress; these afforded much
diversion to the company.  Pamela chid her brother Joseph
for the concern which he expressed at discovering a new sister.
She said, If he loved ~Fanny as he ought, with a pure affection,
lihe had no reason to lament being related to her.-Upon which
Adams began to discourse on Platonic love; whence he made
a quick transition to the joys in the next world, and concluded
with strongly asserting, that there was no such thing as pleasure
ill this.  At which Pamela and her husband smiled on one
another.
This happy pair proposing to retire, (for no other person




30.4               A I)VENTU  ES OF
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.
CHAPTER XIV.
Containing several curious night adventures, ine which frr. Adams.fell into
many hair-breadth escapes, partly owing to his goodness, and partly to his
inadvertency.
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. tie had
ordered his servant to bring him word where Fanny lay, and
had received his information; he therefore arose, put on his
breeches and night-gown, a.nd 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, lie whispered in Josephl's voice, (for he was an excellent mimic,) "Fannry, my angel; I am come to inform thee,
that I have discovered the falsehood of the story we last night
hleard.  I am no longer thy brother, but thy lover; nor will I
b)e delayed the enjoyment of thee one moment longer.  You!have sufficient assurances of my constancy not to doubt my
marrying you, and it would be want of love to deny me the
possession of thy charms "-So saying, he disencumbered himself from the little clothes lie had on, and leaping into bed,
embraced his angel, as he conceived her, with great rapture.
If lie was surprised at receiving no answer, he was no less




JOSEPH  ANDREWS.                    305
pleased to find his hug returned with equal ardour.  He
remained not long in this sweet confusion;' for both he and his
paramour presently discovered their error. Indeed it was no
other than the accomplished Slipslop whom lie had engaged;
but though she immediately knew the person whom she had
mistaken for Joseph, he was at a loss to guess at the representative of Fanny.  He had so little seen or taken notice of this
gentlewoman, that light itself would have afforded him  no
assistance in his conjecture. Beau. Didapper no sooner had
perceived his mistake, than he attempted to escape from the
bed with much greater haste than lie had made to it:' but the
watchful Slipslop prevented him. For that prudent woman
being disappointed of those delicious offerings which her fancy
had promised her pleasure, resolved to make an immediate
sacrifice to her virtue.  Indeed, she wanted an opportunity to
heal some Wounds, which her late conduct had, she feared,
given her reputation; and as she had a wonderful presence of
mind, she conceived the person of the unfortunate beau to be
luckily thrown in her way to restore her lady's opinion of her
impregnable chastity. At that instant, therefore, when lie
offered to leap from the bed, she caught fast hold of his shirt,
at the same time roaring out, "0 thou villain! who hast
attacked my chastity, and, I believe, ruined me in my sleep; I
will swear a rape against thee, I will prosecute thee with the
utmost vengeance." The beau attempted to get loose, but she
held him fast, and when he struggled, she cried out, "Murder!
murder! rape! robbery  ruin!"  At which -words, Parson
Adams, who lay in the next chamber, wakeful, and meditating
on the pedlar's discovery, jumping out of bed, without staying
to put a rag of clothes on, hastened into the apartment whence
the cries proceeded.  He made directly to the bed in the
dark, where laying hold of the.beau's skin, (for Slipslop had
torn his shirt almost off,) and finding his skin extremely soft,
aln,d hearing him in a low voice begging Slipslop to let him
go, he no longer doubted but that this was the young woman
in danger of ravishing, and immediately falling on the bed, and
laying hold on Slipslop's chin, where he found a rough beard,
his belief was confirmed; he therefore rescued the beau, who
presently made his escape, and then turning toLwards Slipslop,
26 *




30 6               A i) V E N T U Rt.ES O F'
received such a cuff on his chops, that liis wrath kindling
instantly, he offered to return the favour so stoutly, that had
poor Slipslop received the fist, which in the dark passed by
her and fell on the pillow, she would most probq)bly have given
up the ghost.
Adams, missing his blow, fell directly on Slipslop, who
cuffed and scratched as well as she could; nor was he bechindhand with her in his endeavours; but happily the darkness of
the night befriended her.  She then cried, she was a woman;
but Adams answered, she was rather the devil, and if she was,
he would grapple with him; and being again irritated by
another stroke on his chops, he gave her such a remembrance
in the guts, that she began to roar loud enough to be heard
all over the house.  Adams then, seizing her by the hair, (for
her double-clout had fallen off in the scuffle,) pinned her head
down to the bolster, and then both called for lights together.
The Lady Booby, who was as wakeful as any of her guests,
had been alarmed from the beginning; and being a woman of
a bold spirit, she slipped on a night-gown, petticoat, and
slippers, and -taking a candle, which always burnt in her
chamber, in her hand, she walked undauntedly to Slipslop's
room; where she entered just at the instant as Adams lhad
-discovered, by the two mountains which Slipslop carried before
her, that he was concerned with a female.  He then concluded
her to be a witch, and said, he fancied those breasts gave sacnk
*to a legion of devils.  Slipslop, seeing Lady Booby enter the
room, cried Help l -or I am ravished, with a most audible
voice; and Adams, p/rceiving the light, turned hastily, and
saw the lady, (as she did him,) just as she came to the feet of
the bed; nor did her modesty, when she found the naked condition of Adams, suffer her to approach farther. - She then
began to revile the parson as the wickedest of all men, and
~particularly railed at his impudence in choosing her house for
the scene of his debaucheries, and her own woman''for the
object of his bestiality.  Poor Adams had before discovered
the countenance of his bedfellow, and now, first recollecting he
was naked, lie was no.less confounded than Lady Booby
herself, and immediately whipt under the bed-clothes, whenice
the chaste Slipslop endeavoured. in vain to shut him  out;




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                   S30
Then putting forth his head, on which, by way of ornament,
he wore a flannel nightcap, he protested his innocence; and
asked ten thousand pardons of MIrs. Slipslop, for the blows he
had struck her, vowing he had mistaken her for a witch. Lady
Booby then casting her eyes on the ground, observed something
sparkle with great lustre; which, when she had taken it up,
appeared to be a very fine pair of diamond buttons for the
sleeves.  A little farther she saw lie the sleeve itself of a shirt
with laced ruffles. " IHeyday!" says she, " what is the meaning of this?"-" 0, madam!" says Slipslop, " I don't know
what hath happened, I have been so terrified. H-ere may have
been a dozen men in the room."l" To whom belongs this
laced shirt and jewels!" says the lady. - "Undoubtedly,"
cries the parson, "to the young gentleman whom I mistook
for a woman on coming into the room, whence proceeded all
the subsequent mistakes; for' if I had suspected him for ar na,
I would have seized him, had he been another Hercules, though
indeed, he seems rather to resemble Hylas."  He then gave
an account of the reason of his rising from bed, and the rest,
till the lady came into the room; at which, and the figures of
Slipslop and her gallant, whose heads only were visible at the
opposite corners of the bed, she could not refrain from laugh
ter; nor did Slipslop persist in accusing the parson of any
motions towards a rape,  The lady therefore desired him to
return to lIis: bed as soon as she was departed, and then ordering Slipslop to rise and attend her in her own room, she
returned. hebrself thither.
When she was gone, Adams renewed his petitions for pardon to -Mrs. Slipslop, who, with a most Christian temper, not
nlyly forgave, but began to move with much courtesy towards
him, which he taking as a hint to begone, immediately quitted
the bed, and made the best of his way towards his own; but
unluckily, instead of turning to the right, he turned to the left,
and went to the apartment where Fanny lay, who (as the reader
may remember) had not slept a wink the preceding night, and
who was so hagged out with what had happened to her in the
day, that, notwithstanding all thoughts of her Joseph, she was
fallen into so profound- a sleep, that all the noise in the adjoining room bad not been able to disturb her. A dams groped




3C)8              ADVENTURE C'  S OF
out the bed, and turning the clothes down softly, a custom
Mrs. Adams had long accustomed himn to; crept in, and deposited his carcase on the bed-post, a place which that good
woman had always assigned him.
As the cat or lap-dog 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 surprisal
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 fromu 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, wyhen he had repeated twice, Adams cried, Come in,
whoever you are. Joseph thought he had mistaken the door,
though 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 hands on Adams's beard, she cried out,
"0 heavens i where am I?"'" "Bless me! where am I?"
said the, parson. Then Fanny screamed, Adams leaped out
of bed, and Joseph stood, as the tragedians call it, like the
statue of surprise. " How came she into my room?" cried
Adams.  " How came you into hers?" cries 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 a 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 falsehood, convinced her of his wicked designs. "I-low!"
said Joseph in a rage, " hath lie offered any rudeness to you??"
- She answered, She could not accuse him of any more than
villanously stealing to bed to her, which she thought rudeness
sufficient, and what no man would do without a wicked: in.
tention.




JOSE'P H -A ND R E-' S.              309
Joseph's gieat opinion of Adams was not easily to be staggered, and when he heard from Fanny, that no harmn lhad happened, he grew a little cooler; yet still he was confounded, and
as he knew the house, and that the women's apartments were
on this side Mrs. Slipslop's room, and the men's on the other,
he was convinced that he was in Fanny's charmber.  Assuring
Adams therefore of this truth, he begged him to give some account how he. came there.  Adams then, standing in his shirt,
which did not offend Fanny, as the curtains or' the bed were
drawn, related all that had happened; and wlihen he had ended,
Joseph told him, it was plain he had mistaken, by turning to
the right instead of the left.  " Odso!" cries Adams, " that's
true: as sure as sixpence, you have hit on the very thing;"  He
then traversed the room, rubbing his hands, and begged Fanny's pardon, assuring her heodid not know, whether she was man
or woman. That innocent creature, firmly believing all he said,
told him, she was no longer angry, and begged Joseph to conduct him into his own apartment, where he should stay himself
till she had put her clothes on. Joseph and Adams accordingly departed, and the latter soon was convinced of the mistake he had committed; however, whilst he was dressing himself, he often asserted, he believed in the power of witchcraft
notwithstanding, and did not see how a Christian could deny it
CHAPTER XV.
2'he arrival of gaffer and gammer Andrews, with another person nci much
expected;, and a perfect solution of the diff'culties raised by the pedlar.
A s soon as Fanny was dressed, 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 Platonic friendship for each other.
The company were all very merry at breakfast, aud Joseph
and Fanny rather more cheerful than the preceding night. The
Lady Booby produced the diamond button, which the beau
most readily owned, and alleged that he was very subject' to
walk in his sleep.  Indeed, he was far from being ashamed of




310               ADVENTURES OF
his amour, and rather endeavoured to insinuate that more than
was really true had passed between him and the -fair Slipslop.
Their tea was scarce over, when news came of the arrival of
old Mr. Andrews and his wife.  They were immrnediately 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 (Edipus himlself, whilst his fate was revealing.
Mr. Booby first opened the cause, by informing the old geni
tleman that he had a child in the company more than he knew
of, and taking Fanny by the hand, told him, This was thati
daughter of his who had been stolen away by gipsies in her
infanc.y:   Mr. Andrews, after expressing some astonishment,
assured his honour that he had never lost a daughter by gipsies, 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
surprised 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 sergeant to Gibraltar, you 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 a 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 showed 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 Lme
that-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




JOSE,' I AN)I?.E WS.                311]
sure I was not absent longer than whilst I am telling it to you,)
the women were gone. I was afraid they had stolen something,
and looked, and looked, but to no purpose, and heaven knows
I had very little for them to steal.  At last, hearing the child
cry in thle cradle, I went to take it up-but, 0 the living! how
was I surp'ised to find, instead of my own girl, that I had put
into the cradle, who was as fine a fat thriving child as you shall
see in a summer's day, a poor, sickly boy, that did not seem to
have an hour to live.  I ran out, pulling my hair off, and crying like any-mad after the women, but never could hear a word
of them from that day to this.  NTWhen I came back, the poor
infant, (which is our Joseph there, as stout as he now stands,)
lifted up its eyes upon me so piteously, that to be sure, notwithstanding my passion, I could not find in my heart to do it any
mis:; ief. A neighbour of mine, happening to come in at the
"',I.:.  time, and hearing the case, advised me to take. care- of
this poor child, and God would perhaps one day restore me my
own.  Upon which, I took the child up, and suckled it, to be
sure, all the World as if it had been born of my own'natural
body; and, as true as I am alive, in a little time I loved the
boy all to nothing, as if it had been my own girl.  Well, as I
was saying, times growing very hard, I having two children,
and nothing but my own work, which was little enough, God
knows, to maintain them, was obliged to ask relief of the parish;
but, instead of giving it me, they removed me, by justices' warrants, fifteen miles, to the place where I now live, where I had
not been long settled, before you came home. Joseph, (for that
was the name I gave him myself-the Lord knows whether he
was baptized or no, or by what name,) Joseph, I say, seemed
to me about five years old when you returned; for I, believe he
is two' or three years older than our daughter here, (for I am
thoroughly convinced she is the same,) and when you saw him,
you said he was a chopping boy, without ever minding his age;
and so I, seeing you did not suspect- any thing of the matter,
thought I might e'en as well keep it to myself, for fear you
should not love him as well as I did. And all this is veritably
true, and I will take my oath of it before any justice in the kingdom. "
The pedlar, who lad been summoned by the. order of TIady




312               ADVENTURES'OF
Booby, listened with the utmost attention to gammer Andrews'
story; and when she had finished, asked her, If the suppositi.
tious 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, showed 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; but 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'g breast.  At the repetition of the word strawberry,
Adams, who had seen it without any emotion, started, and
cried, -":Bless me I something comes into my head." flut,
before he had time to bring anything out, a servant called
hiim forth.  When he was gone, the pedlar assured Joseph,
that llis parents were persons of much greater circumstances
than those lie had hitherto mistaken for such; for that he had
been:stolen from a gentleman's house, by those whom they call
gipsies, and had been kept by them during a whole year, when,
looking on him as ill a dying condition, th -y had exchanged
him for the other healthier child, in the manner before related.
HIe 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' parish, and had promised to call on him. lie
was now arrived at the Lady Booby's gates for that purpose,
bIeing directed thither from the parson's house, and had sent ir




J.OSEP   A.ND-R EWS.                313
*he servant whom we have above seen call Mr. Adams forth.
This had no sooner mentioned the discovery of a stolen child,
and had uttered the word strawberry, than Mr. Wilson, with
wildness in his looks, and the utmost eagerness in his words,
begged to be showed into the room, where he entered without
the least regard to any of the company but Joseph, and embracing him with a complexion all pale and trembling, desired
to see the mark on his breast; the parson following him'capering, rubbing his hands, and crying out, Hic est quem qucris;
inventus est, &c. Joseph complied with the request of Mr.
Wilson, who no sooner saw the mark, than, abandoning himself: to the -most -extravagant rapture of passion, he embraced
Joseph with inexpressible ecstacy, and cried out in -tears of joy,
"I have discovered my son, I have him again in my arms':'
Joseph was not sufficiently apprised yet, to taste the same
delight with his father, (for so in reality he was;)- however, he
returned some warmth to his embraces t but he no sooner perceived, from his father's account, the agreement of every circumstance, of person, time, and place, than he threw himseif at
his feet, and embracing his knees, with tears, begged his blessing, -which was given with much affection, and received with
such respect, mixed with such tenderness on both sides, that it
affected all present: but none so much as Lady Booby, who
left the room in an agony, which was but too much perceived,
and not very charitably accounted for by some of the company.
C.HA'P TER  XYVI.
Being the last. In which this true history is brought to a happy conclusion.
FANNY was very little behind her Joseph in the duty she
expressed towards her parents, and the joy she evinced -in discovering them.  Gammer Andrews kissed her; -and said, She
was heartily glad to see her, but for her part, she could never
love any one better than Joseph. Gaffer Andrews testified
no remarkable emotion: he blessed and kissed her, but complained bitterly that he wanted his pipe,. not having had a whiff
that morning.
Mr. Booby, who knew nothing of his aunt's fondness, imputed
27




S14               ADVENTURES OF
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..Wils'on to his house; and Pamela and Joseph both so insisted.on his complying, that he at 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, though 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 occaasion, (for such:eremonies were matters of no small moment with him,) accidentally gave spurs to his horse, which' the generous beast
disdaining, - for he was of high mettle, and had been used to
more expert riders than the gentleman who at present bestrode
hintm, 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 Josepb
perceiving, came to his relief.




JOSEPH ANDREWS.                    315
This accident afforded infinite. merriment to the servants, and
no less frightened poor Fanny, who beheld him as he passed
by the coach; but the mirth of the one and terror of the other
were soon determined, when the parson declared he had
received no damage.
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
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 jail, where he was charged
withmany robberies.
Many compliments having passed between the Darson 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, remounted 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 passed 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;




3116              ADVENTURES OF
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 returned 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 dressed
himself in a neat but plain suit of Mr. Bobby'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 nightgown.  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 roundeared caps, and over it a little straw -hat, lined with cherrycolored silk, and tied with a cherry-colored riband.  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 publicly rebuked Mr.
Booby and Pamela for laughing in so sacred a place and on so
solemn an occasion. Our parson would have done no less to
the highest prince on earth; for though 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




X-OSEPH  ANDREWS.                   31T
persons.  It was- his maxim  that he was a servant of the
Highest, and could not without departing from his duty, give
up'the lsast article of liis~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 demon.
strated an appetite -surprising, 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 night promised
them; the thoughts of which filled both their minds, though
with different sensations; the one all desire, while the other
had her wishes tempered with.fears.
At length, after a day passed 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 blessed moment arrived, when Fanny retired with her
mother, her mother-in-law, and her sister.
She was soon undressed; for she had no jewels to deposit 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 gift 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 lilies might a little illustrate her complexion, or their
smell her sweetness: but to comprehend her entirely, conceive
youth, health, bloom, 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,
27 *




318    ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH  ANDREWS.
where we shall leave this happy couple to enjoy the private re.
wards 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
pounds, which Joseph had laid out in a little estate in the
same parish with his father, which he now occupies, (his father
having stocked it for him.;) and Fanny presides with most excellent management in his dairy; where, however, she is not
at present very able to bustle much, being, as Mr. Wilson informs me in his last letter, extremely big with her first child.
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 had lived
so long; but, on recollecting he might keep a curate at this
living, he hath been lately inducted into it.
The pedlar, besides several handsome presents both from Mr.
Wilson and Mr. Booby, is, by the latter's interest, made an
exciseman; a trust which he discharged 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 blessed with his Fanny, whom he dotes 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 he
be prevailed on by any booksellers, or their authors, to make
his appearance in high life.
END OF JOSEPH  ANDREWS.




I I STO  RY
OF
THE LIFE
OF THE LATE
R., JONATHAN WILD
THE GREAT.
BY
HENRY FIELDING.
NEW YORK:
H. W. DERBY, 625 BROADWAY.
1 R1








Ati. JONATHAN WILD THE GREAT.
BOOK I.
CHAPTEIR I.
Showing the wholesome uses drawn from recording the achievements of those
wonderful productions of nature called GREAT MEN.
As it is necessary that all great and surprising events, the
designs of which are laid, conducted, and brought to perfection by the utmost force of human invention and art, should be
produced by great and eminent men, so the lives of such may
be justly and properly styled the quintessence of history.  In
these, when delivered to us by sensible writers, we are not only
most agreeably entertained,'but most usefully instructed; foi
besides the attaining hence a consummate knowledge of human
nature in general; of its secret springs, various windings, and
perplexed mazes; we have here before our eyes lively examples
of whatever is amiable or detestable, worthy of admiration or
abhorrence, and are consequently taught, in a manner infinitely
more effectual thlan by precept, what we are eagerly to imitate
or carefully to ay-oid.
But besides the two obvious advantages of surveying, as it
were -in a picture, the true beauty of virtue, and deformity of
vice, we may moreover learn from Plutarch, Nepos, Suetonius,
and other biographers, this useful lesson, not too hastily, nor
in the gross, to bestow either our praise or censure; since we
shall often find such a mixture of good and evil in the same
character, that it may require a very accurate judgrment in a
very elaborate inquiry to determine on which side the balance
turns: for though we sometimes meet with an Aristides or a
y                 (321)




322                fIHE  HISTORY  OF
Brutus, a Lysander or a Nero, yet far the greater number are
of the mixed kind; neither totally good nor bad; their greatest
virtues being obscured and alloyed by their vices, and those
again softened and coloured over by their virtues.
Of this kind was the illustrious person whose history we
now undertake; to whom, though nature had given the greatest
and most shining endowments, she had not given them absolutely pure and without alloy.  Though he had much of the
admirable in his character, as much perhaps as is usually to be
found in a hero, I will not yet venture to affirm that he was
entirely free from all defects, or that the sharp eyes of censure
could not spy out some little blemishes lurking amongst his
many great perfections.
We would not therefore be understood to affect giving the
reader a perfect or consummate pattern of human excellence;
but rather, by faithfully recording some little imperfections,
which shadowed over the lustre of those great qualities which
we shall here record, to teach the lesson we have above mentioned; to induce our reader with' us to lament the frailty of
human nature, andd to convince him that no mortal, after a
thorough scrutiny, can be a proper object of our adoration.
But before we enter on this great work, we must endeavour
to remove some errors of opinion which mankind have, by the
disingenuity of writers, contracted: for these, from their fear
of contradicting the obsolete and absurd doctrines of a set of
simple fellows, called, in derision, sages or philosophers, have
endeavoured, as much as possible, to confound the ideas of
greatness and goodness; whereas no two things can possibly
be more distinct from each other: for greatness consists in
bringing all manner of mischief on mankind, and goodness in
removing it from them. It seems therefore very unlikely that
the same person should possess them both; and yet nothing is
more usual with writers, who find many instances of greatness
in their favourite hero, than to make him a compliment of
goodness into the bargain; and this, without considering that
by such means they destroy the great perfection called uniformity of character.  In the history-of Alexander and Caesar,
we are frequently, and indeed impertinently, reminded of their
benevolence and generosity, of their clemency and ki'ndness.




J ON.ATII AN WILD.                 328
When the former had with tire and sword overrun a vast empire, had destroyed the lives of an immense number of innocent wretches, had scattered ruin and desolation like a whirlwind, we are told, as an example of his clemency, that he did
not cut the throat of an old woman, and ravish her daughters,
but was content with only undoing them. And when the
mighty Cemsar, with wonderful greatness of mind, had destroyed
the liberties of his country, and with all the means of fraud
and force had placed himself at the head of his equals, had
corrupted and enslaved the greatest people whom the sun ever
saw; we are reminded, as an evidence of his generosity, of
~his largesses to his followers and tools, by whose means he had
accomplished his purpose, and by whose. assistance he was to
establish it.
Now, who doth not see that such sneaking qualities as these
are rather to be bewailed as imperfections, than admired as
ornaments in these great men; rather obscuring their glory,.and holding them back in their race to greatness, indeed unworthy the end for which they seem to have come into the world,
viz., of perpetrating vast and mighty mischief?
We hope our reader will have reason justly to acquit us of
any such confounding ideas in the following pages, in which,
as we are to record the actions of a great man, so we have no
where mentioned any spark of goodness, which had discovered
itself either faintly in him, or more glaringly in any other
person, but as a meanness and imperfection, disqualifying them
-for undertakings which lead to honour and esteem among men.
As our hero had as little as perhaps is to be found of that
meanness, indeed only enough to make him partaker of the imperfection of humanity, instead of the perfection of Diabolism,
-we have ventured to call him The Great; nor do we doubt
but our reader, when he hath perused his story, will concur
with us in allowing him that title.




824                THE HISTORY  OF
CHAPTER II.
Giving an account of as many of our hero's ancestors as can be gathered out
of the rubbish of antiquity, which hath been carefully sifted for that purpose.
IT is the custom of all biographers, at their entrance into
their work, to step a little backwards, (as far, indeed, generally, as they are able,) and to trace up their hero, as the
ancients did the river Nile, till an incapacity of proceeding
higher puts an end to their search.
What first gave rise to this method, is somewhat difficult to
determine.  Sometimes I have thought that the hero's ancestors have been introduced as foils to himself.  Again, I have
imagined it might be to obviate a suspicion that such extraordinary personages were not produced in the ordinary course
of nature, and may have proceeded from the author's fear,
that if we were not told who their fathers were, they might be
in danger, like Prince Prettyman, of being supposed to have
had none.- Lastly, and perhaps more truly,'I have conjectured,
that the design of the biographer hath been no more than to
shdw his great learning and knowledge of antiquity.  A design
to which the world hath probably owed many notable dis*coveries, and indeed most of the labours of our antiquarians.
But whatever original this custom had, it is now too well
established to be disputed,  I shall therefore conform to it in
the strictest manner.
Mr. Jonathan Wild, or Wyld, then, (for he himself did not
always agree in one method of spelling his name,) was descended from the great Wolfstan Wild, who came over with
Hengist, and distinguished himself very eminently at that
famous festival, where the Britons were, so treacherously murdered by the Saxons; for when the word was given, i. e., lemet
eour Saxes, take out your swords, this gentleman being a little
hard of hearing, mistook the sound for Nemet her Sacs, Take
out their purses; instead therefore of applying to the throat,
he immediately applied to the pocket of his guest, and contented himself with taking all that he had, without attempting
his life.
The next ancestor of our hero, who was remarkably eminent




JONATHAN  WILD.                    3-25
was Wild, surnamed Langfanger, or Longfinger. He flourished
An the reign of Henry III., and was strictly attached to Hubert de Burgh, whose friendship he was recommended to by
his great excellence in an art, of which Hubert was himself the
inventor; he could, without the knowledge of the proprietor,
with great ease and dexterity, draw forth a man's purse from
any part of his garment where it was deposited, and h6nce he
derived his surname.  This gentleman was the first of his
1family who had the honour to suffer for the good of his country; on whom a wit of that time made the following ehitaph:
O shame o' Justice, Wild is hang'd,
For thatten he a pocket fang'd,
While safe old Hubert, and his gang,
Doth pocket o' the nation fang.
Langfanger left a son named Edward, whom he had carefully instructed in the art for which he himself was so famous.
This Edward had a grandson, who served as a volunteer under
the famous Sir John:Falstaff, and by his gallant demeanour,
so recommended himself to his captain, that he would have
certainly been promoted by him, had Harry the fifth kept his
word with his old companion.
After the death of Edward, the family remained in some
obscurity down to the reign of Charles the first, when James
Wild distinguished himself on both sides the question in the
civil wars, passing from one to t'other, as heaven seemed to
declare itself in favour of either party. At the end of the war,
James not being rewarded- according to his merits, as is usually
the case of such impartial persons, he associated himself wi.th
a brave man of those times, whose name was Hind, and
declared open war with both parties.  He was successful in
several actions, and spoiled many of the enemy; till at length,
being overpowered and taken, he was, contrary to the law of
arms, put basely and- cowardly to death, by a combination between twelve men of the enemy's party, who, after some consultation, unanimously agreed on the said murder.
This Edward took to wife Rebecca the daughter of the above
mentioned John Hind, Esq. by whom he had issue John, Edward, Thomas, and Jonathan, and three daughters, namely
Grace, Charity, and Honour.  John followed the fortunes of
28




326                THE HISTORY  OF
his father, and suffering with him, left no issue. Edward was
so remarkable for his compassionate temper, that hi  spent his
life in soliciting the causes of the distressed captives in Newgate, and is reported to have held a strict friendship with an
eminent divine, who solicited the spiritual causes of the said
captives.  He married Editha, daughter and coheiress of
Geoffry Snap, Gent. who long enjoyed an office under the high
sheriff of London and Middlesex, by which, with great reputation, he acquired a handsome fortune: by her he had no issue.
Thomas went very young abroad to one of our American
colonies, and hath not been'since heard of. As for the daughters, Grace was married to a merchant of Yorkshire, who dealt
in horses. Charity took to husband an eminent gentleman,
whose name I cannot learn; but who was famous for so friendly
a disposition, that he was bail for a hundred persons in one
year. He had likewise a remarkable humour of walking in.Westminster-hall with a straw in his shoe. Honour, the youngest, died unmarried.  She lived many years in this town, was
a great frequenter of plays, and used to be remarkable for distributing oranges to all who would accept of them.
Jonathan married Elizabeth, daughter of Scragg Hollow,
of Hockley in the Hole, Esq. and by her had Jonathan, who
is the illustrions subject of these memoirs.
CIHAPTER  III.
The birth, parentage, and education of Mr. Jonathan WVild the Great.
IT is observable that nature seldom produces any one who is
afterwards to act a notable part on the stage of life, but she
gives some warning of her intention; and as the dramatic poet
generally- prepares the entry of -every considerable character,
with a solemn narrative, or at least a great flourish of drums
and trumpets; so doth this our Alma Mater by some shrewd
hints pre-admonish us of her intention, giving us warning as
it were, and crying:
-_   Venienti occurrite morbo.
Thus Astyages, who was the grandfather of Cyrus, dreamt that
his daughter was brought to bed of a vine, whose branches




- ON2AT-H A N WI L D.              321.overspreadcall Asia; and Hecuba, while big with Paris, dreamt: that she was delivered of a firebrand that set all Troy in flames;
so did the mother of our Great Man, while she was with child
of him, dream that she was enjoyed in the night by the gods
Mercury and Priapus.  This dream  puzzled all the learned
astrologers of her time, seeming to imply in it a contradiction;
Mercury. being the god of ingenuity, and Priapus the terror of
those who practised it. What made this dream the more
wonderful, and perhaps the true cause of its being remembered,
was a very extraordinary circumstance, sufficiently denoting
something preternatural in it; for though she had never heard
even the name of either of these gods, she repeated these very
words in the morning, with only a small mistake of the quantity of the latter, which she chose to call Priapus, instead of
Priapuz; and her husband swore that though he might possibly
have named Mercury to her, (for he had heard of such an
heathen god,) he never in his life could have any wise put her
in mind of that other deity, with whom he had no acquaintance.
Another remarkable incident was, that during her whole
pregnancy she constantly longed for every thing she saw; nor
could be satisfied with her wish unless she enjoyed it clandestinely; and as nature, by true and accurate observers, is
remarked to give us no appetites without furnishing us with the
means of gratifying them; so had she at this time a most marvellous glutinous quality attending her fingers, to which, as to
birdlime, every thing closely adhered that she handled.
To omit other stories, some of which may be perhaps the
growth of superstition, we proceed to the birth of our hero,
who made his first appearance on this great theatre, the very
day when the plague first broke out in 1665. Some say his
mother was delivered of him in an house of an orbicular, or
round form, in Covent-Garden; but of this we are not certain.
He was some years afterwards baptized by the famous Mr.
Titus Oates.
Nothing very remarkable passed in his years of infancy, save,
that as the letters Th are the most difficult of pronounciation,
and the last which a child attains to the utterance of, so they
were the first that came with any readiness from young mastel




B28              TH-E   ISTO'RY  O'P
Wild. Nor must we omit-the early indications whiich he gave
of the, sweetness of his temper; for though he was by no means
to be terrified into compliance, yet might he by a sugarplum be
brought to your purpose: indeed, to say the truth, he was to
be bribed to any thing, which made many say, he was certainly
born to be a Great Man.
He was scarce settled at school before he gave marks of his
lofty and aspiring temper; and was regarded by all his schoolfellows with that deference which men generally pay to those
superior geniuses who will exact it of them.  If an orchard
was to be robbed, Wild was consulted, and though he was himself seldom concerned in the execution of the design, yet was
he always concerter of it, and treasurer of the booty; some
little part of which he would now and then, with wonderful
generosity, bestow on those -who took it. He was generally
very secret on these occasions; but if any one offered to plunder
of hit own head, without acquainting master Wild, and making
a deposit of the booty, he was sure to have an information
against him lodged with the schoolmaster, and to be severely
punished for his pains.
He discovered so little attention to school learning, that his
master, who was a very wise and worthy man, soon gave over
all care and trouble on that account, and acquainting his
parents that their son proceeded extremely well in his studies,
he permitted his pupil to follow his own inclinations; perceiving
they: -led him to nobler pursuits than the sciences; which are
generally acknowledged to be a very unprofitable study, and
indeed greatly to hinder the advancement of men in the world;
but though master Wild was not esteemed the readiest at
making his exercise, he was universally allowed to be the most
dexterous at stealing it of all his schoolfellows: being never
detected in such furtive compositions, nor indeed in any other
exercitations of his great talents, which all inclined the same
way, but once when he had laid violent hands on a book called
Gradus' ad Parnassum, i. e. A step towards Parnassus: on
which account his master, who was a man of most wonderful
wit and sagacity, is said to have told him, he wished it might
not prove in the event Gradus- ad Patibulunl, i. e. A step
towards the gallows.




J o NA-THAN  WILD.                 3R2
But: thonughl he would not give himself the pains requisite-to
acquire a competent sufficiency in the learned languages,: yet
did he readily listen with attention to others, especially when
they translated the classical authors to him; nor was he in the
least backward, at all such times, to express his approbation.
He was wonderfully pleased with that passage in the eleventh
Iliad, where Achilles is said to have bound two sons of Priam
upon a mountain, and afterwards to have released them for a
sum of money.  This was, he said, alone sufficient to refute
those who affected a contempt for the wisdom of the ancients,
and an undeniable testimony of the great antiquity of Priggism.*
He was ravished with the account which Nestor gives, in the
same book, of the rich booty which he bore off (i. e., stole)
from the Eleans. He was desirous of having this often repeated
to him; and, at the end of every repetition, he constantly
fetched a deep: sigh, and said,.It was a glorious booty.
When the story of Cacus was read to him, out of the eighth!Eneid, he generously pitied the unhappy fate of that great
man, to whom he thought Hercules much too severe; one of
his schoolfellows commending the dexterity of drawing the
oxen backward by their tails into his den, he smiled, and with
some disdain said, he could have taught -him a better way.
He was a passionate admirer of heroes, particularly of
Alexander the Great, between whom  and the late king of
Sweden he would frequently draw parallels. HIe was much
delighted with the accounts of the Czar's retreat from the latter,.who carried off the inhabitants of great cities, to people his
own country.  This, he said, was not.once thought of by
Alexander; but added, perhaps he did not want them..lTaipy bad it been for him, if he had confined himself to
this slhlere; but his chief, if not only blemish, was, that he
would songet imes, from a humility in his nature, too pernicious
to true. greatness, condescend to an intimacy with,inferior
things and persons. Thus, the Spanish Rogue was his favourite
book, and thl UCleats of Scapin his favourite play.
The joung gentleman being now at the age of seventeen,
his father, trou a foolish prejudice to our universities, and out
of a false as well as excessive regard to his morals, brought
* This word, in the cant language, signifies thievery.
28*




330               THE TISTORY  OF
his son to town, where he resided with him till he was of an
age to travel. Whilst he was here, all imaginable care was
taken.of his instruction, his father endeavouring his utmost to
inculcate principles of honour and gentility into his son.
CHAPTER  IV.
Mr. Wild's first entrance into the world. His acquaintance with Count
Lca Ruse.
AN accident happened soon after his arrival in town, which
almost saved the father his whole labour on this head, and provided Master Wild a better tutor than any after-care or expense
could have furnished him with. The old gentleman, it seems,
was a FOLLOWER of the fortunes of Mr. Snap, son of:Mr. Geoffry
Snap, whom we have before mentioned to have enjoyed a reputable office under the sheriff of London and Middlesex, and the
daughter of which Geoffry had intermarried with the Wilds.
Mr. Snap the younger, being thereto well warranted, had laid
violent hands on, or, as the vulgar express it, arrested one
Count La Ruse, a man of considerable figure in those days,
and confined him to his own house, till he could find two
seconds, who would, in a formal manner, give their words that
the count should, to a certain day and place appointed, answer
all that one Thomas Thimble, a tailor, had to say to him;
which Thomas Thimble, it seems, alleged that the count had,
according to the law of the realm, made over his body to him,
as a security for some suits of clothes, to him delivered by the
said Thomas Thimble.
Now, as the count, though perfectly a man of honour, -onlud
not immediately find these seconds, he was obliged for some
time to reside at Mr. Snap's house; for it seems the law of the
land is, that whoever owes another 101., or indeed 21., may be,
on the oath of that person, immediately taken up and carried
away from his own house and family, and kept abroad till he
is made to owe 501., whether he will or no; for which he is,
perhaps, afterwards obliged to lie in jail; and all these without
any trial.had, or any other evidence of the debt than the abovesaid oath, which if untrue, as it often happens, you have ne
remedy against the perjurer; he was, forsooth, mistaken.




JONATHAN  WILD.                    33But though Mr. Snap would not, (as perhaps by the nice
rules of honour he was obliged,) discharge the count on his
parole; yet did he not, (as by the strict rules of law he was
enabled,) confine him in his chamber.  The count had his
liberty of the whole house, and Mr. Snap using only the precaution of keeping his doors well locked and barred, took his
prisoner's word that he would not go forth..Mr. Snap had by his second lady two daughters, who were
now in the bloom of their youth and beauty. These young
ladies, like damsels in romance, compassionated the captive
count, and endeavoured by all means to make his confinement
less irksome to him; which, though they were both very beautiful, they could not attain by any other way so effectually, as
by engaging with him at cards, in which contentions, as will
appear hereafter, the count was greatly skilful.
As whist and swabbers was the game then in the chief vogue,
they were obliged to look for a fourth person, in order to make
up their parties. Mr. Snap himself would sometimes relax his
mind, from the violent fatigues of his employment, by these
recreations; and sometimes a neighbouring gentleman, or lady,
came in to their assistance: but the most frequent guest was
young Master Wild, who had been educated from his infancy
with the Miss Snaps,,and was, by all the neighbours, allotted
for the hlusband of Miss Tishy, or Letitia, the younger of the
two; for though, being his cousin-german, she was perhaps,
in the eye of a strict conscience, somewhat too nearly related
to him, yet the old people on both sides, though sufficiently
scrupulous in nice matters, agreed to overlook this objection.
MZen of great genius as easily discover one another, as freemasons can. It was therefore no wonder that the count soon
conceived an inclination to an intimacy with our young hero,
whose vast abilities could not be concealed from one of the
count's discernment: for though this latter was so expert at
his cards, that he was proverbially said to play the whole game,
he was no match for Master Wild, who, inexperienced as he
was, notwithstanding all the art, the dexterity, and often the
fortune of his adversary, never failed to send him away from
the table with less in his pocket than he brought to it, for indeed
Langfanger himself could not have extracted a purse with more
ingenuity than our young hero.




33:-2              THE H-ISTORY -OF
His hands made frequent visits to the count's' pocket, before
the.latter had entertained any suspicion of him, imputing the
several losses he sustained rather to the innocent and sprightly
frolic of Miss Doshy, or Theodosia, with which, as she indulged
him with little innocent freedoms about her person in return, he
thought himself obliged to be contented; but one night, when
Wild imagined the count asleep, he- made so unguarded an
attack upon him, that the other caught him in the fact: however, he did not think proper to acquaint him with the discovery
he had made; but, preventing him from any booty at that time,
he only took care for the future to button his pockets, and to
pack the cards with double industry.
So far was this detection from causing any quarrel between
these two prigs, [thieves,]'that in reality it recommended them
to each other: for a wise man, that is to say a rogue, considers a trick in life as a gamester doth a trick at play.  It
sets him on his guard; but he admires the dexterity of him
who plays it. These, therefore, and many other such instances
of ingenuity, operated so violently on the count, that notwithstanding the disparity which age, title, and above all, dress,
had set between them, he resolved. to enter into an acquaintance
with Wild. This soon produced a perfect intimacy, and that
a friendship, which had a longer duration than is common to
that passion between persons who only propose to themselves
the common advantages of eating, drinking, whoring, or borrowing money: which ends, if they soon fail, so doth the
friendship founded upon them. Mutual interest, the greatest
of all purposes, was the cement of this alliance, which nothing
of consequence, but superior interest, was eapable of dissolving.
CHAPTER V.
A dialogue between goung Master Wild and Count La Ruse, which, having,extended to the rejoinder, had a very quiet, easy, and natural conclusion.
ONE evening, after the Miss Snaps were retired to rest, the
count thus addressed himself to young Wild: "You cannot, I
apprehend, Mr. Wild, be such a stranger to your' own great
capacity, as to be surprised when T tell you I have often viewed,




JONATHAN  WILD.                    33
ith- a mixture of astonishment and concern, your shining qulalitles confined to a sphere where they can never reach the eyes of
bhose who would introduce them properly into the world, and
raise you to an eminence, where you may blaze out to the admiration of all men. I assure you I am pleased with my captivity, when I reflect I am likely to owe to it an acquaintance,
and I hope friendship, with the greatest -genius of my age; and,
what is still more, when I indulge my vanity with a prospect
of drawing from obscurity, (pardon the expression,) such talents
as were,.I believe, never before like to have been buried in it;
for I make no question, but, at my discharge from confinement,
which will now soon happen,. I shall be able to introduce you
into company, where you may reap the advantage of your superior parts.
"I will bring you acquainted, sir, with those, who asz they
are capable of setting a true value on such qualifications, so
they will have it both in their power and inclination to prefer
y.ou for them. Such an introduction is the only advantage you
want, without which your merit might be your misfortune; for
those abilities which would entitle you to honour and profit in
a superior station, may render you only obnoxious to danger
1lld disgrace in a lower."
Mr. Wild answered: "Sir, I am not insensible of my obligations'to you, as well for the overvalue you have set on my small
abilities, as for the kindness you express in offering to introduce
met among my superiors. I must own, my father hath often
persuaded me to push myself into the company of my betters-;
but, to say the truth, I have an awkward pride in my nature,
which is better pleased with being at the head of the lowest
class, than at the bottom of the highest. Permit me to say,
though the idea may be somewhat coarse, I had rather stand
on the summit of a dunghill, than at the bottom of a hill in Paradise; I have always thought it signifies little into what rank
of life I am thrown, provided I make a great figure therein;
and should be as well satisfied with exerting my talents well at
the head of a small party or gang, as in the command of a
mighty army: for I am far from agreeing with you, that great
parts are often lost in a low situation; on the contrary, I am
convinced it is impossible they should be lost. I have often




334               THE. HISTORY.OF
persuaded myself that there were not fewer than a thousand in
Alexander's troops, capable of performing what Alexander
hinmself did.
"But because such spirits were not. elected or destined to an
imperial command, are we therefore to imagine they came off
without a booty? Or that they contented themselves with the
share in common with their comrades? Surely, no. In civil
life, doubtless, the same genius, the same. endowments, have
often composed the statesman and the prig; for so we call
what the vulgar name: a thief.  The same parts, the same
actions, often promote men to. the head of superior societies,
which raise them to the head of lower; and where is the essential difference, if the one ends on Tower-hill, or the other at
Tyburn? iHath the block any preference to the gallows, or the
axe to. the halter, but that given them by the ill-guided judgment of men?  You will pardon me, therefore, if I am not so
hastily inflamed with the common outside of things, nor join
the general opinion in preferring one state to another. A
guinea is as valuable in a leathern as in an embroidered purse;
and a cod's head is a cod's head still, whether in a pewter or
a silver dish."
The count replied as follows: "What you have now said
doth not lessen my idea of your capacity; but confirms my
opinion of the ill effects of bad and low company. Can any
man doubt whether it is better to be a great statesman, or a
common thief? I have often heard that the devil used to say,
where, or to whom, I know not, that it was better to reign in
hell, than to be a valet-de-chambre in Heaven, and perhaps he
was in the right; but surely if he had had the choice of reigning
in either, lie would have chosen better. The truth.therefore is,
that by low conversation we contract a greater -awe for high
things than they deserve. We decline great pursuits not from
contempt, but despair.  The man who prefers the high road
to a more reputable way of making his fortune, doth it because
lie imagines the one easier than the other; but you yourself
have asserted, and with undoubted truth, that the same abilities
qualify you for undertaking, and the same means will bring you
to your end in both journeys; as in music, it is tlhe same tune,
whether you play it in a higher or a lower key.  To instance




JONATHAN  WILD.                    885
in some particulars:: is it not the same qualifications which
enable this man to hire himself as a servant, and to get into
the confidence and secrets of his master, in order to rob him, and
that to undertake trusts of the highest nature, with a design to
break and betray them? Is it less difficult by false tokens to
deceive a shop-keeper into the delivery of his goods, which you
afterwards run away with, than. to impose upon him by outward splendour, and the-appearance of fortune, into a credit by
which you gain, and he loses twenty times as much? doth it
not require more desx' rity in the fingers to draw out a man's
purse from his pockel, or to take a lady's watch from her side,
without being perceived of any, (an excellence in which, without flattery, I am persuaded you have no superior,) than to cog
a die, or to shuffle a pack of cards? Is not as much art, as
many excellent qualities, required to make a pimping porter at
a common bawdy-house, as would enable a man to prostitute
his own or his friend's wife or child? Doth it not ask as good
a memory, as nimble an invention, as steady a countenance, to
forswear yourself in Westminster Hall, as would furnish out a
complete fool in state, or perhaps a statesman himself?  It is
needless to particularize every instance; in all we shall find,
that there is a nearer connexion between high and low life than
is generally imagined, and that a highwayman is entitled to
more favour with the great than he usually meets with. If,
therefore, as I think I have proved, the same parts which
qualify a man for eminence in a low sphere, qualify him likewise for eminence in a higher, sure it can be no doubt in which
lie would choose to exert them.  Ambition, without which no
one-can be a great man, will immediately instruct him, in your
ownI phrase, to prefer a hill in Paradise to a dunghill; nay,
even fear, a passion the most repugnant to greatness, will show
him how much more safely he may indulge himself in the'full
and free exertion of his mighty abilities in the higher, than in
the lower rank: since experience teaches him, that there is a
crowd oftener in one year at Tyburn, than on Tower-hill in a
century."
Mr. Wild with much solemnity rejoined, That t'e same
capacity which qualifies a millken,* a bridle-cull,t or a but
i A housebreaker.           f A highwayman.




336                THI  HEISTORY  OF
tock and file,* to arrive at any degree of eminence in his pro.
fession, would likewise raise a man in what the world esteem
a more honourable calling; 1 do not deny; nay, in many of
your instances it is evident, that more ingenuity, imore art is
necessary to the lower, than the higher proficients.: If therefore you had only contended, that every prig might be a statesman if he pleased, I had readily agreed to it; but when you
conclude, that it is his interest to be so, that ambition would
bid him take that alternative,. in a word, that a statesman is
greater: or happier than a prig, I must deny my assent.  But,
in comparing these two together,: we must carefully avoid
being misled by the vulgar erroneous estimation of things: for
mankind err in disquisitions of this nature, as physicians do,
who, in considering the operations of a disease, have not- a
due regard to the age and complexion of the patient. -The
same degree of heat, which is common in this constitution,
may be a fever in that; in the same manner, that which may
be riches or honour to me, may be poverty or disgrace to another: for all those things are to be estimated by relation to
the-person who possesses them.  A booty of 101. looks as
great in the eye of a bridle-cull, and gives as much real happiness to his fancy, as that of as many thousands to the statesman; and doth not the former lay out his acquisitions, in
whores and fiddles, with much greater joy and mirth, than the
latter in palaces and pictures? What are the flattery, the
false compliments of his gang, to the statesman, when he himself'must condemn his own blunders, and is obliged against his
will to give fortune the whole honour of his success: what is
the pride, resulting from such sham applause, compared to the
secret satisfaction which a prig enjoys in his mind in reflecting
on a well contrived and well executed scheme?  Perhaps indeed the greater danger is on the prig's side; but then you
must remember, that the greater honour is so too.  When I
mention honour, I mean that which is paid them by their gang;
for,that weak part of the world, which is vulgarly called THE
WISE, see both in a disadvantageous and disgraceful light:
And as the prig enjoys (and merits too) the greater degree of
honour from his gang, so doth he suffer the less disgrace from
* A shoplifter. Terms used in cant: Diotionary.




JON-ATH1N  W: 1 2.!.                  331
the world, who think his misdeeds, as they call them, sufficiently.t last punished with a lihater, which at once puts an end to,
his paini and infamly; whereas the other is not only hated in
{-power, but detested s., ni ccnteuned at the scaffold; and future
ages venlt their nalsicte en his famne, while the other sleeps quiet
and forgotten.  Besidss, let us a little~ consider the secret quiet
of their consciences; how easy is:the reflection of having taken
a. few shiliin.; or pounds from a str;l:ger, without any breach
o f con)L. c.ce,,r perhaps any great harm  to the person who
loses it, compared to that of having betrayed a public trust,
and ruined the fortunes of thousands, perhaps'of a great nation!
How much blraver is an attack on the highway, than at the
gaming-table; and how much moft innocent the character of
a b-dy-house than a court pimp?"  HTe was eagerly proceeding when, casting his eyes on the count, lhe perceived him to
be fast asleep; wherefore havinlg first picked his pocket of
three shillings, then gently jo,,ged him in order to take his
leave; and promised to return to him the next morning to breakfast, they separated; the count retired to rest, and Master
Wild to a night-cellar.
C;' H A P'JE 1  VI.
Farther conferences betcween the count,,:t:i.aster Wild, with other matters of
the greai kind.
THEr count missed his. money the next morning, o,.d v2ry
well knew who had it: but, as  he keow likewise how fruitless
would be any complaint, he chose to pa.ss it by without nmentioning it.  Inlaleed it may aLppear strange to some readers,
that these gentlemen. who knew  each other to  be thieves,
should never once give the least hint of this knowledgre in ali
their discourse together: but on the contrary, should have'tlle
words honesty, honour, and frieudshilc, asofCten in their mouths
as-any other men.  This, I say, may apl'ear strange!o some;
blut those who have lived long in cities, conrts, jails, or such
places. will perhaps be able to solve the seernlnng absullity.
TWhen  cur two friends met the next morning, the count,
(who, tho'ugh Ie did not agree v withl the whole of his friend'i;
doetrine, was, however, highly uleased with his argument,)
29                     w




1438 t6i "I'E 1HISTORY  OF
began to bewail the mlisfortune of his captivity,..nd tL. t";,*~-'wardness of friends to assist each othler in their necessities;
but what vexed him, he -said, mast. was lme cruelty of the fair;
for he intrnstcd Wild with tkh. screct of his having, hllad at:
intrigue with Miss Thc,dosia. tiin  eider of th1e Miss Sn.aps,
ever since his confinement, t.ihogb he coulId noio  prevail v:ikh
her to set him  at liberty.  Wild,nlswered, with (l smile.  t
was no wonder a womaln hould wish to confine her iover %'.ere
she might be sure of having him entirely to hers;'f;.but aaded,
he believed he could tell him a method of certainly procuring
his escape "  The count eagerly besought him  to acquaint
him with it.  Wild told him, bribery was the surest means;
iand advised him to apply to the maid.  The count thanked.'ir, bnt returned, "That he had not a farthing left besides.ne guinea, which he had then given her to change."  To
whvich Wild said, " lie must make it up with promises, which
ae supposed he. was courtier cnoughl to know how to put off."
rhe count greatly applauded the advice, -and said, he hoped
he should be able in time to persuade him to condescend to be
a great man, for which he was so perfectly well qualified.
This method being conelldea on, thle two friends sat down
to cards, a circumstance whieh I shoutd not have mentioned,
but for thle sake of obs',v nr the prodigious force of habit; for
t,hougrh the count lknew, if h,'j -won ever so much of Mr. Wild,
he should not receive a shilling, yet could hle not refrain from
packing the car ls;'nor z;,ontld Wild keep his hands out of his
friend's pocketz, though heo klnew there was nothing in them.
When the maid catne home. the count began to put it to
her; offered her all he ha-, and promised mountains in futuro; but all in vain; tile maid's honesty was impregnable.
She said, "She would not break her trust for the whole world;
1io, not if llshe could gain a hundred pound by it."  Ulpon
which Wild stepping up, and telling her: " She need not fear
losing her place, for it would never be found out: that they
could throw a pair of sheets into the street, by which ic; might,Ippcar he got oot at a window; that lie himself w ulld swear
he saw him descending; that the money WTould be so much
gains in her pocket; that, besides his promiseits.  which she:.:'ght depend on being perforlmed, she wou?'],eceive'rom him




0ON ATHIAN    I.  LD.                339
tw.nty sbillings and ninepen-ce it. r'.ady nioney, (fcr s!e had
IIly. laid -(out thlreepence ia plain Spanish,' and laatly, that,
besides  his honour, the eVunt should leave a pair of goid
buttons (which afterwards turned oult to be brass) of gretut
value in her hands, as a further pawn.
The maid still rema'l;ed inflexible,'ill Wild offered. to enO.
his friend a guinea more, an)d t.o depos.it it immediately in her
hands. This reinforcement't-are down the poor girl's resolution, and she faithfully -. mised to opep the door to the count
that evening.
Thus did our young hero -not only lend his rhetoric, which
few people care to do without a fee, but his money too, a sum
which many a good mana would have made fifty excuses before
hle would:have parted with, to his friend, and procured him his
liberty.
But it would be highly derogatory f'rom the GREAT character
of Wild, should tl e reader imagine.he lent such a sum to his
friend without the least view of serving himself.  As, therefore, the reader Jiay easily account for it in a manner more
advantageout to our hero's reputation, by concluding that lie
had some interested view in the count's enlargement, we lhope'
he will judge with charity, especially as the sequel makes it not
only reaso.rable, but necessary, to suppose he had sonime such
view.
A long intimacy and friendship subsisted between the count
and Mr.r ild, who, being by the advice of the count dressed
in g3od clothes, was by him introduced iiito thle best company.
T'l.ey constantly frequented the assemblies, auctions, gamingtables tand playhouses;'at whidl last they saw two acts every
nifght., andl then retired without paying, this being, it seems, an
immemcl:al privilege which th'e beaus of the town proscribe for
to themselves.  This, bowever, did not suit Wild's temper,
who  called it a cheat, and objected agairst it, as requiling no
dexterity but what ev-ery biockheadi  might put n1 execution.
IHe said it wM, a custom very much savouring of the sneaking
budge, [shop-lifting,-] but neither so honon.!r;c nor so ingenious.
Wild' how made a considerable figure, and passed for a
gentleman of great fortune in the funds.  ~Women of quality




~34C'A         T.'BI:   I 811 S  0 AIY  9)2
tretae'lim with greit i~.iiiarit.., ".?ung  ladies bemg i.,: ".:-,;o, d
t!leir eharnms for'miu, when an accident happened;.xt p>-'  a
sE';  to his;cIciinltdlIe in a way of life too insipid ai. i mac';ive
aJ tt'c.ra empio, meut for those gieat tat!nnts, which were des iglned to  akc   much i  nure consid.-.able figure in the world
5;I.~.  s,-n;eu..;.,1h clir l.ta.." *of.1..ratt ) a pre-t.y gentleman.
C iHAPTER V. I.:.fi(ster Wild..sets ouz on, hio trauets, and returns home again. A very short,hapter, containing  f n.!:'ytel' more time and less matter than any other in the
whole story.'rTE are sorry we ceannot indulge our readerss curiosity -with
a fill and perfect account of this accident; but as there are
suchl various accounts,')ne of which only can be true, and
possibly, and indeed probably none, instead of following the
general imethod of historians, who in such cases set down the
various reports, and leave -to your own conjecture which you
will choose, we shall pass them all over.
Certain it is, tlat wllhatever this accident was, it determined
our hero's father to send his son immediately abroad, for seven
years; ind whiich may seem  somewhat remarkable, to his
majesty's plantations itn America.  That part of the world
being, as lie s'aid, freer from  vices than the courts and cities of
E.urope, and consequently less dangerous to corrupt a young
maan's mlorals.  And as for the advantages, th, old gentleman
hiought they were equal thellre with those -ittained in the politer
climates; for traversing, lie said, was travelling inl one part of
the world.Ls well as a:lothl-ler  It  lonsisteqi in being such a
time fronm  ornec, and in traversing so mary leagues; and appealed to experience, whether nlost of our travellers in France
and Italy, did not prove (t, their return, that they might have
been serit as profitabl)y to Norway and Gree;la;nd?
Accorditlg',o these resolutions of his father, the young
gentleman went'l)oard a ship, and with a great deal of good
company, set out for the American hlemmisphlere.  The exact
time of his sta.y is somewhat uncertain;  mo,-. probably longer
than was intended: )btt howsoever lolng his abode there was




JONATIIAN  WILL.                       341
it must'-e., biank in this history; as the whole story cont+ins
not -r.:i,.,cvL'eture worthy the reader's notice; being, indeed, a
continued. beene of whoring, drinking, and removing from one
place to ar,,lther.
To confes. 3a truth. we are so ashamed of the shlortitcss of
this chapte:,.hat we would have done a violence to our history,
and have inser-i,d an adventure or two of some other traveller:
to which purpos, we borrowed the journals of several young
gentlemen who b.a'r,. iately made the tour of Europe; but to
our great sorrow, could not extract a single incident strong
enough to justify the theft to our conscience.
WVhen we consider the ridiculous figure this chapter must
make, being the history of no less than eight years, our only
comfort is that the histories of some men's lives, and perhaps
of sonic men who have made-a noise in the Nworld, are in
reality as absolute blanks as the travels of oui hero.  As,
therefore, we shall make sufficient amends in the sequel for this
inanity, we shall hasten on to matters of true importance, and
immense greatness.  At present we content ourselves with setting down our hero where we took him up, after alcquainting
oar reader that he went abroad, stayed seven years, and then
c'lnie home again.
C 1h A P T.E R. VII.
An aoev.;lnt' wh ere _Wild, in the, divisior of the booty, exhibzts an alo atos 2ing
inastance of Oreatness.
THE count was one, night very successful at the hazard-tab:,
-.'here Wild, who was just returned from his travels, was then;.:esent; as was liktewise a young gentleman, whose Ilame was' l,  Bagshot, an acquaintance of Mr. Wild's, and of whom-he
elntertained a grtat oDinion; taking, theref.ro MNr. Bagshot
taidcr- he adviseol him to provide himself (if he had thein not;,;)ut him) with a case of pistols, and to attack the count, in
h'~ wavy home, promising to plant himself near. with the same
arms. as a corV.s dt: reRervce, and to come up on occasion.
T'his was accordingly executed. andI thie count obliged to surrendr to savwage force, what hl had, inl 0,o genteel and civil a
t-ancmcr, takcl'l t play.
29. 




3'12                 1' fl E-  I1  STO.R Y: o
A. ml as it is a wise a1nd philosophical ob:ervatiomx, _TWt one
misfortll',:, IevCr.' com(es alone, the count had thardly uaOmst the
(yxaminl:a ion )f  rr. BaIgshot, when he fell into the. liands of
Met. nap, wiri, in e#:: ipany with Mr. Wild the elder, and ono
or.  vo r  *   [-ltl,,t..n:,    being, it ~erms, thereto v-e!l warranted,
liA  o;'!.of lfihe unfortunate count,:Ald con cye' lhim back.to
thel, -ulto house, from which, by the.ssistance of his good
f'iend, he had formerly escaped.
Mr..Wild tlId Mr. Bagshot went together to' the tavern,
wlwerc Mr. lBagshot (generously, as lhe  -h-ught,)  iffered to
share the booty; andr having divided the mnoney into two unequal heaps, ancld added a golden snuff-box to the lesser heap,
lie desired Mr. Wild to take his choice.
Mr. Wilhi immediately conveyed -the larger share of the
ready into his pocket, according to an excellent maxim of hii:
" First secure what -share you can, before you wrangle for the
rest:" and,nen, turning to his companion, he asked, with a
stern countenance, whether he intended.to keep all that sum to
himself??  Mr. Bagshot answered, with some surprise, that he
t.lhought Mr. Wild had no reason to complain; for it was surely
fair, at least on his part, to content himself with an equal
share of the booty, who had taken the whole.  "I grant you
took it, " replied Wild; "h but, pray, who proposed or counselled the taking it?  Can yolv,iy that you have done more
than executed my sci;eme? anct might not I, if I had pleased,
empl.3,od an,, the',a    snce you well know. there was niot a gentle'
man ill the rOOm but wt.ould. have taken the money, if lie had
knowI how coaveniently  r.nd safely  to do t'C'"-' That is
very true,' returned Bagshot; "hbut did  not I exec-te the
scheme? did not I run the whole risk? should not I hayv  suffered. the whole punisibment, if [ had been taken? and is,,)t
the' iabourer worthyv of his h}re?" — "Doubtless," says Jor1a.
tlla,' he is.qo; ai)d your hire I slall'njt refuse you, whi,:.i is
all thiltA tlhe labourer is enltitled to. or ever enjtoys.  I rein   -
be.. whet I was at seblool, to have heard some verses, wt,,t.il
for tne ex:ellence of their iort.rinre, Imade an impression ci, mf:.
purporting tlhat the birds of the air  and the beasts of the field
work not for themselves.  it is t-ae, the farmei all.: rts'.!r
to his oxz:;,. d p:gtllu.e to -*i sheep; ou, it is f,.-;. c.J'..




J ON A  11 A N AWIL f.:4.a
zeurv'icl, r.o' ti.Leirs.  Iln the same manner, the ploughlman, the.uupherd  tile weaver, the buildei, and the soldier, work not
for themselves, but for others; they are contented with a poor
pittance, (the labourer's hire,) and permit us the GREAT, to
enjoy the fruits of their labours,  Aristotle, as my!n'ster told
us, hath plainly proved, inl the first book of his politics, that
the low, mean, useful part of mankind, are born slaves to the
wills of their superiors, and are, indeed, as much their property as the cattle.-  It is well said, of us, tile higher order of
mortals, that we are born only to devour the fruits of tlht
earth; and it ma) be as well said of the lower class, that they
are born only to produce them for us.
"Is not the battle gained by the sweat and danger of the
common soldier?  Are not the honour and fruits of the victory the general's who laid the scheme?  Is not the house
built by the labour of the carpenter, and the bricklayer?  Is
it not btuilt for the profit only of the architect, and for the use
of the inhabitant, who could not easily have placed one brick
upon another?  Is not the cloth, or the silk, wrought into its
form, and variegated with all the beauty of its colours, by
those who are forced to content themselves with the coarsest
and vilest part of their work, while the profit and enjoyment
of their labours fall to the share of others?  Cast your eye
abroad, and see who is it lives in the most magnificent buildings, feasts his palate with the most luxurious dainties, his
eyes with the most beautiful sculptures and delicate paintings,
and clothes himself in the finest arid richest apparel; and tell
me, if all these do not fall to his lot, who had not any the
least share in producing all these conveniences, nor the least
ability so to do? Why then should the state of a f rig [a
thief] differ from all others?  Or why should you, who are the
labourer only, the executor of my scheme, expect a share in
the profit?. Ie advised, therefore, deliver the whole booty to
me, and trust to my bounty for your reward."  Mr. Bagshot
was some time silent, and looked like a man thunderstrnck;
but at last recovering himself from'his surprise, he thus begal;
"If you think, Mr. Wild, by the force of your arguments to
get the money out of my pocket, you are greatly mistaken.
What is all this stuff to me? 1)-n me, I am a t ar of hlollour,




344                      U'.:  J',.1'.!1;k i.. i.'-'  n' t~ltk as'vell as;on, b y,~-.. y~ t, i'i 11ot
m.,k~ a to~4,[' L  3 n' at:(d if' you take me Co'.  n1e,:I must tel!
ycu,,yn, are a rascal."  At wllich worlis, 1L iaid his hand to
his pisAtc.   Wild perceiving the little success the great strength
of 1is,rgurnents had met-with, and the hasty temper of his
frieind, gave over his design for the present, and told Bagshot,
he was only in jest.  But this coolness with which he treated
the other's flame had rather the e-ffect of oil than of water.
B3agshot replied, in a rage, " D-n me, I don't like such jests; I
sec you are a pitiful rascal and a scoundrel."' Wild, with a
philosophy worthy of great admiration, returned, "As for
your abuse, i have no regard to it; but to convince you I aml
nlot afraid of you, let us lay. the whole booty on the table, and
let the conqueror take it all."  And having so said, he drew
out his shining l-langer, whose glittering so dazzled the eyes of
Bagshot, that, in a. tone entirely altered, he said, " No! lie
was contented with what he had already; that it was mighty
ridiculous in them to qu-..rrel among themselves; that they had
common enemies enolgh abroad, against whom they should
unite their comlnlno  force; that if-he had mistaken Wild, he
was sorry for it; and as for a jest, he could take a jest as well
as another. " IWild, who had a wonderful knack of discovering and applying to the passions of men, beginning now to
have a little insight into his friend, and to conceive what arguments would make the quickest impression on him, cried out,
in a load voice, that he had bullied him  into drawing, his
hanlger, and since it was out, he would not put it up without
satisfaction.  "What satisfaction would you have?" answered
the other.  "Your nioney or your blood," said Wild.  "Why
look'e, Mr. Wild, (said Bagshot,) if you want to borrow a
little of my part, since I know you to be a man of honour, I
dlon't care if I lend you:-For though I am not afraid of any
nan living, yet rather than break with a friend, and as it may
be necessary for your occasions."-Wild, who often declared
thlat het looked upon borrowing to be as good a way of taking
as any, and, as he called it, the genteelest kind of sneakingbudge, putting lp his hanger, and shaking his friend by the
hand, told him, lie had hit the nail on the head; it was really
his present necessity only that prevailed with him  against his




JONATHIAN  WILDo..
will - f!r that iis ionour was ccnccerned to pay a censiderabl)
sum -tie next mcrnilg.  IJpon which, contenting himself with
one-hair of'Bagshot's shat e, so that he had three parts in fuolle
of the whole, lhe took:eave of his companion, and retired ti'
rest.
CHAPTER IX.
WFl.?:tys a,vit. t~o AMiss Lcetitia Snap. A description oj that lovely youmg
creature, and t,sm slccessless issue of M[r. Wild' t addresses.'1i1uP next In)rning when our hero wzked, he began to think
of.aying a visit to Miss Tishy Snap; a woman of great merit,
aiJI.1f as great generosity; yet Mr. Wila- found a present was
ever n.ost nelcome to her, as being a token of'espect in her
loeveL.:Ie therefore went directly to a toy-sLop, and there
pulrchased a genteel snuff-box, with Which he waited upon his
mstress; whom lie found in the most beauitiful undress.  H1]er
l- vely hair hung wantonly over her forehead, being neitter
white witil, nor yet fiee from, powder: a neat double clout,
which seemed to have been worn a few weeks only, was pinned
und-r her chill; some remains of that art with which ladies implove natuire, shone on her cheeks: her body was loosely attired, without stays or jumps; so that her breasts had uncontrolled liberty to display their beauteous orbs, which they did
as low as nher girdle; a thin covering of a rumpled nmuslin
handkerchief almost hid them  from  the eyes, save in a few'
parts, where a good-natured hole gave opportunity to the naked
breast to appear.  Her gown was a satin of a whitish colour,
with about a dozen little silver spots upon it, so artificially
interwoven at great distance, that they looked as if they had
fallen there by chance.  This flying open, discovered a fine
yellow  petticoat, beautifully edged round the bottom  with a
llarrow piece of half gold lace, which was now almost become
fringe,: beneath this appeared another petticoat stiffened with
whalebone, vulgarly called a hoop, which hung six inches at
least, below the other; and under this again appearedl an undergarment of that colour which Ovid intends when he says,
- Qui color albus trat nunc est contrarius albo.
She -likewise displayed two pretty feet, covered with silk, and




6irt4               TUE  U1ISTO1RY  Or
a(dorned wthl lace- and tied; the right with l il n1z )s-m piece.:. vble rtiband; the left, as more unworthy, with a piece of.s.:iow stuff, which seemed to have been a, strip of her upper
ietticoat.  Such was the lovely creature whom Mr'ril - attended.  She received him at first with some of that coldness
which women of strict virtue, byr a commendable, though sometimes ptinful, restraint, enjoin themselves to their lovers. The
snuff-box being produced, was at first civilly, and indeed
gently, refilsed(t  but on a second application, accepted.  The
tea-table was soon called for, at which a discourse passed between these young lovers, which, could we set down with any
accuracy, would bt very edifying, as well as entertaining to (. ar
reader; let it suffice then that the wit, together with the lbca;l..y
of this young creature, so inflamed the passion of Wild, wmilc,
though an honourable sort of passion, was at the same tim 3 so
extremely violent, that it transported him to freedoms too
offensive t(; the nice chastity of LIetitia, who was, to confess
the truth, more indebted to her own strength for the preservation of her virtue, than to the awful respect or backwardness
of her lover: he was indeed so very urgent in his addresses,
that bad he not with many oaths promised her miarriage, we
could scarce.   have been strictly justified in calling his passion
honourable; but he was so remarkably attached t, decency,
that he never offered any violence to a young lady without the
most earnest promises of that kind, these being, he said, a:eremonial due to female modesty, which cost so little, and
were so easily prcnounced, that the omission could arise from
nothing hut the mere wantonness of brutality.  The lovely
ILititia, either out of prudence, or perhaps religion, of which
she was a. liberal professor, was deaf to all his promises, and
luckily invincible by his force; for though she had not yet
learnt the; art of clenching her fist, nature had not however
left her defcnceless: for at the ends of her fingers she wore
arms, which she Aused x;vith such admirable dexterity, that the
hot blood of, Mr. Wild soon began to appear in several little
spots on his face, and his full-blown cheeks to resemble that
part which modesty forbids a boy to turn up any where but in
a public school, after some pedagogue, strong of arm, hath ex
ercised his talents there9n,  Wild now retreated fiom the con



JONATHAN v'T:.,D.                     347
flict, and the victorious- Lmtitia, with becoming triumph, anG
noble spirit, cried out, " D-n your eyes, if this be your way
of showing your lcve, I'll warrant I gives you enough on't."
She then proceeded to talk of her virtue, which Wild bid her
C;a-'-': to the devil with lher; and thus our lovers parted.
CHIAPTER X.
A discovery of some matters concerning the chaste Lcetitia, which 1m1t vhon..
derfully susprise, and perhaps affect our reader.
MR. WILD was no sooner departed, than the flir corqutress,
opening the door of a closet, called forth a_ young gentleman,
whom she had there enclosed- at the approach of the other.
The name of this gallant was Tom  Smirk.  He was clerk to
an attorney, and was indeed the greatest beau, and the greatest
ftvourite of the ladies, at the end of the town where lhe lived.
A,. we take dress to be the characteristic or efficient quality of
~ he'aul, We shall, instead of giving any character of this young,enittlemr:., content ourselves with describing his dress only to
our readers.  I-eI wore, then, a pair of white stockings on his
legs, and pumps on his feet; his buckles were a large piece
Of pinebbeck plate, which almost covered his whole foot.  His
)ree{ches vwe of red plush, which hardly reached his knees;
hi. w'ist.co:at was a white dimity, richly embroidered with yel1, W silk, cver which he wore a blue plush coat with metal
hb ttons,.a smart sleeve, and a cape reaching half way down::is t.kck. HIis wig was of a brown colour, covering almost
haf";,is pete, )ln which was hung, on one side, a laced hat,'but
cocked with great smartness.   Such was the accomplished
Smirk, who, Pet his issuing forth from the closet, was received
with open arm., by the amiable Lmetitia.  She addressed him
by the tender name of dear Tommy, and told him she had dismissed the odious creature whom  her father intended for her
husband, and had now nothing to interrupt her happiness with
him.
Itere, reader, thou must pardon us if we stop a while to
lament the capriciousness of nature in forming this charming
part of the creation, designed to complete the happiness of
man; with their soft innl.ocen.ce to allay hlis ferocity, with their




;.48                TItE P ISTORY  OFsprightliness to soothe his cares, and with their constant friendship to relieve all the troubles and disappointments which can
happen to him.  Seeing then that these are the blessings
chiefly sought after, and -generally found in every wife,. how
must we lament that disposition in these lovely creatuics,
which leads them to prefer in their favour those individuals
of the other sex, who do not seem intended by nature as so
great. a master-piece.  For surely, however useful they may be
in the creation, as we are taught that nothing, not even a louse,
is made in vain; yet these beaus, even that most splendid and
honoured part, which, in this our island, nature loves to distinguish in red, are not as some think, the noblest work of the
Creator. For my own part, let any -man choose to himself two
beaus, let them be captains or colonels, as well-dressed men as
ever lived, I would venture to oppose a single Sir Isaac Newton, a Shakspeare, a Milton, or perhaps some few others, to
both these beaus; nay, and I very much doubt, whether it had
not been better for the world in general, that neither.f t'ilwso
beaus had ever been born, than than it should have wanted the
benefit arising to it from the labour of any one of those persons.
If this be true, how melancholy must be the consideration,
that any single beau, especially'if he have but half a yard of
riband in his hat, shall weigh heavier, in the scala of female
affection, than twenty Sir Isaac Newtons!  HIow  must our
reader, who perhaps had wisely accounted for the reistance
which the chaste Loetitia had made to the violent aldresses
of the ravished (or rather ravishing) Wild, from thlt lady's
impregnable virtue, how must we blush, I say, to perceive her
quit the strictness of her carriage, and abandon herself to those
loose freedoms which she indulged to Smirk I ]But, alas! lihen
we discover all, as to preserve the fidelity of our history we
must; when we relate that every familiarity had past between
-;hem, and that the FA.IR Laetitia (for we must, in this single
sentence, imitate Virgil, when he drops the pits and the pater,
and drop our favourite epithet of chaste.) the FAIR L2titia
had, I say, made Smirk as happy as Wild desired to be, what
then must be our reader's confusion!  We will, therefore, draw
a curtain over this scene, from that philogyny which is in us.
and proceed to matters which, instead of dishonouring -the
human species, will greatly raise and ennmoble it.




~:('NATIIAN  WILD.                    349
C H A PTER X I.
Containing a., notable,nstances of Aunman greatness as are to be met with in
ancient or modern history.  Coicluding with some whoksaome hints to the
gay part of mankind.
WTr.,D no sooner parted from the chaste Letitia, ihan, recol..
lecting that his friend, the count, was returned to his lodgings
in the same house, he resolved to visit him: for he was none
of those half-bred fellows, who are ashamed to see their friends
when they have plundered and betrayed them: from  whichl
base and pitiful temper, muany monstrous cruelties have been
transacted by men, who have sometimes carried their modesty
so far, as to the murder or utter ruin of those, against whom
their consciences have suggested to them, that they have committed some small trespass, either by the debauching a friend's
wife or daughter, belying or betraying the friend himself,'or
some other such trifling instance.  In our hero. there was
nothing not truly great: lbe. could. without the least abashment,
drink a bottle with the man who knew he had the monment
b)efore picked his pocket; and, when he had stripped himl of
every thing he. had, never desired to do him  any filrthelr mischief; for he carried good-nature to that wonderful and uncommon height, that he never did a single injury to man or woman,
by which he hlimself did not expect to reap some advantage.
He would often iildo.ed say, that by the contrary practice men
often made a bad lm.rga.in with the devil, and did his work for
nothing.
Our herl, found the captive count, not basely lamentihg his
fate, nor abandoning himself to despair; but, with due resiglation, employing himself in preparing several packs of cards
for fiutre exploits.  The count, little suspecting that Wild had
beer the sole contriver of the misfortune which had befa.llee
him, rose up, and eagerly embraced himn; and Wild returned
his embrace with equal warmth.  They were no sooner seated,
than Wild took an occasion, from seeing the cards lying on the
table.. to ihvve:gh against gaming; and, with an usual and
highly:onrme-idable freedom, after first exaggerating the distressed circumstances in which the count was then involved,
imputed all hiQ misfortunes to that cursed itch of play, wbii.l,




350               JTHE HISTORY  OF
he said, he concluded,ha- brought his present confine nent
upon him, and rmn.s~ uhiavidabiv end in his destruction.  The
other, with great alacrity, defended his fav;ourite amusement,
(or rather employment;) and, having;old his friend the great
success lie had, after his unluckily quitting the roomr  acquainted
him with'the accident which followed, and which the, reader,
as well as,Mr. Wild, lath had some intimation of before; adding, however. one circumstance not hitherto mel.tioned, viz.
that he had defended his money with the utmost bravely, and
had dangerously wounded at least two of the three Emen that
had attacked him.  This behaviour Wild, irlho not only knew
the extreme readiness with which the booty had been delivered,
but also the constant frigidity of the count's courage, highly
appla~uded, and wished he.taa been present to assist him.
The count then proceeded to animadvert on the <carelessness
of the watch, and. the scandal it was to the  laws, that honest
people could not walk the streets in sLafety; and, after expatiating some time on that subject, he asked:Mr. Wild if he ever
saw so prodigious a run of luck; (for so he chelse to eall winaing, though he kirew Wild was well acquainted with his having
loaded dice in his' pocket;) the other answered, it was indeed
prodigious, and almost sufficient to justify anlly person, who did
not know him better, in suspecting his fair play.    No man,
I believe, dares call that in question," replied lie. "No
surely," says Wild; " you are well known to be a man of more
honour; but pray, sir," continued lhe, "did the rascals rob you
of all?" —"Every shilling," cries the other, with an oath;
"they did not leave me a single stake."
While- they were discoursing, Mr. Snap, with a gentleman
who followed him, introduced Mr. Bagshot into the company.
It seems Mr. Bagshot, immediately after his separation from
Mr.Wild, returned to the gatming-table, where, having trusted
to fortune that treasure, rwhich he had procured by his industry,
the faithless goddess committed a breach of trust anid scn;t ]Mr.
Bagshot away with as empty pockets as are to be found in any
laced coat in the kingdom.' Nowr, as that gentleman rwas walking to a certain reputable house or shed in tCovent-ararden
market, he fortuned to meet with Mir. Snap, who had ns;- returned from conveying the count to his lodgings and wi.nt then




JONATIIAN  WIl1'.                     851.
walking to and fro before the gaming-house door; for you' are
to know, my good reader, if you have neve': been a man' of wit
and pleasure about town, that as the voracious pike lieth srnug
under some weed, before the mouth of any of those little
streams which discharge themselves into a large river, waiting
for the small fry which issue thereout; so hourly, before the
door or mouth of. these gaming-houses doth Mr. Snap, or some
other gentleman of his occupation, attend the issuing forth of
the small fry of young gentlemen, to whom they deliver little
slips of parchment, containing invitations of the said gentlemen
to their houses, together with one Mr. John Doe,* a person
whose company is in great request.  Mr. Snap, among many
others of these billets, happened to have one directed to Mr.
Ba-gshot, beings at the suit or solicitation of one Mrs. Anne
Salmple, at whose house the said Bagshot had lodged several
months, and whence he had inadvertently departed, without
taking a formal leave; on which account, Mrs. Anne had taken
this ml.ethod of speaking with him.
Mr. Snap's house being now very full of good company, he
was obliged to introducQ Mr. Bagshot into the count's apartment; it being, as. he said, the only chamber he had to lock up
in.  Mr. Wild no sooner saw his friend, than he ran eagerly
to embrace him, and immediately presented him to the count,
who received him with great civility.
CHAPTERI, XII.
rFlurther particulars relating to'MBiss Tish!y which perhaps?nay not greatly
surprise, qfter tlheformer. Te description qf a very fine gentleman.' And
a azcatogue betfween Wildt and the cca.unt, in which public virtue isiust hinted1
at, wilth, 4'c.
mR, SNAP had turned the -key a very few minutes, before a
servant of the family called Mr. Blagshot out of the rooml,
telling him there was a person below who desired to speak with
him; and this was no other than Miss Lmtitia Snap, whose
admirer M'. Bagshot had long. been, and in whose tender
* This is a fictitious. name. whi.ch in put into every writ; for what
purpose, the lawyers best know.




352                THTE IHISTORY  O'
bre;t, his 1)aSi)on *lad raiSsec, moie ardentA fl'mc ~ian tha
which any of his riva-ls hadi been able to raise.  Indeed, she
was so extremely fond of this youth, that she often confessed to
her femalo confidlants, if she could have ever listened to the
tllought of living with any one man, Mr. Bagshot was lhe.Nor was she singular in this inclination, malny other young
ladies being her rivals in this lover, who had all the great and
noble qua-tifi-cations necessary to form a true gallant, and which
na-ture is seldom so extremely boantiful as to indulge to any
one person.  We will endea.vour, however, to describe themn
all with as- much exactness as possible.  He' was, then, six
iect nigh; had large calves, bioa'd shoulders, a ruddy cornpihxion, with brown curled hair, a modest assurance, and clean
iillen.,Ie had, indeed, it must be confessed, oome' small,iefieiencies to counterbalance these heroic qualities; for he
-was the silliest fellow in the world; could neither write nor
read; nor had he a single grain or spark of honour, honesty,
or good-nature, in his whole composition.
As soon as Mr1. Bagshot had quitted the room; the olount,
ta kingi  Wild by the hand, told him he had something to communicate to him of very great importance: "I am very well
convinced," said he, " that Bagshot is the person who robbed
n-.I' —  Wild started with great amazement at this discovery,
and answered with a most serious.lutnlcenance, " I advise you
to take care how you cast any such reflections on a man of Mr.
Bagshot's nice honour; for I tam certain he will not bear it. "" D-n his honour, " quoth the enraged count, "nor can I bear
being robbed: I will'1pl)ly to a justice of peace. " Wild replied,
with great indignation; " Since  you dare entertain such a susp)ic;on agaianst my friena, 1 will henceforth disclaimt. all acquaintance with you.  Mr. Bagcshot is a man of honour, and my
friend, and consequently it is impossible he should be guilty
of a bad action." 1-e added much more to the same purpose,
which had not the expected weight with the count; for the
latter seemed still certain as to the person, and resclute in
applying for justice, which, lie said, he thought he owed t.o
the public, as well as to hims;lf.  Wild then   —.',.ged his
countenance into a kind of derision. and spoke a:d follows:
"Suppose it should  be possible that Mr. Bagshot hald, in a




J-O N A TI A N W I LD  353
rfi'>?, (f't I will call it no othler,) taken this method of borrowing your mollney, what vwill you get by prosecuting him?
Not your inor.ey again;  for you hear he was stripped at the
garming-table;" (of which Bagqshot had, during their short
confabulation, informed them;) "you will get then an opportunity of being still more out of pocket by the prosecution.
Another advantage you may promise yourself, is the being
hllowil up. at every gaming -house in town, for that 1 will assure
you of; and then mnuchi good may it do you, to sit down with
the satisfaction of having discharged what it seems you owe
the public.  I am ashanmed of my own discernment, when I
mistook you for a great man.  Would it not be better for you
to receive part (perhaps all) of your money again by a wise
concealment; for however seedy [poor] Mr. Bagshot may be
now, if he hath really played this frolic with you, you may
believe he will play it with others, and when lie is in cash, you
Imay depend on a restoration; the law will be always in your
power, and that is the last remedy which a brave or a wise
man would resort to.  Leave the affair therefore to me; I will
examine Bagshot, and if I find he hath played you this trickl, I
4ill enga-geo my own honour, you shall in the end be no loser."
The count answered: "If I was sure to be; no loser, Mr.
Wild, I apprehend you have a better opinion of my understandingl than to imagine I would prosecute a gentleman for
the sake of the public.  These are foolish words, of course,
wlhich we learn a ridiculous habit of speaking, and will often
break from us without any design or meaning.  I assure you,
all I desire is a reimbursement, and if I can by your means
obtain that, the'public may - " concluding with a phrase
too coarse;, be inserted in a history of this kind.
They were now informed that dinner was ready, and the comrn
panly assembled below  stairs, whither the reader may, if he
llease, attend these gentlelcC11n.
There sat down at the tableb  Mr. Snap, and the two Miss
Snaps, his daughters, Mr. -Wild the elderj iMr. Wild the younger,
the coun'... Mr. Bagsiot, a;d a grave gentleman, who had formerle had the'nonour of carrying arms in a reginment of foot,
nac. ",hto was now eangaged i,. the office (perhaps a more profit~ l     -      )     X




354                 TiHE  HISTORY  OF
able one' of assis"i!sg or follo',ving Mr. Sn-; in',ie CeO.../)i'
of the la'-.-: of his country.
Notlhing v.ry rcmarkable passed at. dinner.  The conversa..
tion (as is usual in polite. company) rolled chiefly on what they
were then eating, and what they had lately eaten.  In this the
military gentleman, who had served in Ireland, gave thein  a
very particular account of a new manner of ronstiing potatoes,
and others gave an account of other dishes.  In sh)rt, lan.
indifferent bystander would have concluded from their discotl se,
that they had all come into this world for no other purpose
than to fill their bellies; and indeed, if this was not the chief,
it is probable it was the most innocent design nature had iu
their formation.
As soon as the dish was removed, and the ladies retired, the
count proposed a game at hazard, which was immediately
assented to by the whole company, and the dice being immcediately brought in, the count took up the box, and demanded
who would set him: to  which ito one made any answer,
imagining perhaps the count's pockets to be more empty than
they were; for, in reality, that gentleman (noltwithstanding
what hec had heartily swore to -Mr. Wild) hadcl, since his arrival
at Mr. Snap's, conveyed a piece of plate to pawn, by which
means he had furnished himself with ten guineas.  The count,
therefore, perceiving this backwardness in his friends, and
probably somewhat guessing at the cause of it,;ock the said
guineas out of his pocket, and threw them on the table; when
Ic I - (such is tle force of example,) all the rest began to produce their funds, and immediately a considerlble sum glittering
in i;blir eycoc tll gamle began.
C H Ar'TE1.R  XIII.
A c'apter of which we- are ext remely vain; and which indeed.e ~s,~,n is
our chef d'ceuvre, cozlaininzi  a wonvderfit story concerning thie dez41,..a,L an
nice a scene of honour as ever hapenzed.
MYx reader, I believe, even if he be a gamester, wcu''d not
thank me for an exact relation of every nawl's success; let it
suffice then that they playea till the whole mon.7 vanished from




J ONATHAN  WILD.                     355
tihe..  Whether the devil himself carried it away, as sonme
saspected, I will not determine; but very surprising it was,
that every person. protested he had lost, nor could any one
guess who, unless the devil, had won.
But though very probable it is, that this arch fiend had-some.share in the bcoty, it is likely he had not all; -Mr. Bagshot
being imagined to be a considerable winner, notwithstanding
his assertions to the contrary; for: he was seen by several to
convery money often into his pocket; and what is still a little
stronger presumption is, that the grave gentleman, whom we
have mentioned to have served his country in two honourable
capacities, not being willing to trust alone to the evidence of
his eyes, had frequently dived into the said Bagshot's pocket;
whence, (as he tells us iln the apology for his life, afterwards
published,*) thoughn he might extract a few pieces, he was very
sensible he had left many behind.
The gentleman had long indulged his curiosity in this w*ay
before Mr. Bagshot, in the heat of gaming, had perceived him:
i:: as Bagshot was now leaving off play, he discovered this
ingenious feat of dexterity; upon which, leaping from his chair
it vi.olent passion, he cried out, " I thought I had been among
gentlemen, and men of honour, but d — -nlme, I find we have
a picikpocket in company."  The scandalous. sound of this
word extremely alarrned the whole board, nor did they all show
Icss surprise than the Con-n (whose inot sitting of late is much
i-Tented)- would express at hearing there was an atheist in the
room; bu, it more particularly affected the gentleman at whom
it was levelled, thoughl it was not addressed to him.  He likewise started from his chair, and, with a fierce countenance and,ccent, said, "I   you mean me? D      n your eyes, you are? rascal anl a scoundrel."  Those words would have been
immediately succeeded by blows, had not the company interposed, and with strong aria withheld the two antagonists froml
each other.  It was, however, a long time before they could': prevailed on to sit down; which being at last happily
* Not in at book by itseif in imitation of some other such persons, but.n the ordinary's accouni, &c. where all' the apologies for the lives of
rogues and whores, which have been published within these twenty years,
should lorve been inse:ted.




356                TIIE HISTORY'OF
broulght about, Mr. Wild the elder, who was a well-disposed
old man, advised them to shake hands and be firiends; but'lle
gentleman, who had received the first affront, absC;Gu:.   refused
It, and swore, He would have the villain's bloot.
Mr. Snap highly applaudled the resolution, and affirm:i that.,he affront was by no. means to be put up by any who'ore the
name  of a gentleman, and that unless his friend resented- it prop)erly, he would never execute another warrant in his company;
that lie had always looked upon him as a man of honour, and
doubted not but lie would prove himself so; and that if it was
his own case, nothing should persuade him to put up such an.
affront without proper satisfaction.  The count likewise spoke
on the same side, and the parties themselves mutteredr several
short sentences, purporting their intentions.  At last Mr Wild,
our hero, rising slowly from his seat, and having fixcd the
attention of all present, began as follows: "I have heard with
ininiite pleasure every thing which the two gentlemen who spoke
last have said with relation to hllonour, nor can any man possibly
entertain a higher and nobler sense of that word, nor a greater
esteem of- its inestimable value, than myself. If we have no
name.to express it by in our Cant Dictionary, it were well to
be wished we had   It is indeed the essential quMit.y of a gentlen an, and which no man who ever was great in the.ield, or
on the road, (as others express it,) can possibly be without.
tBut alas I gentlemen, what pity is it, that a word of such sovereign. use and virtue should have so uncertain and varions an
application that scarce two people mean the same thing by it?
Do not some by honour mean good-nature and humanwity, rTich
weal minds call virtues?  How, then! Mus.t we deny it to.he
great, the brave, the noble; to the saeters of towns, the plurderers of provinces, and the conquerors of kingdoms?  Wer
not these men of honour? ahd yet they scorn those pitiful quall.
ties I have mentioned.  Again, some few (or [ am mistaken.
incilude the idea of honesty in their hlonour.  And shall we thent
say, that n.  m.an who witllholds from another what law, or juslice perhaps, calls his owni, or lwho greatly and boldly deprives
him of. sucth propcrty, is a man o' honour?  Heaven forbid I
should say so in this, or, indeed, in any other good company.
Is honour truth'?  No, it is not in thtl lie'-.,oing frnrn,us, Fsut




JO-NAT IAN WILD.;)'
In its -comingl to us, our hlntour is injured.  Dotn' it theni consist: in what the vulga. r call cardinal virtues?  It would le a!n
affront to your understandings to suppose it, since we see-every
day so many men of honour without any. In what t+,hen dclotl
the word honour consist?  Why -in itself alone   A man of
honour is he that is called a. man of honour; and while lie is
so calied, lie so remains, and no longer.  Think not any thing
a man commits can forfeit his honour.  Look abroad into the
world, the PRIG while he flourishes is a man of honour; when
in jail, at the bar or the tree,. he is so no longer.  And why is
this distinction?  Not from; fis actions; for those are often as
well known it hli, flourishing estate, as they are afterwards; but
because men, I mean those of his:own party, or gang, call him
a man of honour in the former, and cease to call him so in the
latter condition. Let us see, then; how hath Mr. Bagshot
injured the gentleman's honour?  Why, he hath called him a'
pickpocket; and that, probably, by a severe construction; and
a!ong rouncl-about way of reasoning, may seem a little to dero-;rate from his honour, if considered in a very nice sense.  Ad-.:tting it., therefore, for argument's sake, to be some small im"iui;ation on his honour. let Mr. Bagshot give him satisfaction;
let him doubly and tripiy repair this oblique injury by directly
asserting. tha' he believes he is a man of honour."  The gentleman answered, he was content to refer it to Mr. Wild, and
whatever satisfaction he thought sufficient, he would accept.
"Let him give me my money again first," said Bagshot, " and
then I will call him a man of honour with all my heart."  The
centleman then protested he had not any, which Snap seconded,
declaring he hat his eyes on him all the while; but Bagshot
emained still unsatisfied, till Wild, rapping out a hearty oath,
swore he hac not taken a single farthing, adding, that whoever:isserted the contrary gave him the lie, and he would resent it..-und nex, such was the ascendancy of this Great lMan, that
IBagsllot immediately acquiesced, and performed the ceremonies
required; anci'dthus, by the exquisite address of our hero, this
quarrel, which had so fatal an aspect, and which, between two
persons so extremely jealous of their honour, would most certainly have nroduced very dreadfill consequences, was happily
concluded.




358                TM.T HISTORy OF
Mr. Wilc  was ir.deed a little interested n this,ffain, as he
himself had set the gentleman to work, and had received the
greatest part::f the booty: and as to Mr. -Snap's deposition in
his favoar, it was the usual height to which the ardour of that
worthy personlls friendship too frequently hurried him. It was
his constant maxim, that he was a pitiful'ellow  who',oould
stick at a little rapping* for his friend.
CHAPTER XIV.
In which the history of Greatness is continuea.
MATTERS being thus reconciled, and the gaming Q76-,:rvm
reasons before hinted, the company proceeded to drink about
with the utmost cheerfulness and friendship; drinking healtlhs,
shaking hands, and professing the most perfect affection for
each other. All which were not in the least interrupted by,
some designs which they then agitated in their minds, and
which they intended to execute, as soon as the liquor had prevailed over some of their understandings.  Bagshot and the
gentleman intending to rob each other; Mr. Snap and Xi1.
Wild the elder meditating what other creditors they could fiL d
out, to charge the gentlemen then in custody with; the couflthoping to renew the play; and Wild, our hero, laying a design
to put Bagshot out of the way, or, as the vulgar express it, to
hang him with the first opportunity.  But none of these great
designs could at present be put in execution; for Mvir. Snap
being soon after summoned abroad, on business of.reat moment, which required, likewise, the assistance of Mr. Wild the
elder and his other friend, and as he Lid not care::o trust to
the nimbleness of the count's heels, of which he' had already
had some experience, he declared h1e must lock up for that
evening.  Here, reader, if thou pleasest, as we are in no great
haste, we will stop and make a simile...s when their lap is
finished,! the cautious huntsman to their kennel gathers the'
nimble-footed -hounds, they with- lank ears and tails slouch
sullenly on, whilst he, with his whippers-in, follows close to
their heels, regardless of their dogged humourn- till having se'it
* Rapping is a cant word for perjury.




JO'NATHAN  WILD.                     359
them safe within the door, he turns the key, and then retires to
whatever business or pleasure calls him thence; so, with lowering countenance and reluctant steps, mounted the count and
Bagshot to their chamber, or rather kennel, whither they were
attended by Snap and those who followed him, and where
Snap, having seen them deposited, very contentedly locked the
door,,and departed.  And now, reader, we will, in imitation
of the trulv laudable custom of the world, leave these our
good friends to deliver themselves as they can, and -pursue the
thriving fortunes of Wild, our hero, who, with that great
aversion to satisfaction and content which is inseparably incident to great minds, began to enlarge his views'with his prosperity: for this restless amiable disposition, this noble avidity,
which increases with feeding, is the first principle or constituent
quality of these our Great Mlen;  to whom, in their passage on
to greatness, it happens as to a traveller over the Alps, or, if
this be a too far-fetched simile, to one who travels westward
over the hills near Bath, where the simile was indeed made.
He sees not the end of his journey at once; but passing on
from scheme to scheme, and from hill to hill, with. ncble constancy, resolving still tc attain the summit on which he hath
fixed his eve, however dirty the roads may be through which
he struggles, he at length arrives at-  some vile inn, where
he finds no kind of entertainment nor conveniency for repose.
I fancy, reader,' if thou hast ever travelled ill these roads,
one part of my simile is sufficiently apparent, (and indeed, in
all- these illustrations, one side is generally much more apparent than the other,) but, believe me, if the other doth not so
evidently appear to thy satisfaction, it is from no other reason,
tllitn b)ecause thou art unacquainted with these G-reat 5Men, and
llast not had sufficient instruction, leisure, or opportunity, to
consider what happens to, those who pursue what is generally
understood by GREATNESS: for surely, if thou hadst animadverted not only on the many perils to which great men are
daily liable while they are in their progress, but hadst discerned., as it were through a microscope, (for it is invisible to
the naked eye,) that diminutive speck of happiness which they
attain even in the consummation of their wishes, -thou wouldst
lament with me the unhappy fate of these great men, on whom




360                THE  HISTORY  OP
nature hath set so superior a mark, that the rest o.T -r n-kiud
are born for their use and emolument only, and be ap- to cry
out, "It is pity that THOSE, for whose pleasure arA profit
mankind are to labour and, sweat, to be hacked and hewed, to
be pillaged, plundered, and every way destroyed, should reap
so LITTLE advantage from all the miseries they occasion to
otllers."  For myv part, I own myself of that humble kind of
mortals, who consider themselves born for the behoof of some
Great Man cr other, and could I behold his happiness carved
out of the labour and ruin of a'thousand such reptiles as my-.self, I might with satisfaction exclaln, Sic, sic juvat: but
when I behold one Great Man starving with hunger, and
freezing with cold, in the midst of fifty thousand, who are
suffering the same evils for his diversion; when I see another,
whose own mind is a more-abject slave to his own greatness,
and is more tortured a.nd racked by it than those of all his.vassals; lastly, when I consider whole nations rooted out only
to bring tears into the eyes of a Great Man, not indeed because
he bad extirpated so many, but because he had no more nations
to extirpate, then truly I am almost inclined to wish that
nature had spared us this her MASTERPIECE, and that no
GREAT MAN had ever been born into the world.
But to proceed with our history, which will, we hope, produce
much Fetter lessons and more instructive than any we can
preaci - Wild was no sboner retired to a night-cellar, than he
began to reflect on the sweets he had that day enjoyed from
the la'tours of others, viz. first from Mr. Bagshot, who had for
his use robbed the count; and, secondly, from the gentleman,
who for the same good purpose had picked the pocket of Bagshot.  He th n proceeded to reason thus with himself: " The
art of poli.,cy is the art of multiplication; the degrees of greatness being constituted by chose two little words more and less.
Mankind fre first properly to be considered under two grand
divisions, those that use their own hands, and those who
elmploy the hands of others.  The former are the brise and
rabble;' the latter, the genteel part of the creation.  The
mercantile part of' the world, therefore, wisely use the term
empnloying 7amnds, and justly prefer each other, as they employ
more or fewer; for thus one merchant says he is greater than




JONATHAN WILD.                      361
noltlie., beceause he employs more bands., And now indeed
the merchant should seem to challenge some character of greatness, did ue; not necessarily come to a second division, viz.
Of those who  lmplloy hands for the use of the commun:ity in
which they live, and of those who employ lanrds inerely for
their own use, without any regard-to the benefit of society.
Of the former sort are the yeoman, the manufacturer, the merchant,. and perhaps the gentleman.  The first of these beinlr
to manure and cultivate his native soil, and to employ hands
to produce the f-ruits of the earth.  The second being to improve them by employing hands likewise, and to produce frorn
them those useful commodities, which serve as well for the
conveniences as necessaries of life. The third is to employ
hands for the exportation of the redundance of our own commodities, andto exchange, them with the redundances of foreign
nations, that thus every soil and every climate may enjoy the
fruits of the whole earth. The gentleman is, by employing
hands likewise, to-embellish his country with the improvement
of arts and sciences, with the'making and executing. good and
wholesome laws for the preservation of property, and-the distribution of justice, and in several other manners to beuseful
to society.
"Now we come to the second part of this division, viz.
Of those who employ hands for their;own use: only;. and this
is that noble ant great part, who are -generally distinguished into conquerors, absolute princes, statesmen, and prigs [thieves. ]
Now all these differ from each other in greatness only as they
employ more orfewer hands. And Alexander the Great was
only greater than a captain of one of the Tartarian or Arabian
hordes, as he was at the head of a larger number. -In what,
then, is a single prig inferior to any other Great Man, but
because he employs his own hands only; for he is not on that
account to be levelled with the base and. vulgar, because he
employs his hands for his own use only, Now, suppose a prig
had as many tools as any prime minister ever had, would he
not be as great as any prime minister whatsoever?  Undoubtedly he would.  What then have I to do in the pursuit
of greatness, but to procure a gang, and to make the use of
31




362                THE HIS-TORY  Or
this gang centre in myself.  This gang shall rob for me only,
receiving very moderate rewards for their tcitions; out of this
gang I will prefer to. my favour the boldest anti most iniquito.s; (as the vulgar express it;) the rest I 1ixl,'from time -to
time, as I see occasion, transport and hang at my pleasure;
ani thus (which I take to be the-highest excellence of a prig)
convert those laws which are made for the benefit and protection of society, to my single use."
c Having thus preconceived his scheme, he sa w nothing wanting to put it in immediate execution, but that which is indeed
the beginning as well as the end of all hillm; devices; I mean
money. Of which commodity he was possessed of no more
than sixty-five guineas, being all that remained from the double
benefits he had made of Bagshot, and which did not seem
sufficient to firnish his. house, and every other convenience
necessary for so grand an undertaking.' He resolved therefore
to go immediately to the ganling-house, which was then sitting,
not so; much with an intention of trusting to fortune, as to
play the surer card of attacking the winner in his way home.
On his arrival, however, he thought he might as well try his
succ-ess at the dice, and reserve the'other resource as his last
expedient.  IHe accordingly sat down to play; and as fortune,
no more than others of her sex, is observed to: distribute her
favours with strict regard to great mental endowments, so our
hero lost every farthing in his pocket.  This loss however he
bore with great constancy of mind, and with as great eomposure of aspect. To say truth, he considered the money as
only lent for a short time, or rather indeed as deposited with a
banker. He then resolved to have immediate recourse to his
surer "stratagem; and casting his eyes round- the room, he
soon perceived a gentleman'sitting in a disconsolate posture,
who s'eemed a proper instrument or tool for his purpose. In
short, (to be as concise as possible in these least shining parts
of our history,) Wild accosted this man, sounded him, fond
him fit to execute,'proposed the matter, received a rea'ly
assent, and having'fixed on the person who seemed that eviea.
ing the greatest favourite of fortune, they posted themselves
in the most proper place to surprise the enemy as he was re.




JO N A;T1 A N  W 1.h-.              363
tiring to.'l.is q i'.ter, where lie was.oon atto'. iscd, suibdu:ed,
and plundered' but indeed of no considerable boouLy; for it
seems this gentieman.played on a common stock, and had deposited his winnings at tihe scene of action; nor had he any
more than two shillings in his pocket whet  hee was attacked.
This was so cruel a disappointment to Wild, and so sensibly
affect.s us, as no doubt it will the reader; that, as it must disqualify us both from proceeding any further at present, we will
now take a little breath; and therefore we shall here close
this book.
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
Characters of silly people, with the p ~oper usesfor which such are designed.
ONE reason why Be chose to end our first book as we did,
with the lfist chapter, was, that we are now obliged to produce
two characters, of a stamp entirely different from what we have
hitherto dealt in   These persons are of that pitiful order of
mortals, who are inl contempt called good-natured; being,
indeed, sent into the world by nature with the same design
with which men put little fish into a pike-pond, in order to be
devoured by that voracious water-hero.
But to proceed with our history.  Wild, having shared the
booty in much the same manner as before, i. e. taken threefourths of it, vraounting to eighteen pence, was now retiring to
rest, in no very happy mood, when, by accident, he met with a
young fellow, who had formerly been his companion, and indeed intimate friend, at school.  It hath been thought that
friendship is usually nursed by similitude of manners; but the
contrary hr d been the case between these lads: for, whereas
Wild was rapacious and intrepid, the other had always more
regard for his skin than his money. Wild, therefore, had very
generously compassionated this defect in his schoolfellow, and
had brought him off from many scrapes, into most of which he
had first drawn him, by taking the fault. and whipping to
himself.  He had alwa!, indeed, been well paid on suchb occa



364               rTIE lIISTO-RY  OF
sions; but tlhere are a sort of people, who, together with the
best-of the bargain, will be cure to have!lle obligation too on
their side: so it had happened here; for this poor lad had
considered, himself in the highest degree obliged to Mr. Wild,
and had contracted a very great esteem  and friendship for
him; the traces of which an absence of many years had not in
-he least effaced in -his mind.  Ie no sooner knew Wild, therefore, than he accosted him in the most friendly manner,-and invited him home with him to breakfast, "it being now near nine
in the morning,) which invitation our hero, with no great
diffieulty, consented to.  This young man, who was about
Wild's age, had some time before set up in the trade of a
jeweller, in the materials or stock for which, he had laid out
the greatest part of a little fortune, and had married a very
agreeable woman for love, by whom he had two children. As
our reader is to be more acquainted with this person, it may
not be improper to open somewhat of his character, especially
as it will serve as a kind of foil to the zioble and great disposition of our hero; and as the one seems sent into this world as
a proper object on which the talents of the other were to be
displayed with a proper and just success.
Mr. Thomas Heartfree, then, (for that was his name,) was
of an honest and open disposition. He was of that sort of
men, whom experience only, and not their own natures, must
inform, that there are such things as deceit and hypocrisy in.the world;.and who, consequently, are not, at five-andtwenty, so difficultto be imposed upon as the oldest and most
subtle. He was possessed of several great weaknesses of mind;
being good-natured, friendly, and generous to great excess.
He had, indeed, too little regard to common justice; for he
had forgiven some: debts to his acquaintanlc, only because
they could not pay him, and had entrusted a bankrupt, on his
setting up a second time, from having been convinced, that he
had dealt in his bankruptcy with a fair and honest heart, and
that he had broke through misfort'l;le only, and not from
neglect or imposture.  He was withal so silly a fellow, that he
never took the least artsvantage cf the ignorance of his custowers, and contented himself with very moderate gains on his




3J CNATHAN W ILD.                  385
goods; which he was the better enabled to do, notwithstanding his generosity, becausi his life was extremely temperate,
his expenses being solely confined to thie cheerful entertainment
of his friends at home, and now and then a moderate- glass of
wine, in which he indulged himself in the company of his wife,
who, with an agreeable person, was a mean-spirited, poor,
domestic, low-bred animal, who confined herself mostly to the
care-of her family, placed her happiness in her husband and
her children, followed no expensive fashions or diversions, and
indeed rarely went abroad, unless to return. the visits of a few
plain neighbours, and twice a-year afforded herself, in company
with her husband, the diversion of a play, where she never sat
in a higher place than the pit.
To this silly woman did this silly fellow introduce the GREAT
WILD, informing her at the same time of their school-acquaintance, and' the many obligations he had received from him.
This simple woman no sooner heard her husband had been
obliged to her guest, than her eyes spa rkled on him with a
benevolence, which is an emanation fr6rm the heart, and of
which great and noble minds, whose hearts never swell but
with an injury, can have no very adequate idea; it is tlherefore no wonder that our hero should misconstrue, as he did,
the poor, innocent, and simple affection of Mrs. Heartfree
towards her husband's friend, for that great- and generous
passion, which fires the eyes of a modern heroine, wihenr the
colonel is so kind as to indulge his city creditor with partaking
of his table to-day, and of his bed to-morrow.  Wild therefore
instantly returned the compliment as he understood it, with his
eyes, and presently after bestowed many encomiums on her
beauty, with which perhaps she, who was a woman, though
a good one, and misapprehended the design, was not displeased any more than the husband.
When breakfast was ended, and the wife retired to her llousehold affairs, Wild, who had a quic.k discernment into the weaknesses of -men, and who, besides the'knowledge of his good- (or
foolish) disposition when a boy, had now discovered several
sparks of goodness, friendship, and generosity in his friend,
began to discourse over the- accidents which had happened in
31 *




S3IX              THE HTSTORY -CF
their childhood, and took frequent occasions of reminding him
of those favours which we have before mentioned his having
conferred on him; he then proceeded to the most vehement
professions of friendship, and to the most ardent expressions
of joy in this renewal of their acquaintance.  He at last told
himr with great seeming pleasure, that he believed he had an
-opportunity of serving him by the recommendation of a gentleman to his custom, who was then on the brink of marriage,,and, if he be not already engaged, "I will," says he, "endeavour to prevail on him to furnish Lis lady with jewels at
your shop."
lIeartfree was not backward in thanks to our hero, and,
after many earnest solicitations to dinner, which were refused,
they parted for the first time.
But here, as it occurs to our memory, that our readers may
be surprised (an accident which sometimes happens in histories
of this kind) how Mr. Wild the elder, in his present capacity,
should have been able to maintain his son at a reputable school,
as this appears to have been, it may be necessary to inform him,
that Mr. Wild himself was then a tradesman in good business;
but by misfortunes in the world, to wit, extravagance and
gaming, he had reduced himself to that honourable occupation
which we have formerly mentioned.
Having cleared up this doubt, we will now pursue our hero,
who forthwith repaired to the count, and having first settled
preliminary articles concerning distributions, he acquainted
him with the scheme which be had formed against Heartfree;
and after consulting proper methods to put it in execution,'they began to concert measures for the enlargement of the
count; on which the first, and indeed only point to be con8idered, was to raise money, not to pay his debts, for that
would have required an immense sum, and was contrary to
his inclination or intention, but to procure him bail; for as
to his escape, Mr. Snap had taken such precautions that it
appeared absolutely impossible.




JON.THAN  WILD.                    367
(J Xa I A ~P     ~                   ~I I'DPAPTEIR II.
Crecat Zxanm,' of GREATNESS in Wild, showzn as well by his behavimur to
Biagshot, as in a scheme laid, first, to irampose on Ileartfree by means of the
count, anld then t' cheat the count of the booty.
WILD undertook, therefore, to extract some money from
Bagshot, who, notwithstanding the depredations made on him,
had carried. off a pretty considerable booty from their engagement at dice the preceding day.  He found Mlr. Bagshot in
expectation of his bail, and, with a countenance full of concern, which he could at any time, with wonderful art, put on,
told him, that all was discovered; that the count knew him,
and intended to prosecute him  for the robbery, bad not I
exerted (said he) my utmost interest, and with great diflicultv
prevailed on him in case you refund the money.
"Refund the money!" cried Bagshot, "that is in'your
power; for you know what an inconsiderable part of it fell'to my s'are."  "Iow " replied Wild, "is this your gratitude to me for saving your life?  For your own conscience
must convince you of your guilt, and with how much certainty
the gentleman can give evidence against you." "  Marry come
up," quoth Bagshot, " I believu my life alone will not be in
danger. I know those wh&o are as guilty as myself. Do you',ll me of conscience?"  "Y Yes, sirrah!" answered our hero,
taking lim by the collar, "and since you dare threaten me, I
will slhr,: you the difference between commiiting a robbery,
and  ecnniving at it, which L all I can charge myself with.  I
own, it c.td, I suspected when you showed me a sum of money,
that yoet.  ad not come honestly bj' it."  "tHow, " says Bagshot, irightened out of one-half of hio wits, and amazed out of
the o'her, "cn you deny?"  "Yeo, you rascal," answered
Wild, "] do deny everything, and d. jou find a witness -to
prove i,; and tc show you how little apprehensions I have
of y.:; power to hurt me, I will have you apprehended tlhis
mc. ~i::.-.."  At whichl words hi offered to break from him; but
Bn':Lut l-id hold of his skirts, and, with an altered tone and
tnannlr, begged hi'.- not to be so impatient.  "Refund, then,
zirrah," cries Wild, "and perhaps I may take pity on you."' Whb.t Lust I rcfund?" answered 13'.gshot.  "Every farthing




368                T if IHIISTORY' 
in your pocket,":eplied W:ld; "then I may have some com.
passion on you, anai not only save your life,. but, out of an
excess of generosity, may return you somrnetiing   At w.i  h
words Bagshot scemiiig to hesitate, Wild pretended to nra.kto the door, and rapt out aa oath of vengeance with so violeilt
an emphasis, that his friend no longer presumed to balance, but
suffered Wild to search his pockets, and draw forth all he iound,
to the amount of twenty-one guineas and a half,,vhich last piece
our generous hero returned him again; telling him, he might
now sleep secure, but advised him for the future never to threaten
his friends.
Thus did our hero execute the greatest exploits:with the
utmost ease imaginable, by means of -those transcendend qualities which nature had indulged him with, viz. v. bold- heart, a
thundering voice, and a steady countenance.
Wild now returned to the count, and informed himn that he
had got ten guineas of Bagshot; for, with great and ccmmendable prudence', he sunk the other eleven into his own
pocket; and told him, with that money he would procure him
bail, which he after prevailed on his fathe.r, and another gentle.
man of the same occupation, to oecome, for two guineas each,
so that he made lawful prize of six mbre, mni-ing Bagshot
debtor for the whole ten; for sich were his great,bilities, ax;il
so vast the compass of his understanding, that he never made
any bargain without over-reaching, (or in t1he vulgiar phrase,
cheating,) the person with whom he dealt.
The count being, by these means, enlarged, the,ist thing
they did, in order to procure credit from tradesmen,  ans the,taking a handsome house, ready furnished, in one of the new
streets; in which, as soon as the count was settled, tlhey proceeded to furnish him with servants and eqnip'age, and all the
insignia of a large estate proper to.impose on poor Heitfree.
These being all obtaineid, Wild mnade a second visit to his
friend, "and with much joy;n his countenance, acqua intd him
that he had succeeded in his erndeavours, and that Che gentleman had promised to deal with him for the jewels' which he
intended to present his bride, and which were designed to bhe
very splendid and costly; he therefore appointed him to go
to the count the next umforning, a.,nd carry with. Mri-i a, set ofi -the




JONATHAN WILD.                       S- 9
richest and most beautiful jewels hie had, giving him at the
same time some -hints of the  count's ignorance  of that
commodity, ancd that he might extort of him what price of him
he pleased; but Heartfree told him, not withlout some disdain,
that he scorned to take aniy such advantage; and, after
expressing much gratitude to his friend for his recommeridation,
he promised to carry the jewels at the hour, and- to thb place
appointed.
I am sensible -hat the reader, if ne hath but the least'notion
of greatness, must have such a contempt for the extreme folly
of this fellow, that he will be very littl- concerned at any misfortunes which may befal him in the sequel; for, to have no
suspicion that an old school-fellow  with whom he had, in his
tenderest 3ears, contracted a. friendship, and who, on the accidental renewing of their acquaintance, had professed the most
passionate regard for him, should be very ready to imnose on
him; in short, to conceive that a friend should, of his own
accord, without any view to his own interest, endeavour to do
him a service, rnust argue such weakness of mind, such ignorance of the world, and such an arts1ss, simple, undesigning
heart, as. Inust render the person possessed of it the lowest
creature, and the properest object of contempt imaginable, in
the eyes of every man of understanding and discernment.
Wild remembered that his friend Heartfree's faults were
rather i.l his heart than in his head; that though he was so
mean a fellow that he was never capable of laying a design to
injure any human creature, yet was-he by no means a fool, nor
liable to any gross imposition, unless where his heart betrayed
him.  He therefore instructed the count to take only one of
his jewels at the first interview, and to reject the rest as not
fine enough, and order him to provide some richer. He said,
this management would prevent Hepartfree from  expecting
ready-money for the jewel hv.   brought with him, which the
count was presently to disposr of, and by means of that money,
and his great abilities at cards and dice. cO get together as
large a slum as, possible, which heb was to pay down ito Heartfree; "t the delivery of the set of jewels, who would be thus
void cf all mannerl. Elici.u,- and worild not fail to give him
credit for the Xr?,ida:
Y




THE  TlIIST ORY  OF'By tniS -xLcrivance it -will appear ini the sequei, that Wild
did not only propose to mHake thle imposition on leartfree, who
wa&s (hi-therto) void of1 all suspicion, more certain; but to rob.the count himseif of t1his sum.  This iouble method of cheatTing t.3 I very;ools who are otr instrumqnts to cheat otlbers, is
the suP;-eriatise rI'rce of greatness, and is probaly, as far as
any spirit.,rusted over with clay can carry it, falling very little
short of ZPiabolism itself.
This method was immediately put in execution, and the
count, the first day, took only a single brilliant, worth about
three hundred pounds, and ordered a necklace, ea,-':ings, and
solitaire, of the value of three thousanld nore,'o t)e prepared
by that day sevennight.'This interval was employed by Wild in prosecuting his
scheme of raising a gang, in which Le met with such success,
that within a few days he had levied several bold and resolute
fellows, fit for any enterprise, how dangerous or great soever.
We have before remarked, that the truest mark of greatness
is insatiability.  Wild had covenanted with tMli count to receive three-fouatll.i of the booty, and had, at the same time,
covenanted with himself, to secure the other fourth part likewise for which he had formed a very great and nobl(h design;
but he now saw with concern, that sum, which was to be received in hand by Heartfree, in danger of being abslutely
lost.  In order, therefore, to possess himself of that likewise,
he contrived that the jewels should be brought in the afternoon,
and that IHeartfree should be detained before the count could
see him; so that the night should overta'-e him in hris return,
when two of hIis gang were oraered to.ttac' and plunder him.
C IAPTER III.
Conut.nlir.g,cenes of softness, love, and honour, all in rhc gegt s!yiT.
THE count had disposed of -his iewel for its full value, al..
this he hao, by dexterity, raised to a thousand pounds; i.his
sum, therefore,.he paii; do(vn to Heartf-..e, pri nisi g nim the
-rest withinr  a month.';is:nonse,':bhs.railpa>(:, his.apteaarnico,
but, above all, a certain plis;ioility il. his:  ice ta:.d beii6vllour




JONATHAN  WILD.                    371
would have deceived any, but one whose great and wise heart
had dictated to him  something within, which would have
secured him from  any danger of imposition from  without.
lHeartfree, therefore, did not in the least scruple giving him
credit; but as he had in reality procured those jewels of another, his own little stock not being able to furnish any thing
so valuable, he begged the count would be so kind to give his
note for the money, payable at the time he mentioned: which
that gentleman did not in tile least scruple: so he paid him
the thousand pounds id specie, and gave his note for two thousand eight hutldred pounds more to Heartfree, who burnt with
gratitud;e to Wild, for th. noble customer he had recommended
to him.
As soois as I-HIartfree was departed, Wild, who waited in
anot eT roton, camo in, and received the casket from the Count;
it having beca agreed between them, that this should be deposited in his handl(, as hc was the original contriver of the
scheme, and was to lhfve the largest share.  Wild having re
ceived the casket, offered to meet the count late that evening,
to colme to a division  but such was the latter's confidence in
the honou. of our hero, that, he said, if it was any inconvenience to him, the next morning would do altogether as well.
This was moro agreeable to Wild, and accordingly an appointment being made fox that purpose, he set out in haste to pursue
IIeartfree to the place where the two gentlemen were ordered
to meet and attack him. — Those gentlemen, with noble resolution, executed their purpose; they attacked and spoiled the
enemy of the whole sum he had received from the count.
As soont a, the engagement was over, and lleartfree left
sprawling on the ground, our hero, who wisely declined trusting the booty in his friends' hands, though he had good experience in their honour, made off after the conquerors; at
length they being all at a place of safety, Wild, according to
a previous agreement, received nine-tenths of the booty; the
subordinate heroes did, indeed, profess. some little unwillingness (perhaps more than was strictly consistent with honour)
to perform their contract; but Wild, partly by argumnent, but
more by oaths, and threatenings, prevailerl with them to fulfil
their promise.




37!6. THE  HISTORY  OF
Our hero having thus, with wonderful address, brought this
great and glorious action to a happy conclusion, resolved to
relax his mind after his fatigue, in the conversation of the fair.
He, therefore, set forwards to his lovely Letitia; but in his
way, accidentally met with a young lady of his acquaintance,
Miss Molly Straddle, who was taking the air in Bridges-street.
Miss Molly seeing Mr. Wild, stopped him, and with a familiarity peculiar to a genteel town education, tapp'd or rather
slapp'd him on the back, and asked- him to treat her with a
pint of wine, at a neighbouring tavern.  The hero, though' he
loved the chaste Loetitia with excessive tenderness, was not of
that low snivelling breed of mortals, who, as it is generally expressed, tie themselves to a woman's apron-strizngs; in a
word, who are tainted with that mean, base, low vice, or virtue
as it is called, of constancy; therefore he immediately consented, and attended her to a- tavern famous for excellent wine,
known by the name of the Rummer and tHorse-shoe,:,here
they retired to a room by themselves.  Wild wa:t very ~'ehement in his addresses, but to no purpose; the young lady decl-ared she would grant no favour till he had mnade her a pre-.sent; this was immediately complied with, and the lover made. as happy as he could desire.
The immoderate fondness whicih Wild entertained for his
dear. Lmtitia, would not suffer him to waste any considerable
time:with Miss Straddle.  Notwithst.snlling, therefore, all the
endearments and caresses of that young lady, ne soon made an:xcuse to go down stairs, and thence imamediately set forward
to Laetitia, without taking any formal leave of IMiss Straddle,
or indeed of the drawer, with whom the. lady was afterwards
obliged to come to an account for the rcckoni:Sg.
Mr.-Wild, on his arrival ot Mr. Snap's, found only AMliss
Doshy at home; that young lady being employed alone, in imi-.tation of Penelope, with her thread or worsted; only with this
difference, that whereas Penelope unravelled by nigllt what she
had knit or wove, or spun by day, so what olr young heroine
unravelled by day, she knit again by night.  In short, she.was
mending a pair of blue stockings with red -clocks; a circumstance which, perhaps, we might have omitted, had it not served
to show that there are still some ladies of this age, who imitate
the simplicity of the ancients.




JONATHAN  W -I'LD.                  373
Wild immediately asked for his beloved, and was informed
that she was not at home.  He then inquired where she was-to
be found, and declared, he would not depart till he had seen
her; nay, not till he had married her; for, indeed, his passion
for her was truly honourable; in other words, he had so ungovernable a desire for her person, that he would go any length
to satisfy it. lIe  then pulled out the casket, which- he swore
was full of the finest jewels, and that he would give them all to
her, with other promises; which so prevailed on Miss Doshy,
who had not the common failure of sisters in envying, and often
endeavouring to disappoint each other's~ happiness, that she
desired Mr. Wild to sit down a few minutes, whilst she endeavoured to find her sister, and to bring her to him. The lover
thanked her, and promised to stay till her return; and Miss
Doshy, leaving Mr. Wild to his meditations, fastened him in
the kitchen by barring the door, (for most of the doors in this
mansion were -made to be bolted on tthe outside,) and the- slapping to the door of the house witll great violence, without going
out at it, she stole softly up stairs, where Miss Lmtitia was
engaged in close conference with Mr. Bagsliot.  Miss Letty,
being informed by her sister in a whisper of what Mr. Wild had
said, and what he had produced, told Mr. Bagshotj that a
young lady was below to visit her, whom she would despatch
with all imaginable haste, and return to-him.  She desired him,
therefore, to stay with patience for her iln the mean time, and
that she would leave the door unlocked, though her papa would
never forgive hler if he should discover-it. lBagshot promise'd
on his honour, not to step without his chamber; and the two
young ladies went softly downl stairs: when pretending first to
make their entry into the house, they repaired to the kitchen,
where not even the presence of the chaste Lmtitia could restore
that.harmony to the vcountenance of her lover, which Miss Theodosia had left him possessed of; for, during her absence, he
had discovered the absence of a purse containing bank-notes
for 9001. which had been.taken from Mr. Heartfree, and which,
indeed, Miss Straddle bad, in the warmth of his amorous
caresses, unperceived drawn from.im.  However, as he had
that -perfect mastery of his temper or rather of his muscles,
32




834                THE  HISTORY  OF
which is as necessary to the forming a great character, as to
the personating it on the stage, he soon conveyed a smile into
his countenance, and concealing as well his misfortune as his
chagrin at it, began to pay honourable addresses to Miss
Letty. This young lady, among many other good ingredients,
had three very predominant passions; to wit, vanity, wantonness, and avarice. To satisfy the first of these she employed
Mr. Smirk and company; to the second, Mr. Bagshot and company; and our hero had the honour and happiness of solely
engrossing the third.  Now, these three sorts of lovers she had
very different ways of entertaining. With the first, she was all
gay and coquette; with the second, all fond and rampant; and
with the last, all cold and reserved. - She therefore told Mr.
Wild, with a most composed aspect, that she was glad he had
repented of his manner of treating her at their last interview,
where his bEh:..7iour was so monstrous, that she had resolved
never to se&:aim any more; that- she was afraid her own sex
would hardly pardon her the weakness she was guilty of in
re.:eding from that resolutioP, which she was persuaded she
never should have brought he,'self to, had not her sister, who
was there to confirm what she said, (as she did with many
oaths,) betrayed her into his company, by pretending it was
another person to visit her; but however, as he now thought
proper to give her more oonvincing proofs of his affections,
(for lie had n6w the casket in his hand,) and since she perceived
his.designs were no longer against her virtue, but were such as
anwoman of lhonour might listen to, she must own - and then
she feigned an hesitation, when Theodosia began..-" Nay,
sister, I am resolved you shall counterfeit no longer.  I assure
you, Mr. Wild, she hath the most violent passion for you in the
world; and indeed, dear Tishy, if you offer to go back, since-I
plainly see.Mr. Wild's designs are honourable, I will betray all
you have ever said."  -.'How, sister," answered Laetitia, "I
protest you will drive me out of the room: I did not expect
thlis.usage from you"  Wild then fell on his knees, and taking
hold of her hand, repeated a speech, which as, the reader may
easily suggest it to himself, I shall not here set down.  He
then offered her the casket, but she gently rejected it; and ou




JONft. Ui I, 1. WiLD               375
a secoi's cter, with a modest 1,ountelnace and voice, desired
to know what't colltaxrel.  Wild then opened it, and took
forth Iwith sorrow I write it, and: with sorrow will it be read)
one of those beautiful neck'aces, with which, at the fair of Bartholomew, they xeck the well-bewhitened neck of Thalestris,
queen of Amazons, Anna Bullen, Queen Elizabeth, or some
other high princess in Drollic story.  It was indeed composed
of that paste, which Derdaeus Magnus, an ingenious toyman,
doth at a very moderate price dispense of to the second-rate
beaus of the metropolis.  For to open a truth, -which we ask
our reader's pardon for having concealed from him so long, the
sagacious count, wisely fearing lest some accident might prevent Mr. Wild's return at the appointed time, had carefully
conveyed the jewels which Mr. lleartfree had brought with him,
into his own pocket; and in their stead had placed in the casket these artificial stones, which, though of equal value to a
philosopher, and perhaps of a much greater to a true admirer
of the compositions of art, had not however the same charms
in the eyes of Miss Letty, who had indeed some knowledge of
jewels; for Mr. Snap, with great reason, considering how valuable a part of a lady's education it would be to be well
instructed in these things, in an age when young ladies learn
little more than how to dress themselves, had in her youth
placed Miss Letty as the handmaid (or housemaid as the vulgar call it) of an eminent pawnbroker.  The lightning, therefore, which should have flashed from the jewels, flashed from
her eyes, and thunder immediately followed from her voice.
She be-knaved, be-rascalled, be-rogued the unhappy hero, who
stood silent, confounded with astonishment, but more with
shame and indignation, at being thus out-witted and overreached.  At length he recovered hia spirits, and throwing
down the casket in a rage, lie snatched the key from the table.:
and without making any answer to the ladies, who both very
plentifully opened upon him, tand without taking any leave of
them, he flew out at the door, and repaired with the utmost
expedition to the (,nrt's habitation.




STB                THE  HIST)lRY  OF
CHAI TER IV.
In which Wild, after many fruitless endeavours to discover his friend, m,.-a'izes on his misfortune in a speech, whicf i'8:.'.  of use (if rightly understood) to some other considerable speech-makei.;.
NOT the highest-fed footman of t' e highest-bred wvoman of
quality knocks with more impetuosity, than Wild did at the
count's door, which was immediately opened by a well-dressed
liveryman, who answered that his master was not at home.
Wild, not satisfied with this, searched the house, but to no
purpose; he then ransacked all the gaming-houses in town,
but found no count: indeed, that gentleman had taken leave
of his house the same instant Mr. Wild had turned his back,
and, equipping himself with boots and a post-horse, without
taking with him either servants, clothes, or any necessaries for
the journey of a great man, made such mighty expedition, that
he was now upwards of twenty miles on his way to Dover.
Wild, -finding his search ineffectual, resolved to give it oveI
for that-night; he then retired to his seat of contemplation, a
night-cellar; where, without a single farthing in his pocket,
he called for a sneaker of punch, and placing himself on a
bench by himself, he softly vented the following soliloquy:"How  vain is human GREATNESS!' What avail superior
abilities, and a noble defiance of those narrow rules and bounds
which confine the vulgar; when our best concerted schemes are
liable to be defeated! How unhappy is the state of PRIGGISM!
How impossible for human prudence to foresee and guard
against every circumvention! It is even as a game of chess,
where, while the roo'l, or lnight, or bishop, is busied in forecasting some great enter'prise. a worthless pawn interposes, and
disconcerts his scheme.  Better had it been for me to have
observed the-simple laws of friendship and morality, than thus
to: ruin my friend for the benefit of cthers. I might have commanded his purse to any degree of n!er'.;to'; I have now
disabled him from the-power o; serving nit,  Well I but that
was not my design. If I cai,,oir   arraign my,~wn:conduct, why
should I, like a woman or a child, sit down and lament the disappointment of chance-?  But can I acquit myself of all neglect?  Did I not misbehbve in putting it'into the rower of




JONATHAN  WI  L-D.  
others to.utvit me?  But that is impossible to be avcidc!.
In this a prig is more unhappy than any-other: a cautious m.amay, in a crowd, preserve his own pockets by keeping his ban Is
in them; but while the prig employs his hands in anothe's
pocket, hon shall he be able to defendl his own I Indeed, in
this light what can be imagined more mliserable than a prig 
How dant_.erous are his acquisitions! how unsafe, how unquiet
his possessions I why then should any man wish to be a prig,
or where is his, greatness? -1 answer, in his mind:'tis the
inward glory, the secret consciousness of doing great ald wonderful actions, which can alone support the truly GRBAT MAN,
whether he be a CONQUEROR, a TYRANT, a STATESMAN or a PRIG.
These must bear him up against the private curse and public
imprecation, and while he is hated and detested by all mankind,
must make. him inwardly satisfied with himself.  For what but
some such inward satisfaction as this, could inspire men possesse(l of power, ot wealth, of every human blessing, which
pride, avarice, or luxury could desire, to forsake their homes,
abandon ease anlld repose, and at the expense of riches and
pleasures, at the price of labour and hardship, and at the
hazard of all that fortune ha-th liberally given them, could send
themn at the head of a multitude of priys called an army, to:lolest theii nleighbours: to introduce rape, rapine, bloodshed,:and every kind of misery among their own species? What but
some such glorious appetite of mind could inflame pieces,
hendowed with the greatest honours, and enriched with the moss
plentiful revenues, to desire maliciously to rob those subjects
of their liberties. who are content to sweat for the luxury, and
to bow their knees to the pride of those very princes?  What
but this can inspire them to destroy one half of their subjects,
in order to reduce the rest to an absolute dependence on their
(Wit wills, and or those of their brutal successors?  What:t:. r motive couid seduce a subject, possessed of great
property in his community, to betray the interest of his fellowsu -.ects, of his brethren, and his posterity, to the wanton dislosition of such princes?  Lastlye what ess inducement could
per,:wade thGi prig to forsake the methods of acquiring a safe,
an honest, and a plentiful livelihood, and, at the hazard, of even
life itself aad what is.mistakingly called dishonour, to breas




'3-8.              TRIE HISTORY  OF
openly andbravely through the laws of his country, for uncer-.tn, unsteady, and unsafe gain?  Let -me then held myself
e, nten t,d with this reflection, that I have been wise though
nsul.UCesmful, and em &a GREAT though an unhappy man."
His soliloquy and his punch concluded togetther; for he had
at every pause comforted himself with g sip.  A ld n-,,a' it
came -first into his head, that it would be more diificnlent, pay
for it, than it was to swallow it, when, to his great p)le.r3rre,
he beheld, at another corner of the room, s)n- of the gentlemen
whom he had employed in the attack on Heartfree. and who,
he doubted not, would readily lend him a guinea or two' but
he had the mortification, on applying to him, to hear tihat the
gaming-table had stripped him of all the booty whiclh hii own
generosity had left in his possession. He was therefore: obliged
to pursue his usual method on such occasions: so,.ocklsing his
hat fiercely, he marched out of the room withont making any
excuse, or any one daring to make the least demand.
CHAPTER V
C(ont'tning tany surprising.adventures, whica our hler, uwith cIRAT U cRiT
NESS, achieved.
Wr.E will now leave our hero to take a short repose,,a-tr
return to Mr. Snap's, where, eit Wild's departure, the fair
Theodosia had again betaken herself to her stocking,;r.d lM~iss
Letty had retired up stairs to Mr. Bagshot; but that gentleman had broken his parole,,rnd, hlaving conveyed himself
below stairs behind a door, he took the opportunity of Wild's
sally toi make his escape. We shall only observe, that Miss
Letty's surprise was the greater, as she had, notwithstanding
her promise to the contrary, taken the precaution to turn the
key; but, in her hurry, she did it ineffectually. How wretchcd
must have been the situation of this young creature, who had
not only lost a lover, on whom  her tender heart perfectly
doted, but was exposed to the rage of an injured father, tenderly jealous of his honour, which was deeply engaged to the
sheriff of London and Middlesex for the safe custody of the
said Bagshot, and for which, two very good responsible
friends had given not only their words but their bonds.




'But':I; uI i.-c;.;:  (oIL eyes from this melancholy object, and
survey our   ero, who, after a successless search for Miss
Straddle;  with wor.derful greatness of mind and steadiness of
countenance, -.,nt early in the morning to visit hh, friend
fleartfreo, at a time when the common -herCd o frlends would
have forsaken and avo'ded him. ~ He entered the room with a
cheerful air, which he presently changed ilto suirpriste onl seeing
his friend in a night-gown, with his wounded head bound about
with liLen, and Icl.king extremely pale from a great effusion
of bklod.  When Wild was informed by Hlleartfree what hid
nappened, he first -7pressed great sorrow, s.nd afterwards
suffered as violent agonies of rage against t:h robbere to burst
from him. IIeartfree, in compassion to-the deep impression
his rnisfortunets seemed to make on his friend, endeavc,ured to:lesson it as mt'lJ as possible, at the same time exaggerating
the oblligatrou ne owed to Wild, in which his wife likewise
~econded him; ancld they breakfasted with more comfort thanl
was reasonabiy to be expected after such an accident.  Heartfree expressing great satisfaction that he had put the count's
lutoe in another pocket-book, adding, that such a loss would
have been fatal to him; "for, to confess the truth to you, my
dear friend," said he, "I have had some losses lateiy, which
have greatly perplexed my affairs; and though I have many
debts'due to m,. frol people of great fashion, I assume you I
know not where to be certain of getting a shilling"   Wild
greatly felicitated him on the lucky accident of preserving his
note; and then proceeded with much acrimony, to inveigh
against the barbarity of people of fashion, whG kept tradesmen
out of their money.
Whili they amueed themselves with discourses of this kind,
-Wild, meditating within himself whether lie should borrow or
steal from his friend, or indeed whether lie uould not effect both,
the apprentice brolight a bank-note of 5001. ill to lceartfree,
which, he said, a gentlewoman in the shop, who had beer looking at some jewels, desired him to exchange.  Heartfree, lookinig at the number, immi,.-iatelv recollected it to be one of those
he had been robbed of.  With this discovery he acquainted
Wild., who, w,'.i the notable presence of mind, and unchanged




38;                T'ItE H[ISTORY  OF
comInplCz,;n, so e(,sential to a great characte,,'itivisd.(i him to
proceed cautiously; and oflired (as iMr. H-Ieartiree himself w s,
he said, too much flustered to examine the wecanan with sufficient
art) to akoe her intc a roinm in his house alone.  fle would, lie
said, p31rsonate the master of the house, would pretend to sh]ow
her some jewels, and would undertake to get sufficient il;frrmation ouG of her to secure the rogues, and most probably, d11
their booty. This proposal was readily and thankfully vecep te d
by Heartfree. Wild went immediately up stairs into the r(;o..m
appointed, whither the apprentice, according to appointment,
conducted the lady.
The apprentice was ordered down stairs the moment the lady
entered the room; and Wild, having shut the door, approachecd
ner with great ferocity in his looks, and began to expatiate.on
the complicaibed baseness of the Crime she had been guilty of:
but though he uttered mapy good lessons of morality, an we
doubt whether from  a particular reason they may work any
very good effect on our reader, we shall omit his speech, and
only mention his conclusion, which was by asking her, what
mercy she could now expect from him? Miss Straddle, for that
was the young lady, who had had a good education, and had
been more than once present at the Old Bailey, very confidently
denied the whole charge, and said, she had received the note,
from a friend. Wild then raising his voice, tcld her, she ghould
be immediately committed, and she might dependl on beingr
convicted; "but," added he, changing his tone, "as I ha'-'
a violent affection for thee, my dear Straddle, if you follow my
advice, I prolnise you on my honour, to forgive you, nor shall
you je ever aallcd in question on this account."  "Why,
what would you nave me to do, Mr. WTild?" replied the y,uijg
lady, with a pleasante! aspect. " Yoi must ki;o r, thllen," said
Wild, "the money you picked out of my pocket (nay, by.G- d
vou did, and if you offer to flinch, you shal: be convictoed o(f it)
I won at play of a fellow, who, it seems, robbed lny friend of
it; you must, therefore, give an information on c(.,th, against
one Thomas Fierce, and say, that y.,, recei7ed the note fr)o.
him, and leave the rest to me. I...ertain, Molly, yotl muIs
be sensible of your obliga;-ions to:,.o retu -:    f.: 1r Ceii.. ~I~~IV   ~Jlr    -~




JON AT IIAN  WIL D.                 381.to you ii-this mianner."  The lady readily consented: alld
advanced to ern'.iraceo Mr. Wild, who stepped a little bi-ck and
cried, " IJ,:$,  Molly; there are two other notes of 2001. each,
to be a,.counted f(r, where are they?"  The lady protested
with the -most sclemn asseverations that she knew no more.: with
which, when Wild was not satisfied, she cried, " I will stand
searell."  "That you shall," answered Wild, "and stand strip
too.":'e then proceeded to tumble and search her, but to no
purpose, till at last she burst into tears, and declared she would
tell thee trrt-tl, (as indeed she did;) she then confesseo that she
had disposed of the one to Jack Swagger, a great -favourite of
the' ladies, being an Irish gentlemanr. who had been bred clerk
to aT, attorney, afterwards whipped out of a regiment of
drlfoiis, aid was then a Newvgate solicitor, and a bayi'.y-house.ill7; and as for tho other, she had laid it all out that very
lnc:'lhingf in -brocaded silks. and Flanders lace.  With this
atce:e-nt Wild. who indeed knew it to be a very probable one,
was fl(!cd to be conItented; and now abandoning all further
thoughts of what he saw was irrtZrievably lost, he gave the lady'
some further instructions, and then, desiring her to stay a few
mninutes behind  iln, he returned to his friend, and acquainted
him that lhe had discovered the whole roguery, that the woman
Lhad confessed from whom  she had received the note, and.,rcm ised to give an information before a justice of peace, addin!_, t1b3 was concerned he could not attend him thither, being
obliged to go to the other end of the town to receive thirty
pounds, which he was to pay that evening.  Heartfree said,
that should not prevent him of his company, for he could easily
lend him such a trifle. This was accordingly done and accepted,
and Wild, lHeartfree, and the lady went to the justice together.
The warrant being granted, and the constable being acquainted by the lady, who received her information from Wild,.of —Mr. Fierce's haunts, he was easily apprehended, and being
confronted with Miss Straddle, who swore positively to him,
though she had never seen him before, he was committed to
Newgate, where he immediately conveyed an information to
Wild of what had happened, and in the evening; received. a
visit from him.
Wild affected great concern for -his fiiend's misfortune, and




382               T.E EISTORY OF
as great'.tprs;e iJ tX c means by. which it wak.I; I;roLt about.
Howe7er, he told'ier..-c that he must certai:ly be mistaken -i i
that p'tf)it,  f his havin.g had Ltu acqaaintance with Miss
Stradde1; but added, that he would find her out, and eondeavour t. take of her evidence: which, he observed, did not come
home enough tc endanger him; besides, he would sucure him
wit.esses of an alibi, and five or six to his character; s ) that
he need be nrder no apprehension, for his confinement t;ll the
sessions would be his only punishment.
Fierce, -.vho was greatly comforted by these assurzn: es of
his friend, -eturned him many thanks; and both shakiLg each
other very earnestly by thu hand, with a very hearty e.n);lace,
they separt:ed.
The h,:i,) considered with himself that the single evikcne.e
of Miss Straddle would not be sufficient to convict flt;rce,
whom he resolved, almag, as he was the person who ba.l
principally refused to deliver him thet stipulated share v.-' the
booty; he therefore went in quest of MPr. James Sly, tile gtntleman who had assisted in Hec exploit, and found and acquainted him with the appruhluding of Ficrce.  Wild then
intimating his fear, lest Fierce should im-peach Sly, advised
him to be beforehand, to surrender himself to a justice of peatec,
and offer himself as an evidence.  Sly approved.Mr. Wild's
opinion, went directly to a magistrate, and was by him committed to the Gate-house, with a promise of being aduntte.'l
evidence against his companion.
Fierce was, in a few days, brought to his trial at the OldBailey, where, to his great confusion, his old friend Sly appeared against him, as did Miss Straddle.  His only hopes
were now in the assistances which our hero had promised him.
These unhappily failed him: so that the evidence being plain
against him, and he making no defence, the jury convicted
him, the court condemned him, and Mr. Ketch executed him.
With such infinite address did this truly great man know
how to play with the passions of men, to set them  at variance
with each other, and to work his own purposes out of those
jealousies and apprehensions, which he was wonderfully ready
at creating, by means of those great arts which the vulgar call
treachery., dissembling, promising, lying, falsehood, &c.; but




which are,!.  D. Cal men,' suL:1uicd 1p'-1 tht cc.'lective,z'fit, Cf
piiicy, o.r )uolitics, )r rather politrics ~ an trt of wl.ch, tisi it is
r. 1; hi;'lr sl e.xcllence of;,uuman natAure, peThai;s;:.r i'rc.t rman
W:L. the m,1st mninent master.
CHAPTEt VI.
Of Haats.
WILD had now got together a very considerable gang, composed of undone gamesters, ruined bailiffs, broken tradesmen,
idle apprentices, attorneys' clerks, and loose and disorderly
youth, who, being born to no fortune, nor bred to any trade
or profession, were willing to live luxuriously without labour.
As these persons wore different principles, i. e. hats, frequent
dissensions grew among them. There were particularly two
parties, viz., those who wore hats fiercely cocked, and those
who preferred the nab or trencher hat, with the brim flapping
over their eyes.  Tbe f(rrmer wthr(- called Cavaliers and Tory
gory Ranter Bo;ls.,ac.  The latter.went by the several names
of Wags, Rozundh,,ds, Shakebags, Oldnolls, and several
others.  Between these. continual jars arose; insomuch, that
they grew ih timen to think there was something essential in
their diiferences. and that their interests were incompatible with
each other; whereas, in- truth, the difference lay only in the
aishi' n of their hats.
W'.1'1. therefore. havinrr assembled them  all at an alehouse
)n t!  l night after Fierce?s oxecution, and perceiving evident
marks of'their misundlrstaiding, from their behaviour to each,thci, addressed them  in the fNllowing  gentle, but forcible
mannlLr Gentlemen: I am ashamed to see men embark in
i-,iere i~ somet.ing I very mysterious in this speech, which probably
tr,At. chapter'.r;i.,n t'y Aristotle mn this subject, which is mentioned by,s':vi. clti author, might have given some lil.tt into; but that is unhappily:mnr)llg th- lost works of that philosopher. It is remarkable, that Galerus,
which is Latin for a Iat, signifie likewise a Dog-fish, as the Greek word
l;'vl: doth the skin of'that animal: of which I suppose the hats or heltmets of th: at cients were composed, as ours at present are of the beaver
or rabbit.:  Sophocles, in the latter end of'his Ajax, alludes to  - method
of -cheating in ha.'s, and the scholiast on the place' tells'us of one Cre".





THE hISTORY OF
do great.I. ni glorious an undertaking, as that of robbing.the
public,.).foolishly, and weakly -dissenting; among themselves
i.) y,)l ti:_.k the first inventors of hats, or,t least (of the. distinctions between them, really cor.ceived that one Ifrm of hats
should inspire a man with divinity, another with- law, another
with learning, or another with bravery? No, they meant no
more by these outward signs, than to impose on the vulgar,
and instead of putting great men to the trouble of acquiring
or maintaining the substance, to make it sufficient that they
condescend to wear the type or shadow of it.  You do. wisely,.therefore, when in a crowd, to amuse the mob by quarrels on
such- accounts, that, while they are listening to your jargon,
you may, with the greater ease and safety, pick their pockets;
but surely to be in earnest, and privately to keep up such a
ridiculous contention amondg yourselves, must argue the highest. folly and absurdity.  When you know you are all prigs,
what difference can a broad or a narrow brim  create?  Is a
Sprig: less-.a 1prig in. one  h.t:han'n.another?;If the public
-should be weak enough to interest thmlnselves in your quarrels,
and to.prefer one pack to,he other,' vhile both are aiming at
their purses.; it is your business to -laugh at, not Imitate their
folly.  What can be more ridiculous than for gentlemen to.quarrel about hats, when there is not one ar.o.r,, you whose
hat is worth a farthing.  Whliat is the use of a hat, farther,than to keep the head warm,' or to hide- a baldcrowrn from the
public?  It is the mark of a gentleman to move his hat ox.
every occasion; and:n courts and noble assemblies. no rm'll
ever wears one.  Let me hear no more therefore of this
phontes, who was master of the art. It is observable lilkewi-, that
Achilles, in the first iliad of Horner, tells Agamemnon in aager that he
had dog's eyes. Now, as the eyes of a do,, are handsomner than thea.,
Almost of any other animal, this could be no term of reproach. Io rtlus'
therefore mean that'e had -- hat on, *which perhaps,: from the creaturet
it was made of, or from some oher reason, might have been a mark of
infamy. This superstitious opinion may account for that custom, which
hath descended through all nations, of showing respect by pulling off
this covering; and that no man is esteemed fit to converse with his superiors with' it on. I shall conclude this learned note with remarking,
that the term Old HIat; is at present used by the vulgar in no very
hononrable sense.




JONATHAN  WILD.                     38b
childish disagreement, but all toss up your hats together with
one accord, and consider that hat as-the best, which will contain the largest booty."'  He thus ended his speech, which
was followed by a murmuring applause, and immediately all
present tossed their hats together as he had commanded them.
CHAPTER VII.
Showing the consequence which attended Heartfree's adventures with Wild;
all natural, and common enough to little wretches who deal with Great Men;
together' with some precedents of letters, being the different methods of
answering a Dun.
LET US now return to Heartfree, to whom the count's note,
which he had paid away, was returned, with an account that
the drawer was not to be found, and that, inquiring after him,
they had heard he-was run away, and consequently, the money
was now demanded of the indorser. The apprehension of such
a loss would have affected any man of business, but much more
one whose unavoidable ruin it must prove. He expressed so
much concern and confusion on this occasion, that the proprietor of the note was frightened, and resolved to lose no time
in securing what he could.  So that, in the afternoon of the
same day, Mr. Snap was commissioned to pay Heartfree a visit,
which he did with his usual formality, and conveyed him to his
own house.
Mirs. Heartfree was no sooner informed of what had hap.
pened to her husband, than she raved like one distracted;- but
after she had vented the first agonies of her passion in tears
and lamentations, she applied herself to all possible means to
procure her husband's liberty, She hastened to beg the neighbours to secure bail for him.  But as the news had arrived at
their houses before her, she found none of them at home, except
an honest Quaker, whose servants durst not tell a lie. However, she succeeded no better with him; for unluckily he had
made an affirmation, the day before, that.he would never be
bail for any mar After many fruitless efforts of this kind, she
repaired to her husband, to comfort him, at least with her
presence.  She found him sealing the last of several-letters,
33                    z




386               THE HISTORY OF
which he was despatching to his friends and creditors. The
moment he saw her, a sudden joy sparkled in his eyes, which,
however, had a very short duration; for despair soon closed
them again; nor could he help bursting into some passionate
expressions of concern for her and his little family; which she,
on her part, did her utmost to lessen, by endeavouring to mitigate the loss, and to raise in him hopes from the count, who
might, she said, be possibly only gone into the country. She
comforted him, likewise, with the expectation of favour from
his acquaintance, especially from those whom he had in a particular manner obliged and served. Lastly, she conjured him,
by all the value and esteem he professed for her, not to endanger
his health, on which alone depended her happiness, by too
great an indulgence of grief; assuring him, that no state of
life could appear unhappy to her with him, unless his own sorrow or discontent made it so.
In this manner did this weak, poor-spirited woman attempt
to relieve her husband's pains, which it would have rather
become: her to aggravate, by not only painting out his misery
in the liveliest colours imaginable, but by upbraiding him with
that folly and confidence which had occasioned it, and by
lamenting her own hard fate, in being obliged to share his
sufferinngs,
lHeartfree returned this goodness (as it is called) of his wife
with the warmest gratitude; and they passed an hour in a
scene of tenderness, too low and contemptible to be recounted
to our great readers. We shall, therefore, omit all such relations, as they tend only to make human nature low and ridicu
Ious.
Those messengers who had obtained any answers to his
letters, now returned. We shall here copy a few of them, as
they may serve for precedents to others who have an occasion,
which happens commonly enough in genteel life, to answer the
impertinence of a dun.
LETTER I.
MR. HEARTFREE,
My Lord commands me to tell' you, he is very much surprised at your assurance, in asking for money, which you know




JONATHAN WILD.                    387
hdth been so little while due; however, as he intends to deal
no longer at your shop, he hath ordered me to pay. you as
soon as I shall have cash in hand, which, considering many
disbursements for bills long due, &c. can't possibly promise
any time, &c. at present. And am
Your humble servant,
ROGER MORECRAFT.
LETTER II.
DEAR SIR,
The money, as you truly say, hath been three years due, but
upon my soul I am at present incapable of paying a farthing;
but as I doubt not, very shortly, not only to content that small
bill, but likewise to lay out very considerable further sunms at
your house, hope you will meet with no inconvenience by this.
short delay in, dear sir,
Your most sincere humble servant,
CLIA. COURTLY.
LETTER III.
MR. HEARTFREE,
I beg you would not acquaint my husband of the trifling
debt between us; for as I know you to be a very good-natured
man, I will trust you with a secret; he gave me the money
long since to discharge it, which I had the ill luck to lose at
play. You may be assured I will satisfy you the first oppor.
tunity, and am, sir,
Your very humble servant,
CATH. RUBBERS,
Ple:.se to present my compliments to Mrs. Heartfree.
LETTER IV.
MR. THOMAS HEARTFREE,
Sir, yours received; but as to the sum mentioned therein
doth not suit at present,
Your humble servant,
PETER POUNCE.




3888              THE  HISIOORY  OF
LETTER V,
SIR,
I am sincerely sorry it is not at present possible for me to
comply with your request, especially after so many obligations
received on my side, of which I shall always entertain the most
grateful memory. I am very greatly concerned at your misfortunes, and would have waited upon you in person, but am not
at present very well, and besides, am obliged to go this evening
to Vauxhall. I am, sir,
Your most obliged humble servant,
CHAS. EASY.
P. S. I hope good Mrs. Heartfree and the dear little ones
are well.
There were more letters to much the same purpose; but we
proposed giving our reader a taste only. Of all these, the last
was infinitely the most grating to poor Heartfree, as it came
from one to whom, when in distress, he had himself lent a considerable sum, and of whose present flourishing circumstances
he was well assured.
C HAPTER VIII.
In which our hero carries GREATNESS to an immoderate height.
LET us remove, therefore, as fast as we can, this detestable
picture of ingratitude, and present the much more agreeable
portrait of that assurance to which the French very properly
h.nnex the epithet of good. Hieartfree had scarce done reading
his letters, when our hero appeared before his eyes; not with
that aspect with which a pitiful parson meets his patron, after
having opposed him at an election, or which a doctor wears,
when sneaking away from a door where he is informed of his
patient's death; not with that downcast countenance which
betrays the man who, after a strong conflict between virtue
and vice, hath surrendered his mind to the latter, and is discovered in his first treachery; but with that noble, bold, great
confidence with which a prime minister assures his dependant,
that the place he promised him was disposed of before. And
such concern and uneasiness as he expresses in his looks on
those; occasions, did Wild testify on the first meeting of his




JONATHAN WILD.                     389
friend. And as the said prime minister chides you fqr neglect
of your interest, in not having asked in time, so did our hero
attack lHeartfree for his giving credit to the count; and, with-,out suffering him to make any answer, proceeded in a torrent
of words to overwhelm  him  with abuse; which, however
friendly its intention might be, was scarce to be outdone by an
enemy.
By these means lHeartfree, who might perhaps otherwise
have vented some little concern for that recommendation which
Wild had given him to the count, was totally prevented from
any such endeavour; and, like an invading prince, when attacked in his own dominions, forced to recall his whole strength
to defend himself at home. This indeed he did so well, by insisting on the figure and outward appearance of the count and
his equipage, that Wild at length grew a little more gentle,
and with a sigh, said, " I confess I have the least reason of all
mankind to censure another for an imprudence.of this nature,
as I am myself the most easy to be imposed upon, and indeed
have been so by this count, who, if he be insolvent, hath
cheated me of five hundred pounds. But, for my own part,"
said he, "I will not yet despair, nor would I have you. Many
men have-found it convenient to retire, or abscond for a while,
and afterwards have paid their debts, or at least handsomely
compounded them. This I am certain of, should a composition take place, which is the worst I think that can be apprehended, I shall be the only loser; for I shall think myself
obliged in honour to repair your loss, even though you must
confess it was principally owing to your own folly. Z —ds 
had I imagined it necessary, I would have cautioned you; but
I thought the part of the town where he lived sufficient caution
not to trust him. - And such a sum  - The devil must have
been in you, certainly!"
This was a degree of impudence beyond poor Mrs. Heartfree's imagination.  Though she had before vented the most
violent execrations on Wild, she was now thoroughly satisfied
of his innocence, and begged him not to insist any longer on
what he perceived so deeply affected her husband. She said,
trade could not be carried on without credit, and surely he
was sufficiently satisfied in giving it to such a person as the
33*




390                THE fITSTORY OF
count appeared to be.  Besides, she said, reflections on what
was past and irretrievable would be of little service; that
their present business was to consider how to prevent the evil
consequences which threatened, and first to endeavour to procure her husband'his liberty.  "Why doth he not procure
bail?" said Wild.  "Alas! sir, " said she, " we have applied
to many of our acquaintance in vain; we have met with excuses even where we could least expect them."  "Not bail!"
answered Wild, in a passion, "he shall have bail, if there is
any in the world. It is now very late, but trust me to procure
him bail to-morrow morning. "
Mrs. HUeartfree received these professions with tears,- and
told Wild he was a friend indeed.  She then proposed to stay
that evening with her husband; but-he would not permit her,
on account of his little family, whom he would not agree to
trust to the care of servants in this time of confusion.
A hackney-coach was then sent for, but without success; for
these, like hackney friends, always offer themselves in the sunshine, but are never to be found when you want them. And
as for a chair, Mr. Snap lived in a part of the town which
chairmen very little frequent.:  This good woman was therefore
obliged to walk home, whither the gallant Wild offered to
attend her as a protector. This favour was thankfully accepted,
and the husband and wife having taken a tender leave of each
other, the former was locked in, and the latter locked out by
the hands of Mir. Snap himself.
As this visit of Air. Wild's to Heartfree may seem one of
those passages in history, which writers, Drawcansir-like, intro'duce only because they dare; indeed, as it may seem somewhat-contradictory to the greatness of our hero, anud may tend
to blemish his character with an imputation of that kind of
friendship, which savours too much of weakness and im
prudence; it may.be necessary to account for this visit, especially to our more sagacious readers, whose satisfaction we
shall always consult in the most especial manner.  They are to
know, then, that at the first interview with Mrs. Ileartfree, Mr.
Wild had conceived that passion, or affection, or friendship, or
desire for that handsome creature, which the gentlemen of this
our age agree to call LOVE; and which is indeed no other




JONAT  I HLAN   v I L D.
than' that kind of affection which, after the exercise of the
dominical day is over, a lusty divine is apt to conceive for the
well-dressed sirloin or handsome buttock, which the welledified squire in gratitude sets before him, and which,. so
violent is his love, he devours in imagination the moment he
sees it.  Not less ardent was the hungry passion of our hero,
who from the moment he had cast his eyes on that charming
dish, had cast about in his mind by what method he might
come at it.  This, as he perceived, might most easily be
effected after the ruin of Ileartfree, which for other considerations he had intended.  So he postponed all endeavours for
this purpose, till he had first effected what, by order of time,
was regularly to precede this latter design; with such regularity did this our hero conduct all his schemes, and so truly
superior was he to all the efforts of passion, which so often
disconcert and disappoint the noblest views of others.
CHAPTER IX..More greatness in Wild. A low scene between Mrs. HIeartfree and her children,
and a scheme of our hero, worthy the highest admiration, and even astonishment.
WHEN first Wild conducted his flame (or rather his dish, to
conticl:.e our metaphor) from the proprietor, he had projected
a design of conveying her to one of those eating-houses in
Covent-Garden, where female flesh is deliciously dressed, and
served up to the greedy appetites of young gentlemen; but
fearing lest she should not come readily enough into his wishes,
and that, by too eager and hasty a pursuit, he should frustrate
his future expectations, and luckily, at the same time, a noble.lint suggesting itself to him, by which he might almost ineviti..ly secure his pleasure, together with his profit, he contented
himself with waiting on Mrs. Heartfree home, and, after many
protestations of friendship and service to her husband, took
his leave, and promised to visit her early in the morning, and
to conduct her back to Mr. Snap's.
Wild now retired to a night-cellar, where he found several
of his acquaintance, with whom  he spent the remaining part




392               THE HISTORY OF
of the night in revelling; nor did the least compassion for
Heartfree's misfortunes disturb the pleasure of his cups.  So
truly great was his soul, that it was absolutely composed, save
that an apprehension of Miss Tishy's making some discovery,
(as she was then in no good temper towards him,) a little
ruffled and disquieted the perfect serenity he would otherwise
have enjoyed.  As he had, therefore, no opportunity of seeing
her that evening, he wrote her a letter full of ten thousand
protestations of honourable love, and (which he more depended
on) containing as many promises, in order to bring the young
lady into good-humour, without acquainting her in the least
with his suspicion, or giving her any caution; for it was his
constant maxim, never to put it into any one's head to do you
a mischief, by acquainting him that it is in his power.
We must now return to Mrs. Heartfree, who passed a sleepless night in as great agonies and horror for the absence of her
husband, as a fine well-bred woman could feel at the return of
hers from -a long voyage or journey. In the morning the
children being brought to her, the eldest asked, Where dear
papa was? At which she could not refrain from bursting into
tears.  The child perceiving it, said, 1Don't cry, mamma; i
am sure papa would not stay abroad ifd he could help it. At
these words she caught the child in her arms, and throwing
herself into the chair, in-an agony of passion, cried out, No,
any child; nor shall all the malice of hell keep us long asunder.
These are circumstances whi'ch we should not, for the amuseiment of six or seven readers only, have inserted, had they not
served to show, that there are weaknesses in vulgar life, to
which great minds are so entirely strangers, that they have not
even an idea of them; and secondly, by exposing the folly of
this'low creature, to set off and elevate that greatness, or which
we endeavour to draw a true portrait in thib history.
WTild, entering the room, found the mother, with one child
in her arms, and another at her knee.  After paying her his
compliments, he desired her to dismiss the children and servant,
for that he had something of the greatest moment to impart to
her.
She immediately complied with his request; and, the door
being shut, asked him with great eagerness if he had succeeded




J'ONATHAN  W-TLD.                   393.i- his intentions of procuriug the bail.  He answered he had
inot endeavoured at it yet; for a scheme had entered into his
bead, by which she might certainly preserve her husband, herself, and her. family.  In order to which, lihe advised he- to
remove, with the most valuable jewels she had, to Holland,
before any statulte of bankruptcy issued to prevent her; that he
would himseii attend her thither, and place her in safety, at d
then return to deliver iler husband, who would be thus easily
able to satisfy his creditors.  I He added, that he was that
ilotant come from Snap's, where he had communicated the
scherne to Ileartfree, who had greatly approved of it, and
desired her to put it in execution without delay, concluding
that a moment was not to be lost.
The mention of her husband's approbation left no doubt in
this poor woman's breast; she only desired a moment's time,
to pay him  a visit, in order to take her leave.  But Wild
peremptorily refused: he said by every moment's delay she
risked the ruin of her family; that she would be absent only a
few days from him; for that the moment he had lodged her
safe in Holland, he would return, procure her husband his
liberty, and bring him to her.  "I have been the unfortunate,
the innocent cause of all my dear Tom's calamity, madam,"
said he, " and I will perish with him, or see him out of it."
iMrs. Heartfree overflowed with acknowledgments of his goodness; but still begged for the shortest interview with her
husband. Wild declared that a minute's delay might be fatal;
and added, though with a voice of sorrow rather than of anger,
that if she had not resolution enough to execute the commands
he brought her from her husband, his ruin would lie at her door;
and, for his own part, he must give up any farther meddling in
his affairs.
She then proposed to take her children withher; but Wild
would not permit it; saying, they would only retard their flight,
and that it would be properer for her husband to bring them.
He at length absolutely prevailed on this poor woman, who
irmmediately packed v.p the most valuable effects -,he could find.
and, after a tender leave of her infants, earnestly recommended
them to the care of a vewy faithful servan.   Then rtley called
a hackney-coach. which conveyed them'o an inn, whleere they




394                THE HISTORY  OF
were. furnished with a chariot and six, In which they set forward
for Harwich.
Wild rode wit aln exulting heart; secure, as he now thought
himself, of the possession of that lovely woman, together with
a rich cargo.  In short, he enjoyed in his mind all the happiness which unbridled lust and rapacious avarice could promise
him.  As to the poor creature, who was to satisfy these passions, her whole soul was employed in reflecting on the condition of her husband and children. A single word scarce
escaped her lips, though many a tear gushed from her brilliant.
eyes, which, if I may use a coarse expression, served only as
delicious sauce to heighten the appetite of Wild.
CHAPTER X.
Sea adventures. very new and surprising.
WHEN they arrived at Harwich, they found a vessel, which
had put in there, just ready to depart for IRotterdam. So they
went immediately on board and sailed with a fair wind; but
they had.hardly proceeded out of sight of land, when a sudden
and violent storm arose, and drove them to the south-west;
insomuch, that the captain apprehended it impossible to avoid
the Goodwvin Sands, and he and all his crew gave themnselves.for lost. Mrs. Heartfree, who had no other apprehensions
from death, but those of leaving her dear husband and children,
fell on her knees, to beseech the Almighty's favour, when Wild,
with a contempt of danger truly great, took a resolution, as
worthy to be admired, perhaps, as any recorded of the bravest.hero, ancient or modern; a resolution, which plainly proved.him to have these two qualifications, so necessary to a hero —
to besuperior to all the energies of fear or pity.  lie saw the
tyrant death ready to rescue from him his intended prey, which
he had yet devoured only in imagination.  Ile therefore swore
he would  prevent him; and immediately attacked the poor
wretch, who was in the utmost agonies of despair, first with
solicitation, and afterwards with force.
Mrs. Heartf-ee, the moment she understood his meaning,
wyhichi in her present temper of mind, and in the opinion she




JONXATHAN WILD.                      395
i.eld of him, she did not immediately, rejected him with all the.cpulses which indignation and horror could animate; but when
ne attempted violence, she filled the cabin with -her shrieks,
whic.' were so vehement, that they reached the ears of the captalil, tihe storm at this time luckily abating.. This man, who
wa, a tbrute rather from  his education, and the element he
inhab.itod, than fronm nature, ran hastily down to her assistance,
Wr.a findi:g her struggling on the ground with our hero, he
p;resently -reseued her fronm her intended ravisher; who was soon
ooticud to quit the woman, in order to engage with her lusty
cihainm)un, who spared neither pains nor blows in the assistance
of his fair passenger.
When the short battle was over, in which our hero, had he
not he-en overpowered with numbers, who came down on their
captain's side, would ha. ve been victorious; the captain rapped
out a hearty oath, and asked Wild, If he had no more christianity in him than to razvish a woman in a storm? To which
the other greatly and sullenly answered:  "It was very well:
but d-n him if he had not satisfaction the moment they came
on shore."'rTe captain with great scorn replied, Kiss ---
&e. then forcing Wild out of the cabin, he, at Mrs. lReartfree's
request, locked her into it, and returned to the care of his ship.
The storm  was now e!tircly ceased, and nothing remained
but the usual ruffling of the seal after it, when one of the sailors
spied a sail at a distance, which the captain wisely apprehended
might be a privateer. (for we were then engaged in a war with
France,) and immediately ordered all the sail possible to be
crowded; but this caution was in vain; for the little windic
which then blew, was directly adverse; so that the ship bore
down upon theni, and soon appeared to be what the captain
had feared, a French privateer.  He was in no condition of
resistance, and immediately struck on her firing the first gun.
The captain of the Frenchman, with several of his hands, came
on board the English vessel; which they rifled of every thing
valuable, and, amongst the rest, of poor Mrs. HIeartfree's
whole cargo; and then taking the crew, together with the two
passengers, aboard his own ship, he determined, as the other
would be only a burden to him, to sink her, she being very old
and leaky, and not worth going back with to Dunkirk.  He




396                 THE  HISTOR Y' OF
preserved, therefore, nothing but the boat, as his own was nonle
of the best, and,then pouring a broadside into her, he sent her
to the bottom.
The French captain, who was a very young -fellow, and a
man of gallantry, was presently enamoured to no small degree
with his beautiful captive; and imagining Wild from  soine
words he dropt, to be her husband, notwithstanding the ill
affection towards him which appeared in her looks, he asl(dt
her, If she understood French?  She answered in tihe:ffirulative, for indeed she did perfectly well. Hle then asked hoe
how long she and that gentleman (pointing to Wild) had beto
married?  She answered with a deep sigh, and many tears.
that she was married indeed, but not to that viltain, who \was
the sole cause of all her misfortune.  That appellation- raised
a curiosity in the captain, and lie importtrned her in so press.
ing, but gentle a manner, to acquaint him with the injuries, she
complained of, that she wa.s at last prevailed on to recount, to
him the whole history of her afflictions.  This so moved tihe
captain, who had too little notions of greatness, and so incensed him against our hero, that-he resolved to Iunish hitm;
and, without regard to the l'aws of war, ite imnmediately ordered
out his shattered boat, ndll, making Wild a present of half a
dozen biscuits to prolong his misery, he put him therein,: and
then, committing him  to the mcercy of the sea, proceeded cl;
his cruise.
CHArTER XI
The great and wonderful behaviour of our hlero in. the boat.
IT is probable, that a desire of ingratiating himself with hli
charming captive, or rather conqueror, had no little shtlie in
promoting this extraordinary act of illegal justice; -i'(r tlht
Frenchman had conceived the same sort of passion, or hlluget,
which Wild himself had felt, and was almnost as mlucliresolved,
by some means. or other, to satisfy it.  We will leave hlinm,
however, at present, in the pursuit of his wishes, and attend
our hero in his;- boat;' since it is in circumstances of distress
that true greatness'appears most wonderful.  For tliat a prillce
in the-midst of his courtiers, all ready to compliment hin witb




JONATHAN WILD.                      397
his favourite character, or title, and indeed with every thing
else; or that a conqueror, at the head of a hundred, thousand
men, all prepared to execute his will, how ambitious, wanton,
orcruel-soever, should, in the giddiness of their pride, elevate
themselves. many degrees above those -their tools, seems not
difficult to be Imagined, or indeed accounted for. But that a
man in chains, in prison, nay, in the vilest dungeon, should,
w-ith persevering pride and obstinate dignity, discover that
vast superiority in his own nature over the rest of mankind,
who.to a vulgar eye seem much happier than himself; nay,
that he-should-discorer Heaven'and Providence (whose peculiar
care, it seems, he is).at that very time at work for him; this.is among the arcana of greatness, to be perfectly understood
only by an adept in that science.
What could. be imagined more miserable than the situation
of our hero at this season, floating in a little boat, on the
open seas, without oar, without sail, and at the mercy of the
first wave to overwhelm him? Nay, this was indeed the fair
side of his fortune, as it was a much more eligible fate than
that alternative which threatened him with almost unavoidable
certainty, viz., starving with hunger, the sure consequence of
a continuance of the calm.
Our hero, finding himself in this condition, began to ejaculate a round of blasphemies, which the reader, without being
over-pious, might be offended at seeing repeated. Iie then
accused the whole female sex, and the passion of love, (as he
called it,) particularly that which he bore to Mrs. Iteartfree,
as the unhappy occasion of his present sufferings.  At length,
finding himself descending too much into the language of
meanness and complaint, he. stopped short, and soon after
broke forth as follows: "D-n it, a man can die but once;
what signifies it?  Every man must die, and when it is over,
it is over. I never was afraid of any thing yet, nor I won't
begin now; no, d-n me, won't I.  What signifies fear?  I
shall die whether I am afraid or no.  Who's. afraid, thenl,
d-n me?"  At which words, he looked extremely fierce; but
recollecting that no one was present td see him, he relaxed a
little the terror of his countenance, and pausing a wlhile, repeated the word d —n  "Suppose I should.be d-bne    d at
34




;98                TITE HISTORY  OF
last," cries he, "when I never thought. a syllable of the matter. 
I- have often laughed and made a jest about it, and yet it may
be so, for any thing which I know to the contrary.  If there
should be another world, it will go hard with me, that is certain. I shall never escape for what I have done to Heartfree.
The devil must have me for that, undoubtedly.  The devil!
Pshaw I I am not such a fool to be frightened at him neither.
No, no; when a man's dead, there's an end of him.  I wish 1.
was certainly satisfied of it, though; for there are some men
of learning, as I have heard, of a different opinion. It is but
a bad chance, methinks, I stand.  If there be no other world,
why I shall be in no worse: condition than a block or a stone;
but if there should,-d-n me, I will think no longer about it.
Let a pack of cowardly rascals be afraid of death; I dare look
him in the face.  But shall I stay and be starved? - No,  I
will eat up the biscuits the French son of a whore bestowed
on me, and then leap into the sea for drink, since the unconscionable dog hath not allowed.me -a single dram."  Having
thus said, he proceeded immediately to put his purpose in execution; and, as his resolution never failed him, he had no
sooner despatched the small quantity of provision which his
enemy had, with no vast liberality, presented him, than he cast
himself headlong into the sea.
CHAPTER XII.
The strange and yet natural escape of our' hero.
OUR hero having with wonderful resolution thrown himself
into the sea, as we mentioned at the end of the last chapter,
was miraculously within two minutes after replaced in his
boat; and this without the assistance of a dolphin or sea-horse,
or any other fish or animal, who-are always as ready at hand
when a poet or historian pleases to call for them to carry a
hero through the sea, as any chairman at a coffee-house door
near St. James's, to convey a beau over a street, and preserve
his white stockings.  The truth is, we do not choose to have
any' recourse to miracles, from the strict observance we pay to
that rule of Horace,
Nee Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus.




JONATLHAN WILD.                     399
The meaning of which is, Do not bring in a supernatural agent
when you can do without him; and indeed, we are much deeper
read in natural than supernatural causes.  We will therefore
endeavour to account for this extraordinary event from the
former of these; and in doing this it will be necessary to disclose some profound secrets to our reader, extremely well worth
his knowing, and which may serve him to account for many occurrences of the phoenomenous kind which have formerly appeared in this our hemisphere.
Be it known, then, that the great Alma Mater, Nature, is
of all other females the most obstinate and tenacious of her.
purpose.  So true is that observation
Naturam expellas furca licet, usque recurret.
Which I need not render in English, it being to be fo.und in a
book which most fine gentlemen are forced to read. Whatever
nature, therefore, purposes to herself, she never suffers any
reason, design, or accident to frustrate.  Now, though it may
seem to a shallow observer, that some persons were designed
by nature for no use or purpose whatever; yet certain it is,
that no man is born into the world.without his particular allotment; viz. some to be kings, sonime statesmen, some ambassadors, some bishops, some generals, and so on.  Of these there
be t.wo kinds; those to whom nature is so generous to give
some endowment, qualifying them for the parts she intends
them afterwards to act on the stage; and those whom she uses
as instances of her unlimited power, and for whose preferment
to such and such stations.  Solomon himself could have irnvented no other reason than that nature designed.them  so.
These latter, some great philosophers have, to show them. to
be the favourites of nature, distinguished by. the honourable
appellation of NATURALS.  Indeed, the true reason of the'general ignorance of mankind on this head seems to be this;
That as nature chooses to execute these her purposes by certain second causes, and as many of these second causes seein
so totally foreign to her design, the wit of man, which, like his
eye, sees best directly forward, and very little and imperfectly
what.is oblique, is not able to discern the. end by the means,'Illus, how a handsome wife or daughter should contribute to




0  THE HISTORY  OF
execaute her original designation of a general; or how flattery,
or: half a dozen houses in a borough-town, should denote a
judge, or a bishop, he is not capable of comprehending. And,
indeed, we ourselves, wise as we are, are forced to reason ab
eflentu, and if we had been asked what nature had intended
such men for, before she herself had by the event demonstrated
her purpose, it is possible we might sometimes have been
puzzled to declare; for it must be confessed, that at first sight,
and to a mind uninspired, a man of vast natural capacity and
much acquired knowledge may seem by nature designed for
power and honour, rather than one remarkable only for the
want of these, and indeed all other qualifications; whereas
tdaily experience convinces us of the contrary, and drives us as
it were into the opinion I have here disclosed.
Now, nature, having originally intended our Great Man for
the final exaltation, which, as it is the most proper and becoming end of all great men, it were heartily to be wished
they might all arrive at; would by no means bediverted from
her purpose. She therefore no sooner spied him in the water,
than she softly whispered in his ear to attempt the recovery of
his boat; which call he immediately obeyed, and being a good
swimmer, and it being a perfect calm, with great facility ac.
complished it.
Thus we think this passage in our history, at first so greatly
surprising, is very naturally accounted for; and our relation
rescued from the prodigious, which,'though it often occurs ill
biography, is not to be encouraged nor much commended on
any occasion, unless when absolutely necessary to prevent the
history's being at an end.  Secondly, we hope our hero is
justified from that imputation' of want of resolution, which
must have been fatal to the greatness of his character.
CHAPTER XIII.
Thle conclusion of the boat adventure, and the end of the second book.OUR hero -passed the remainder of the evening, the night,
and the. next day, in a condition not much to be envied by any
passion of the human mind, unless by ambition; which, pro



JONATHAN  WILD.                    401
vided it can only entert.a.in itself with the most distant music
of fame's trumpet, can disdain all the pleasures of the sensualist, and those more solemn, though quieter comforts, which a
good collscience suggests to a christian philosopher.
lie spent his time in contemplation, that is to say, in blasphemlng, cursing, and sometimes singing and whistling.  At
last, when cold and hunger had almost subdued his native fierceliess, it being a good deal past midnight, and extremely dark,
he thought he beheld a light at a distance, which the cloudiness
of the sky prevented his mistaking for a star,: This light, however, did not seem to approach him, at least it approached by
such imperceptible degrees, that it gave him very little comfort,
and at length totally forsook him.  He then renewed his contemplation as before, in which he continued till the day began
to break: when, to his inexpressible delight, he beheld a sail
at a very little distance, and which luckily seemed to be making
towards him.  Ile was likewise soon espied by those in the
vessel, who wanted no signals to inform them of his distress,
and as it was almost a calm, and their course lay within five
hundred yards of him, they hoisted out their boat, and fetched
him aboard.
The captain of this ship was a Frenchman; she was laden
with deals from Norway, and had been extremely shattered in
the late storm. This captain was of that kind of men, who are
actuated by a general humanity, and whose compassion can be
raised by the distress of a fellow-creature, though of a nation
whose king had quarrelled with a monarch of their own. He,
therefore, commiserating the circumstances of Wild,-who had
dressed up a story proper to impose on such a silly fellow, told
him, that, as himself well knew, he-must be a prisoner on his
arrival in France, but that he would endeavour to procure his
redemption; for which our hero greatly thanked him. But as
they were making very slow sail, (for they had lost their mainniilst in the storm,) Wild saw a little vessel at a distance, they
being within a few leagues of the English shore, which, on
inquiry, he was informed was probably an English fishing-boat.
And it being then perfectly ca.lm, he proposed, that if they
would accommodate him with a pair of scullers, he could get
within reach of tihe )oat, at least near enough to make Signals
34. *               2A




402               THE HISTORY  OF
to her; and he preferred any risk to the certain fate of being
a prisoner. As his courage was somewhat restored by the
provisions (especially brandy) with which the Frenchman had
supplied him, he was so earnest in his entreaties, that the captain, after many persuasions, at length complied; and he was
furnished with scullers, and with some bread, pork, and a
bottle of brandy.  Then taking leave of his preservers, he
again betook himself to his boat, and rowed so heartily, that
he soon came within the sight of the fisherman, who immediately made towards him, and took him aboard.
No sooner was Wild got safe on board the fisherman, than
he begged him to make the utmost speed into Deal; for that
the vessel, which was still in sight, was a distressed Frenchman,
bound for Havre de Grace, and might easily be made a prize,
if there was any ship ready to go in pursuit of her.  So nobly
and greatly did our hero neglect all obligations conferred on
him by the enemies of his country, that he would have contributed all he could to the taking his benefactor, to whom he
owed both his life and his liberty.
The fisherman took his advice, and soon arrived at Deal,
where the reader will, I doubt not, be as much concerned as
Wild was, that there was not a single ship prepared to go on
the expedition.
Our hero now saw himself once more safe on terra firma:
but unluckily at some distance from that city where men of
ingenuity can most easily supply their wants without the assistance of money, or rather can most easily procure money for the
supply of their wants. However, as his talents were superior
to every difficulty, he framed so dexterous an account of his
being a merchant, having been taken and plundered by the
enemy, and of his great effects in London, that he was not only
heartily regaled by the fisherman at his house; but made so
handsome a booty by way of borrowing, a method of taking
which.we'have before mentioned to have his approbation, that
he was enabled to provide himself with a place in the stage
coach; which (as God permitted it to perform the journey)
brought him, at the appointed time, to an inn in the metropolis.
And -now, reader, as thou canst be- in no suspense for the




JONATHAN  WILD.                     40g
fate of our great man,; since we have returned him safe to the
principal scene of his glory, we will a little look back on the
fortunes of MIr. Heartfree, whom we left in no very pleasant
situation; but of this we shall treat in the next book.
BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
The low and pitiful behaviour of Heartfree; and the foolish conduct of his
apprentice.
HIs misfortunes did not entirely prevent Heartfree from
closing his eyes. On the contrary, he slept several hours the
first night of his confinement.  However, he perhaps paid too
severely dear both for his repose, and for a sweet dream which
accompanied it, and represented his little family in one of those
tender scenes, which had frequently passed in the days of his
happiness and prosperity, when the provision they were making
for the future fortunes of their children used to be one of the
most agreeable topics of discourse, with which he and his wife
entertained themselves.  The pleasantness of this vision, therefore, served only, on his awakening, to set forth his present
misery with additional horror, and to heighten the dreadful
ideas which now crowded on his mind.
He had spent a considerable time after his first rising from
the bed on which he had, without undressing, thrown himself,
and now began to wonder at Mrs. Heartfree's long absence;
but as the mind is desirous (and perhaps wisely too) to comfort
itself with drawing the most flattering conclusions from all
events; so he hoped the longer her stay was, the more certairn
was his deliverance.. At length his impatience prevailed, and
he was just going to dispatch a messenger to his own, house,
when his apprentice came to pay him a visit, and, on- his
inquiry, informed him, that his wife had departed in company
with Mr. Wild many hours before, and had carried all his most
valuable, effects with her: -adding, at the same time, that she
had herself positively acquainted him she had her husband's
evpress orders for so doing, and that she was gone to Holland.




404               TvHE HISTORY  OF
It is the observation of many wise men, who have studied
the anatomy of the human soul with more attention than our
young physicians generally bestow on that of the body, that
great and violent surprise hath a different effect from that which
is wrought in a good housewife, by perceiving any disorders in
her kitchen; who, on such occasions, commonly spreads the
disorder, not only over her whole family, but over the whole
neighbourhood. Now, these great calamities, especially when
sudden, tend to stifle and deaden all the faculties, instead of
rousing them; and accordingly Herodotus tells us a story of
Croesus; king of Lydia, who, on beholding his servants and
courtiers led captive, wept bitterly; but when he saw his wife
and children in that condition, stood stupid and motionless; so
stood poor Heartfree on this relation of his apprentice, nothing
moving but his colour, which entirely forsook his countenance.
The apprentice, who had not in the least doubted the veracity
of his mistress, perceiving the surprise which too visibly
appeared in his master, became speechless likewise, and both
remained silent some minutes, gazing with astonishment and
horror at each other. At last, Heartfree cried out in an agony:
" My wife deserted me in my misfortunes!" —  " Heaven forbid, sir " answered the other.  "And what is become of my
poor children?" replied Heartfree. "They are at home, sir,"
said the apprentice.  "Heaven be praised I she hath forsaken
them too," cries Heartfree I " Fetch them hither this instant.
Go, my dear Jack, bring hither my little all, which remains
now; fly, child, if thou dost not intend likewise to forsake me
in my afflictions."  The youth answered, he would die sooner
than entertain such a thought, and begging his master to be
comforted, instantly obeyed his orders.
Heartfree, the moment the young man was departed, threw
himself on his bed in an agony of despair: but recollecting
himself, after he had vented the first sallies of his passion, he
began to question the infidelity of his wife, as a matter impossible. He ran over in his thoughts the uninterrupted tenderness which she had always shown him, and, for a minute, blamed
the rashness of his belief against her; till the many circum-.
stances of her having left him so long, and neither writ nor
sent to him since her departure with all his effects and with




JONATHAN  WILD.:405
Wild, of whom he was not before without suspicion; and lastly
and chiefly, her false pretence to his commands, entirely turned
the scale, and convinced him of her disloyalty.
While he was in these agitations of mind, the good apprentice,
who had used the utmost expedition, brought his children to
him. Hie embraced them with the most passionate fondness,
and imprinted numberless kisses on their little lips.  The little
girl flew to him w;t?. almost as much eagerness as he himself
expressed at her sight, and cried out, " 0 papa, why did you
not come home to poor mamma all this while; I thought you
would not have left your little Nancy so long. "  After which
he asked her for her mother, and was told she had kissed them
both in the morning, and cried very much for his absence. All
which brought a flood of tears into the eyes of this weak, silly
man, who had not greatness sufficient to conquer these low
efforts of tenderness and humanity.                     *
He then proceeded to inquire of the maid servant, who acquainted him, that she knew no more than that her mistress
had taken leave of-her children in the morning, with many
tears and kisses, and had recommended them in the most earnest manner to her care: she said, she had promised faithfully
to take care of them, and would, while they were entrusted to
her, fulfil her promise.  For which profession tHeartfree expressed much gratitude to her; and after indulging himself
with some little fondnesses, which we shall not relate, he delivered his children into the good woman's hands, and dismnissed her.
CHAPTER II.
A soliloquy of Heartfree's full of low and base ideas, without a syllable of
greatness.
BEING now alone, he sat some short time silent, and then
burst forth into the following soliloquy:
"What shall I do?  Shall I abandon myself to a dispirited
despair, or fly in the face of the Almighty?  Surely both are
unworthy of a wise man; for what can be more vain than
weakly to lament my fortune, if irretrievable, or, if hope re.



406                THE HISTORY  OF
mains, to offend that Being, who can most strongly support it;
but are my passions then voluntary?  Am  I so absolutely
their master, that I can resolve with myself, so far only will I
grieve?  Certainly, no.  Reason, however we flatter ourselves,
hath not such despotic empire in our minds, that it can, with
imperial voice, hush all our sorrow in a moment. Where then
is its use? For either it is an empty sound, and we are deceived in thinking we have reason, or it is given us to some
end, and hath a part assigned it by the all-wise Creator.
Why, what can its office be, other than justly to weigh the
worth, of all things, and to direct us to that perfection of
human wisdom, which proportions our esteem of every object
by its real merit, and prevents us from over or under valuing
whatever we hope for, we enjoy, or we lose. It doth not
foolishly say to us, be not glad or be not sorry, which would
be as vain and idle, as to bid the purling river cease to run,
or the raging wind- to blow. It prevents us only from exulting, like children, when we receive a toy, or from lamenting
when we are deprived of it. Suppose then I have lost the
enjoyments of this world, and my expectation of future pleasure and profit is for ever disappointed; what relief caln my
reason afford? What, unless it can show me I had fixed my
affections on a toy; that what I desired was not, by a wise
man, eagerly to be affected, nor its loss violently deplored;
for there are toys adapted to all ages, from the rattle to the
throne; and perhaps the value of all is equal to their several
possessors; for if the rattle pleases the ear of the infant, what
can the flattery of sycophants give more to the prince? The
latter is as far from examining into the reality and source of
his pleasure, as the former; for if both did, they must both
equally despise it.  And surely, if we consider them seriously,
and compare them together, we shall be forced to conclude all
those pomps and pleasures, of which men are so fond, and
which, through so much danger and difficulty, with such violence and villany they pursue, to be as worthless trifles as any,exposed to sale in a toy-shop. -I have often noted my little
girl viewing, with eager eyes, a jointed baby; I have marked
the pains and solicitations she hath used, till I have been pre.




JONATHAN  WILD.                     401
railed on to indulge her with it.  At her first obtaining it,
what joy hath sparkled in her countenance I with what raptures hath she taken possession; but how little satisfaction
hath she found in it I What pains to work out her amusement
from it I Its dress must be varied; the tinsel ornaments which
first caught her eyes,, produce no longer pleasure-; she endeavours to make it stand and walk in vain, and is constrained
herself to supply it with conversation. In a day's time it is
thrown by and neglected, and some less costly toy preferred to
it.  How like the situation of this child is that of every man I
What difficulties in the pursuit of his desires I What insanity
in the possession of most, and satiety in those which seem
more real and substantial I The delights of most men are as
childish and as superficial as that of my little girl; a feather
or a fiddle are their pursuits and their pleasures through life,
even to their ripest years, if such men may be said to attain
any ripeness at all.  But let us survey those whose understandings are of a more elevated and refined temper: How empty
do they soon find the world of enjoyments worth their desire
of attaining I How soon do they retreat to solitude and contemplation, to gardening and planting, and such rural amusements, where their trees and they enjoy the air and the sun in
common, and both vegetate with very little difference between
them.
"But suppose (which neither truth nor wisdom will allow)
we could admit something more valuable and substantial in
these blessings, would not the uncertainty of their possession
be alone sufficient to lower their price? How mean a tenure
is that at the will of fortune, which chance, fraud, and rapine
are every day so likely to deprive us of, and often the more
likely by how much the greater worth our passessions are of!
Is.it not to place our affections on a bubble in the water, or
on a picture in the clouds? What madman would build a
fine house, or frame a beautifiul garden on land in which he
held so uncertain an interest? But again, was all this less
undeniable, did fortune, the lady of our manor, lease to us for
our lives; of how little consideration must even this term  ap,
pear? For admitting that these pleasures were not liable to
be torn from us, how certainly must we be torn from them I




408                THE HISTORY  OF
Perhaps to-morrow-nay, or even sooner: for as the excellent
poet says,
"Where is to-morrow?-In the other world.
To thousands this is true, and the reverse
Is sure to none."
But if I have no further hope in this world, can I have none
beyond it? Surely those laborious writers, who have taken
such infinite pains to destroy or weaken all the proofs of
futurity, have not so far succeeded as to exclude us from hope.
That active principle in man which with such boldness pushes
us on through every labour and difficulty, to attain the most
distant and most improbable event in this world, will not surely
deny us a little flattering prospect of those beautiful mansions,
which, if they could be thought chimerical, must be allowed
the loveliest which can entertain the eye of man; and to which
the road, if we understand it rightly, appears to have so few
thorns and briars in it, and to require so- little labour and
fatigue-from those who shall pass through it, that its ways are
truly said to be ways of pleasantness, and all its paths to be
those of peace. If the proofs of christianity be as strong as
I imagine them, surely enough may be deduced from that
ground only, to comfort and support the most miserable- man
in his afflictions. And this I think my reason tells me, that if
the professors and propagators of infidelity are in the right,
the losses which death brings to the virtuous are not worth
their lamenting; but if these are, as certainly they seem, in
the wrong, the blessings it procures them are not sufficiently to
be coveted and rejoiced at.
"On my own account, then, I have no cause for sorrow, but
on my children's I -Why, the same Being to whose goodness
and power I entrust my own happiness, is likewise as able and
as willing to procure theirs.  Nor matters it what state of life
is allotted for them, whether it be their fate to procure bread
with their own labour, or to eat it at the sweat of others.
Perhaps, if we consider the case with proper attention, or resolve it with due sincerity, the former is much the sweeter.
The hind may be more happy than the lord; for his desires
are fewer, and those such as are attended with more hope and
lees fear.  I will do my utmost to lay the foundations of my




JONATHAN  WILD.-.                  409
childi'en's happiness; I will carefully avoid educating -them in
a station superior to their fortune, and for the event trust to
that Being, in whom whoever rightly confides, must be superior
to all worldly sorrows."
In this low manner, did this poor wretch proceed to argue,
till he had worked himself up into an enthusiasm, which by
degrees soon became invulnerable to every human attack; so
that when Mr. Snap acquainted him with-the return of the.writ, and that he must carry him to Newgate, he received the
message as Socrates did the news of the ship's arrival, and
that he was to prepare for death.
CHAPTER III
Wherein our hero proceeds in the road to greatness.
BUT we must not detain our reader too long with these low
characters.  He is doubtless as impatient as the audience at
the theatre, till the principal figure returns on the stage; we
will therefore indulge his inclination, and pursue the actions
of the Great Wild.
There happened to be in the stage-coach, in which Mir. Wild
travelled from Dover, a certain young gentleman who had sold
an estate in Kent, and was going to London to receive the
money. - There was likewise a handsome young woman who
had left her parents at Canterbury, and was proceeding to the
same city, in order (as she informed her fellow-travellers) to
make her fortune.  With this girl the young spark was so
much enamoured, that he publicly acquainted her with the
purpose of his journey, and offered her a considerable sum in
hand, and a, settlement, if she would consent to return with
him into the country, where she would be at a safe distance
from her -relations. Whether she accepted this proposal or no,
we are not able with any tolerable certainty to deliver; but
Wild, the moment he heard of his -money, began to cast about
in his mind by'what means he might become master of it. He
entered into a long harangue about the methods of carrying
money safely on the road, and said, " He had at that-time two
bank-bills of a hundred pounds each, sewed'in his coat; which,
35




410               T HE HISTO0RY  OF
added he, is so safe a way, that it is almost impossible I should
be in any danger of being robbed by the most cunning highwayman.
The young gentleman, who was no descendant of Solomon,
or, if he was, did not, any more than some other descendants
of wise men, inherit the -wisdom of his ancestor, greatly approved Wild's ingenuity, and thanking him for his information,
declared he would follow his example when he returned into
the country: by which means. he proposed to save the premium
commonly taken for the remittance. Wild had then no more
to do but to inform himself rightly of the time of the gentleman's journey, which he did with great certainty, before they
separated.
At his arrival in'town, he fixed on two whom le regarded
as the most resolute of his gang for this enterprise; and
accordingly having summoned the principal, or most desperate,
as he imagined him, of these two, (for he never chose to communicate in the presence of more than one,) he proposed to
him: the robbing and murdering this gentleman.
Mr. Marybone (for that was the gentleman's name to whom
he applied) readily agreed to the robbery; but he hesitated at
the murder. He said, as to robbery, he had, on much weighing and considering the matter,.very well reconciled his conscience to it; for though that noble kind of robbery which was
executed on the highway, was from the cowardice of mankind
less frequent; yet the baser and meaner species, sometimes
called cheating, but more commonly known by the name of
robbery within the law, was in a, manner universal. He did
not therefore pretend to' the reputation of being so much
honester than other people; but could by no means satisfy
himself in the commission of murder, which was a sin of the
most heinous -nature, and so immediately prosecuted by God's
judgment, that it never passed undiscovered or unpunished.
Wildl, with the utmost disdain in his countenance, answered
as fdllows:- "Art, thou he whom' I have -selected out of my
whole gang for this glorious undertaking, and dost thou cant
of God's revenge against murder? You have, it seems, recon-.ciled your conscience (a pretty word) to robbery from its being
so common. It is then the novelty of murder which deters




JONA'T HAN WILD.                   411
you? Do you imagine that guns, and pistols, and swords,
and knives, are the only instruments of death? Look into the
world, and see the numbers whom broken fortunes and broken
hearts bring ultimately to the grave.  To omit those glorious
heroes, who, to their immortal honour, have massacred whole
nations; what think you of private persecution, treachery, and
slander, by which the very souls of men are in a manner torn
from their bodies?  Is it not more generous, nay, more goodnatured, to send a man to his rest, than, after having plundered
htim of all he hath, or from malice or malevolence deprived him
of his character, to punish him with a languishing death, or
what is worse, a languishing life?  Murder, therefore, is not
so uncommon as you weakly conceive it, though, as you said
of robbery, that more noble kind, which lies within the paw of
the law, may be so. But this is the mostjinnocent in him who
doth it, and the most eligible to him who is to suffer it.
Believe me, lad,. the tongue of a viper is less hurtful than that
of a.slanderer, and the gilded scales of a rattle-snake less dreadful than the purse of the oppressor. Let metherefore hear no
more of your scruples; but consent to my proposal without
further hesitation, unless, like'a woman, you are afraid of
blooding your clothes, or like a fool, are terrified with the
apprehensions of being hanged in chains.  Take my word for
it, you had better be an honest man than half a rogue. Do
not think of continuing in my gang without abandoning yourself absolutely to my pleasure; for no man shall ever receive a
favour at my hands, who sticks at any thing, or is guided by
any other law than that of my will."
Wild thus ended his speech, which had not the desired effect
on Marybone: he agreed to the robbery, but would not undertake the murder, as Wild (who feared that by Marybone's
demanding to search the gentleman's coat he might ha.zard suspicion himself) insisted.  Marybone was immediately entered
by Wild in his black-book, and was presently after impeached
and executed as a fellow on whom his leader could not place
sufficient dependence; thus falling, as many rogues, do, a sacrifice, not to his roguery, but to his. conscience.




412                THE HISTORY  OF
CHAPTERi IV.
In. which a young hero, of wonderful good promise, makes his first appearance,
with many other great matters.
OUR hero'next applied himself to another of his gang, who
instantly received his orders, and instead of hesitating at a
single murder, asked if he should blow out the brains of all the
passengers, coachman and all. But Wild, whose moderation
we have before noted, would not permit him; and therefore
having given him an exact description of the devoted person,
with his other hecessary instructions, he dismissed him, with
the strictest orders to avoid, if possible, doing hurt to any
other person.
The name of this youth, who will hereafter make some figure
in this history, being the Achates of our tEneas, or rather the
Hephestion of our Alexander, was Fireblood.  He had every
qualification to make a second-rate GREAT MAN; or in other
words, he was completely equipped for the tool of a real or
first-rate GREAT MAN. We shall therefore (which is the properest way.of dealing with this kind of GREATNESS) describe him
negatively, and content ourselves with telling our reader what
qualities he had not; in which number were humanity, modesty,
and fear, not one grain of any of which was mingled in his
whole composition.
We will now leave this youth, who was esteemed the most
promising of the whole gang, and whomu Wild often declared
to be one of the prettiest lads he had ever seen, of which
opinion, indeed, were most other people of his acquaintance;
we will however leave him at his entrance on this enterprise,
and keep our attention fixed on our hero, whom we shall observe taking large strides towards the summit of human glory.
Wild, immediately at his return to town, went to pay a visit
to Miss Loetitia Snap; for he had that weakness of suffering
himself to be enslaved by women, so naturally incident to men
of heroic disposition; to say the truth, it might more properly
be called a slavery to his own appetite; for could he have
satisfied that, he had not cared three farthings for what had
become of- the little tyrant for whom he professed so violent a
regard. Here he was informed, that Mr. Heartfree had been




JONATHAN  WILD.                    413
conveyed to Newgate the day before, the writ being then returnable. He was somewhat concerned at this news; not
from any compassion for the misfortunes of Heartfree, whon
he hated with such inveteracy, that one would have imagired
he had suffered the same injuries from him which he had done
towards him. His concern therefore had another motive; in
fact, he was uneasy at the place of Mr. Heartfree's confinement, as it was to be the scene of his future glory, and wher(
consequently he should be frequently obliged to see a face
which hatred, and not shame, made him detest the sight of.
To prevent this, therefore, several methods suggested themselves to him.  At first he thought of removing him out of
the way by the ordinary way of murder, which he doubted not
but Fireblood would be very ready to execute; for that youth
had, at their last interview, sworn, D-n- his eyes, he thought
there was no better pastime than blowing a man's brains out.
But besides the danger of this method, it did not look horrible
nor barbarous enough for the last mischief which he should do
to Heartfree. Considering, therefore, a little farther with
himself, he at length came to a resolution to hang him, if poss'ible, the very next sessions.
Now, though the observation, pow apt men are to hate those
they injure, or how unforgiving they are of the injuries they
do themselves, be common enough, yet I do not remember to
have ever seen the reason of the strange phenomenon, as it
first appears.  Know, therefore, reader, that, with much and
severe scrutiny, we have discovered this hatred to be founded
on the passion of fear, and to arise from an apprehension, that
the person whom we have ourselves greatly injured, will use
all possible endeavours to revenge and retaliate the injuries
we have done him. An opinion so firmly established in bad
and great minds, (and those who confer injuries on others
have seldom very good or mean ones,) that no benevolence,
nor even beneficence, on the injured side, can eradicate it.
On the cornteary, they refer all these acts of kindness to imposture and design of lulling their suspicion, till an opportunity offers of striking a surer and severer blow; and thus,
while the good man, who hath received it, hath truly forgotten.5 *




414               THE  tISTu'hY  OF
the injury, the evil mind, which did it, hath it in lively and
fresh remembrance.
As we scorn to keep any discoveries secret from our readers,
whose instruction, as well as diversion, we have greatly considered in this history, we have here digressed somewhat, to
communicate the following short lesson to those who are simple
and well-inclined: Though as a Christian thou art obliged,
and we advise thee, to forgive thy enemy; NEVER TRUST THE
MAN WHO HATH REASON TO SU.SPECT THAT YOU KNOW HE IIATH
INJURED YOU.
CHAPTE1R V.
BMore and more greatness, unparalleled in history or romance.
IN order to accomplish this great and noble scheme, which
the vast genius of Wild had contrived, the first necessary step
was to regain the confidence of Heartfree.  But however necessary this was, it seemed to be attended with such insurmountable difficulties, that even our hero for some time despaired of
success.  He was greatly superior to all mankind in the steadiness of his countenance; but this undertaking seemed to require more of that noble quality than had ever been the portion of a mortal.  However, at last he resolved to attempt it,
and from his success, I think, we may fairly assert, that what
was said by the Latin poet of labour, that it conquers all things,
is much more true when applied to impudence.
When he had formed his plan, he went to Newgate, alld
burst resolutely.into the presence of Heartfree, whom he eagerly
embraced and kissed; and then first arraigning his own rashness, and afterwards lamenting his unfortunate want of success,
he acquainted him with the particulars of what had happened;
concealing only that single incident of his attack on the other's
wife, and his motive to the undertaking, which, he assured
teartfree, was a desire to preserve his effects from a statute
of bankruptcy.
The frank openness of this declaration, with the composure
of countenance with which it was delivered; his seeming only
ruffled by the concern of his friend's misfortune; the probability of truth attending it, joined to the boldness and disinte.




JONATIIA. N WILD..                  415
rested appearance.of this visit, together with his many professions of immediate service, at a time when he could not
have the least visible motive from self-love; and above all his
offering him money, the last and surest token of friendship,
rushed with such united force on the well-disposed heart, as it'
is vulgarly called, of this simple man, that they instantly staggered, and soon subverted all the determination he had before
made in prejudice of Wild; who, perceiving the balance to be
turned in his favour, presently threw in a hundred imprecations
on his own folly and ill-advised forwardness'to serve his friend,
which had thus unhappily produced his ruin; he added as
many curses on the count, whom he vowed to pursue with revenge all over Europe; lastly, he cast in some grains of comfort, assuring Heartfree that his wife was fallen into the gentlest hands, that she would be carried no farther than Dunlkirk,
whence she might very easily be redeemed.
Heartfree, to whom the lightest presumption of his wife's
fidelity would have been more delicious than the absolute restoration of all his jewels, and who, indeed, had with the utmost'
difficulty been brought to entertain the slightest suspicion of
her inconstancy, immediately abandoned all distrust of both
her and his friend, whose sincerity (luckily for Wild's purpose)
seemed to him to depend on the same evidence. He then
embraced our hero, who had in his countenance all the symptoms of the deepest concern, and begged him to be comforted;
saying, that the intentions, rather than the actions of men,
conferred obligations; that as to the event of human affairs,
it. was governed either by chance or some superior agent; that
fiiendship was concerned only in the direction of our designs;
and suppose these failed of success, or produced an event never
so contrary to their aim, the merit of a good intention was not
in the least lessened, but was rather entitled to compassion.
HIeartfree however was soon curious enough to inquire how
Wild had escaped the.captivity which his wife then suffered.
Here likewise he recounted the whole truth, omitting only the
motive to the French captain's cruely, for which he assigned a
very different reason, namely, his attempt to secure Heartfree's
~ jewels.  Wild indeed always kept as much truth as was possible in every thing; and this he said was turning the cannon
of the enemy upon themselves.




416                THE HISTORY  OF
Wild having thus, with admirable and truly laudable conduct,
achieved the first step, began to discourse on the badness of
the world, and particularly to blame the severity of creditors,
who seldom or never attended to any unfortunate circumstances,
but- without mercy inflicted confinement on the ~debtor, whose
body the law, with very unjustifiable rigour, delivered into
their power. He added, that for his part, he looked on this
restraint to be as heavy a punishment as any appointed by law
for the greatest offenders. That the loss of liberty was, in his
opinion, equal to, if not worse, than the loss of life; that he
had always determined, if by any accident or misfortune he had
been subjected to the former, he would run the greatest risk of
the latter, to rescue himself from it, which, he said, if men did
not want resolution, was always easy enough; for that it was
ridiculous to conceive, that two or three men could confine two
or three hundred, unless the prisoners were either fools or cowards, especially when they were neither chained nor fettered.
He went on in this manner, till perceiving the utmost attention
in Heartfree, he ventured to propose to him an endeavour to
make his escape, which, he said, might easily be executed; that
he would himself raise a party in the prison, and that, if a
murder or two should happen in the attempt, he (Heartfree)
might keep free from any share, either in the guilt or in the
danger.
There is one misfortune which attends all great men and
their schemes, viz. that in order to carry them into execution,
they are obliged, in proposing their purposes to their tools, to
discover themselves to be of that disposition, in which certain
little writers have advised mankind to place no confidence; an
advice which hath been sometimes taken. Indeed, many inconveniences arise to the said great men from these scribblers publishing without restraint their hints or alarms to society; and
many great and glorious schemes have been thus frustrated;
wherefore, it were to be wished, that in -all well-regulated
governments, such liberties should be by some wholesome laws
restrained; and all writers prohibited from venting any other
instructions to the people than what should be first approved
and licensed by the said great men, or their proper instruments
or tools, by which means nothing would ever be published but
what made for the advancing their most noble projects.




JONATHAN  WILD.                    417
Hearttree, whose suspicions were again raised by this advice,
viewing Wild with inconceivable disdain, spoke as follows:
"There is one thing, the loss of which I should deplore
infinitely beyond that of liberty, and of life also: I mean that
of a good conscience. A blessing, which he who possesses can
never be thoroughly unhappy, for the bitterest portion of life
is by this so sweetened, that it soon becomes palatable:
whereas without it, the most delicate enjoyments quickly lose
all their relish, and life itself grows insipid, or rather nauseous
to us. Would you then lessen my misfortunes by robbing me
of what hath been my only comfort under them, and on which
I place my dependence of being relieved from them? I have
read that Socrates refused to save his life by breaking the laws
of his country, and departing from his prison, when it was
open. Perhaps my virtue would not go so far; but Heaven
forbid liberty should have such charms, to tempt me to the
perpetration of so horrid a crime as murder. As to the poor
evasion of committing it by other hands, it might be useful
indeed to those who seek only the escape from temporal punishment; but can be of no service to excuse me to that Being
whom I chiefly fear offending; nay, it would greatly aggravate
my guilt by so impudent an endeavour to impose upon him, and
by so wickedly involving others in my crime. Give me, therefore, no more advice of this kind; for this is my great comfort in -all my afflictions, that it is in the powerof no enemy to
rob -me of my conscience, nor will I ever be so much my own
enemy as to.injure it."
Though our hero heard all this with proper contempt, he
made no direct answer, but endeavoured to evade his proposal
as much as possible, which he did:with admirable dexterity:
this method of getting tolerably well off, when you are repulsed
in your attack on a man's conscience, maybe styled the art of
retreating, in which the politician, as well as the general, hath
sometimes a wonderful opportunity of displaying his great
abilities in his profession.
Wild having made this admirable retreat, and argued away
all design of involving his friend in the guilt- of murder, cone-luded however; that he thought him rather too scrupulous in
not attempting his escape; and then promising to use al1 such
2B




418               THE HISTORY  OF
means as the other would permit in his service, took his leave
for the present. Heartfree, having indulged himself an hour
with his children, repaired to rest, which he enjoyed quiet and
undisturbed; whilst Wild, disdaining repose, sat up all night,
consulting how he might bring about the final destruction of
his friend, without being beholden to any assistance from himself; which he now despaired of procuring. With the result
of these consultations we shall acquaint our reader in good
time; but at present we have matters of much more consequence to relate to him.
CHAPTER VI.
The event of Fireblood's adventure; and a treaty of marriage, which might
have been concluded either at Smilhfield or St. James's.
FIREBLOOD returned from his enterprise unsuccessful.  The
gentleman happened,to go home another way than he had intended; so that the whole design miscarried. Fireblood had,
indeed, robbed the coach, and had wantonly discharged a
pistol into it, which slightly wounded one of the passengers in
the arm. The, booty he met with was not very considerable,
though much greater than that with which he acquainted
Wild; for, of eleven pounds in money, two silver watches,
and a wedding-ring, he produced no more than two guineas
and a ring, which he protested with numberless oaths was his
whole booty. However, when an advertisement of the robbery was published, with a reward promised for the ring and
the watches, Fireblood was obliged to confess the whole, and
to acquaint our hero where he had pawned the watches, which
Wild, taking the full value of them for his pains, restored to
the right owner.
He did not fail catechising his young friend on this occasion.
He said, hewas sorry to see any of his gang guilty of a breach
of honour; that without honour priggery was. at an end; that
if a prig had but honour, he would overlook every vice in the
world.  "But, nevertheless," said he, "I will forgive you this
time, as you are a hopeful lad; and I hope never afterwards
to find you delinquent in this great point."




JONATHAN  WILD.                    41-9
Wild had -now brought his gang to great regularity; he
was obeyed and feared by them all.  He had likewise established an office, where all men who were robbed, paying. the
value only (or a little more) of their goods, might have them
again. This was of notable use to several persons who had
lost pieces of plate -they had received from their grandmothers;
td others who had a particular value for certain rings, watches,
heads of canes, snuff-boxes, &c., for which they would'not
have taken twenty times as much as theywere worth, either
because they had them a little while or a long time, or that
somebody else had had them before, or from some other such
excellent reason, which often stamps a greater value on a toy,
than the great Bubble-boy himself would have the impudence
to set upon it.
By these means, he seemed in so promising a way of procuring a fortune, and was regarded in so thriving a light by
all the gentlemen of his acquaintance, as by the keeper and
turnkeys of Newgate, by Mr. Snap, and others of his occupation, that Mr. Snap one day, taking Mr. Wild the elder aside,
very seriously proposed what they had often lightly talked over,
a strict union between their families, by marrying his daughter
Tishy to our hero.  This proposal was very readily accepted.
by the old gentleman, who promised to acquaint his son
with it.
On the Inorrow on which this message was to be delivered,
our hero, little dreaming of the happiness which, of its own1
accord, was advancing so near towards him, had called Fireblood to him; and, after informing that youth of the violence
of his passion for the young lady, and assuring him what confidence he reposed in him and his honour, he dispatched hi:n to
Miss Tishy with the following letter; which we here insert, not
only as we take it to be extremely curious, but to be a much
better pattern for that epistolary kind of writing, which is
generally, called love-letters, than any to be found in the
academy of compliments, and which we challenge all the beaux
of our time to excel, either in matter or spelling.
" Most deivine and adwhorable creeture,
"I doubt not but those Is, briter than the son, which lalve
kindled such a flam in my hart, h.ve likewise the faculty of see




420               THE HISTORY OF
ing it.  It would be the hiest preassumption to imagine you
eggnorant of my loav. No, madam, I sollemly purtest, that
of all the butys in the unaversal glob, there is:none kapable of
hateracting my IIs like you.  Corts and pallaces would be to
me deserts without your kumpany, and with it a wilderness
would have more charms than haven itself. For I hop you
will beleve me, when I sware every place in the univarse is a
haven with you. I am konvinced you must be sensibil of my
violent passion for you, which, if I endeavoured to hid it,
would be as impossible as for you, or the son, to hid your
buty's.  I assure you I have not slept a wink since I had the
happiness of seeing you last; therefore hop you will, out of
kumpassion, let me have the honour of seeing you this afternune; for I am with the greatest adwhoration,' Most deivine creeture,' Iour most passionate admirer,' Adwhorer and slave,'JONATHAN WYLD. "
If the spelling of this letter be not so strictly orthographical,
the reader will be pleased to remember, that such a defect
-might be worthy of censure in a low and scholastic character;
but can be no blemish in that sublime greatness, of which we
endeavour to raise a complete idea in this history. In which
kind of composition,, spelling, or indeed any kind of human
literature, hath never been thought a necessary ingredient; for
if these sort of great personages can but complot and contrive
their noble schemes, and hack and hew mankind sufficiently,
there will never be wanting fit and able persons who can spell,
to record their praises.  Again, if it should be observed that
the style of this letter doth not exactly correspond with that of
our hero's speeches, which we have here recorded, we answer,
it is sufficient if in these the historian adheres faithfully to the
matter, though he embellishes the diction with some flourishes
of his own eloquence, without which the excellent speeches recorded in ancient historians (particularly in Sallust) would
have scarce been found in their writings-.  Nay, even amongst
the moderns, famous as they are for elocution, it may be doubted
whether those inimitable harangues, published in the-Monthly
Magazines, come literally from the mouths of the I-IHRGos, &c.




JONA.TH.AN  WILD.                  421
as,they are there inserted, or whether we may not rather
suppose some historian of great eloquence hath borrowed the
matter only, and adorned it with those rhetorical flowers for
which many of the said HuRGos are not so extremely eminent.
CHAPTER VII.
Matters preliminary to the marriage between lr. Jonathan Wild and the chaste
Lcetitia.
BUT to proceed with our history: Fireblood, having received
this letter, and promised on his honour, with many voluntary
asseverations, to discharge his embassy faithfully, went to visit
the fair Lmetitia. The lady having opened the letter, and read
it, put on an air of disdain, and told Mr. Fireblood she could
not conceive what Mr. Wild meant by troubling her with his
impertinence; she begged him to carry the letter back again,
saying, had she known from whom it came, she would have
been d    d before she had opened it. "But with you, young
gentleman," says she, "I am not in the least angry.  I amn
rather sorry that so pretty a young man should be employed in
such an errand. " She accompanied these words with so tender
an accent, and so wanton a leer, that Fireblood, who was no
backward youth, began to take her by the hand, and proceeded
so warmly, that to imitate his actions by the rapidity of our
narration, he in a few minutes ravished this fair creature, or at
least would have ravished her, if she had not, by a timely compliance, prevented him.
Fireblood, after he had ravished as much as he could,
-returned to Wild, and acquainted him, as far as any wise inan
would, with what had passed; concluding with many praises
of the young lady's beauty, with whom, he said, if his honour
would have permitted him, he should himself have fallen in
love; but d-n him, if he would not sooner be torn in'pieces
by wild horses, than even thiuk of injuring his friend. He
asserted, indeed, and swore so heartily, that had not Wild been
so thoroughly convinced of the impregnable chastity of the
_36




422               THE HIS'TORY  OF
lady, he might have suspected his success: however, he was,
by these means, entirely satisfied of his friend's inclination
towards his mistress.
Thus constituted were the love affairs of our hero, when his
father brought him Mr. Snap's proposal.  The reader must
know very little of love, or indeed of any thing else, if he
requires any information concerning the reception which this
proposal met with. Not guilty'never sounded sweeter in the
ears of a prisoner at the bar, nor the sound of a reprieve to
one at the gallows, than did every word of the old gentleman
in the ears of our hero.  He gave his father full power to treat
in his name, and desired nothing more than expedition.
The old people now met, and Snap, who had information
from his daughter of the violent passion of her lover, endeavoured to improve it to the best advantage, and would have
not only declined giving her any fortune himself, but have
attempted to cheat her of what she owed to the liberality of
her relations, particularly of a pint silver caudle-cup, the gift
of her grandmother.  However, in this the young lady herself
afterwards took care to prevent him. As to the old Mr. Wild,
he did not sufficiently attend to all the designs of Snap, as his
faculties were busily employed in designs of his own, to over —
reach (or,' as others express it, to cheat) the said Mr. Snap, by
pretending to give his son a whole number for a chair, when in
reality he was entitled to a third only.
While matters were thus settling, between the old folks, the
young lady agreed to admit Mr. Wild's visits; and by degrees,
began to entertain him with all the show of affection, which the
great natural reserve of her temper, and the greater artificial
reserve of her education, would permit. At length, every thing
being agreed between their parents, settlements made, and the
lady's fortune (to wit, seventeen pounds and nine shillings in
money and goods) paid down, the day for their nuptials was
fired, and they were celebrated accordingly.
Most private histories,.as well as comedies, end at this
period; the historian and the poet both concluding they have
done enough for their hero when they have married him; or
intimating rather, that the rest of his life must be a dull calm




JONATHAN  WILD.                    423
of happiness, very delightful indeed to pass through, but somewhat insipid to relate; and matrimony in general must, I
believe, without any dispute, be allowed to be this state of tranquil felicity, including so little variety, that like Salisbury
Plain, it affords only one prospect, a very pleasant one it must
be confessed, but the same.
Now, there was all the probability imaginable, that this contract would have proved of such happy note, both from the
great accomplishments of the young lady, who was thought to
be possessed of every qualification necessary to make the marriage state happy; and from the truly ardent passion of Mr.
Wild; but whether it was that nature and fortune had great
designs for him to execute, and would not suffer his vast abilities
to be lost and sunk in the arms of a wife, or whether neither
nature nor fortune had any hand in the matter, is a point I will
not determine. Certain, it is, that this match did not produce
that serene state we have mentioned above: but resembled the
most turbulent and ruffled, rather than the most calm sea.
I cannot here omit a conjecture, ingenious enough, of a
friend of mine, who had a long intimacy in the Wild family.
He hath often told me, he fancied one reason of the dissatisfactions which afterwards fell out between Wild and his lady,
arose from the number of gallants, to whom she had before
marriage granted favours; for, says he, and indeed very
probable it is too, the lady might expect from her husband,
what she had before received from several, and being angry not
to find one man as good as ten, she -had from that indignation,
taken those steps which we cannot perfectly justify.
From this person I received the following dialogue, which
he assured me he had overheard and taken verbatim. It
passed on the day fortnight after they were married.




424               T.HE  HISTORY  OF
CHAPTER  VIII.
A dialogue matrimonial, which passed between. Jonathan Wild, Esquire, and
Lcatitia his wife, on the morning of the day fortnight on which his nuptials
were celebrated; which concluded more amicably than those debates generally do.
JONATHAN.
My dear, I wish you would lie a little longer in bed this
morning.
LuTITIA. Indeed I cannot; I am engaged to breakfast with
Jack Strongbow.
JONATHAN. I don't know what Jack Strongbow doth so
often at my house. I assure you, I am uneasy at it; for though
I have no suspicion of your virtue, yet it may injure your reputation in the opinion of my neighbours.
LTITIA. I don't trouble my head about my neighbours;
and they shall no more-tell me what company I am to keep,
than my husband shall.
JONATHAN. A good wife would keep no company which
made her husband uneasy.
LIETITIA. You might have found one of those good wives,
sir, if you had pleased: I had no objection to it.
JONATHAN. I thought I had found one in you.
LETITIA. YOU did! I am very much obliged to you for
thinking me so poor-spirited a creature;-but I hope to convince you to the contrary.  What! I suppose you took me for
a raw, senseless girl, who knew nothing what other married
women do!
JONATHAN. No matter what I took you for: I have taken
you for better and worse.
LETITIA. And at your own desire, too: for I am sure you
never had mine. I should not have broken my heart, if Mr.
WVild had thought proper to bestow himself on any other more
happy woman —Ha, ha!
JONATHAN. I hope, madam, you don't imagine that was not
in my power, or that I married you out of any kind of necessity.
LJETITIT. O, no, sir; I am convinced there are silly women
enough.  And far be it from me to accuse you of any neces



JONATHAN  WILD.                    425
sity for a wife. I believe you could have been very well contented with the state of a bachelor. I have no reason to complain of your necessities; but that, you know, a woman can.
not tell beforehand.
JONATHAN. I can't guess what you would insinuate; for I
believe no woman had ever less reason to complain of her husband's want of fondness.
LAETiITIA. Then some, I am certain, have great reason to
complain of the price they give for them. But I know better
things.  (These words were spoken with a very great air,
and toss of the head.)
JONATHAN. Well, my sweeting, I will makie it impossible
for you to wish me more fond.
LI.TITIA. Pray, Mr. Wild, none of this nauseous behaviour,
nor those odious words.  I wish you were fond I-I assure
you —I don't know what you would pretend to insinuate of
me.-I have no wishes which misbecome a virtuous womanNo, nor should not, if I had married for love. -And especially now, when nobody, I am sure, can suspect me of any
such thing.
JONATHAN. If you did not marry for love, why did you
marry?
LJETITIA. Because it was convenient, and my parents forced
me.
JONATHAN. I hope, madam, at least, you will not tell me to
my face, you have made your convenience of me.
LZSTITIA. I have made nothing of you; nor do I desire the
honour of making any thing of you.
JONATHAN. Yes, you have made a husband of me.
LAETITIA. NO, yOU made yourself so; for I repeat once
more, it was not my desire, but your own.
JONATHAN. You should think yourself obliged to me for
that desire.
L.XTITIA. La, sir I you was not so singular in it. I was
not in despair. I have had other offers, and better too.
JONATHAN. I wish you had accepted them, with all my
heart.
LMETITIA. I must tell you, Mr. Wild, this is a very brutish
manner of treating a woman, to whom you have such obliga.
3.6 




426               THE HISTORY -OF
tions; but I know how to despise- it, and to despise you too
for showing it me. Indeed I am well enough paid for the
foolish preference I gave to you. I flattered myself that I
should at least have been used with good manners.  I thought
I had married a gentleman; but I find you are every way contemptible, and below my concern.
JONATHAN. D —n you, madam, have not I more reason to
complain, when you tell me you married me for your convenience only?
L.ETITIA. Very fine, truly.  Is it behaviour worthy a man
to swear at a woman? yet why should I mention what comes
from a wretch whom I despise?
~JONATHAN. Don't repeat that word so often.  I despise
you as heartily as you can me. And, to tell you a truth, I
married you for my convenience likewise, to satisfy a passion
which I have now satisfied, and may you be d-d for any
thing I care.
LATITIA. The world shall know how barbarously I am
treated by such a villain.
JONATHAN. I need take very little pains to acquaint the
world what a b —ch you are, your actions will demonstrate it.
L2ETITIA. Monster! I would advise you not to depend too
much on my sex, and provoke me too far; for I can do you a
mischief, and will, if you dare use me so, you villain I
JONATHAN. Begin whenever you please, madam; but assure
yourself, the moment you lay aside the woman, I will treat you
as such no longer; and if the first blow is yours, I promise
you the last shall be mine.
LJETITIA. Use me as you will; but d-n me if ever you
shall use me as a woman again; for may I be cursed, if ever
I enter your bed more.
JONATHAN. May I be cursed if that abstinence be not the
greatest; obligation you can lay upon me; for, I assure you
faithfully, your person was all I had ever any regard for; and
that I now loath and detest, as much as ever I liked it.
LZETITIA. It is impossible for two people to agree better;
for I always detested your person; and, as for any other regard, you must be: convinced I never could have- any for you.
JONATHAN. -Why, then, since we are come to a right un



JONATHAN  WILD.                    427
derstanding, as we are to live together, suppose we agree, instead of quarrelling and abusing, to be civil to each other.
LAETITIA. With all my heart..
JONATHAN. Let us shake hands, then, and henceforwards
never live as man and wife; that is, never be loving, nor ever
quarrel.
LAETITIA. Agreed.- But pray, Mr. W1.d, why b-ch?
Why did you suffer such a word to escape you?
JONATHAN. It is not worth your remembrance.
LIETITIA. You agree I shall converse withwhomsoever I
please?
JONATHAN. Without control. And I have the same liberty?
LATITIA. When I interfere, may every curse you can wish
attend me.
JONATHAN. Let us now take a farewell kiss; and may I be
hanged if it is not the sweetest you ever gave me.
LA2TITIA. But why b;-ch? —-Methinks I should be glad to
knlow why b-ch.!
At which words he sprang from the bed, damning her temper
heartily.  She returned it again with equal abuse, which was
continued on both sides while he was dressing. However, they
agreed to continue steadfast in this new resolution; and the
joy arising on that occasion at length dismissed them pretty
cheerfully from each other, though Letitia could not help concluding with the words, WHY B —CH?
CHAPTER IX.
Observations on the foregoing dialogue, together with a- base design on our hero,
which must be detested by every lover of GREATNESS.
THns did this dialogue, (which though we have termed it
matrimonial, had indeed very little savour of the sweets of
matrimony in it,) produce at last a resolution more wise than
strictly' pious, and which, if they could leave rigidly adhered to
it, might have prevented some unpleasant moments, as well to
our hero as to his serene consort; but their hatred was so very
great and unaccountable, that they never could bear to see the
least composure in one another's countenance, without attempt



428               THE HISTORY  OF.
ing to ruffle it.  This set them on so many contrivances to
plague and vex one another, that as their proximity afforded
them such frequent opportunities of executing their malicious
purposes, they seldom passed one easy or quiet day together.
And this, reader, and no other, is the cause of those many
inquietudes, which thou must have observed to disturb the repose of some married couples, who mistake implacable hatred
for indifference; for why should Corvmllus, who lives in a round
of intrigue, and seldom doth, and never willingly would, dally
with his wife, endeavour to prevent her from the satisfaction of
an intrigue in her turn?  Why doth Camilla refuse a more
agreeable invitation abroad, only to expose her husband athis
own table at home? In short, to mention no more instances,
whence can all the quarrels and jealousies, and jars, proceed,
in people who have no love for each other, unless from that
noble passion above mentioned, that desire, according to my
Lady Betty Modish, of curing each other of a smile.
We thought proper to give our reader a short taste of the
domestic state of our hero, the rather to show him that great
men are subject to the same frailties and inconveniences in
ordinary life, with little men, and that heroes are really of the
same species with other human creatures, notwithstanding all
the pains they themselves, or their flatterers, take to assert the
contrary; and that they differ chiefly in the immensity of their
greatness, or, as the vulgar erroneously call it, villany.  Now,
therefore, that we may not dwell too long on low scenes, in a
history of this sublime kind, we shall return to actions of a
higher note, and more suitable to our purpose.
When the boy Hymen had, with his lighted torch, driven the
boy Cupid out of doors; that is to say, in common phrase,
when the violence of Mr. Wild's passion (or rather appetite)
for the chaste Lmtitia began to abate, he returned to.visit his
friend Heartfree, who was now in the liberties of the Fleet, and
had appeared to the commission of bankruptcy against himl.
Here he met with a more cold- reception than he himself had
apprehended.  Heartfree had long entertained suspicions of
Wild, but these suspicions had from time to time been confounde d-with circumstances, and principally smothered with
that amazillg confidnce, which was indeed the most striking




JONATHAN  WILD.                    442i
virtue in our hero.  Heartfree was unwilling to condemn his
friend without certain evidence, and laid hold on every probable
semblance to acquit him; but the'proposal made at his last
visit had so totally blackened his character in this poor man's
opinion, that it entirely fixed the wavering scale, and be no
longer doubted but that our hero was one of the greatest
villains in thle world.
Circumstances of great improbability often escape men who
devour a story with greedy ears; the reader therefore Gcannot
wonder that Heartfree, whose passions were so variously concerned, first for the fidelity, and secondly for the safety of his
wife; and lastly, who was so distracted with doubt concerning
the conduct of his friend, should at his first relation pass unobserved the incident of his being committed to the boat by the
captain of the privateer, which he had at the time 6f his telling,
so lamely accounted for; but now, when Heartfree came to
reflect on the whole, and with a high prepossession against
Wild, the absurdity of this fact glared in his eyes, and struck
him in the most sensible manner. At length a thought of
great horror suggested itself to his imagination, and this was,
whether the whole was not a fiction, and Wild, who was, as he
had learned froi# his own mouth, equal to any undertaking,
how black soever, had not spirited away, robbed, and murdered
his wife.
Intolerable as thil apprehension was, he not only turned it
round and examined it carefully in his own mind, but acquainted
young Friendly with it, at their next interview.  Friendly, who
detested Wild, (from that envy, probably, with which these
GREAT CHARACTERS naturally inspire low fellows,) encouraged
these suspicions so'much, that Heartfree resolved to attack
our hero, and carry him before a magistrate.
Tlhis resolution had been some time taken, and Friendly,
with a warrant and a constable, had with the utmost diligence
searlched several days for our hero; but whether it was, that,
in compliance with modern custom,'he had retired to spend the
honey-moon with his bride, the only moon, indeed, in which it
is fashionable or customary for the married parties to have any
correspondence with each other; or- perhaps his habitation
might, for particular reasons, be usually kept a secret; like




30O                TH-E HISTORY  OF
those of some fewgreat men, whom, unfortunately, the law
hath left out of that reasonable as well as honourable provision, which it hath made for the security of the persons,: of
uther great. men.
But Wild resolved to perform  works of supererogation in
the way of honour; and though no hero is obliged: to answer
the challenge of my lord chief justice, or indeed of any other
magistrate, but may with unblemished reputation slide away
from it; yet such was the bravery, such the greatness, the
magnanimity of Wild, that he appeared in persofn to it.
Indeed, envy may say one thing, which may lessen the glory
of this action, namely, that the said Mr. Wild knew nothing
of the said warrant or challenge; and as thou mayest be
assured, reader, that the malicious fury will omit nothing which
can any ways sully so great a gharacter, so she hath endeavoured to account for this second visit of our hero to his friend
Heartfree, from a very different motive than that-of asserting
his own innocence.
CHAPTER X.
Mir. Wild, with unprecedented generosity, visits his friend Hear/frce, and the
ungrateful reception he met with.; IT hath been said, then, that Mr. Wild -not being able, on the
strictest examination, to find, in a certain spot of human nature, called his own heart, the least grain of that pitiful low
-quality, called honesty, had resolved, perhaps, a little -too
generally, that there was no such thing. He therefore imputed
the resolution, with which Mr. Heartfree had so positively refused to concern himself:in  murder, either to a fear of bloodying his hands, or the apprehension of a ghost, or lest he should
make an additional example in that excellent book, called
God's Revenge against Murder; and doubted not but he
would (at least in his present necessity) agree without scruple
to a simple robbery, especially where any considerable booty
should be proposed, and the safety of the attack plausibly
made appear; which, if he could prevail on him to undertake,
he would immediately afterwards get him impeached, convicted,
z,




JONATHA'N  WIL D.                   48
and hanged.  He no sooner; therefore, had discharged: his
duties to Hymen, and heard that Heartfree had procured himself the liberties of the Fleet, than he resolved to visit him, and
to propose a robbery. with all the allurements of profit, ease,
and safety.
The proposal was no sooner made, than it was answered by
Heartfree, in the following manner:
"I might have hoped the answer which I gave to your
former advice would have prevented me from the danger of
receiving a second affront of this kind.  An affront, I call it;
and surely, if it be so to call a man a villain, it can be no less
to show him you suppose him one.  Indeed, it may be wondered how any man can arrive at the boldness, I may say impudence, of first making such an overture to another; surely,
it is seldom.done, unless to those who have previously betrayed
some symptoms of their own baseness.  If I have, therefore,
shown you any such, these insults are' more pardonable; but I
assure you, if such appear, they discharge all their malignance
outwardly, and reflect not even a shadow within; for to me
baseness seems inconsistent with this rule, OF DOING NO OTHER
PERSON AN INJURY, FROM ANY-MOTIVE OR ON ANY CONSIDERATION WHATEVER, This, sir, is the rule by which I am determined to walk; nor can that man justify disbelieving me, who
will not own he walks not by it himself. But whether it be
allowed to me or no, or whether I feel the good effects of its
being practised by others, I am resolvewi to maintain it: for
surely, no man can reap a benefit from my pursuing it, equal
to the comfort I myself enjoy; for what a ravishing thought I
how replete -with ecstasy must the consideration be, that Almiglity Goodness is by its own nature engaged to reward me I
How indifferent must such a persuasion make a- man to all the
occurrences of this life! What trifles must he represent to
himself both the enjoyments and the affictions of this world;
how easily must he acquiesce under missing the former, and how
patiently will he submit to the latter, who is convinced that
his failing of a transitory imperfect reward here, is a most cer-'
tain argument of his obtaining one permanent and complete
hereafter! Dost thou' think, then, thou little, paltry, mean
animal," (with such language did he treat our truly great




432               THE HISTORY  OF
man,) "that I will forego such comfortable expectations, for
any, pitiful reward which thou canst suggest or promise to me;
for that sordid lucre, for which all pains and labour are undertahken b tile industrious, and all barbarities and iniquities committed by the vile; for a worthless acquisition, which such as
thou art can possess, can give, or can take away?"  The
former part of this speech occasioned much yawning in our
hero, but the latter roused his anger; and he was collecting
his rage to answer, when Friendly and the constable, who had
been summoned by Heartfree, on Wild's first appearance, entered the room, and seized the Great Man, just as his wrath
was bursting from his lips.
The dialogue which now ensued is not worth relating.
Wild was soon acquainted with the reason of this rough treatment, and presently conveyed before a magistrate.
Notwithstanding the doubts raised by Mr. Wild's lawyer,.on his-examination, he insisting that the proceeding was improper; for that a Writ de Homine replegiando should issue,
and on the return of that, a Capias in Withernarn; the justice
inclined to commitment; so that Wild was driven to other
methods for his defence. He therefore acquainted the justice,
that there was a young man likewise with him in the boat, and
begged that he might be sent for; which request was accordingly granted, and the faithful Achates (Mr. Fireblood) was
soon produced, to bear testimony for his friend; which he did
with so much becoming zeal, and went through his examination
with such coherence, (though he was forced to collect his evidence from the hints given him by Wild, in the presence of the
justice and the accusers,) that, as here was direct evidence
against mere presumption, our hero was most honourably acquitted, and poor lleartfree was charged, by the justice, the
audience, and all others who afterwards heard the story, with
the blackest ingratitude, in attempting to take away the life of
a man, to whom he had such eminent obligations.
Lest so vast an effort of friendship as this of Fireblood's
should too violently surprise the reader in this degenerate age,
it may be proper to inform him, that, beside the ties of engagement in the same employ, another nearer and stronger alliance
subsisted between our hero and this youth, which latter was




JONATIJAN  WILD).                   433
just departed-froml the arlms of the lovely Lmtitia, when he re-,ccived her husband's -message; an instance which may also
serve to justify those strict intercourses of love and acquaintance, which so commonly subsist, in modern history, between
thle husband and the galla.nt, displaying the vast force of friend-.ship, contracted by this more honourable than legal alliance,
Which is thought to be at present one of the strongest bonds
of amity between great men, and the most reputable as well as
easy way to their favour.
Four.months had now passed since Heartfree's first confinement, and his affairs -had begun to wear a more benign aspect;
but they were a good deal injured by this attempt on Wild, (sq
dangerous is any attack on a GREAT MAN,) several of his
neighbours, and particularly one or two of his own trade, industriously endeavouring, from their bitter animosity against
such kind of iniquity, to spread and exaggerate his ingratitude
as much as possible; not in the least scrupling, in the violent
ardour of their indignation, to add some small circumstances
of their own knowledge, of the many obligations conferred on
Ileartfree by Wild.  To all these scandals he quietly submitted, comforting himself in the consciousness of his own innocence, and confiding in time, the sure friend of justice, to acquit him.
CHAPTER XI.
A:scheme so deeply laid, that it shames all the politit.s of this our age; with
digression and subdigression.
WILD having now, to the hatred he bore lHeartfree, on account of those injuries he had done him, an'additional ppur
from this injury received, (for so it appeared to him, who, no
more than the most ignorant, considered how truly he deserved
it,) applied his utmost industry to accomplish the ruin of one
whose very name sounded odious in his ears.; when luckily a
scheme arose in his imagination, which not only promised to
effect it sureiy, but (which pleased him most) by means of the
mischief he had already done him; and which would at once
load him with the imputation of having committed what he
himself had d(lone to him, and would bring on him the severest
37                   2 c




434               THE HISTORY  OF
punishment for a fact, of which he was not only innocent, but
had already so greatly suffered by. And this was no other
than to charge him with having conveyed away his wife, with
his most valuable effects, in order to defraud his creditors.
He no sooner started this thought than he immediately resolved on putting it in execution.  What remained to consider
was only the quomodo, and the person or two, to be employed;
for the stage of the world differs from that in Drury-Lane
principally in this; that whereas on the latter, the hero, or
chief figure, is almost continually before your eyes, whilst the
under actors are not seen above once in an evening; now, on
the former, the-hero, or great man, is always behind the curtain, and seldom or never appears, or doth any thing in his
own person.  He doth indeed, in this Grand Drama, rather
ierform the part of the prompter, and doth instruct the welldressed figures, who are strutting in public on the stage, what
to say and do.  To say the truth, a puppet-show will illustrate
our meaning better, where it is the master' of the show (the
great man) who dances and moves every thing; whether it be
the king of Muscovy, or whatever other potentate, alias puppet, which we behold on the stage; but he himself wisely keeps
out of sight; for should he once appear, the whole motion
would be at an end. Not that any one is ignorant of his
being there, or supposes that the puppets are not mere sticks
of wood, and he himself the sole mover; but as this (though
every one knows it) doth not appear visibly, i. e., to their
eyes, no one is ashamed of consenting to be imposed on; of
helping on the Drama, by calling the several sticks or puppets
by the names which the master hath allotted to them, and by
assigning to each the character which the great man is pleased
they shall move in, or rather in which he himself is pleased to
move them.
It would be to suppose thee, gentle reader, one of very little
knowledge in this world, to imagine thou hast never seen some
of these puppet-shows, which are so frequently acted on the
great stage; but though thou shouldst have resided all thy
days in those remote parts of this island, which great men seldomn visit; yet, if thou hast any penetration, thou must have
had some occasions to admire both the solemnity of counte




JONATTIAN WIJLD.                      435
nalce in til!.ctor, and thle gravity in thLe spectator, while
some of those farces are earrie(d on, which. are acted almost
daily in every village in the kingdom.  He must have a very
despicable opinion of mankind indeed, who can conceive thent
to be imposed on as often as they appear to lbe so.  The
truthis, they are in the same situation with the readers of
romances; who, though they know the whole to be one entire
fictiol, nevertheless agree to be deceived.; and as these find
aniusemrent, so do the others find ease and convenignce in this.0nclllrl'enlCe.  But this being a subdigression, I return to my
digression.
A GREAAT MAN ought to do his business by others; to employ
l.)utS-s, a1s we have before said, to his purposes, and keel himl-;elf ts nlulChl behind the curtain as possible; and though it
mnlle  be acknowledged that two very great nmen, whose names
will be both recorded in' istory, did, ill these latter times, colne
forth themselves on the stage; and did hack and hew, and lay
each other most cruelly open to the diversion of the spectators;
yet this must be mentioned rather as an example of avoidance,
than imitation, fand is to be ascribed to the number of. those
instanceos whicEh serve to evince the truth of these maxims:.Ntemo m1orla'i?,7  o(mn-ibus hlOris sapit.  Ira furor brevis
2st, &c.
C 1-APTER XII.
Yew instances of Friendly's folly, 4?c.'1'oi ret imra toi nly history, which, having rested itself a little,
is now readtfy to proceed on its journey: Fireblood was the
person' chlose.! by Wild for this service.  He had, on a late
occasion, experienced the talents of this youth for a good round
perjury.  Ite immediately, therefore, found him out, and proposed it to  lim: when receiving his instant assent, they consulted together, alld  ooll framed an evidence, which, being
communicated to onle of tle mollst bitter and severe creditors
of IIeartfiee, by iim laid before a magistrate, and attested by
the oath of Firelloodl, tle justice granted his warrant; and
Heartfree was accordingly apprehended..and brought before
him.




~436              TE E HI STORY  OF
Wlcn the officers came for this poor wretch, tllhey found. him
meanly diverting himself with his little children, the younger
-of whom sat on his knees, and the elder was playing-at a little
distance froml him with Friendly. One of the officers4, who was
a very good sort of a man, but one very laudably severe in his
office, after acquainting IHeartfree with his errand, bade him
come along and be d —d, and leave those little bastards for-so
he said he supposed they were, for a legacy to the parish.
Ieartfree was much surprised at hearing there was a warrant
for felony against him; hut he showed less concern than
Friendly did in his countenance.  The elder daughter, wh1en
she saw the officer lay hold on her father, immediately quitted
her play, and, running to him, and bursting into tears, crie:;
out: "You shall not hurt poor papa."  One of the other
ruffians offered to take the little one rudely from his knees; but
- Ieartfrce  started up, and, catching the follow by the collar,
dashed his head so violently against the wall, that had he had
any brains, lie might possibly have lost them by the,blow.
The officer, like most of those heroic spirits who insult men
in adversity, had some prudence mixed with his zeal for justice.
Seeing, therefore, the rough treatment of his companion, he
began to pursue more gentle methods, and very' civilly desired
Mr. Heartfree to go with him, seeing he was an officer, and
obliged to execute his warrant; that he was sorry for his misfortune, and hoped he would be acquitted. The other answered,
he should patiently submit to the laws of his country, and
would attend him whither he was ordered to conduct him;
then, taking leave of his children, with a tender kiss, he recommended them to the care of Friendly; who promis,.d to see
them safe home, and then to attend him at the justice's, whose
name.and abode he had learned of the constable.
Friendly arrived at the magistrate's house just as that gerltleman had signed the mittimus against his friend; for the
evidence of Fireblood was so clear and strong, and the justice
was so incensed against IHeartfree, and so convinced of his
guilt, that he would hardly hear hint speak in his own defence,
which the.reader, perhaps, when he hears the evidence against
him, will be less inclined to censure: for this witness deposed,
" That he had been, by Heartfi:c!hi:!sielf, employed to carry




J ONATHAN  WILD.                    43T
the. orders of embezzling to Wild, in order to be delivered to
his wife; that he had been afterwards present with Wild and
her at t he inn, when they took coach for Harwich, where she
showed him the casket of jewels, and desired him to tell her:
husband that she had fully executed his command;" and this
he swore to have been done after Heartfree had notice- of. the
commission, and in order to bring it within that time, Fireblood, as well as Wild, swore that Mrs. Heartfree lay several
days concealed at Wild's house, before her departure- for Holland.
When Friendly found the justice obdurate, and that all he
could say had no effect, nor was it any way possible for Heartfree to escape being committed to Newgate, he resolved to accompany him  thither: where, when they arrived, the turnkey
would have confined Heartfree (he having no money) amongst
the common felons; but Friendly would not permit it, and
advanced every shilling he had in his pocket, to procure a
room in the Press-Yard for his friend, which indeed, through
the humanity of the keeper, he did at a cheap rate.
They spent that day together, and, in the evening, the
prisoner dismissed his friend, desiring him, after many thanks
for his fidelity, to be coniforted on his account. "I know
not, " says he, " how far the malice of my enemy may prevail;
but whatever my sufferings are, I am convinced my innocence
will somewhere be rewarded. If, therefore, any fatal accident
should happen to me, (for he who is in the hands of perjury
may apprehend the worst,) my dear Friendly, be a father to
my poor children;" at which words the tears gushed from his
eyes.  The other begged him not to admit any such apprehensions; for that he would employ his utmost diligence in
his service, and doubted not but to subvert any villanous design laid for -his destruction, and to make his innocence appear
to the world as white as it was in his own opinion.
We cannot help mentioning a circumstance here, though we
doubt it will appear very-unnatural and incredible to our
reader; which is, that notwithstanding the former character
and behaviour of Heartfree, this story of his embezzling was
so far from surprising his neighbours, that many of them deelared they expected no better from him.  Some were assured
3 *




438               THE  HISTOR'Y'OF
le could pay forty shillings in the pound, if he would.  Others
had overheard hints formerly pass between him  and Mrs.
Heartfree, which had given them suspicions.  And, what is
most astonishing of all is, that many of those who had before
censured him for an extravagant heedless fool, now no less
confidently abused him  for a cunning, tricking, avaricious
knave.
CHAPTEBR XIII.,Something concerning Fireblood, which will surprise; and somewhat touching
one of the Miss Snaps, which will greatly concern the reader.
HOWEVER, notwithstanding all these censures abroad, and
in despite of all his misfortunes at home, Heartfree in Newgate enjoyed a quiet, undisturbed repose, while our hero,
nobly disdaining rest, lay sleepless all night; partly. from the
apprehensions of Mrs. Heartfree's return before lie had executed his scheme; and partly from a suspicion lest Fireblood
should betray him; of whose infidelity he had, nevertheless,
no other cause to maintain any fear, but from his knowing him
to be an accomplished rascal, as the vulgar term it, a complete GREAT MAN in our language.  And indeed, to confess the
truth, these doubts were not without some foundation; for the
very. same thought unluckily entered the head of that noble
youth, who considered, whether he might not possibly sell
himself for some advantage to the other side, as he had yet no.promise from Wild; but this was, by the sagacity of the latter,
prevented in the morning with a profusion of promises, which
showed him to be of the most generous temper in the world,
with which Fireblood was extremely well satisfied; and made
use of so many protestations of his faithfulness, that lie convinced Wild of the injustice of his suspicions.
At this time an incident happened, which, though it did not
immediately affect our hero; we cannot avoid relating, as it
occasioned great confusion in his family, as well as in the
family of Snap.  It is indeed a calamity highly to be lamented,
when it stains untainted blood, and happens to an honourble
house.  An injury never to be repaired.  A blot never to be
wiped out. A sore never to be healed. To detain my reader




J o Nr  A1' iANf Wx    H IL w.       439
Ilo lonig'r, Miss T'heodosia Snap was Ilow,.altly delivered of
a male infant, the product of anl anaour wllich thIt l)eautifiul
(0 that 1 could say, virtuous) creature had with thle,couint.
M.Nr. 17ild and hlis lady were at breakfast, when Mr. Snap,
with a:l thle a, gonies of despair both in his voice and comlitenanCle,
brought thlal this melancholy news.  Our hero, who had (as
we 11a,va said) wonderfil good-nature, when his greatness or
iltercmqt was nl)t, cotncerned, instead of reviling his sister-in-laLvw,
askel wit). a smnile: "Who was the father?"? lBut the' chaste
Laatitia, we repeat the chalte, for well did she iow deserve that
epithet, received it in another manner. She. fell into the utmost
fury at the relation, reviled her sister in the bitterest terms, and
vowed ohe would never see nor speak to her more. Then burst
into tears, and lamented over her father; that such dishonour
slhoulrb ever happen to him  and herself.  At length she fell
severely on her llhusbandt, fior the light treatment which he gave
this fatal a.cc.idelt. Sit( told him, he was unworthy the honour
he enjoyed,,f.!z.irryilng intlo a chaste family.  That she looked
onI it as an affront to her virtue.  That if he had married one
of the naughty hussies of the town, he could have behaved to
aer in no other manner.  She concluded with desiring her
Lather to make an example of the slut, and to turn her out of
doors; for that she would not otherwise enter his house, being
resolved never to set her foot within the same threshold with
the trollop, whom  she detested so much the more, because
(which was perhaps true) she was her own-sister.
So violent, and indeed so outrageous, was this chaste lady's
love of virtue, that she could not forgive a single slip (indeed
the only one Theodosia had ever made) in her own sister, in a
sister who loved her, and to whom she owed a thousand obligations.
Perhaps the severity of Mr. Snap, who greatly felt the injury
done to the honour bf his family, would have relented, had not
the parish officers been extremely pressing on this occasion, and
fQr want of security, conveyed the unhappy young lady to a
place, the name of which, for the honour of the Snaps, to whom
our hero was'so nearly allied, we bury in eternal oblivion;
where she suffered so much correction for her crime, that the
good-natured reader of the malz kind may be inclined to come




440                THE HISTORY  OF
passionate her; at least, to imagine she was sufficiently punishe4
for a fault, which,: with submission to the chaste Lwetitia, and
all other strictly virtuous  ladies, it should be eitlltr less
criminal in a woman to commit, or more so in a mat to so!icit
her to it.
But to return to our hero, who was a living and Xtrong
instance, that human greatness and happiness are n7ot always
inseparable.  He was under a continual alarm of fiiglhts, tad
fears, and jealousies.  He thought every man he beheld wore
a knife for his throat, and a pair of scissors for his puir.se.  A
for his own gang particularly, he was thorouhlly convinced
there was not a single man amongst them, wh9 iould not'. f o,
the value of five shillings, bring him to the gaJloWs,.  These
apprehensions so constantly broke his rest, and kept hitm' so
assiduously on his guard, to frustrate and circumvent any
designs which might be forming against him, that his condition,
to any other than the glorious eye of ambition, might seem
rather deplorable, than the object of envy or desire.
C II AP TE RI X IV.
Ain which our hero makes a speech well worthy to be celebrated; and the
behaviour of one of the gang, perhaps more unnatural than any other part
of this history.
THERE was in the gang a man named Blueskin; one of those
merchants who trade in dead oxen, sheep, &c. in short, what
the vulgar call a butcher.  This gentleman had two qualities
of a great man, viz. undaunted courage, and an absolute con
tempt of those ridiculous distinctions of meum and tuum, which
would cause endless disputes, did not the law happily decide
them  by converting both into suumn.  The common form of
exchanging property by trade seemed to him too tedious; he
therefore resolved to quit the mercantile profession, and, falling
acquainted with some of Mr. Wild's people, he provided him.
self with arms, and enlisted of the gang; in which he behaved
for some time with great decency and order, and submitted to
accept such share of the booty with the rest, as our hero
allotted him.




JONAThAN  WILD.                     441
But this subserviency agreed ill with his temper'; for'we.
should have before remembered a third heroic quality, namely,
ambition, which was no inconsiderable part of his composition.
One day, therefore, having robbed a gentleman at Windsor of
a gold watch, which, on its being advertised in the newspapers,
with a considerable reward, was demanded of him by Wild, he
peremptorily refused to deliver it.
" Itow, M'r. B3lueskin I" says Wild, "you will not deliver the
watcll?"  "N'o, Mr. Wil:d,' answered lie; "I have taken it,
and will keep it; or, if I dispose of it, I will dispose of it
mllyself, and keep the money for which I sell it."  " Sure,"
replied Wild, "you have not the assurance to pretend you have
any property or right in this watch!p"  "I am  certain,"
returned Blueskin, "whether I have any right in it or no, you
can prove none."  "' I will undertake," cries the other, "to
show I have an absolute right to it, and that by the laws of
our gmg, of which I am providentially at the head.  "I know
not who put you at the head of it," cries Blueskin; " but those
w:ho did, certainly did it for their own good, that you might
conduct them the better in their robberies, inform them of the
richest booties, prevent surprises, pack juries, bribe evidence,
and so contribute to their benefit and safety; and not to convert
all their lablour and hazard to your own benefit and advantage."
" You are greatly mistaken, sir," answered Wild; "you are
talking of a legal society, where the chief magistrate is always
chosen for the public good, which, as we see in all the legal
societies of the world,'he constantly consults, daily contributing,
by his superior skill, to their prosperity, and not sacrificing
their good to his own wealth, or pleasure, or humour: but il
an illegal society or gang, as this of ours, it is otherwise; for
who wonld be at the head of a gang, unless for his own
interest?  And without a head, you know you cannot subsist.
Nothing, but a head, and obedience to that head, can preserve
a gang a moment from destruction.  It is absolutely better for
you to content yourselves with a moderate reward, and enjoy
that in safety at the disposal of your chief, than to engross' -the
whole with the hazard to which you will be liable without this
protection. And surely there is none in the whole gang, who
has less reason to complain than you; you have tasted of my




442                THE  1HISTORY  OF
favours; witness that piece of riband you wear in your hat,
with whlich I dubbed you captain.  Therefore pray, captain,
deliver the vwatch."  "D-n your cajoling," says Blueskini:
"Do you think I value myself on this bit of riband, which I
could have bought myself for sixpence, and have worn without
your leave? Do you imagine I think myself a captain beca.lluse
you, whom I know not emnpowered to make one, call me so r
The name of captain is but a shadow:  the men and tha solary
are the substance: and I am not to b:-e bubbled with tt sh'adow.
I will be called captain no longer, and lihe who flatters me by
that name, I shall think affronts me, land I will knock him
down, I assure you."
"' Did ever a man talk so unreasonably?",cries Wild. " Are
you not respected as a captain by the whole gang since Ily
dubbing you so?  But it is the shadow only, it seemnis; and
you will knock a man down for affronting you, who calls you
captain! Might not a man as reasonably tell a minister oft'
state: Sir, you have given me that shadow only.  Tl'e riband
or the bauble that you gave me, implies that I have either sig.
nalized myself, by some great action for'the benefit anEd glory
of mty country: or at  least that lagm  descended from those
who have done so.  I know myself to be a scozndrel, and
so have been those few  ancestors I can remnember, or have
ever heard of.  7Therefore I am7 resolved to knock the first
man down who calls mze Sir, or Bight Honourable.  But anll'great and wise men think themselves sufficiently repaid by wlhllt
procures them  honour and precedence in the gang, without
inquiring into substance; nay, if a title, or a feather, be equal
to this purpose, they are substance, and not mere shadows.
But I have not time to argue with you at present, so give inme
the watch without any more deliberation."  "I am no more a
friend to deliberation than yourself, " answered Blueskin, "and
so I tell yotL once for all, by G-  I never will give you tlhe
watch, no, nor will I ever hereafter surrender any part of my
booty. I won it, and I will wrear it. Take your pistols yourself,
and go out on the higlhway, and don't lazily think to fatten yourself with the dangers and pains of other people."  At which
words he departed in a fierce mood, and repaired to the tavern
used by the gang, wheree h had appointed to meet some of




JONATH A N WILD.                    443
his al.lq'ainltan('e, whom  he informed of what had passed
betweer. him and Wild, and advised them  all to follow his
exampl,e; which they all readily agreed to, and Mr. Wild's
1 —ti(,n was file.universal toast; in drinking bumpers to which,
they had 1: iishied a large bowl of punch, when a constable, with
L Uumer,:us alttendance, andl Wild at their head, entered the
room, ald seized on Blueskin, whom his companions, when they
saw our hero, did not dare attempt to rescue.  The watch was
found upon him, which, together with Wild's information, was
more than sufficient to commit him to Newgate.
In the evening, NVild, and the rest of those who had been
drnkilig with Blueskin, met at the tavern, where nothing was
to Oe seaen but the profoundest submission to their leader.
Triyw vilified and abused Blueskin as much as they had before
a)nusea,ur hero, and now repeated the same toast, only changing
the name of Wild into that of Blueskin.  All agreeing with
Wild. tnat tne watch found in his pocket, and which must be
4 fiatal evience against him, was a just judgment on his disAb)edlenu:e an(1 revolt.
Thus aia this Great Mtan, by a resolute and timely example,
(for ne went directly to the justice when Blueskin left him,)
(l3uwil o0ne of' the most dangerous conspiracies which could possil)ly arise ill a gang; and which, had it been permitted one
dav;y's growth, \would inevitably have ended in his destruction;
so much doth it behoove all great men to be eternally on their
guard, and expeditious in the execution of their purposes;
while none but the weak and honest can indulge themselves in
remissness or repose.
The Achates, Fireblood, had been present at both these
meetings; but though he had a little too hastily concurred in
cursing his friend, and in vowing  his perdition; yet now he
saw'all that scheme dissolved, he returned to his integrity; of
whM',i;h hle gave incontestable proof, by informing Wild of the
measures which had been concerted against him.  In which,
lie,aid, he had pretended to acquiesce, in order the better to
betray themm; but this, as he afterwards confessed on his deathbed, at Tyburn, was only a copy of his countenance: for that
he was. at that time, as sincere and hearty in his opposition to
Wild,is any of his companions.




444'THE HISTORY -OF
Onur hero received Fireblood's information withia vcry -lacid
countenance.  He said, as the gang had seen ~their errori, and
repented, nothing was more noble -than forgiveness.  l$ntt
though he was pleased modestly to ascribe this to his leni-ty,
it really arose from much more noble and political principles.
He considered that it would be dangerous to attnmpt thn
punishment of so many; besides, he flattered himself thm:t fear
would keep them in order; and indeed Fireblood had'told'himl
nothing more than he lknew before, viz., that they were all
complete prigs, whom he was to govern by their fears,:and in
whom he was to place no more confidence than was necessary,
and to watch them with the utmost caution -and circomspection:
for a rogue, he wisely said, like gunpowder, -must be used with
caution;'since both are altogether as liable to blow up the
party himself who uses them, as t6 execute his mis'chievous
purpose against some other person or animal.
We will now repair to Newgate, it being the place where
most of the great men of this history are hastening as fast' at
possible; and to confess the truth, it is'a castle very fir frons
being an improper, or misbecoming habitation for' any great'man whatever.  And as this-scene will continue during the
residue of our'history, we -shall open it with a new book; and
shall, therefore. take this opportunity of closing our third.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
A sentiment -of thei ordinary's, worthy to be written in letters of gold; a very
extraordinaiy instance of folly in Friendly; and a dreadful accident which
befel our hero.
HEARTFREE had not been long in Newgate before his "!cquent conversation with his children, and other instances of a
good heart which betrayed themselves in his actions and conversation, created an opinion in all about him that he was one
of the silliest fellows in the universe. The ordinary himself, a
very sagacious as well as very worthy person, declared that ho
was a. cursed rogue, but no conjuror.




JONATHAN WIL.D.                    445
-bWhlat, indeed, might induice the former, i. e.; the rog'uis'll.part of -this opinion in the ordinary, was a wicked sentiment
which Heaxrtfree one day disclosed in conversation, and. which
we, who are truly -orthodox, will not pretend to justify, That
he believed a sincere Turk would be saved.  To this the good
man, with becoming zeal and indignation, answered, Iknow
not what may become of a sincere Turk, but if this be your
persuasion, I pronounce it impossible you should be saved.
Nit, sir, so far from a sincere Turk's being within- the pale
of salvation, neither will any sincere Presbyterian, Anabaptist,'nor Quaker whatever, be saved.
-  ut neither did the one or the other part of this character
prevail on Friendly to abandon his old master.  He spent his
whole time with him, except only those hours when he'was
absent for his sake, in procuring evidence for him against his
-trial, which was now shortly to come - on.  Indeed this young
man was the only comfort, besides a clear conscience, and the
hopes beyond the grave, which this poor wretch had; for the
sight of his children was like one of those alluring pleasures
which men in some diseases indulge themselves often fatally in,
which at once'flatter and heighten their malady.
Friendly being one day present while Heartfree was, with
tears in his eyes, embracing his eldest daughter, and lamenting the hard fate to which he feared he should be obliged to
leave her, spoke to him thus: "I have long observed with admiration, the magnanimity with which you go through your
own misfortunes, and the.steady countenance with which you'look on death. I have observed that all your agonies arise
from the thoughts of parting with your children, and of leaving
them in a distressed condition; now, though I hope all your
fears will prove ill-grounded, yet that I may relieve you as
much as possible from them, be assured, that as nbthing can
give me more real misery, than to observe so tender and loving
a concern in a master, to whose goodness' I owe so many obli-gations, and whom I so sincerely love, so nothing can afford
me equal pleasure with my contributing to lessen or remove it.
Be convinced, therefore, if you can place any confidence in
my promise, that I will employ my little fortune, which you
know to be not entirely inconsiderable, in the support of this
38




446                TTE" IHISTORY  OF
your little family.  Should any misfortune, whichll I pray
heaven avert, happen to you before you have better provided
for these little ones, I will be myself their father, nor shall
either of them  ever know distress, if it be any way in mly
power to prevent it. Your younger daughter I will provide
for, and as for my little prattler, your elder, as I never yet
thought of any woman for a wife, I will receiveher as such at
your hands; nor will I ever relinquish her for another. "
-leartfree flew to his friend, and embraced him with raptures
of acknowledgment.  He vowed to him  that he had eased.
every anxious/thought of his mind but one, and that he must
carry with him out of the world.  " O, Friendly I" cried he,
"it is my concern for that best of women, whom I hate myself
for having ever censured in my opinion.  0, Friendly! thou
didst know lier goodness; yet, sure, her perfect character none
but myself was ever acquainted with. She had every perfection
both of mind and body, which heaven hath indulged. to her
whole sex, and possessed all in a higher excellence than nature
ever indulged to another in any single virtue.  Can I bear the
loss of such a woman? Can I bear the apprehensions of what
mnischiefs that villain may have done to her, of which death is
lerhaps the lightest?"  Friendly gently interrupted him  as
soon as he saw any opportunity, endeavouring to comfort him
on this head likewise, by magnifying every circumstance which
could possibly afford any hopes of his seeing her again.
By this kind of behaviour, in which the young man exemplified so uncommon a height of friendship, he had soon obtained
in thie castle the character of as odd and silly a fellow as his
master.  Indeed, they were both the by-word, laughing-stock,
and contempt of the whole place.
The sessions now came on at the Old-Bailey.  The grand
jury at. Hick's-hall had found the bill of indictment against
}Ieartfree, and on the second day of the session he was
brought to his trial; where, notwithstanding  tile utmost efforts
of Friendly, and the honest old female servant, the circumlstances of the fact corroborating the evidence of Fireblood, as
well as that of Wild, who counterfeited the most artful reluctance at appearing against his old friend HIeartfrce, the jury
found the prisoner guilty.




JONATHAN  WILD.'                    447
W':.d had now accomplishcd his scheme; for as to what
remained, it was certainly unavoidable, seeing that -Heartfree
was entirely void of interest with the great, and was besides
convicted on a statute, tile infringers of which could hope no
pardon.'
T're catastrophe, to which our hero had reduced this wretch,
was's) wonderful an effort of greatness, that it probably made
fortune envious of her own darling: but whether it was from
tllis envy, or only from that known inconstancy and weakness
so ofteni and judiciously remarked in that lady's temper, who
fiequently lifts men to the summit, of human greatness, only vut
lap'su aratiore ru.ant; certain it is, she now began to meditate
mischief against Wild, who seems to have come to that period,
at which all' heroes hlave arrived, and which she was resolved
they never'should transcend.  In short, there seems to be a
certain ftneasure of mischief and iniquity, which every great
man. is to fill up, and then fortune looks on him of no more use
thani a silk-worm, whose bottom is spun, and deserts him. Mr.
Biueskin was convicted the same day of robbery, by our hero,
at untkindneis.v which, though he had drawn on himself, and
lec'essitated him to, he took greatly amiss: as Wild therefore
was standing near him, with that disregard and indifference
which great men are too carelessly inclined to have for those
whom they have ruined, Blueskin privily drawing a knife, thrust
the same into the body of our hero with such violende, that all
who saw it concluded he had done his business.  And indeed,
had not fortune, not so much out of love to our hero, as from
a inxed resolution to accomplish: a certain purpose, of which we
have formerly given a hint, carefully placed his guts out of the
way, lie must'have fallen a sacrifice to the wrath of his enemy,
which, as he afterwards said, he did not deserve; for had lie
been contented to have robbed, and only submitted to give him
the booty, lhe might have still continued safe and unimpeached
ill the gang; but so it was, that the knife missing those noble
parts, (the noblest of many,) the guts, perforated only the
hollow of his belly, and caused no other harm than an immod.
erlate effusion of blood, of which, though it at present weakened
him, he soon after recovered.
This accident, however was in the end attended wit!} worse




448                 T HE-. H I sT    ISTOR1Y O0'
consequences; for, as very: few people (those greatcst of al
men, absolute princes excepted) attempt -to cut the thread o'
human life, like the fatal sisters, merely out of wantonness an,
for their diversion, but rather by so doing propose to theln.
selves the acquisition of some future good, or the avenging
some past evil; and as the former of these. motives did -not
appear probable, it put inquisitive persons oni examininlg int(
the latter. Now, as the vast schemes of Wild, when they werf
discovered, however great in their nature, seemed to some per
sons, like the projects of most other such persions, rather to b(
calculated for the glory of the great mlan himself thall to re
dound to the general good of society,. designs began to be lai
by several -of those who thought it principally tLeir duty t:
put a stop to the future progress of our hero; aud a learne(
judge particularly, a great enemy to this kind of greatless
procured a clause in an act of parliament as a trap. for Wile(
which he soon after fell into.  By this law it was made cavit i
in a prig to steal with the hands of other people.  A lar si
plainly calculated for the destruction of all priggish grcr'r:Gs,
that it was indeed impossible for our hero to avoid it
CHAPTER If.
A short hint concerniny popular ingratitude. MAr. Wild'8s arri,. in the catstie,
with other occurrences, to be found in no other hzafnry.
IF we had any leisure, we would here digress s, little on that
ingratitude, which so many writers have observed to spring up
in the people of all free governments, towards their great men;
who, while they have been consulting the good of t.he public,
by raising their own greatness, in which the whole body (as the
kingdom  of France thinks itself in the glory of their grand.monarch) was so deeply concerned, have been sometimes sacrificed by those very people, for whose glory the said great men
were so industriously at work: and this from a foolish zeal for
a' certain ridiculous imaginary thing, called Liberty, to which
great men are observed to have a great animosity.
This law had been promulgated a very little time, when Wild,




JONATHAN  WILD.                      449
having received, from some dutiful members of-the gang, a
valuable piece of goods, did, for a consideration somewhat
short of its original price, reconvey it to the right owner; for
which fact being ungratefully informed against by the said
owner, he was surprised in his own house, and being over
powered by numbers, was hurried before a magistrate, and by
him committed to that castle, which, suitable as it is to greatliess, we do not choose to name too often in our history, and
where many great men at this time happened to be assembled.
The governor, or, as the law more honourably calls him,
keeper of this castle, was Mr. Wild's old friend and acquaintance. This made the: latter greatly satisfied with the place of
his confinement; as he promised himself not only a kind
reception and handsome accommodation there, but even to
obtain his liberty from him, if he thought it necessary to desire.
it; but alas I he was deceived; his old -friend knew him -no
longer, and refused to see him, and the lientenant-governor
insisted on as high-garnish for fetters, and as exorbtiant a, price
for lodging, as if lie had had a fine gentleman in custody for
murder, or any other genteel crime..
To confess a melancholy truth, it is a circumstance much to
be lamented, that there is no absolute dependence on the
friendship of great men.  An observation which hath been
frequently made by those who have lived in courts, or in iNewgate, or in any other place set apart for the habitation of such
persons.
The second day of his confinement he was greatly surprised
at receiving a visit from his wife; and much more so, when,
instead of a countenance ready to insult him, the only motive
to which he could ascribe her presence, he saw the tears trick]ing down her lovely cheeks. He embraced her with the utmost
marks of affection, and declared he could hardly regret his
confillemcent, since it had produced such an instance of the
happiness he enjoyed in her, whose fidelity to him  on this
occasion would, he believed, make him  the envy of most
husbands, even in Newgate.  He then begged her to dry her
eyes, and be comforted; for that matters might go better with
him than she expected.  "No, no," says she, "I am certain
you will be found gnilty, Death. I knew what it would always
38 *                  2D




450               THIE HISTORY  OF
come to. I told you it was impossible to carry oi such a trade
long; but you would not be advised, and now you see the consequence, now you repent when it is too late. All the comfort
I shall have when you are nubbed* is, that I gave you a good
advice. If you had always gone out by yourself, as I woult,
have had you, you might have robbed oil to the end of tlhe
chapter; but you was wiser than all the world, or rather lazier,
and'see what your laziness is come to —to the cheat [the
gallows,] for thither you will go now, that's infallible. And
a just judgment on you for following your headstrong will; I
am the only person to be pitied, poor I, who shall be seandalized for your fault.  There goes she whose husband was
hanged: methinks I hear them crying so already."' At which
words she burst into tears. He could-not then forbear chiding
her for this unnecessary concern on his account, and begged
her not to trouble him any more.  She answered with some
spirit; " On your account, and be d-d to you! No, if tile
old cull of a justice had not sent me hither, I believe it would
have been long enough before I should have come hither to see
after you; d-n me, I am committed for the filinglay, [picking
pockets] man, and we shall be both nubbed together.'I faith,
my dear, it almost makes me amends for being nubbed myself,
to have the pleasure of seeing thee nubbed too."  "Indeed,
mny dear," answered Wild, "it is what I have long wished for
thee; but I do not desire to bear thee company, and I have
still hopes to have the pleasure of seeing you go without me;
at least I will have the pleasure to be rid of you now."  And
so saying, he seized her by the waist, and with strong arm
flung her out of the room; but not before she had with her
nails left a bloody memorial on his cheek: and thus this fond
couple parted.
Wild had scarce recovered himself from the uneasiness into.which this nnwe!come visit, proceeding from the disagreeable
fondness of his wife, had thrown him, than the faithful Achates
appeared.  The presence of this youth was indeed ia cordial
to his spirits.  Ile received him with open arms, and expressed
the utmost satisfaction in the fidelity of his friendship, whic]h
so far exceeded the fashion of the times, and said many things
* The cant word for hanging




JONA,THAN WILD.                    451
which we have forgot, on the occasion; but we remember they
all tended to the praise of Fireblood; whose modesty, at
length, put a stop to the torrent of compliments, by asserting
lie had done no more than his duty, and that he should have
detested himself, could he have forsaken his friend in his adversity; and after many protestations, that he came the moment he heard of his misfortune, he asked him if he could be
of any service.  Wild answered, since he,had so kindly proposed the question, he must say he should be obliged to him,
if he could lend him a few guineas; for that he was very seedy.
Fireblood replied, that he was greatly unhappy in not having
it then in his power, adding many hearty oaths, that he had
nots a farthing of money in his pocket, which was, indeed,.strictly true, for he had only a bank-note, which he had that
evening purloined from a gentleman in the play-house passage.
I-Ie then asked for his wife, to whom, to speak truly, the visit
was intended, her confinement being the misfortune of which
he had just heard; for, as for. that of Wild himself, he had
known it from the first minute, without ever intending to
trouble him with his company.  Being informed therefore of
the visit which had lately happened, he reproved'Wild for his
cruel treatment of that good creature; then taking as sudden
a leave as he civilly could of that gentleman, he hastened to
comfort his lady, who received him with great kindness.
CHAPTER III.
Curious anecdotes relating to the history of Newyate.
TnERE resided in the castle at the same time with -Mr. Wild,
one Roger Johnson, a very GT.F.AT MAN, who had long been
at the head of all the prigs in Newgate, and had raised con
tributious on them.  lie examined into the nature of their
dafCnce, procured and instructed th!:(ir evidence, and made himself; at least in their opinion, so nlce;ssary to them, that the
wole' fate.f Newg ate seenmed entirely to ldepend upon him.
Wild had iotl-been long in confilemenc before lhe beganI- to
oppose this man. Hie r-prcst:l1ted h'im to the prigs, as a fellow. who, under the plausible'pretence of assisting their causes,




452               TH-E' HISTORY OF
was in reality undermining THE LIBERTIES OF.NEWGATE.  lHe
at first threw out certain sly hints. and insinuations; but having
by degrees formed a party against Roger, he. one -day assembled them together, and spoke to them in the following florid
manner:
"Friends and Fellow-Citizens, The cause which I am to
mention to you this (lay, is of such mighty importance, that
when I consider my own small abilities, I tremble with aan apprehension, lest your safety may be rendered precarious by the
meeiness of him who hath undertaken to represent to you
your danger.  Gentlemen, the liberty of Newgate is at stake:
your privileges have been long undermined, and are now openly
violated by one man; by one who hath engrossed to himself
the whole conduct of your trials, under colour of which. he
exacts what contributions on you he pleases; but are those
sums appropriated to the uses for which they are raised?
Your frequent convictions at the Old Bailey, those depredations of justice, must too sensibly and- sorely demonstrate the
contrary.  What evidence doth he ever produce for the priso-ner, which the prisoner himself could not have provided,
and often better instructed? How many noble youths have
there been lost, when a single alibi would have saved them I
Should I be silent, nay, could your own injuries want a tongue
to remonstrate, the very breath, which by his neglect hath
been stopped at the cheat, would cry out loudly against him.
Nor is the exorbitancy of his plunders visible only in the dreadful consequences it hath produced to the prigs, nor glares it
only in the miseries brought on them: it blazes forth in the
more desirable effects it hath wrought for himself, in the rich
perquisites acquired by it: witness that silk night-gown, that
robe of shame, which, to his eternal dishonour, he publicly
wears; that fgown, which I will not scruple to call the willdinr,sheet of the liberties of Newgate.  Is there a prig who hath
the interest and honour of Newgate so little at heart, that he
can refrain from blushing, when lie beholds that trophy, purchased with the breath of so many prigs! Nor is this tll.
IIis waistcoat, embroidered with silk, and this velvet cap,
blourght with the same price, are ensigns of the same disgrace.
Some would think the rags wnhic- covered his nakedness, when




JONATHAN WILD                     453
first lbe was committed hither, well exchanged for these gaudy
trappings; but in my eye, no exchange can be profitable when
dishonour is. the condition.. If, therefore, Newgate —" Here
the only copy which we could procure of this speech breaks
off abruptly; however, we can assure the reader, from very
authentic information, that he concluded with advising the
prigs to put their affairs into other hands.  After which, one
of his -party, as had been before concerted, in a very long
speech, recommended him (Wild himself) to their choice.
Newgate was divided into parties on this occasion; the priys
on each side representing their chief or Great Man to be the
only person by whom the affairs of Newgate could be manraged
with safety and advantage.  The prigs had indeed very iacompatible interests; for, whereas, the supporters of Johnson,
who was in possessin'of the plunder of Newgate, were, admitted to some share under their leader; so the abettors of
Wild had, on his promotion, the same views of dividing some
part of the spoil among themselves.  It is no wonder, there-'ore, they were both so warm on each side.  What may seem
more remarkable was, that the debtors, who were entirely nnconcernled in the dispute, and who were the destined plunder
of both parties, should interest themselves with the utmost
violence, some on behalf of Wild, and others in favour of
Johnson.  So that all Newgate resounded with WILD for
ever, JOHNSON for ever. And the poor debtors re-echoed
the liberties of Newgate, which, in the cant language, signifies
vlunder, as loudly as the thieves themselves.  In short, such
quarreis and animosities happened between them, that they
seemed rather the people of two countries long at war with
eaeh other, than the inhabitants of. the same castle..Wild's party at length prevailed, and he succeeded to the,)iace and power of Johnson, whom he presently stripped of
all his finery; but when it was proposed, that he should sell
it, and divide the monley for the good of the whole, he waived
thalt motion, sa.ying it was not yet time, that he should find a
better opportunity, that the clothes wanted cleaning, with
many other pretenees, and, within two days, to the surprise of
many, he appbared in them himself: for which he vouchsafed
no other apology than, that they fitted him much better-than




454               THE  HISTORY  OF
they did Johnson, and that they became him in a much. more
clegant manner.
This behaviour in Wild greatly incensed the debtors, particularly those by whose means he had been promoted. They
rrurnbled extremely, and vented great indignation against
Wild; when one day a very grave man, and one of much authority amongst them, bespake them as follows:
" Nothing sure can be more justly ridiculous than the conduct of those, who should lay the lamb in the wolf's way, and
then should lament his being devoured. What a wolf is in a
sheepfold, a great man is in society. Now when one wolf is
ia possession of a sheepfold, how little would it avail the
simple flock to expel him, and place.another in his.stead I Of
the same benefit to us is the overthrowing one prig in favour
of another.  And for what other advantage was your struggle?
Did you not all know that Wild and his followers were prigs,
as well as Johnson and his? What then could the contention
be among such, but that which you have now discovered it to
rnave been? Perhaps some would say, is it then our duty
tamely to submit to the rapine of the prig who now plunders
us, for fear of an exchange?  Surely no; but I answer, it is
better to shake the plunder off, than to exchange the plunderer.
And by what means can we effect this, but by a total change
in our manners? Every prig is a slave. His own p1iggish.
desires, which enslave him, themselves betray him  to the
tyranny of others.  To preserve, therefore, the liberty of Newgate, is to change the manners of Newgate. Let us, therefore,
who are confined here for debt only, separate ourselves entirely
firom the prigs; neither drink with them, nor converse with
them. Let us, at the same time, separate ourselves farther
from priggism itself.  Instead of being ready on every opportunity, to pillage each other, let us be content with our honest
share of the common bounty, and with the acquisition of our
own industry.  When we separate from thl prig.s, let us enter
into a closer alliance with one another. Let us consider ouT-,
selves as all members of one community, to the public good
of which we are to sacrifice our private views; not to give ua)
the interest of the whole for every little pleasure or profit
which we shall accrue to ou'rselves.  liberty is colsistent with




JONATHAN WILD.                       455
no degree of honesty inferior to this, and the community where
this abound., no prig will have the impudence or audacious-,tess to- endeavour to enslave; or if he should, his own destruction would be the only consequence of his attempt.  But while
one man pursunes his ambition, another his interest, another his
of-ity; while one hath a roguery (a priggism they here call it)
io commit,.:nd another a roguery to defend, they must naturally fly to the favour and protection of those, who have power
to give them what they desire, and to defend them from what
they fimr; nay, in, this view it becomes their interest to promIote this power in their patrons.  Now, gentlemen, when we
-ret no longer prigs, we shall no longer have these fears or
ti,-se desires.  What remains, therefore, for us, but to resolve
bravely to lay aside our przggzsm. our rogueryv, in plainer
words, nndl preserve our liberty, or to give up the latter in the
presctrrv;tioIi and preference of the former."
T!:id espcch was received with much applause; however,
Wild ce!mtillued as before to levy contributions among the
v'isunller, to apply the garnish to his own use, and to strut
openlyv in tl;e ornaments which he had stripped from Johnson.
To spceak- sincerely, there was more bravado than real use or
adlvant:ge in these trappings.  As far the night-gown, its outside-indeed made a glittering tinsel appearance, but it kept him
not warm; nor could the finery of it do him more honour, since
every one knew it did Ilot properly belong% to him; as to the
waistcoat, it fitted him very ill. being infinitely too big for him;
and his cap was so heavy, that it made his head ache.  Thus
these clothes, which, perhaps, (as they presented the idea of
their misery more sensibly to the people's eyes,) - brought him
more, envy, hatred, and detraction, than all his deeper impositillls sad more real advantages, afforded very little use or
i)II-,)1it, to the wcnrtir; nay, could scarce serve to amuse his own
va.:ity, when. this was cool enough to reflect with the least.eriousness.  A1nd should I speak in the language of a man
-who estim re't hui a.rllt   happ iess without regard to the greatness
which we h1av2- so laboriously endeavoured to paint in this
history, it is proliblce he never took (i. e. robbed the prisoners
of a shilling, wlhic ho himself did not pay too dear for.




45.6               TIIE HISTORY  OF
CHAPTE.R IV.
The dead-warrant arrives for Hear/free; on which occasion Wild betrays some
human weakness.
TihE dead-warrant, as it is called, now came down to Newgrate for the execution of Heartfree among the rest of the
prisoners. And here the reader must excuse us who profess to
draw natural, not perfect characters, and to record the trultlhs
of history, not the extravagancies of romance, while we relate
a weakness in Wild, of which we are ourselves ashamed, afd
which we would willingly have concealed, could we have proserved- at the same time that strict attachment to truth and
impartiality, which we have professed in recording the annals
of this great man. Know, then, reader, that this dead. warrant
did not affect Iteartfree, who was to suffer a shameful death ly
it, with half the concern it gave Wild, who htad hbeen the
occasion of it.  He had been a little struck the day fet'ore, (m
seeing the children carried away in tears from  their fathee.
This sight brought the remembrance of some slight injuries he
bad done the father to his mind, which lie endeavoured, as much
as possible, to obliterate; -but when one of the keepers (I
should say lieutenants of the castle) repeated Ileartfree's name
among those of the malefactors who were to suffer within a
few days, the blood forsook his countenance, and in a cold still
stream moved heavily to his heart, which lhad ccarco strength
enough left to return it through his veins.  In short, his body
so visibly demonstrated the pangs of his minri, that, to escape
observation, he retired to his room, where he sullenly gave vent
to such bitter agonies, that even the injured Tleartfree, had not
the apprehension of what his wife had suffered, tshut every
avenue of compassion, would have pitied himl.
When his mind was thoroughly fatigued, and worn out i\ ih
the horrors which the approaching fate of the poor wretich,  tho
lay under a sentence which he had iniquitously brolgh6 upon
him, had suggested, sleep promised him relief; but thiA promise
was, alas!. delusive.,  This certain friend to the tired Iody is
often the severest enemy to the oppressed mind.  So at least
it proved to Wild, adding visionary to real horrors, and




JON A:THAN  W.LD.                   45'
tormlenting his imaginlation with phantoms too dreadful to be
described. At length, starting'from these visions, -he no
sooner discovered his waking senses, than he cried out: "I
may yet prevent this catastrophe.  It is too late to discover
the whole. "
HIe then paused a moment: but greatness instantly returning
to his assistance, checked the base thought, as it first offered
itself to his mind.  Ife then reasoned thus coolly with himself:
"Shall I, like a child, or a woman, or one of those mean
wretches whom I have always dgspised, be frightened by dreams
and. visionary phantoms, to sully that honour which I have so
difficultly acquired, and so gloriously maintained? Shall I,
to' redeem  the worthless life of this silly fellow, suffer my
reputation to contract a stain, which the blood of millions cannot wipe away?  Was it-only that the few, the simple part of
mankind, should call me rogue, perhaps I could submit; but
to be for evier contemptible to the PRIGS, as a wretch who
wantedl spirit to execute my undertaking, can never be digested.
What is the life of a single man?. Have not whole armies and
nations been sacrificed t3 the honour of ONE GREAT MAN? Nay,
to omit' the first clss osf greatness, the conquerors of mankind,
how often lhave nml;letrs fallen, by a fictitious plot, only to
satisfy the spleen or perlaps exercise the ingenuity of a member
of that second order of greatness, the Ministerial I What have
I don?, then?  Why, 1. have ruined a family, and brought an
innocent man to the gallows. I ought rather to weep with
Atlexander, that 1 hav; ruined no more, than to regret the
little I have donre. "  lie at lenlgthl, therefore, bravely resolved
to consign over lleartfree to liis fate, though it cost him more
strugllgling than. nmayv easilvy be believed. utterly to conquer
hlis reluctance, and to banish away every degree' of humanity
from hlis mind, these little sparks of whiclh composed one of
tlhose weaknesses whliich we lhmnented in the opening of our
history.
But, int vindication of our hero, we must beg leave to
observe, tlhat nature is seldom so kind as those writers who
draw chatacters-absolutely perfect.'Shie seldom creates any
ian' so completely great, or completely low, but that some.
sparks of llluinnnity will glimmer in the former, and some sparks
39




~.58               T THE HISTORY  OF
of what the vulgar call evil will dart forth ia the latter; utterly
to extinguish which, will give some pain and uneasiness to
both; for I apprehend, no mind was ever yet formed entirely
free from blemish, unless, peradventure, that of a sanctified
hypocrite, whose praises some well-fed flatterer hath gratefully
thought proper to sillg forth.
CHAPTER V.
Containing varions matters.
TInE day was now come when poor Heartfree was to suffer
an ignominious death. Friendly had, in the strongest manner,
confirmed his assurances of fulfilling, his promise, of becoming
a father to one of his children and a husband to the other.
This gave him inexpressible comfort; and he had, the evening
before, taken his last leave of the little wretches, with a tenderness which.drew a tear from one of the keepers, joined to a
magnanimity which would have pleased a Stoic. When he
was informed that the coach which Friondly had provided for
him was ready, and that the rest of the prisoners were gone,
he embraced that faithful friend with great passion, and begged
that he would leave him here; but the other desired leave to
accompany him to his end;. which at last he was forced to comply with.  And now he was proeceding towards the coach,
when he found his difficulties were not yet over; for now a
friend arrived, of whom he was to take a harder and yet more
tender leave than he had yet gone through.  This friend,
reader, was no other than Mrs. Ileartfree herself, who ran to
him with a look all wild. staring, and frantic; and, having
reached his arms, fainted atway in them, without muttering a
single syllable.  Ileartfl'ee was, with great difficulty, able to
preserve his own senses, in such a surprise, at such a season.
And indeed, our good-natured readler will be rather inclined to
wish this miserable couple had, by dying in each other's arms,
put a final period to their woes, than have survived to taste
those bitter moments whllichll were to be their portion, and which
the unhappy wife, soon recovering from the short intermissi'n
of being, now began to suffer. When she became first misnres.




JONATHAN  WILD.                    45-8
of ner voice, she burst forth into the following accents: "0,
my husband I is this the condition in which I find you after our
cruel separation?  Who hath done this?  Cruel Heaven!
What is the occasion?  I' know thou canst deserve no ill.'ell me, somebody who can speak, while I have my senses left
to nnderstand,-what is the matter?" At which words, several
iaughed- and one answered, "The matter? —why no great
imatter. The gentleman is not the first, and won't be the last.
The worst of the matter is, that if we are to stay all the morning here, I shall lose my dinner."  lEeartfree, pausing a
moment, and recollecting himself, cried out, "I will bear all
with patience."  And then, addressing himself to the commanding officer, begged he might only have a few minutes by
himself with his wife, whom he had not seen before, since his
misfortunes. The great man answered, he had compassion on
him, and would do more than he could answer; but he supposed he was too much a gentleman not to know that something
was due for such civility.  On this hint, Friendly, who was
himself half dead, pulled five guineas out of his pocket, which
the great man, took, and said, he would be so generous to give
him ten minutes; on which, one observed, that many a gentleman had bought ten minutes with a woman dearer; and many
other facetious remarks were made, unnecessary to be here
related. Heartfree was now suffered to retire into a room with
his wife; the commander informed him, at his entrance, that
he must be expeditious, for that the rest of the good company
would be at the tree before him, and he supposed he was a
gentleman of too much breeding to make them wait.
This tender wretched couple were now retired for these few
minutes, which the commander without carefully measured with
his watch; and Ieartfree was mustering all his resolution to
part with what his soul so ardently doted on, and to conjure!}cr to Support his loss, for the sake of her poor infants, and to
comfort her with the promise of Friendly on their account;
but all his design was frustrated.  Mrs. Heartfree could not
support the shock, but again fainted away, and so entirely lost
every symptom  of life, that Heartfree called. vehemently for
assistance. Friendly rushed first into the room, and was soon
followed by many others, and what was remarkable, one, who




460               THE HISTORY  OF
had, unmoved, beheld the tender scene between these palrting
lovers,' was touched to the quick by the pale looks of the
woman, and ran up and down for water, drops, &c., with tlhe
utmost hurry and confusion. The ten minutes were expired,
which the commander now hinted; and seeing nothing offered
for the renewal of the term, (for indeed Friendly had unhappily
emptied his pockets,) he began to grow very importunate, and
at last told leartfree, he should be ashamed not to act more
like a man. Hleartfree begged his pardon, and said, he would
make him wait no longer. Then, with the deepest sigh, cried,
"0, my angel 1" and. embracing his wife with the utmost eagerness, kissed her pale lips with more fervency than ever bridegroom did the blushing cheeks of liis bride; he then cried,
i' The Almighty bless thee: and, if it be his pleasure, restore
thee to life; if not, I beseech him we may presently meet again
in a better world than this. " He was breaking from her, when,
perceiving her sense returning, -he could not forbear renewing
his embrace, and again pressing her lips, which now recovered
life and warmth so fast, that he bogged one ten minutes more,
to tell her what her swooning had prevented her hearing. The
worthy commander, being perhaps a little touched at this tender
scene, took Friendly aside, and asked him what he would give,
if he would suffer his friend to remain half an hour?
Friendly answered, any thing; that he had no more money
in his pocket, but he would certainly pay him that afternoon.
Well then, I'll be moderate, said he,"    twenty guineas
Friendly' answered, it is a bargain. The commander, having
exacted a firm pr-omise, cried, -" Then I don't care if they
stay a wholce hour tngetlhcr; for what signifies hiding good
news?-The ge.ntlerman is reprieved-;" of which he had
just before received notice in a whisper. It would be very
impertinent to offer at a desc:ription of the joy this.ccasioned
to the two friends, or to Mrs. THeartfree, who was now again
recovered. A surgeon, who was happily present, was employed
to bleed them all. After which the commander, who had his
promise of the money again confirmed to him, wished Heartfree joy, and, shaking him very friendly- by the hands, cleared
the room of all the company, and left the three friends together




JONATHAN  WILD.                     461
CHAPTER VI.
In w-hzch'he foregoing happy incident is accountedfor.
Bt:?T here, though I am convinced my good-natured reader
may almost want the surgeon's assistance also, and that there
is no passage in this whole story, which can afford him equal
oeligght;: yet lest our reprieve should seem to resemble that in
the Beggar's Opera, I shall endeavour to show him, that this
incident, which is undoubtedly true, is at least as natural as
delightful; for we assure him, we would rather have suffered
half mankind to be hanged, than have saved one contrary to
the strictest rules of writing and probability.
Be it known, then, (a circumstance which I think highly
credible,) that the great Fireblood had been, a few days before,
taken in the fact of a robbery, and carried before the same
justice of peace, who had, on his evidence, committed Heartfree to prison.  This. magistrate, who did. indeed no small
honour to the commission he bore, duly considered the weighty
charge committed to him, by which lie was entrusted with
decisions affecting the lives, liberties, and properties of his
countrymen; he therefore examined always with the utmost
diligence and caution into every minute circumstance.  And,
as he had a good deal balanced, even when he committed
Heartfree, on the excellent character given him by Friendly
and the maid; and, as he was much staggered on finding that
the two persons, on whose evidence alone Heartfree had been
committed, and had been since convicted, one was in Newgate
for a felony, and the other was now brought before him for a
robbery, he thought proper to put the matter very home to
Fireblood at this time.  The young Achates was taken, as we
have said, in the fact; so that denial he saw was in vain. He
therefore honestly confessed what he knew must be proved; and
desired, on the merit of the discoveries he made, to be admitted
as an evidence against his accomplices.  This afforded the
happiest opportunity to the justice, to satisfy his conscience, in
relation to Heartfree.  He told Fireblood, that if he expected
the favour he solicited, it must be on condition, tliat he revealed
the whole truth to him concerning the evidence which he had
X9 *




162-              TlE  HISTORIY  OF
lately given against a bankrupt, and which some circumstances
had induced a suspicion of; that he might depend on it, the
truth would be discovered by other means; and gave some
oblique hints (a deceit entirely justifiable) that Wild himself
had offered such a discovery.  The very mention of Wild's
name immediately alarmed Fireblood, who did not in the least
doubt the readiness of that GtEAT MAN to hang any of the
gang, when his own interest seemed to require it. Hie therefore
hesitated not a moment; but, having obtained a promise from
the justice, that he should be accepted as an evidence, he discovered the whole falsehood, and declared that he had beer
seduced by Wild to depose as he had done..
The justice having thus luckily and timely discovered this
scene of villany, alias greatness, lost not a moment in using
his utmost endeavours to get the case of the unhappy convict
represented to the sovereign; who immediately granted him
that gracious reprieve, which caused such happiness to the persons concerned; and which we hope we have now accounted
for to the satisfaction of the reader.
The good magistrate lhaving obtained this reprieve for
HIeartfree, thought it incumbent on him to visit him in the
prison, and to sound, if possible, the depth of this affair, that,
if he should appear as innocent as he now began to conceive
him, he might use all imaginable methods to obtain his puardon
and enlargement.
The next day, therefore, after that when the miserable scene
above described had passed, he went to Newgate, where he
found those three persons, namely, Heartfree, his wife, and
Friendly, sitting together.  The justice informed the prisoner
of the confession of Fireblood, with the steps which: he had
taken: upon it.  The reader will easily conceive the many outward thanks as well as inward gratitude which he received
from' all three; but those were of very little consequence to
him, compared with the secret satisfaction he felt in his mind,
from reflecting on the preservation of innocence, as he sooin
after very clearly perceived was the case.
When he entered the room, Mrs. Heartfree was speaking
with some earnestness: as he perceived, therefore, he had interrupted her, he begged she would continue her disconrrse,




JONATHAN WILD.                     4:63
which, if he prevented by his presence, he desired to depart;
but leartfree would not suffer it.  He said she had been relating some adventures, which perhaps might entertain him to
hear, and which she the rather desired he would hear, as they
might serve to illustrate the foundation on which this falsehood
had been built, which had brought on her husband all his misfortunes.
The justice very gladly consented, and Mrs. ]Heartfree, at
her husband's desire, began the relation from the first renewal
of Wild's acquaintance with him; but, though this recapitulation was necessary for the information of our good magistrate,
as it would be useless,, and perhaps tedious, to the reader, we
shall only repeat that part of her story to which only he is a
stranger, beginning with what happened to her after Wild had
been turned adrift in the boat by the captain: of the French
privateer.
CHAPTER VII.
Mrs. Ilearlfree relates her adventures.
Mas. IIEARTFRrEE proceeded thus: "The vengeance which
the:French captain exacted on that villain (our hero) persuaded
me, that I was fallen into the hands of a man- of honour and
justice; nor, indeed, was it possible for any person to be
treated with more respect and civility than I now was; but
this.could not mitigate my sorrows, when I reflected on the
condition in which I had been betrayed to leave all tha# was
dear to me, much less could it produce such an effect, when I
discovered, as I soon did, that I owed it chiefly to a passion,
which threatened me wvith great uneasiness, as it quickly appearedl- to be very violent, and as I was absolutely in the power
of the person who possessed it, or was rather possessed by it.
I must however do him the justice to say, my fears carried my
suspicions farther than I afterwards found I had any reason: to
carry them: he did, indeed, very soon acquaint me with his
passion, and used all those gentle methods, which frequently
succeed with our sex, to prevail with me to gratify it; but
never once threatened, nor had the least recourse to force.
He did not even once insinuate to me, that I was totally in his




464               THIE HISTORY  OF
power, which I myself sufficiently saw, and whence I drew the
most dreadful apprehensions, well knowing, that as there are
some dispositions so brutal, that cruelty adds a zest and savour
to their pleasures; so there are others whose gentler inclinations are better gratified, when they win us by softer methods
to comply with their desires; yet that even these may be often
compelled by an unruly passion to have recourse at last to the
mneans of violence, when they despair -of success from persuasion; but I was happily the captive of a better man.  My
conqueror was one of those over whom vice hath a limited
jurisdiction; and though he was too easily prevailed on to
sin, he was proof against any temptation to villany.
We had been two days almost totally becalmed, when a
i)risk gale rising, as we were in sight of Dunkirk, we saw a
vessel mlaking full sail towards us.  The captain of the privateer was so strong, that he apprehended no danger but from a
man-of-war, which the sailors discerned this not to be.  He
therefore'struck his colours, and furled his sails as much as
possible, in order to lie by and expect her, hoping she might
be a prize. "  (Here  Heartfree smiling, his wife stopped, and
iiquired the cause.  tie told her, it was from her using the
sea terms so aptly; she laughed, and answereod, lie would
wonder less at this, when he heard the long time' she had beell
on board: and then proceeded.)  "This vessel now, came
alongside of us, and hailed us, having perceived that on which
we were aboard, to be of her own country: they begged us
not to put into Dunkirk, but to accompany them in their pursuit of a large English merchantmlan, whom we should easily
overtake, and both tog'ether as easily conquer.  Our captain
immediately consented to this proposition, and' ordered all sail
to be crowded.  This was most unwelcome news to me; however, lie comforted me all lie could, by assuring me, I had
nothing to fear, that he would be so far from offering the least
ruldeness to me himself, that he would, at the hazard of h s
life, protect me from it.  This assurance gave me all the consolation which my present circumstances and the dreadful apprehensions I had on your account would admit."  (At which
words the tenderest glances passed on both sides between the
husband and wife.)




JONATIIAN  WILD.                     465
"We sailed near twelve hours, when we came in sight of
the ship we were in pursuit of, and which we should probably
have soon comnie up With, hlad not a very thick mist ravished her
fromn our eyes.  This mist continued several hours, and when
it cleared up, we discovered our companion at a great distance
from us; but what gave us (I mean the captain and his crew)
the greatest uneasiness, was the sight of a very large ship
within a mile of us, which presently saluted us with a gun, and
Ilow appeared to be a third-rate English man of war.  Our
captain declared the impolssibility of either fighting or escaping,
tn1ld accordingly struck, without waiting for the broadside which
was preparing for us, and which perhaps would have prevented
m, i'roni tile hlappiness I now tnjoy. " This occasioned Heartfree
to change colour; his wife therefore passed hastily to circumstances of a nllire smiling complexion.
" I greatly rejoiced at tlls event, as I thought it would not
only restore me to the safe possession of my jewels, but to
what 1 value bevond all the treasure in the universe.  My
expectation, however, of both these was somewhat crossed for
the present  as to the former, I was told, they should be carefillly preserved; but that I must prove my right to them before
I could expect their restoration; which, if I mistake not, the
capltain did not very eagerly desire I should be able to accomplish; aznd as to the latter, I was acquainted, that I should be
put on board the first ship which they met oil her way to England, but that they were proceeding to the West Indies.
" I had not been long on board the nall of war, before I
discovered jstlst reason rather to lament than to rejoice at the
exchange of my captivity; (for such I concluded my present
situation'to be.)  I h}ad now another lover in the captain of
this Englishnmal, land much rougher and less gallant than the
Frencehmain had l)eell.  tie used me with scarce common civility, as indeed he shIowed very little to any otherperson, treating his officers little b)etter than a man of no great good breeding would exert to his  eaniest servant, and that, too, on some
very irritating provocation.  As for me, he addressed me with
the insolence of a basha to a Circassian slave; he talked to ime
with the loose license in wiich the most profligate libertines
converse with h1.arlots, and which women,.bandoned only in a
2 Fo




466'               THE HISTORY  OF
moderate degree, detest and abhor.  He often kissed me with
very rude familiarity, and one day attempted: further brutality;
when a gentleman on board, and who was in my situation, that
is, had been taken by a privateer and was retaken, rescued me
from his hands; for which the captain confined him, though he
was not under his command, two days in irons; when he Mwas
released, (for I was not allowed to visit him in his confinement,)
I went to him and thanked.him with the: utmost acknowlodgment, for what he had done and suffered on my account.  The
gentleman behaved to me in the handsomest manner on this
occasion; told me he was ashamed of the high sense I seemed
to entertain of so small an obligation, of an action to which
his duty as a Christian, and his honour as a man. obliged him.
From this time I lived in great familiarity'with this man, whliom
I regarded as my protector, which lihe professed himself ready
to be on all occasions, expressing tire utmost abhorrence of the
captain's brutality, especially that shown towards me, and the
tenderness of a parent for the preservation of my virtue, for
which I was not myself more solicitous than he appeared.  lie
was, indeed, the only man I had hitherto met, since my unhappy
departure, who did nbt endeavour by all his Wvords, looks, and
actions, to assure me, he had a liking to lly unfortunate person.
The rest seeming desirous of-sacrificing the little beauty they
complimented, to their desires, without the least consideration
of the ruin, which I earnestly represented to, them, they were
attempting to bring on me and on my future repose.
I' i now passed several days pretty free from the captain's
molestation, till one'fatal night."   Iere, perceiving Heartfree
grew pale, she comforted him by an assurance, that Heaven
had preserved her chastity, and again had restored her unsullied to'his arms.  She continued thus: "Perhaps I give it a
wrong epithet in the word fatal; but a wretched night, I am
sure I may call it, for no woman, who came off victorious, was,
I believe; ever in greater danger.  One night, I say, having
drunk his spirits high with punch, in company with the purser,
who was the only man in the ship he admitted to his table, the
captain sent for me into his cabin; whither, though unwilling,
I was obliged to go.  We were no sooner alone together than
he Seized me by the hand, and after affronting my ears- with




,JONATHlAN  WI LD.                   467
discourses which I. am unable to repeat, he swore a great oatlh,
that his passion was to be dallied with no longer; that I must
not expect to treat him in the manner to which a set of blocklhead landmen submitted.  None of your coquette airs, therefore, with me, madam, said lie, for I am resolved to have you
this night.  No struggling nor squalling, for both will be
impertinent.  The first man who offers to. come in here, I will
have his's kin flea'd off at the gangway.  He then aftempted
to pull me violently towards his bed.  I threw myself on my
knees, and with tears and entreaties besought his.compassion;
but this. was, I found, to no purpose: I then had'recourse to
threats, and endeavoured to frighten him with the consequenlce;
but neither had this, tho:ugh it seemed to stagger him more
than the other method, suflilcient force to deliver me.  At last
a stratagem came into my head,- of which my perceiving hilm
reel-, gave me the first hint.  I elltreated a moment's reprieve
only, when collecting all the spirits I could muster, I put'on a
constrained air of gayety, and told him with an affectionate
laugh, he was the roughest lover I had over met with, and that
I believed I was the first woman he had ever paid his addresses
to. Addresses, said lie, d-'n your dresses, I want to undress
you.  I then begged him to let us drink some punch together;
for that I loved a can as well as himself, and never would grant
the favour to any man till I had drank a hearty glass with him.
0.! said lie, if tha.t hbe all, you shall have punch enough to
drown yourself in.  At which words lie rung the bell, and
ordered in a gallon of that liquor.  I was in the mean time
obliged to suffer his nauseous kisses, and some rudeness which
I had great difficulty to restrain Nwithin moderate bounds.
When the punch came in, he took up the bowl and drank my
health ostentatiously, in such a quantity that it considerably
advanced my scheme.  I followed him  with bumpers, as fast
as possible, and was myself obliged to drink so much, that at
another time it would have staggered my own reason, but at
present it did not affect me.
"At length, perceiving him very far gone, 1 watched an
opportunity, and ran out of the cabill, resolving to seek protection of the sea, if I could find no other; but heaven was
now graciously pleased to relieve me; for in his attempt to




468                TIIE II'STOlLY  OF
pursue me lie -reeled backwards, and, falling downl the cabin
stairs, he dislocated his shoulder, and so bruised:himself, that
I was not only preserved that night from  any danger of my
intended ravisher, but the accident threw him into a fever, which
endaz ered his life; and whether he ever recovered or no, I alm
not certain; for, during his delirious fits, the eldest lieutenant
commajnded the ship. This was a virtuous and a brave fellow,
whot bid been twenty-five- years in that post without being able
to obtain: a-ship, and had seen several boys, the bastards of
poblemen, put over his head. One:day, while the ship remained
under:his:command, an Englishll vessel, bound to Cork, passed
by; myself:and my friend, -who had formerly lain two days in
irons on. my account, went on -board this ship with the leave
of the goodR:ieutenant, who made us such presents as he was
able, of:pro-visions, and congratulating me on my delivery'from
a-d-aiger to which none of ti.c ship's crew had been strangers.,
lie kindlyl wished us both a safe voyage."
IifAP'TER  VIII.
In which,frs. Jfearcfrce ccn,'inues the relation of- her adcenlures.
"THE first evening after -we were aboard this' vessel, wllicl,
was a brigantine, we being then at no very great distallee from
the- Madeiras, the most violent storm arose from the north-west,
in which we presently lost both our masts: and indeed, death
now presented itsdlf as  inevitable to -us. - I need not tell my
Tommy what were tlical my thoughts.  Our danger was so
great, that the captain of the ship, a professed atheist, betook
himself to prayers, and the whole crew, abandoning themselves
for lost, fell with the utmost eagerness to the emptying a eask
of brandy, not one drop of which, they swore, should be
polluted with salt-water.  I observed here, my old friend displayed less courage than I expected fiom him.  He seemed
entirely swallowed up in despair.  But, heaven be praised! we
were all at last preserved. The storm, after above eleven hours'
continuance, began to abate, and l)y degrees entirely ceased;
but left us still rolling at the mercy. of the waves, which carried
us at their own pleasure -to the soultlh-east, a vast. number of




JONATHIAN WILD.                      469
leagues. Our crew were all dead drunk with the brandy which
they-had taken such care to preserve from the sea; but, indeed,
had they been awake, their labour would have been of very
little service, as we had lost all our rigging: our brigantine
being reduced to a naked hulk only.  In this condition; we
floated about thirty hours, till; in the midst of a very dark
night, we spied a light, which, seeming to approach us., grew
so large, that our sailers concluded it to be the lantern- of a
man of war; but when we were cheering ourselves with the
hopes of our deliverance from this wretched situation,. on a
sudden, to our great concern, the light entirely disappeared,
and left us in; a ldesp)air. ilcreased by the remembrance of those
pleasing imaginittions with which we had entertained-our minds
during its apL)earall(e.  The rest of the:niglht we passed in
melancholy conlectures on the- light which blad deserted us,
which the nmajor part If the sa:.ilors concluded to be a meteor.
In this distress we had one comfort, which was, a plentiful
store of provisi. ), this so supported the spirits of the  sailors,.
that they declared;,ad they but a sufficieilt quantity of brandy,
they cared not whether they saw land for   Ilonllth to c,,onli.:
but, indeed, we were Umuch nearer it than we imagined, as we
perceived at break of day; one of the most knowing of the
crew declared we were near the continent oi' Africa: but wheii
we were within three leagues of it, a second violent st-orm
arose from the north, so that we again gave over all hopes of
safety.  This storm was not quite so 3utrageous as the former,
but of much longer contillance; for it 1.stEi D.rear three days,
and drove us an immllense number of klagnes to the south.
"We were within'; league of the shore, expecting every
moment our ship to be dashed to pieces, when the tempest
ceased all on a sudden; but the waves still continued to roll
like mountains, and before the sea recovered its calm motion,
our ship was thrown so near land, that the captain ordered out
his boat, declaring he had scarce any hopes of saving her;-and
indeed we had not quitted her many minutes, before we saw
the justice of his apprehensions; for she struck against a rock,
and immediately sunk.  The behaviour of the sailors on this
occasion very much affected me, they beheld their shil) perish
with the tenderness of a lover or a parent, they spoke of. her
40




470                r ~ fTIlE I lS-TORY OF
as the fo.ndest husband would of his wife.; and. many of them,
who seemed to have no tears in their composition, shed theim
plentifully- at her sinking.  The captain himself cried out,, Go
th y uay, charming Molly, the sea n-ever devoured a lovelie?
tmorsel.  If I have fifty vessels, I shall never  love anothe'
like thee. Poor slut, I shall remenmber th.ce to my dying day
Well,,.the boat now conveyed us all safe to shore, where wc
landed with very little difficulty.  It was:low about noon, an.1I
the rays of the sun, which descended almost perpendicular on
our heads, were extremely hot and troublesome.  However,
we travelled through this extreme heat about five miles over a
plain.  this brought us to a vast wood, which extended itself
as far as we could see l)oth to the right and left, and seemed
to me to lput an entire end to our: progress.  I[ere we decreed
to: rest and dine on the provision, which we thad brought from
the: ship, of whichl we had sufficient for vey fe'w mneals; our
boat being so overloade4 with people, that we had very little
room for luggage of, any kind.  Our repast was salt pork
I.roiled,- which tlhe keenless of hunger made so delicious to my
comap.ani-ons that they fed very heartily upon it. As for myself,
t;he fatigue of my body, and the ve:ation of my mind, had so
thorolughly weakened me, that I was almost entirely deprived
of appetite; and the utmost dexterity of the most accomplished
French cookl would have been ineffectual, had he endeavoured
to tempt me with delicacies.  I thought myself very little a
gainer by my late escape from the tempest, by which I seemed
only to have exchanged the element in which I was presently
to die.  When our company had sllfficl.enlty, and indeed very
plentifully, feasted themselves, they resol-v(d ts; enter the wood,
and endeavour to pass it, in es:pectatio  3-i' findling some inhabitants, at least some provision. We proceeded therefore inl
the following order: one main in the front with a hatchet to
clear our way, and two others followed him with guns to protect the rest from wild beasts; then walked the rest of our
company, and, last of all, the captain himself, being armed
likewise- with a gun, to defend- us from any attack behind, in the
rear, I think you call it. And thus our whole company, being
fourteen in number, travelled on, till night overtook us, without
seeing any thing, unless a few birds, and some very insinllifi



JON'ATXHAN  WI D..                    4'11
canlt:::i:ru.ls.  We rested- all night under- the covert of some
trees, and iildeed, we very little wanted shelter- at that season,
the heiat in the day being the only inclemency we- had to combat
with in this climate.  I cannot help telling' you, my old friend
ley- still nearest to me on the ground, and detclared he would!e iny protector should any of the, sailors ofiler rudeness; but
I canl acquit -heIn of any such attempt; nor was I evre affronted
l)y anly one, Imore thln with a coarse expression. proceeding
rathler fiom  the roughlless and ignorance of their educationl,
than from any abandoned principle, or want of humanity.
" We had- now proceeded very little way: on our next day's
nmarch, when one of the sailors having skipt nimbly up a hill,
witth tile assistance of a speaking-tru/npet informed us, that he
saw a town a very little way off.  This news so comforted me,.land gave me sucllh strength, as well as spirits, that, witl the
llell) of my old friend, and another, who suffered me to lean
on them, -, with much difficulty. attained the-summit; buht was
so absolutely overcome in climbing it, that I hald no longer
sufficient- strength to support my tottering limbs. and- was
obligedr to lay myself again on the ground; nlor could they
prcwvtail oil me to un(lertake descending through a very thick
wood  ilnto a plain, at the end of which indeed appeared some
hoiise.(', or rather huts, but at a much greater. distance than the;:ailL lhad assured us; the little way, as he had called it, seeming, to me filll twenty miles, nor was it, I believe, much less."
C IA PTER IX.
Containing incidents very surprising.
"THE captain decla red he would, without delay, proceed to
the town be-fore him; in which' resolution he was seconded by
all the crew; hut' when 1. could  eot be persuaded, nor-was I
a.ble-to travel ally farther, before I had rested myself, my old
friend protested he wouldl not leave me, but would stay behind
tls my guard; and, Whetl I had refreshed myself with a littl-e
repose, hle would altenrd me lo the town, which the captain p)I'Otnised lie would not lea1ve before he had h    seen us.
They were no'oon(rl cl epart ed,' than (having~ first thanked




47'                 THE IIISTORlY  01
my protector for his care ojf me) I resigned  r myself'o sleep,
which immediately closed my eyelids, and would probabl- havwe
detained me very long- in ihis gentle dominion, had I n.kt,)eenl,~waked with a squeeze by the hand bv my guard; wtic h I at
first thought intended to alarm  me with the danger of some
wild beast; but I soon perceived it arose from a softer motiv(,
and that a gentle swain was the only wild beastl' had to apprehiend.  He beganl now to disclose his passiou: in the strongest
manner imaginalle; indeed, with a warmth rather beyolid tllat
of both mny former lovers; but as yet without any attempt of
absolute force.  On my side, remonstrances were made in more
bitter exclamatiolls and revilings than I nhad used to any, that
villain Wild exceptud.  I told him he was the basest and most
treacherous wretch alive; that his having cloaked his iniqulitous dcesigns tlnder the appearance of virtue and friendship,
added an ineffable degree of horror to them:'hat I detested
him of a.ll mankind tile most; and could I be brouglht to yield
to prostitution, lie should be the last to enjoy tlte ruins of nmy
honour.  lie suffered himself not to be provoked by this language, but only changled his method of solicitation from flattery
to bril;ery.  lie unripped tlLe lining of his waistcoat, e.nd
pulled forth several jewels; these, he said, lie had preserved
from inir.nite danger to tile hlappiest purpose, if I could l)( woll
by theni.  I rejected tllem often, witll the utmost iindignlatioll,
till, at last, casting my eye, rather by accidenlt than design, onl
a diamond necklace, a thought, like lightning, shot through
my mind, and in an instant I remembered that this was the
very necklace you htbl sold the cursed counft, the cause of all
our misfortunes.  Thi'l confusion of ideas into which this surprise hurried me, prevented me reflectinl, on the villain who
then stood before mne; but the first recollct.tionl presently told
me, it could be no otl!er tllha.L the ((,oult llimself, the wicked
tool of Wild's barbarity.  Good hceavens, what was then mr
condition! tow shall I describe tile tumult of passion which
then laboured in my breast! hiowever. as I Was happily 1unknown to him, the least suspi cion on his side was altogether
impossible.  IHe imputed, therefor'e, the eagerness with wlic:h
I gazed on tile jewels to a very wrong cause and endeavotred
to paut as munch additional softness::t- ii: c,:,i r.tenanee a u,




JONATIIAN WI L).                     4I73
was. s,able.- My fe. ars were a little quieted, and I was resolved
to b)e very liberal of promises, and hoped so thoroughly to
persuade him of my venality, that he might, without any doubt,
be drawn ia to wait the captain and crew's return, who would,
I was very certain, not only preserve me from his violence, but
secure the restoration of what you had so cruelly been robbed
t.f.  But alas! I was mistaken.'  Mrs. Hleartfree again perc,ivilug synlptom  cef the utmost disquietude in her husband's
coulntenance, cried out, "My  dear, don't you apprehend any
lhalrm.'  lunt, to deliver yolu as soon as possible from  your
anllxiety.- When he perceived I declinedthe warmthl of his addrcsseu, hle begged me to consider; he changed at once Ihis
voi.e- and'eatures, and, in a very different tone from:what lie
had hitherto affected, lie swore I should not deceive him as I
had the captain; that fortune had kindly thrown an1 opportunit.y in his way, which he was resolved not foolishly to lose;
and concluded with a violent oath, that lie was.determined to
enjoy me that moment; and therefore. I knew the consequeilce
of resistance.  He then caught ame in his arms, and began
such rude attempts, that I screamled out with all the force 1
-ould, though I bhad so little hopes of being rescued; When
ietle suddenly rushed forth from a thicket a creature, which,
at his first appearance, and in the hurry of spirits I, then was,
I did not ta.ke for a man; but indeed, Lhad lie been the fiercest
k f wild beasts, I should have rejoiced at his ldevouring us both.
I scarce perceived lie had a musket in his hatdl, before he
struck my ravisher such a blow with it, that lie felled hiin att
mny feet. Ile then advanced with a gentle air towards me, alnd
told me in French he was extremely glad he had been iuckily
present to my assistance.  He was naked, except his middle
an.ld his feet, if I call a body so, which was covered with hair
almost equal to any beast whatever.  Indeed, his appearance
was so horrid in my eyes, that. tthe friendship lie had shown
mc, as well as his ceurteou3 behaviour, could not entirely remove the dread I had conceived from his figure.  I believe lie
saw this very visibly; for lie begged me not to be frightened,
silce whatever accident lhad brought me thither, I should have
reason to thank heaven for meeting him, at whose 1hands I
mighlt assure myself of the utlllmost civility a.nd protection.  I'n
40 +




474                rHE  IIISTORY OF
the midst of all this consternation, I had spirits enough to
take up the casket of jewels which the vilain, in falling, haddropped out of his hands, and, conveyed it into my pocket.
My deliverer telling me, that I seemed extremely weak and;
faint; desired me to refresh myself at his little. hut, which he
said was hard by.  If his demeanour had been less kind and
obliging, my desperate situation must have lent me confic.cllce,
for sure the alternative could not be doubtful, whether I sh uld
rather trust this man, who, notwithstanding his savage outside, expressed so much devotion tc serve me, which at least. I
was not certain of the falsehood of, or should abide with one1
whom I so perfectly well knew to be an'accompl:shed villain.
I, therefore, committed' myself to his guidance, though with
tears in my eyes, and begged him to have compassion on my
innocence, which way absolutely in his power.  Ile said, thle
treatment he had,aren witness of, which, he supposed, wns
from one who had broken his trust towards me, sllufficiently
justified my suspicion; but begged me t- dry mny eyes, and he
would soon convince me, that I was with a man of different'
sentiments.  The kind accents which accomplanied these words,
gave me some comfort, whicih was assisted by the repossessiov
of our jewels, by an accident, strongly savouring of thoe dl,position of Providence in my favour.
" We left the villain wdlterirhg in his blood, though beginning
to recover a lit.le mon tion, and walked together to his hut, cr
rather cave f,r'.t was under ground, on the side of a hill; the
situation w,-'yf..y pleasant; and, from its mouth, we overlooked
a svrge plai.., aind the town I Lad before seen.  As soon as I
eiltcred it, he desired me to sit down on a bench of earth; which
sr:ed0. him for chairs, and then laid before me some frsuits, the
v:ild product of that col.intry, one or two of which had an ex-:e:.cnt flavour.  He likewise produced some baked flesh, a!i.sle resembling, that of venison.:'He then brought forth a
Lottle of brandy, which, he said, head remained with him ever
sih2e his settling:her'e, now above thirty years; during all
wh: h timte ht had never opened it, his only liquor being water;
that he had r.served this bottle as a cordial in sickness; but,
he thanked HI-aven, he lhad never yet had occasion for it.- He
then acquainted me that he was a hermit; that he had been




JONATHAN WILD.                      471%
formerly cast away on that coast, with his wife, whom he dearly
loved, but could not preserve from  perishing; on which
account, he hlad resolved never to return to France, which was
his native country, but to devote himself to prayer, and a holy
life, placing all his hopes in the blessed expectation of meeting
that dear woman again in Heaven,- where, he was convinced,
she was now a saint, and an interceder for-him.
"H Ie said, he had exchanged a watch with the king of that
country, whom he described to be a very just and good man,
for a gun, some powder, shot and ball; with which he sometimes provided himself food, but more generally used it in
defelnding himself against wild beasts; so that his diet was
chiefly of the vegetable kind, lIe told me many more circumstances, which I may relate to you hereafter: but to be as
concise as possible at present, he at length greatly comforted
me, by promising to conduct me to a seaport, where I might
have an\ opportunity to meet with som)e vessels trafficking for
slaves, and whence I might once more commit'myself to that
element, which, t.hough I had already suffered so much on it,
I lmust again trust, to put me in possession of all I loved.
"The character he gave me of the inhabitants of the town
we saw below us, and of their king, made me desirous of being
c(, tducted thither; especially as I very much wished to see
the captain and sailors, who had behaved very kindly to me,
and with> whom, notwithstanding all the civil behaviour of the
hermit, -  was rlather easier in my mind than alone with this
single man; but he dissuaded me greatly from attempting such
a walk, till I had recruited my spirits with rest, desiring me to
repose myself on his couch or bank, saying, that he himself
would retire without the cave, where he would remain as my
guard.  I accepted this kind proposal; but it was long before
I could procure'any slulmber: however, at length, weariness
prevailed over my fears, alnd I enjoyed several hours' sleep.
When I awaked, I found my faithful sentinel on his post, and
ready at my sumulons. This bellaviour infused some confidence
into me, and I now repeated my request, that he would go with
me to the town below; but he answered, it would be better
advised to take some repast before I undertook the journey;
which T should find much longer than it.9,ppearcd. I cnsented,




476                  THEIi  HISTORY  OF
and he set forth a greater variety of fruits than before, of
which I ate very plentifully; rfy. collation being  ended, I
renewed the mention of my wailk; but he still persisted ili dissuading me, telling me that I was not yet strong enough; that
I could repose myself no where with greater. safetv, than in his
cave; and that, for his part, he could!h-ve no greas''.apnpiness than that of attending mre, addirg, with a sigh, i. \'Vq a
happiness he should envy a'y other raore than all the giftfs of
fortune.- You may imagine I begaun now to entert'ain suspici(,r-;i
ullt he presently relnoved all doubt by throwing hirmst;lf at mr?
feet and expressing the warlnast passion for nme. I 1l,,lid have
now  sunk with despair had. h3 not accompanied thesoe prrfessions with the most vehement protestations t,'"at 1h, wosrld
nlever offer me any other torcu but that of entreaty, na;d that
lie would rather die the most cruel death by my colduless thanl
gaill the!lighest bliss by becoming the occasion of a tear of
sorrow to these bright eyes, which he, said were s,,ars, undur
whose b:e.-iign inllt'1;ce alone he11 Ceuld enljoy, or indeed suffer
life.'", e; w,.s r  repeatilg nmaly more compliments lie nmade
ller, whent a hlorrid. uproar, wl-:ch alarmed the whole gate(,. llt
-. stap to her narration at preI.?.i.  It is impossible fror 1.e to
give the ra.kler a better idea of the noise whtich now arose tlhnu.
ly desiriig him  to imlgll,;, I hadl the hundred tongues the
loet once wishedl fo;, and, as vocifer.ating from  them  all at
Alce, by hlalloing, scolding,;'. i:i, swearing, bell )wing, and,
in short, by every different',hli.lK.t    i.''';t-in tleO
scc.)e of tile  i.imrll orgmln.
C I.   P TE 1:t X.
A horrible upro xr in the gate.
I3UT, however great. an idea the reader may hence conceive
o)f thi3 uproar, lie will think the: oc.casion more than adequate
to it, when he is inf;ormed; t-a'. our h ro, (I blush to name it,)
had discovered at:'.ijury dotie'to hi  honour, and that in the
tuederest point —in,. word(, senader, (for thou must know'it,
thlough it give thee lhe greatest norror irnaginable ) he had
caught Fireblood'in t.:e arms qe llis lovely TLetitia.




,As the generc iS bull who havi"ng lon' dol'aiuirel. cd ani lng a
number of cows and thence contrlacted al  opillinio, thlat theose
cows are all ].is own property, if he,beholds another bull
bestride a cow within his walks, he re)ars alloud, and threatens
instant vengeance with his horns, till thIe -whole parish are
a:larmed with his hollowing: not with kvss norise, nor less dreadfal menaces, did the firy cfr  lild bulst.c~rth1 and terrify the
whll:L gat,.  Long time;l.,d rage ren-ler.his voice inarticulate
to thle hearer; as when, at a visiting doy, fifteen or sixteen, or
perh:tps twice as many females of delicate but shrill pipes,
ejaculate all at once on different subjects, all is sound only, the
harmony entirely melodious- indeed, but conveys no idea to our
ears; but at length, when reason began to get the better of his
passion, which latter being deserted by his breath, began a
little to retreat, the following accents leaoped over the hedge of
his teeth, or rather the ditch of his gurms. whce:ce those hedgestakes had long since by a patten bec,:i displaced in battle, with
an amazon of Drury.
* "-Man of honour? doth this become a friend?  Could
I have expected such a breach of all the laws of honour from
thee, whom I had taught to walk in its plaths?  Iladst, thou
chosen any other way to i.iure my collfidence, I could have
forgiven it; but this is a stab in- the tenderest part, a wound
never to be. healed, an injury never to be repaired; for it is not
only the loss of an agreeable companion, of the affection of a
wife, dearer to my soul- than life itself, it is not this loss alone I'lament: this loss is accompanied with disgrace, and with dishonour.  The blood of the Wilds, which hath run with such
uninterrupted purity through so many generations, this blood
is fouled, is contaminated: Hence flow my tears, hence arises
my grief. This is the injury never to be redressed, nor ever to be
with honour forgiven. "    My - in a bandbox," answered
Fireblood,''here is a noise about your honour.  If the mischief done to your blood be all you complain of, I am sure you
complain of nothing; for my blood is as good as yours."'"You have no conception," replied Wild,'"'of the tenderness
of honour  you know not how nice and delicate it is iin both
* The beginning of his speech is lost.




478               GusRE Hi1lS"O (.Z O.,
sexes; so di,.i.ca;tc, that the least breath of air, which rudely
bllo.vs on it. destroys it." —"I will prove from your own
words," says Fireblood, "I have: not wronged your honour.
fIave you not often told me, that the honour of a man consisted
in receiving no affront from his own sex, and that of a woman
in receiving no kindness from ours.  Now, sir, if I have given
yoli no affront, how have I injured your honour?"-" But dott'
not every thi.:g," cried Wild, " of tke wife, belong to the husbaid?  A married man, therefore, hath his wife's honour as
well as his own, and by injuring hers, you injure his. lHow
cruelly you have hurt me in this tender part, I need not repeat;
the whole gate knows it, and the world shall.  I will apply to
I)octors Commons for my redress against her, I will shake off
as much of my dishonour as I can, by parting with her; and
as for you, expect to hear of me in Westminister-hall; the
-modern method of repairing these breaches, and of resenting
this affront." —" D —  your eyes," cries Fireblood, "I fear
ytou not, nor do I believe a word you say."-" Nay, if you
affront me personally," says WI 1i,' another sort of resentment
is. prescribed."  At which word, advancing to Fireblood, he
presented him with a boxs on the car, which the youth immediately returned, and now our hero and his friend fell to boxing,
though with some difficulty, both bting incumbered with the
chains which they wore between their legs.  A few blows
passed on both sides, before the gentlemen, who stood by,
stepped in and parted the combatar.ts: and now both parties
having whispered each other, that, if they outlived the ensuing
sessions, and escaped the tree, the OLe shou.ld give, and the
other should receive satisfaction, in single combat, they separated, and the gate soon recovered its fo rmer tranquillity.
Mrs. leartfree was then desired by thie justice and her hus-band both, to conclude her story, wnich she did in the words
of the next chapter.




JONATIIAN  WILD.                    479
CIIAPTERI  XI.
Tthe conclusion of Mirs. IIeartfree's adventures.
"IF I mistake not, I was interrupted just as I was b(ginning to repeat some of the compliments made me by the her'
mit. "   "Just as you had finished them, I believe, madam,"
said the justice.  "Very well, sir," said she, "I am sure I
have no pleasure in the repetition.  He concluded then with
telling me, though I was, in his eyes, the most charming woman
in the world, and might tempt a saint to abandon the ways of
holiness, yet my beauty inspired him with a much tenderer
affection towards me, than to purchase any satisfaction of his
own desires with my misery; if, therefore, I could be so cruel
to him, to reject his honest and sincere address, nor could submit to a solitary life with one, who would endeavour by all
possible means, to make me happy, I had no force to dread;
for that I was as much at my liberty, as if I was in France,
or England, or any other free country.  I repulsed him with
the same civility with which he advanced; and told him, that
as he professed great regard to religion, I was convinced he
would cease from all farther solicitation, when I informed him,
that if I had no other objection, my own innocence would not
admit of my hearing him on this subject, for that I was married.-Jie started a little at that word, and was for some time
silent; but at length recovering himself, he began to urge the
uncertainty of my husband's being alive, and the probability
of the contrary; he then spoke of marriage as of a civil policy
only; on which head he urged many arguments not worth repeating, and was growing so very eager and importunate, that
i know not whither his passion might have hurried him, had
not three of the sailors, well armed, appeared at that instant
in sight of the cave.  I no sooner saw them, than, cxulting
with the utmost inward joy, I told him my companions were
come for me, and that I must liow take my leave of him; assuring him, that I would always remember, witll the most
grateful acknowledgment, the favours I had received at his
hands.  iIe fetched a very heavy sigh, and, squeezing me tenderly by the hand, he saluted my lips with a little more evger



480              rHiE  HISTORY OF
nless tlhan the European salutations admit of; and told me, he
should likewise remember my arrival at his cave to the last
day of his life; adding — O that he could there spend the
whole in the company of one whose bright eyes had kindled-;
but I know you will think, sir, that we women love to repeat
the compliments made us, I will therefore omit them. In a
word, the sailors being now arrived, I quitted him, with some
compassion for the reluctance with which he parted from me,
and went forward with my companions.
"We had proceeded but a very few paces before one of the
sailors said to his comrades: D —n  me, Jack, who knows
whether yon fellow hath not some good flip in his cave; I innocently'answered, the poor wretch had only-one bottle of
brandy.  " Hath he so?" cries the sailor: "'Fore George, we
will taste it;" and, so saying, they immediately returned back,
and myself with them. We found the poor man prostrate on
the ground, expressing all the symptoms of misery and lamentation.  I told him in French (for the sailors, could not speak
that language) what they wanted.  He pointed to the place
where the bottle was deposited, saying, they were welcome -to
that, and whatever else he had; and added, he cared not if
they took his life also. The sailors searched the whole cave,
where finding nothing more which they deemed worth their
taking, they walked off with the bottle, and immediately emptying it, without offering me a drop, they proceeded with me
towards the town.
"In our way, I observed one whisper to another, while he
kept his eye steadfastly fixed on me. This gave me some uneasiness; but the other answered, "No, d —n me, the captain
will never forgive us; besides, we have enough of it among
the black women, and, in my mind, one colour is as good as
another."  This was enough to give me violent apprehension;
but I heard no more of that kind, till we came to the town,
where, in about six hours, I arrived in safety.
"As soon as I came to the captain, he inquired what was
become of my friend, meaning the villanous count. When he
wa' informed by me of what had happened, he wished me!heartily joy of my delivery, and, expressing the utmost abhorrence o0 such baseness, swore if ever he met him he would cut




JONATHAN  WILD.                     481
his throat; but indeed we both concluded, that he had died of
the blow which the hermit had given him.
"I was now introduced to the chief magistrate of this country, who was desirous of seeing me. I will give you a short
description of him: He was chosen (as is the custom there)
for his superior bravery and wisdom.  lHis power is entirely
absolute during his continuance; but, on the first deviation
from equity and justice, he is liable to be deposed and punished
by the people, the elders of whom, once a year, assemble, to
examine into his conduct.  Besides the danger which these
examinations, which are very strict, expose him to, his office
is of such care and trouble, that nothing but that restless love
of power, so predominant in the mind-of man, could make it
the object of desire; for he is indeed the only slave of all the
natives of this country. He is obliged, in time of peace, to
hear the complaint of every person in his dominions, and to
render him justice.  For which purpose every one may demand
an audience of him, unless during the hour which he is allowed
for dinner, when he sits alone at the table, and is attended, in
the most public manner, with more than European ceremony.
This is done to create an awe and respect towards him in the
eye of the vulgar; but, lest it should elevate him too much in
his own opinion, in order to his humiliation, he receives every
evening in private, from a kind of beadle, a gentle kick on his
posteriors;.besides which, he wears a ring in his nose, some-;what resembling that we ring our pigs with, and a chain round
his neck, not unlike that worn by our aldermen; both which,
I suppose, to be emblematical, but heard not the reasons of
either assigned.  There are many more particularities among
this people, which, when I have an opportunity, I may relate
to you.  The second day after my return from court, one of
his officers, whom'they call ScHACH PIMPACH, waited upon
me, and, by a French interpreter who lives here, informed me,
that the chief magistrate liked my person, and offered me an
immense present, if I would suffer him to enjoy it; (this is, it
seems, their common form of making love.) I rejected the
present, and never heard any further solicitation; for, as it is
no shame for women here to consent at the first proposal, so
they never receive a second.
41                   2F




482               THIE HISTORY  OF
"I had resided in this town a week, when the captain in.
formed me, that a number of slaves who had been taken captives in war, were to be guarded to the sea-side, where they
were to be sold to the merchants, who traded in them tc
America; that if I would embrace this opportunity, I might
assure myself of finding a passage to America, and thence tc
England; acquainting me at the same time, that he. himself in -
tenlded to go with them. I readily agreed to accompany him
The chief, being advertised of our designs, sent for us both tc
court, and without mentioning a word of love to me, having
presented me with a very rich jewel, of less value, he said, than
my chastity, took a very civil leave, recommending me to the
care of heaven, and ordering us a large supply of provisions
for our journey.
" We were provided with mules for ourselves, and what we
carried with us, and, in nine days, reached thfe sea-shore, where
we found an English vessel ready to receive both us and the
slaves. We went aboard it, and sailed the next day with a
fair wind for New England, where I hoped to get an immediate
passage to the Old; but Providence was kinder than my expectation: for the third day after we were at sea, we met an
English man-of-war, homeward bound; the captain of it was
a very good-natured man, and agreed to take me on board
I accordingly took my leave of my old friend the master of the
shipwrecked vessel, who went on to New England, whence he
intended to pass to Jamaica, where his owners lived.  I was
now treated with great civility, had a little cabin assigned me,
and dined every day at the captain's table, who was indeed a
very gallant man, and, at first, made me a tender of his affections; but when he found me resolutely bent to preserve myself
pure and entire for the best of husbands, he grew cooler in his
addresses, and soon behaved in a manner very pleasing to me.
regarding my sex only so far as to pay me a deference, whiczh
is very agreeable to us all.'To conclude' my story: I met with no adventure iil this
passage at all worth relating, till my landing at Gravesend.
whence the captain brought me in his own boat to the Tower
In a, short hour after my arrival, we had that meeting, which,
however dreadful at first, will, I now hope, by the good offices




J-ONATH-AN  W5ILD.                  4HS
of the best of  men, whonm heaven for ever bless, end in our
perfect happiness, and be a strong instance of what I am persuaded is the surest truth, THAT PROVIDENCE WILL, SOONER OF
LATER, PROCURE THE FELICITY OF THE VIRTUOUS AND INNOCENT. "
Mrs.. Ileartfree thus ended her speech, having before delivered to her husband the jewels, which the count had robbed
him of, and that presented her by the African chief, which last
was of immense value.  The good magistrate was sensibly
touched at her narrative, as well on the consideration of the
sufferings she had herself undergone, as for those of her husband, which he had himself been innocently the instrument of
bringing upon him.  That worthy man, however, much rejoiced in what he had already done for his preservation, and
promised to labour with the utmost interest and industry, to
procure the absolute pardon, rather of his sentence, than of
his guilt, which, he now plainly discovered, was a barbarous
and false imputation.
C IAPTER XII.
T7he listory returns to- the contemplation of greatness.
BUT we hlave already perhaps detained our reader too long
in this relation, from the consideration of our hero, who daily.gave the most exalted proofs of greatness, in cajoling the prigs,
and in exactions on the debtors; which latter now grew so
great, i. e. corrupted in their morals, that they spoke with the
utmost contempt of what the vulgar call honesty.  The greatest character among them- was that of a pickpocket, or, in
truer language, a file; and the only censure- was want of dexterity.  *As to virtue, goodness,.and such like, they were the
objects of mirth and derision, and all Newgate was a complete
collection of prigs, every man being desirous to pick his neighbour's pocket, and every one was as sensible that his neighbour
was as ready to pick his; so that (which is almost incredible)
as great roguery, was daily committed within the walls of
Newgate as without.
The glory resulting' from these actions of Wild, probably
animated the envy of his enemies against him.  The day of




484                THE  IISTORY  OP
his trial now approached; for which,- as Socrates did, he pre,
pared himself; but not weakly and foolishly, like that philosopher, with patience and resignation; but with. a good number
of false witnesses.  However, as success is not always proportioned to the wisdom of him who endeavours to attain it; so
are we more sorry than ashamed to relate, that our hero was,
notwithstanding his utmost caution and prudence, convicted,
and sentenced to a- death, which, when we consider not only
the great men who have suffered it, but the much larger number
of those, whose highest honour it hath been to merit it, -we
cannot call otherwise than honourable. Indeed, those who
have unluckily missed it, seem all their days to have laboured
in vain to attain an end, which fortune, for reasons only known
to herself, hath thought proper to deny them.  Without any
farther preface then, our hero was sentenced to be hanged by
the neck; but whatever was to be now his fate, he might console himself that he had perpetrated what
---- Nec Judicis ira, nec ignis,
Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.
For my own part, I confess I look on this death cf hanging to
be as proper for a hero as aiy other; and I solemnly declare,
that had Alexander the Great been hanged, it would not in the
least have diminished my respect to his memory. Provided a
hero in this life doth but execute a sufficient quantity of mischief; provided he be but well and heartily cursed by the
widow, the orphan, the poor, and t4ie oppressed, (the sole
rewards, as many authors have bitterly lamented both in prose
and verse, of greatness, i. e. priggism,) I think it avails little
of what nature his death be, whether it be by the axe, the
halter, or the sword. Such names will be always sure of living
to posterity, and of enjoying that fame which they so gloriously
and eagerly coveted  for, according to a GREAT dramatic poet,
Fame
Not more survives from good than evil deeds.
Th' aspiring youth that fir'd th' Ephesian dome,
Outlives in fame the pious fool who rais'd it.
Our hero now suspected that the malice -of his enemies would
overpower him.  He, therefore, betook himself to that true
sliupport of greatness in affliction, a bottle; by means of which




JONATHAN  WILD.                    485
he was enabled to curse, and swear, and bully, and brave his
flte. Other comfort indeed he had not much; for not a single
friend ever came near him. Hiis wife, whose trial was deferred
to the next sessions, visited him but once, when she plagued,
tormented, and upbraided him so cruelly, that he forbade the
keeper ever to admit her again. The Ordinary of Newgate
had frequent conferences with him, and greatly would it embellish our history, could we record all which that good man
delivered on these occasions; but unhappily we could procure
only the substance of a single conference, which was taken
down in short-hand by one who overheard it. We shall transcribe it, therefore, exactly in the same form and words we
received it; nor can we help regarding it as one of the most
curious pieces, which either ancient or modern history hath
recorded.
CHAPTE R XIII.
A dialogue between the Ordinary of Newgate, and Mr. Jonathan Wild the
Great: in which the subjects of death, immortality, and other grave matters,
are very learnedly handled by the former.
ORDINARY. Good morrow to you, sir; I hope you rested
well last night.
-JONATHAN. DI    neta ill, sir.  I dreamed so confoundedly
of hanging, that it disturbed my sleep.
ORDINARY. Fie upon it. You should be more resigned. I
wish you would make a little better use of those instructions
which I have endeavoured to inculcate into you, and particularly last Sunday, and from these words: Those who do evil
shall go into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his
angels. I undertook to show you first, what is meant by EVERLASTING FIRE; and secondly, who were THE DEVIL AND HIS
ANGELS. I then proceeded to draw some inferences from the
whole;* in which I am mightily deceived, if I did not convince
you, that you yourself was one of those ANGELS; and, consequently, must expect EVERLASTING FIRE to be your portion in
the other world.
-IoIe pronounced this word IInLL, and perhaps -would have spelled
it so.
41.*




486                THE HISTORY  OP
JONATHAN. Faith, doctor, I remember very little of-your
inferences;- for I fell asleep soon after your naming the text:
but do you preach this doctrine then, or do you repeat it-now
in order to comfort me?'ORDINARY. I do it, in order to bring you to a true sense of
your manifold sins, and, by that means, to induce you to
repentance. Indeed, had I the eloquence of Cicero, or of
Tully, it would not be sufficient to describe the pains of hell,
or the joys of heaven'.  The utmost that we are taught is, that
ear hath not heard, nor can heart conceive. Who then would,
for the pitiful consideration of the riches and pleasures of this
world, forfeit such inestimable happiness! Such joys! Such
pleasures! -Such delights! Or who would run the venture
of such misery, which, but to think on, shocks the human
understanding! Who, in his senses, then, would prefer the
Latter to the former?
JONATHAN. Ay, who, indeed!. I assure you, doctor, I had
much rather be happy than miserable.  But'    *    *
ORDINARY. Nothing can be plainer.  St.    *       *
*       *       *       *       *       *         *
JONATHAN.        *    *         *       If one convinced
*        *        *        *        *     no man         *
*    lives of    *      *           *       *
whereas sure the clergy    *      opportunity    *       *
better informed     *    *    *    *         all manner of
vice   *    *    *    *    *    *    *           *       *
ORDINARY. * are * atheist * deist * ari * * cinian *
hanged * * burnt * * oiled * oasted * ** dev * his an ***
ell fire * * ternal d:**   tion.'JONATHAN. You: * * to. frighten me out: of my wits: but
the good * * is, I doubt not, more merciful than this wicked:* i If I should believe all you say, I am sure I should die in
inexpressible horror.
ORDINARY. Despair is sinful. You should place your hopes
1 This part was so blotted, that it was illegible.




JONATHAN WILD.                     487
in repentance and grace; and though it is most true, that you
are in danger of the judgment, yet there is still room for mercy;
and no man, unless excommunicated, is absolutely without
hopes of a reprieve.
JONATHAN. I am not without hopes of a reprieve from the
cheat yet: I have pretty good interest; but if I cannot obtain
it, you shall not frighten-me out of my courage; I will not die
like a pimp.  D-n me, what is death?  It is nothing but to
be with Platos and with COesars,-as the poet says, and all the
other great heroes of antiquity.   *      *     *      *
ORDINARY. Ay, all this is very true; but life is sweet, for all
that; and I had rather live to eternity, than go into the company of any such heathens, who are, I doubt not, in hell, with
the devil and his angels; and, as little as you seem to apprehend
it, you may find yourself there before you expect it. Where
then will be your tauntings and your vauntings, your boastings
and your braggings? You will then be ready to give more
for a drop of water than you ever gave for a bottle of wine.
JONATHAN. Faith, doctor, well minded.  What say you to
a bottle of wine?
ORDINARY. I will drink no wine with an atheist. I should
expect the devil to make a third in such company; for, since
he knows you are his, he may be impatient to have his due.
JONATHAN. It is your business to drink with the wicked, in
order to amend them.
ORDINARY. I despair of it; and so I consign you over to
the devil, who is ready to receive you.
JONATHAN. You are more unmerciful to me than the judge,;
doctor. He recommended my soul to heaven; and it is your
office to show me the way thither.
ORDINARY. NO; the gates are barred against all revilers of
the clergy.
JONATHAN. I revile only the wicked ones, if any such are,
which cannot affect you, who, if men were preferred in the
church by merit only, would have long since been a bishop.
Indeed, it might raise any good man's indignation, to observe
one of your vast learning and abilities obliged to exert them
in so low a sphere, when so many of your inferiors wallow in
wealth and preferment.




488               THE HISTORY  OF
ORDINARY. Why, it must be confessed, that there are bad
men in all orders; but you should not censure too generally.
I must own, I might have expected higher promotion; but I
have learned patience and resignation: and I would advise you
to the same temper of mind; which if you can attain, I know
you will find mercy; nay, I do now promise you, you will. It
is true, you are a sinner; but your crimes are not of the
blackest dye: you are no murderer, nor guilty of sacrilege.
And if you are guilty of theft, you make some atonement by
suffering for it, which many others do not. Happy it is, indeed,
for those few who are detected in their sins, and brought to
exemplary punishment for them in this world. So far, -therefore, from repining at your fate when you come to the tree, you
should exult and rejoice in it: and.to say the truth, I question
whether, to a wise man, the catastrophe of many of those who
die by a halter, is not more to be envied than pitied. Nothing
is so sinful as sin, and murder is the greatest of all sins: it
follows, that whoever commits murder is happy in suffering for
it; if, therefore, a man who commits murder is so happy in:dying for it,-how much better must it be for you, who have
committed a less crime!
JONATHAN. All this is very true; but let us take a bottle of
wine to cheer our spirits.
ORDINARY. Why wine? Let me tell you, Mr. Wild, there
is nothing so deceitful as the spirits given us by wine.  If you
must drink, let us have a bowl of punch; a liquor I the rather
prefer, as it is no where spoken against in the scripture, and as
it is more wholesome for the gravel, a distemper with which I
am grievously afflicted.
JONATHAN. (Having called for a bowl.) I ask your pardon,
doctor; I should have remembered that punch was your
favourite:liquor.  I think you never taste wine while there is
any punch remaining on the table.
ORDINARY. I confess, I look on punch to be the more
eligible liquor, as well for the reasons I have before mentioned,
as likewise for one other cause, viz. it is the properest for a
DRAUGHT. I own I took it a little unkind of you to mention
wine, thinking you knew my palate.
JONATHAN. You are in the right; and I will-take a swingeing
cup to your being made a bishop.




J ONA-THAN WILD.                   485
ORDINARY. An( I will wish you a reprieve in as large a
draught.  Come, don't despair; it is yet time enough to think
of dying; you have good friends, who very probably may
prevail for you. I have known many a man reprieved, who
had less reason to expect it.
JONATHAN. But if I should flatter myself with such hopes,
and be deceived, what then would become of my soul?
ORDINARY. Pugh I Never mind your soul, leave that to me:
I will render a good account of it, I warrant you.  I have. a
sermon in my pocket, which may be of some use to you to hear.
I do not value myself on the talent of preaching, since no man
ought to value himself for any gift in this world: but, perhaps,
there are not many such sermons. But to proceed, since we
have nothing else to do till the punch comes. My text is the
latter part of a.verse only. -  To the Greeks FOOLISHNESS.
The occasion of these words was principally that philosophy
of the Greeks, which at that time had overrun great part of
the heathen world, had poisoned, and as it were, puffed up
their minds with pride, so that they disregarded all kinds of
doctrine in comparison of their own; and however safe, and
however sound the learning of others might be, yet, if it any
wise contradicted their own laws, clstoms, and received
opinions, away withk.it, it is notfor us.  It was to the Greeks
FOOLISHNESS.
In the former part, therefore, of my-discourse on these words,
I shall principally confine myself to the laying open and
demonstrating the great emptiness and vanity of this philosophy,
with which these idle and absurd sophists were so proudly.blown
up and elevated:
And here I shall do two things: First, I shall expose the
matter; and secondly, the manner of this absurd philosophy.
And first, for the first of these, namely, the matter.  Now,
here we may retort the unmannerly word, which our adversaries
have audaciously thrown in our faces; for what was all this
mighty matter of philosophy, this heap of knowledge,;which
was to bring such large harvests of honour to those who sowed
it, and so greatly and nobly to enrich the ground on which it
fell; what was it but FOOLISHNESS? An inconsistent heap of
nonsense, of absurdities and contradictions, bringing no orna.




490                THE  HISTORY  OF
ment to the mind in its theory, nor exhibiting any.usefulness to
the body in its practice. What were all the sermons and the
sayings, the fables and the morals, of all these wise men, but,
to use the word mentioned in my text once more, FOOLISHNESS?
What was their great master, Plato, or their other great light,
Aristotle?  Both fools; mere quibblers and sophists, idly and
vainly attached to certain ridiculous notions of their own,
founded neither-on truth nor on reason. Their whole works
are a strange medley of the greatest falsehoods, scarce covered
over with the colour of truth: their precepts are neither
borrowed from nature nor guided by reason: mere fictions,
serving only. to evince the dreadful height of human pride; in
one word, FOOLISHNESS. It may be, perhaps, expected from
me, that I should give some instances from their. works to prove
this charge; but as to transcribe every passage to my purpose,
would be to transcribe their whole works, and as, in such a
plentiful crop, it is difficult to choose, instead of trespassing on
your patientce, I shall conclude this. first head with asserting,
what I have so fully proved, and what may indeed be inferred
from the text, that the philosophy of the Greeks was FOOLISHNE$S.
Proceed we now, in the second place,'to consider the manner
in which this inane and simple doctrine was propagated. And
here-but here the punch, by entering, awaked Mr. Wild, who
was fast asleep, and put an end to the sermon; nor could we
obtain any further account of the conversation which passed at
this interview
CHAPTER XIV.
Wild proceeds to the highest consummation of human great-ness.
THE day. now grew nigh, when our -great man was to exemplify the last and noblest act of greatness, by which any hero
can signalize himself. This was the day of execution, or consumnmation, or apotheosis, (for it is called by different names,)
which was to give our hero an opportunity of facing death and
damnation,.without any fear in-. his heart, or at least without
betraying any symptoms of it in his countenance. A comrple-tion-of greatness, vwhich is heartily to be wished to every great




JONATHIAN WILD.                     491
man; nothing being more wortfhy'of lamentation, than when
fortune; like a lazy poet; winds up her catastrophe awkwardly,
and bestowing too little care on her fifth act,' dismisses the
hero with a sneaking and private exit, who had, in the former
part of the drama, performed such notable exploits, as must
promise to every good jirdgre among the spectators a noble',
public, and exalted end.
But she was resolved to commit no such error in this inEliance.  Our hero was to.o much and too deservedly her favourite, to be neglected by her in his last moments  a.ccordingly, all efforts. for a reprieve were vain; and; the name of
Wild stood at the head of those who were ordered for execution.
From the time he gave over all hopes of life:, his conduct
was truly great- and admirable.  Instead of showing any marks
of dejection and contrition, he rather infused more confidence
and assurance in his looks.  He spent most of his hours in
drinking with his friends, and with the good man  above comrlemorated. In one of these compotations, being asked whether he. was afraid to die, he'answered, "D-n me, it is only
to dance without music."  Another time, when one expressed
some sorrow for his misfortune, as he termed it, he said, with
great fierceness, "A  man can die but once.'   Again,  when
one of his intimate acquaintance hinted his hopes that he would
die like a man, he cocked- his hat iin defiance, and cried out,
greatly, "Zounds! who's afraid?"
-Happy would it have been for -posterity, could we have re-.rieved any entire conversation which passed at this season,
especially between our hero and his learned comforter; but we
have searched many pasteboard records in vain.
On the eve of his apotheosis, Wild's lady desired to see
him, to which he consented.  This meeting was at first very
-tender on both sides; but it could not continue so; for unluckily some hints of former miscarriages intervening, as particularly when she asked him, how he could have used her so
barbarously once, as calling her b —, and whether such language became a man, much less a gentleman, Wild flew into
a violent passion, and swore she was the vilest of b  s, to
upbraid him at such a season, with an unguarded word, spokes




492               THE  I ISTORY OF
long ago.  She replied, with many tears,; she was well:enoug'h
served for her folly in visiting such a brute; but she had one
comfort, however, that it would be the last time he could ever
treat her so; that indeed she had some obligation to him, for
that his cruelty to her would reconcile her to the fate he was
to-morrow to suffer; and, indeed, nothing but such brutality
could have made the consideration of his shameful death, (so
this weak woman called hanging,) which was now inevitable,
*to be borne even without madness.  She then proceeded to a
recapitulation of his faults in an exacter order, and with more
perfect memory than one would have imagined her capable of;
and it is -probable, would have rehearsed- a complete catalogue,
had not our hero's patience failed him, so that with the utmost
fury and violence he caught her by the hair, and kicked her as
heartily as his chains would suffer him, out of the room.
At length, the morning came, which fortune, at his birth,
had resolutely ordained for the consummation of our hero's
GREATNESS: he had himself, indeed, modestly declined the
public honours she intended him, and had taken a quantity of
laudanum, in. order to retire quietly off of the stage; but we
have already observed, in'the course of our wonderful'history,
that to struggle against this lady's' decrees, is vain and inlpotent: and whether she hath determined you shall be hanged oi
be a prime minister, it is in either case lost labour to' resist.
Laudanum, therefore, being unable to: stop the breath of our
hero, which the fruit of hemp-seed and not the spirit of poppyseed, was to overcome, he was at the usual hour attended by
the proper gentlemen appointed for that purpose, and acquainted that'the cart was ready. On this occasion he exerted
that greatness. of courage, which bath been so much celebrated
in other heroes; and knowing it was:impossible to resist, he
gravely declared he would attend them.  He then descended
to that room where the fetters of great men are knocked off,
in' a most solemn and ceremonious manner.  Then shaking
hands with his friends, (to wit, those who were conducting
them to the tree,) and drinking their'healths in a bumper of
brandy, he ascended the cart, where he was no sooner'seated,
than, he received the acclamations of the multitude, who were
highly ravished:with his GREATNESS.




J.ONAT HAN WILD.                   498.The cart now moved slowly on, being preceded by a troop
of horse-guards, bearing javelins in their hands, through streets
lined.with crowds, all admiring the great behaviour of our
hero,.who rode on, sometimes sighing, sometimes swearing,
sometimes singing or whistling, as his humour varied.
When he came to the tree.of glory, he was welcomed with
an universal shout of the people, who were there assembled in
prodigious numbers, to behold a sight.much more rare in
populous cities thani one would reasonably imagine it should be,
viz. the proper catastrophe of a great man.
But though envy was, through fear, -obliged to join the
general voice in applause on this occasion, there were not,
wanting some who maligned this completion of glory, which
was now about to be fulfilled to our hero, and endeavoured:to
prevent it by knocking him on the head, as he stood under the
tree, while the ordinary was performing his last office. They
therefore began to batter the cart with stones, brick-bats, dirt,
and all manner of mischievous weapons, -some of which, erroneously playing on the robes of the ecclesiastic, made him: so
expeditious in his repetition, that with wonderful alacrity, he
had ended almost in an instant, and conveyed himself into a
place of safety, in a hackney-coach, where he waited the con.
clusion with a temper of mind, described in these verses,
Suave mari magno, turbantibus oequora ventis,
E terra alterius magnum spectare laborem.
We must not, however, omit one circumstance, as it serves
to show the most admirable conservation of character in our
hero to his last moment, which -was, that whilst the ordinary
was busy in his ejaculations, Wild, in the midst of the shower
of stones, &c. which played upon him, applied his hands'to
the parson's pocket,' and emptied it of his bottle-screw, which
he carried out of the world in his hand.
The ordinary being now descended from the cart, Wild had
just.opportunity to cast his eyes around the crowd, and to
give them a hearty curse, when immediately the horses moved
on, and with universal applause, our hero swung out of this
world.
Thus fell Jonathan Wild the GREAT, by a death as glorious
as his life had been, andwhich was so truly agreeable to it,
42




494                TIHE HII STORY  OF
that the -latter must have been deplorably maimed and imperfect
without the former; a death which hath been alone -wanting'to
complete the characters of several ancient and modern heroes,
whose histories would then have been read with much greater
pleasure by the wisest in all ages.  Indeed, we could almost
wish, that, whenever Fortune seems wantonly to deviate from
her purpose, and leaves her work imperfect in this particular,
the historian would indulge himself in the license of poetry
and romance, and even do a violence to truth, to oblige his
reader with a page, which must be the most delightful in all
his history, and which could never fail of producing an instruct.
ing moral.
Narrow minds may possibly have some reason to be ashamed
of going this way out of the world, if their consciences can
fly in their faces, and assure them they have not merited such
an honour; but he must be a fool who is ashamed of being
hanged, who is not weak enough to be ashamed of having
deserved it.
CHAPTER XV.
The character of our ~hero, and the conclusion of this history.
WE will now endeavour to draw the character of this Great
Man; and by bringing together those several features as it
were of his mind, which lie scattered up and down in this
history,;to present our readers with a perfect picture of greatness.
Jonathan Wild had every qualification necessary to form a
great man.  As his most powerful and predominant passion
was ambition, so nature had, with consummate propriety,
adapted all his faculties to tlie attaining those.glorious ends
towhich this passion directed him. He was extremely ingenious
in inventing designs; artful in contriving the means to accompuish his purposes, and resolute in executing them; for as the
most exquisite cunning and most undaunted boldness qualified
him for any undertaling; so was he not restrained by any of
those weaknesses which disappoint the views of mean and
vulgar souls, and which are comprehended in one general




JONATHAN  WILD.                     495
term of honesty, which is a corruption of HONOSTY, a word
derived from what the Greeks call an ass.  He was entirely
free from those low vices of modesty and good-nature, which,
as he said, implied a-total negation of human greatness, and
were'the only qualities which absolutely rendered a man
incapable of making a considerable -figure in the world.  His
lust was inferior: only to his ambition; but, as for what
simple people call love, he knew not what it was. His avarice
was immense'; but it was of the rapacious, not of the tenacious
kind; his rapaciousness was indeed so: violent, that nothing
ever contented himl but the whole; for, however considerable
the share was, which his coadjutors allowed him of a booty, he
was restless in inventing means- to make himself master of the
smallest pittance reserved by them.
He said, laws were made for the use of prigs only, and to
secure. their property; they were never therefore more perverted,
than when their edge was tu'rned against these; but that this
generally happened through their want of sufficient dexterity.
The character which he most valued himself upon, and which
he principally honoured in others, was that of hypocrisy. His
opinion was, that no one could carrypriggism very far without
it: for which reason, he said, there was little greatness to be
expected in a man who acknowledged his vices; but always
much to be hoped from him, who professed great virtues;
wherefore, though he would always shun the person whom he
discovered guilty of a good action, yet he was never deterred
by a good character, which was more commonly the effect of
profession than of action: for which reason, hle himself was
always very liberal of honest professions, and had as much
virtue -and goodness in his mouth: as a saint; never in the least
scrupling to swear by his honour, even to those who knewr him
the best; nay, though he held good-nature and modesty in- the
highest contempt,'he constantly practised the affectation' of
both, and'recommended this to others, whose welfare, on his
own account, he wished well to. He laid down several maxi ns,
as the certain methods of attaining greatness, to which, in his.own pursuit of -it, he constantly adhered.' As,
I. Never to do more mischief to, another, than was necessary
to the-.effecfing his purpose; for that mischief was-1-to'o
precious a thing to be thirown aw ay.




496               THE -HISTORY  OF
2. To know no distinction of men from affection.; but to sacri.
fice all with equal readiness to his interest.
3. Never to communicate more of an affair than Wias necessary,
to the person who was to execute it.
4. Not to trust him who hath deceived you, nor who knows he
lath been deceived by you.
5. To forgive no enemy; but to be cautious and often dilatory
in revenge.
6. To shun poverty and distress, and to ally himself as close
as possible to power and riches.
7. To maintain a constant gravity in his countenance and
behaviour, and to affect wisdom on all occasions.
8. To foment eternal jealousies in his gang, one of another.
9. Never to reward any one equal to his merit; but always to
insinuate that the reward was above it.
10. That all men were knaves or fools, and much the greater
number a composition of both.
11. That a good name, like money, must be, parted with, or
at le-ast greatly risked, in order to bring the oivner any
advantage.
12. That virtues, like precious stones, were easily counterfeited;
that Athe counterfeits in both cases adorned the wearer
equally, and that very few had knowledge or discernment
sufficient to distinguish the counterfeit jewel from the real.
13. That many men were undone by not going deep enough in
roguery; as in gaming, any man may be a loser who doth
not play the whole game.
14. That men proclaim  their own virtues, as shopkeepers
expose their goods, in order to profit by them.
15. That the heart was the proper seat of hatred; and the
countenance, of affection and friendship.
He had many more of the same kind, all equally gooid with
these, and which were, after his decease, found in his study, as
the twelve excellent and celebrated rules were, in that of king
Charles the First; for he had never promulgated them in his
life-time, not having them constantly in his mouth, as some
grave persons have the rules.of virtue and morality, without
paying the least regard to them in their actions: whereas, our
hero, by a constant and steady adherence to his rules, in con



JONATHAN  WILD.                    457
forming every thing he did to them, acquired at length a settled'
habit of walking by them, till at last he was in no danger of
inadvertently going out of the way; -and by these means, he
arrived at that degree of greatness, which few have equalled;
none, we may say, have'exdeeded: for, though it must be
allowed that there have been some few heroes, who have done
greater mischiefs to mankind,'such as those who have betrayed
the liberty of their country to others, or have undermined and
overpowered it themselves-; or conquerors, who have impoverished, pillaged, sacked, burnt, and destroyed the countries and
cities of their'fellow-creatures, from no other provocation than
that of glory, i. e. as the tragic poet calls it,
--   a privilege to kill,A strong temptation to do bravely ill;
yet if we consider it in the light wherein actions are placed in
this line,
Lsntius est, quoties magno tibi constat honestum,
when we see our hero, without the least assistance or pretence,
setting himself -at the head of a gang, which he had not any
shadow  or right to govern; if we view him  maintaininh
absolute power, and exercising tyranny over a lawless crew,
contrary to all law, but that of'his own will; if we consider
him setting up an open trade, publicly, in defiance not only of.the laws of his country, but of the common, sense of his
countrymen; if we see him  first contriving the robbery of
others, and again the defrauding the very robbers of that booty
which they had ventured their necks to' acquire, and which,
without any'hazard, they might have retained: here,'sure, he
must appear admirable, and we may challenge not only the
truth of history, but almost the latitude of fiction, to equal his
glory.
Nor had he any of those flaws in his character, which,' though
-they have beeh commended by weak writers, have (as I hinted
in the beginning of this history) by the judicious reader, been
censured and despised.  Such was the clemency -of Alexander
and Cmsar, which nature hath as grossly erred in giving them,
as a painter would, who should dress a peasant in robes' of
42*                    2G




498               THE HISTO.-RY  OF
state, or give the nose, or any. other feature of a Venus, to. a
satyr.  What had the destroyers of mankind, that glorious
pair, one of whom came into the world to usurp the-dominion,
and abolish the constitution of his own country; the other to
conquer, enslave, and rule over the whole world, at least as
much as was well known to him, and the shortness of his life
would give him leave to visit; what had, I say,_ such. as these
to do with clemency? Who cannot see the absurdity and contradiction of mixing such an ingredient with those noble and
great qualities I have before mentioned. Now, in Wild, every
thing was truly great, almost without alloy, as his imperfections (for surely some small ones he had) were only such as
served- to denominate him a human creature, of which kind
none ever arrived at consummate excellence; but surely his
whole behaviour to his friend Heartfree is a convincing proof,
that the true iron or steel greatness of his heart was not debased by any softer metal. Indeed, while greatness consists
in power, pride, insolence, and doing mischief to mankind;to speak out —while a great man and a great rogue are synonymous terms, so long shall Wild stand unrivalled on the pinnacle of GREATNESS. Nor must we omit here, as the finishing
of his character, what indeed ought to be remembered on- his
tomb or his statue, the conformity above mentioned of his
death to his life; and that Jonathan Wild the Great, after all
his mighty exploits, was, what so few GREAT men can accomplish.-hanged by the neck till he was dead.
Having thus brought our hero to his conclusion, it may be
satisfactory to some. readers (for many, I doubt not, carry their
concern no farther than his fate) to know what became'of
Heartfree.  We shall acquaint them, therefore, that his sufferings were now at an end; that the good magistrate easily prevailed for his pardon, nor was contented till he had made him
all.the reparation he could for his troubles, though the share
he had in bringing these upon him, was not only innocent, but,
from its motive, laudable.  He procured the restoration of the
jewels from the man-of-war, at her return to England, and,
above. all, omitted no labour to restore Heartfree to his reputa.
tion, and to. persuade his neighbours, acquaintance, and cus



JONATHAN  WVILD.                   499
tomers of his innocence. When the commission of bankruptcy
was satisfied, Heartfree had a considerable sum remaining; for
the diamond presented to his wife was of prodigious value,
and infinitely recompensed the loss of those jewels which Miss
Straddle had disposed- of. PHe now set up again in his trade;
compassion for his unmerited misfortunes brought him many
customers among those who had any regard to humanity; and
he hath, by industry joined with parsimony, amassed a considerable fortune.  His wife and he are now grown old in the
purest love and friendship; but never had another child.
Friendly married his elder daughter at the age of nineteen, and
became -his partner in trade. As to the younger, she never
would listen to the addresses of any lover, not even of a young
nobleman, who offered to take her with two thousand pounds,
which her father would have willingly produced, and indeed did
his utmost to persuade her to the match; but she refused absolutely, nor would give any other reason when Heartfree pressed
her, than that she had dedicated her days to his service, and
was resolved no other duty should interfere with that which she
owed the best of fathers, nor prevent her from being the nurse
of his old age.
Thus Heartfree, his wife, his two daughters, his son-in-law,
and his grandchildren, of which he had several, live all together in one house; and that with such amity and affection
towards each other, that they are in the neighbourhood called
the family of love.
As to all the other persons mentioned in this history, in the
light of greatness, they had all the fate adapted to it, being
every one hanged by the neck, save two, viz., Miss Theodosia
Snap, who was transported to America, where she was pretty
well married, reformed, and made a good wife; and the count,
who recovered of the wound he had received from the hermit,
and made his escape into France, where he committed a robbery, was taken, and broke on the wheel.
Indeed, whoever considers the common fate of great men,
must allow, they well deserve, and hardly earn, that applause
which is given them by the world; for, when we reflect on the
labours and pains, the cares, disquietudes, and dangers, which




500    THE HISTORY OF JONATHAN WILD.
attend their road to greatness, we may say with the divine,
that a man may go to heaven with half the pains which it
costs him to purchase hell.  To say the truth, the world have
this reason at least to honour such characters as that of Wild:
that while it is in the power of every man to be perfectly
honest, not one in a thousand is capable of being a complete
rogue; and few indeed there are, who, if they were inspired
with the vanity of imitating,our hero, would not, after much
fruitless pains, be obliged to own themselves inferior to Mr
JONATHAN WILTD THE GREAT.
RHB ]IND.