UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES 1 \ X A a, V '\ K" ^ ^: 'T THE * ' ' BRITISH NOVELISTS; WITH AN ESSAY, AND PREFACES BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, BY . MRS. BARBAULD. ^ ^ehi <$lrttu)n. LONDON: PBINTED FOK F. C. AKD 3. RIVIMGTON ; W. LOWNDES ; SCA'^CHERD AND LETTERMAN ; J. NUNH ; I. CUTHELL ; JEFFERY AND SON ; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME AND CO. ; T. WILKIE } CASELL AND DATIES ; J. AMD W. T. CLARKE ; J. OTRIDGE ; LACHINGTON AND CO.; S. BAGSTER ; J. MURRAY ; J. BOOKER; J. BLACK ; BLACK AND CO ; J. RICHARDSON ; J. M. RICHARDSON ; R. &CHO- ley; J. mawman; r. h. evans; a. k. mewman and eo; j.a^perne; j. carpenter; j. booth ; w. ginger; Baldwin, CRADocK and joy; t. Hodgson; j. bohn; j. ebers; sher- WOOD, NEELY AND JONEf.; G. AND W. B. WUITTAKER; SETCH- ELL AND son; WHITMORE AND FENN ; R. HUNTER; G. COWIE and co.; r. saunders; t. and j. allman ; t. boone ; c. brown; j. brumby; edwards and co. ; t. Hamilton; j.llpard; g.mackie; w. mason; j. miller; ogle, duncan and CO ; RODWELL AND MARTIN; HURST, ROBINSON AND CO ; WILSON AND SONS, YORK; STERLING AND SLaDE; AND FAIR- BAIRN AND ANDERSON, EDINBURGH. r* 1820. G Baldwin, Printer, Bridge Street, Blackfriars, London. PK THE HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS, AND HIS FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS. WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF THE MANNER OF CERVANTES, AUTHOR OF DON QUIXOTE. By henry fielding, Esq. CONTENDS. BOOK I. Chap. I. Of writing lives in general, and par" ticularly of Pamela ; with a word by the by of Colley Cibber and others Page 1 1 Chap. II. Of Mr, Joseph Andrews, his birth, pa- rentage, education, and great endowments ; with a word or two, concerning ancestors 13 Chap. III. Of Mr. Abraham Adams the curate , Mrs, aiipslop the chambermaid, and others. . l6 Chap. IV. What happened after their journey to London 20 Chap. V. The death of Sir Thomas Booby, with the afectionate and mournful behaviour of his widow, and the great purity of Joseph Andrews, 23 Chap. VI. How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister Pamela 26' Chap. VII. Sayings of wise men. A dialogue be-- tween the lady and her maid; and a panegyric, or rather satire, on the passion of love in the sublime style 30 Chap. VIII. In which, after some very fine writ ing, the history goes on, and relates an inter- view between the lady and Joseph ; where the latter hath set an example, which we despair o^ seeing followed by his sex, in this viaous age. 3i Tot. xviii. a U CONTENTS. Chap. IX. What passed between ike lady and Mrii Slipslop ; in which we prophecy there are some strokes which every one will not truly comprehend at the Jirst reading 39 Chap. X. Joseph writes another letter : His trans- actions with Mr. Peter Pounce, S^c. with his de- parture from lady Booby 44 Chap. XI. Of several new matters not expected. ^6 Chap. XII. Containing many surprising adven-- tures which Joseph Andrews met with on the road, scarce credible to those who have never travelled in a stage-coach 50 Chap. XIIL What happened to Joseph during his sickness at the inn, with the curious discourse be- tweai him and Mr. Barnabas^ the parson of the parish 57 Chap. XIV. Being very full of adventures^ which succeeded each other at the imu 61 Chap. 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 accounting for their zeal, and that of many other persons not mentioned in this history 67 Chap. XVI. The escape of the thief . Mr. Adams's disappointment. The arrival of txvo very extraor- dinary personages, and the introduction of parson Adams to parson Barnabas .72 Chap. XVII, A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the bookseller^ which was broke off by an vn lucky accident happening in the inn. ivhicA COKTENTS. m produced a dialogue between Mrs, Toxe-'wouse and her maid, of no gentle kind 82 Chap. XVIII. The history of Betty the chamber' maid, and an account of what occasioned the vio- lent scene in the preceding chapter^ 89 BOOK II. Chap. I. Of division . in authors 93 Chap. II. A surprising instance of Mr, Adamses short memory, with the unfortunate consequences which it brought on Joseph 9^ Chap. III. The opinion of two lawyers concerning the same gentleman, with Mr. Adams's inquiry into the religion of his host 101 Chap. IV. The history of Leonora, or the unfor- tunate jilt. , 108 Chap. V. A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn where the company dined y with its bloody consequences to Mr. Adams 127 Chap. VI. Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt. 136 Chap. VII. A very short chapter, in -which parson Adams went a great way 142 Chap. VIII. A notable dissertation by Mr. Abra- ham Adams ; xcherein that giMthman appears in a political light \ 145 Chap. IX. Jn which the gentleman descants on bravery and heroic virtue, till an unlucky acci- dent puts an end to the discourse 148 a 2 V CONTENTS. Chap. X. Giving an accovnt of the strange catas- trophe 7 1 Chap. VIII. Which some readers will think too short, and others too long 261 Chap. IX. Containing as surprising and bloody adventures as can be found in this or "eih'U>s lun/ other authentic his'nry -^aj Chap. X. A discourse hetween the poet and -huer; of no other use in this hintoiy but fn divert tiie reader ^ , ^t)0 vi CONTENTS. Chap. XI. Containing the exhortations of parson Adams to his friend in ajfiiction ; calculated for the instruction and improvement of the reader. . . 2y5 Chap. XII. More adventures, -which zee hope Ttilt flj much please as surprise the reader 2^9 Chap, XIII. -A curious dialogue uhich passed be- i-wten Mr. Abraham Adams and Mr. Peter Pounce, better worth reading than all the xuorks of Col/ei/ Cibber and many other 3(7 BOOK IV. Chap I. The arrival of lady Booby and the rest at Boobyhall 311 Chap. II. A dialogue between Mr. Abraham Adams and the lady Booby 316" Chap. III. What passed between the lady arid laxcyer Scout 320 Chap. IV. A short chapter, but very full of mat- ter ; particularly the arrival of Mr. Booby and his lady 323 Chap. V. Containing justice business ; curious pre- cedents of depositions, and other matters necessary to be perused by all justices of the peace and their clerks 325 Chap. VI. Of which you are desired to read no more than you like 332 Chap. Vli. Philosophical re/lections, the like not to be found in any light French romance. Mr. Booby's grave advice to Joseph, and Fanny's en* counter with a beau 338 CONTENTS. VII Chap. VIII. A discourse "which happened between Mr. Adams, Mrs. Adams, Joseph, and Fanny ; which, uith some behaviour of Mr. Adams, v)ill be called by some few readers very low, absurd, and unnatural. 347 Chap. IX. A visit which the polite lady Booby and her polite friend paid to the parson i 354) Chap. X. The history of two friends, which may afford an useful Itssvn to all those persons who happen to take up their residence in married fami- lies 358 Chap. XI. In which the history is contimted. . 365 Chap. XII. Where the good-natured reader will see something which will give him no great plea- sure 36'9 Chap. XIII. The history returning to the lady Booby, gives some account of the terrible convict in hr breast between love and pride; with what happened on the present discovery 37 1 Chap. XIV. Containing several curious night- adventures, in which Mr. Aoams Jell into many hair-breath 'scapes, partly owing to his goodness, and partly to his inadvertency 377 Chap. XV. The arrival of gaffer and gammer Andrews, xoith another person not much exjected; and a perfect solution of the difficulties raised by the pedlar 383 Chap. XVI. Beiiig the last. In which this true history is brought to a happy conclusion 38S FIELDING. Henry Fielding, without all doubt the most ili&tiftgu4sh(L.novel-\yriter in the walk of Jjiiiuauj:,-was born inJL207_at Sharpham-parlc near Glastonbury in Spmersetshire. His father, Edmund Inelding, was of a noble family; he had served under the Duke of Marlborough, and arrived at the rank of lieutenant-general. B is mother was daughter to Sir Henry Gould, one of the judges of the king's bench. Thus ad- vantageously ushered into life, from the situation and connexions of both parents, our author had every reasonable prospect of rising in the world ; and, with the parts which nature had given him, of filling a distinguished station in some one of the more honourable professions. Henry' was first put under the care of a domestic tutor, the Rev^ Mr. Oliver, whose manners at least were not calculated to inspire him \\Tth much respect, if Ave are to believe the tradition, that he afterwards introduced him into his Joseph Andrews under the appellation of Pax&oii ,TrJul- liber. From the care of this gentleman lie was removed to Eton. In this distinguished semi- nary he became a good classical scholar, both in VOL. XVIII. a ii FIELDING. the Latin and the Greek languages; hi the latter, particularly, he was said to be an uncommon proficient. He also formed there those acquaint- ances with young men of rank and fortune, which are generally considered as among the most advantageous circumstances attending a public school. He was early known to Mr. (afterwards Lord) Lyttleton, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, and other distinguished characters. As young Fielding was intended for the law, he was sent, for the next stage of his education, to Leyden, which university was then in the zenith of its reputation. He studied under the celebrated Vitriarius, then professor of civil law, for two years, and distinguished himself as much by his application, as by the strength of his parts and his love for literature. At that inter- esting period of his education, his progress was cut short by pecuniary difficulties. His father had married a second time, and the pressure of an increasing family (no less than six sons being bom to him in addition to four children of the first bed) rendered it impossible for the general to continue his eldest son's remittances at the university. He was therefore obliged to return to England ; and found himself at the age of twenty in the metropolis, pretty much his own master, and exposed to every allurement to plea- sure and dissipation. There is scarcely any profession from which there are so many deserters as from the law. A sprightly young man, who has imbibed in his prehminary education a strong taste for the more elegant parts of literature, is very apt to disrelish FIELDING. iii the dry and severe studies to whicli he is de- \oted ; and the temptations to pleasure, to which by living so much at large he is peculiarly ex- posed, and which he has seldom the force to resist, sap the vigour of his mind, and induce him to turn away from a pursuit which requires the unbroken powers of the whole man. Young Fielding was peculiarly susceptible of these im- pressions : still, had he continued where he had so well begun, at Leyden, in a comparatively sober town, among grave professors, and stu- dents occupied in preparing for their future de- stination, it is probable we might have possessed another eminent barrister or judge, and that we should not have had Joseph Andrews and Tom Jones. Be that as it may, his coming to Lon- don at so critical a period was decisive of his character and fortunes. He had a good person, a quick relish of pleasure, a constitution re- markably strong, and a decided turn for social enjoyment; so that no doubt his disposition met half way the temptations his situation ex- posed him to. His allowance from his father was nominally two hundred a year ; which, he was used to say, any body might pay that would. To supply the deficiencies of his income, and support a gay life in London, he began to write for the stage, and in the succeeding ten years produced three-and-twenty dramatic composi- tions, farces included, a number many times gi'eater than Congreve had given to the public during the course of a long life. The greater part of these pieces met with but indifferent a2 IV FIELDING. success at the time, and few of them have stood' their ground to the present day. It has been matter of surprise to those who contemplated Fielding in the quaUty of a novehst, that an author wjiose chai acteristics are genuine humour and delineation of character should have succeeded so ill in comedy ; for what is a co- medy but a short story, or novel put into dia- logue ? and the more of dialogue there is in the novel, the more spirit it possesses ; so that tliey seem to be very kindred modes of writing. But it must be considered, in the first place^ that a dramatic writer, being confined by time and other circumstances belonging to represen-^ tation on the stage, is obliged to concentrate his powers, and give the effect by a spirited outhne, which the no\ el-writer has leisure to produce by the slow and patient touches of a m.ore leisurely pencil. Comedy also requires much more de- licate management. Coarse incidents and lan- guage may pass in relation, which would disgust upon the stage, where every thing being in ac- tion, an indelicacy or awkwardness, becomes much more prominent than when it meets the eye of a solitary reader in the pages of a book ; and the least circumstance that provokes a laugh at the piece is sufficient to ruin it for ever. A quicker sense of propriety is exercised on the benches of a theatre than at the desk of the reader. In the drama, moreover, the author is not allowed to show himself; by which the wit of Fielding would lose much of its poignancy. He does not dramatize his novel so much as FIELDING. r many others have done. The author's learning, the author's wit appear continually not only in his digressive chapters, but in the representa- tions of the characters and secret views of his personages ; '"and the humour is continually heightened by the contrast between the author's style and his views of things, and the charac- ters he is holding up to ridicule. 1 But the wa"^ ^f merit in Fielding's comedies may be ascribed to other causes. They were his first productions ; and, like most of the pro- ductions of youth, rather drawn from what he had read than what he had seen. He could not be supposed, at the age of twenty, to have at- tained that knowledge of life and character which he exhibited when, in a maturer age, he wrote his Tom Jones. The English stage has few models of elegant comedy, and he seems to have taken his from Congreve and Wycherley, and to have imitated their loose and vicious morals without their humour and brilliancy. Most of his pieces also were written in the in- tervals of pleasures and dissipation, with great rapidity, and upon the spur of the occasion, that is, the occasion for a present supply of, money. He himself entertained a pretty great/ contempt for the judgement of the town, and' hardened himself against censure by despisins^ his censurers. He has printed one of his farc^ " as it was damned at the theatre royal, Drury- Lane." It is related, that when his last co- medy, The Wedding Day, was in rehearsal, Garrick, who was to act a part in it, begged the author to strike out a scene in which he a3 vi FIELDING, expected to be hissed. Fielding refused : " If there is a weak part, let them find it out," said he. The event was as Garrick had predicted : and when he retired into the Green-rooin, where the author was drinking champagne, " 1 told you," said he, " it Avould never do ; they are hissing, and 1 shall not recover myself ail the evening." " Oh," said Fielding with an oath, " they have found it, have they ? " One of tliis author's pieces. The Temple Beaiif exhibits, with some strokes of humour, a cha- racter afterwards drawn with such success by Hoadley in his Suspicious Husband. His Tom Thumb has been often acted, and gi\en great diversion to the audience; but his Miser, a free translation from Moliere's UAvare, is the only one of his pieces which at present maintains its ground at the theatre. Yet, though there is no- thing in the humour of the character which doer? not seem very capable of being transferred, it by no means holds the same rank on the En- glish stage which IJAvare does on the French.. . It is worthy of remark, that the liberties taken with some political characters, in one or two of our author's pieces, are said to have been the immediate occasion of passing the act for hmit- ing the number of theatres, and subjecting dra- matic com^^ositions to the inspection of the lord chauibeiiaui. A restraint perhaps necessary, and no doubt peinianent. The farces of Fielding were generally the pro- duction of two or tlxree mornings. When he had contracted for a play or farce, he has often been known to go home late from a tavern, and FIELDING. y\\ send a scene or two the next morning written on the papers that had wrapped up his tobacco, of which he was immoderately fond. ^otwith- standing the number of his pieces, they do not seem to have been very productive to him in a pecuniary hght. For one, which was acted sis nights, he received only sixty pounds. In the midst of ihis career of dissipation. Fielding fell in love with and married Miss Craddock of Salisbury, a celebrated beauty with a fortune of 1500/. About the same time, by Ins mother's death, he succeeded to an estate of something more than two hundred a year. Upon these events he formed the wise resolution to retire with his wife, whom he passionately loved, into the country, and to forsake the gaie^ ties and vices of a town life. He went accord- ingly to Stower in Dorsetshire, ^^here his little estate lay. And here he might have purified his mind and corrected his taste. ISo longer obliged to write for a dinner, he might have felt only the gentle and salutary sUmulus of bettering his fortune and increasing his enjoyments by the productions of his pen. But unfortunately he took it in his head to vie in expense with the country gentlemen his neighbours. The sound of a family estate has a wonderful effect upoh some men. It was probably an idea of this kind, added to a thoughtlessness now become habitual, that made him launch out in the ab^ surd manner he did. He had a carriage, a large establishment of servants in gaudy hveries ; he ga\ e dinners, kept hounds and horses, and found means, in less than three years, entirely to dis* Vlll FIELDING. sipate his little patrimony. Some of these fol- lies he has pourtrayed, softened no doubt, in the character of Booth in his Amelia. He was now again obliged to draw subsistence , from his own resources ; and it is some praise to I the vigour of his mind, and shows it was able to ! recover its spring, that he formed the resolution of seriously applying to the law, his original destination. He was about thirty when he entered himself at the Temple, and it is agreed that his apphcation was laudable. He was one of those characters to whom mental exertion is more easy than abstinence from pleasure ; and the good foundation ie had laid in early life enabled him to recover a great deal of his lost ground. After he was called to the bar, he attended \ the courts and went the circuits, but never had any great flow of business, though he is said to have acquired a very respectable share of legal knowledge, and even to have gone deep into some particular branches of it, as he left behind him two volumes folio upon crown law. The gout also, which he had by this time earned, began to make depredations upon his constitu- tion. He was therefore obliged to recur again to his pen to supply the wants of a growing fa- mily ; and essays, plays, and political pamphlets were the product of his leisure. He wrote in a periodical paper called Tke Champion. An Es- say on Conversation; A Journey from this florid to the next ; and many httle pieces now forgotten, to which the time and occasion gave temporary value, were also published by him. FIELDING. IX In poetry he was not successful. His attempta exposed him to the satire of Swift in the follow- iiig hnes : " Wlien you rashly tliiuk No rhymer can like Welsted sink, His merits balanced, you shall find That luelding leaves Mm far behind. " Swift little thought at the time that Fielding^ Avould be ail author as much read as himself. One little piece of his, written ia early life, is. addressed to Sir Robert Walpole, ironically en^ deavouring to prove himself the greater man oC the two. He says, ^ 9 " I live above you twice two story, And from my garret can look down On the whole street of Arlington '* And again : " Your levee is but twice a week ; From mine I can exclude but one day. My door is q^uiet on a Sunday." It concludes with expressing himself very Avill- ing to come down from his greatness and accept of a place. About this time he pubhshed his History of Jonathan Wild. The humour and strokes oif character in this piece first gave indications of the mode of writing from whence he was to derive his celebrity. It is, like Gay's Begg(ifs_^ Opera, an cxhibitiQiiTorrscenies .ofjtlie greatest. profligacy In low life, with an implied satire on, the worki in general, and particularly of the world of high life, Joseph Andrews was i^i^* X FIELDING. fif&fe-*egular_ngyel. It was published in 17 42, and gave him deserved celebrity. But he sdoti after met with a heavy affliction in the loss of his beloved w^fe, who had long been sinking under ill health. This stroke he felt with an acuteness of sensibility which perhaps would scarcely have been expected in a man of pleasure ; his grief was so strong that his friends were even afraid his reason should give way under it. He afterwards, however, married a second time, and his wife survived him. Attached to the principles of the Revolution, he published, during the rebellion of 1745, a periodical paper entitled The True Patriot^ and another, The Jacobite Journal. These services to government were rewarded with the ap- pointment to the office of acting justice of the peace for Middlesex, a situation he was induced to accept from the failure of his hopes of rising in the more brilliant career of the bar. In this laborious and at that time not very respectable office, he was active and diligent ; and he pub- lished several tracts with the laudable design of checking the vices of the populace. An active magistrate was extremely wanted at that time. Robberies were frequent, and atrocious murders had been committed with a barbarity not usual in this country. A Charge to the Grand Jury, a pamphlet On the Increase and Cause of Rob- beries, and A Proposal for the Maintenance of the Poor, in which the first hints were given of county workhouses, bore testimony to his zeal and diUgence. He wrote a pamphlet on the case FIELDING. ti of Elizabeth Canning, which was answered by Dr. Hill, with whom he had frequent contro- versies. It shows the vigour of Fielding's mind, that notwithstanding these exertions and the duties of an active and laborious profession, with an anxious mind and a broken constitution, he found leisure for his capital work, his History of JTom Jones. He was about four-and-forty when he wrote it ; a period of life when judgement) invention, and observation go hand in hand, and man possesses all his powers together. After the publication of this celebrated novel, we may regard the author as in the meridian of his fame, and possessed, through his various labours, of the means of living with ease and comfort : but his constitution, naturally strong, and his frame, originally athletic, undermined by irre- gularity and broken by fatigue, were now sink- ing apace ; notwithstanding which he published, four years afterwards, his Amelia, in which, though it possesses many beautiful strokes, and an interest derived from its including a part of Mr. Fielding's own story, the humour is fainter, the characters less original ; and like the second rainbow, though the same colours are seen, they shine with fainter radiance. It has more of sen- timent than humour, more of narrative than of scenes passing before the eye. After this he engaged in a periodical paper, 2'he Covent-Garden Journal, Avhich Avas carried on for a twelvemonth. But now his health be- came entirely broken under a complication of disorders j and after undergoing tlie operation of Jul FIELDING. lapping, he was ordered to Lisbon, whither hlr* wife accompanied him; but he hved only two months after he got there. The last gleams of his genius were displayed in a small piece entitled A Journey to Lisbon, in which there is more of peevishness than of hu^nour. He died in 17<54, in the forty-eighth year of his age. His second wife with four children survived him, and exjje- rienced the kindness of Mr. Allen, the Alworthy of the author, in the liberal pecuniary assistance he afforded for their education. Fielding was succeeded in his office by his half-brother, the well-known Sir John Fielding, who had been long his assistant, and who afterwards distin- guished himself so much by his activity at the head of the London police, though he had die misfortune to be blind from his birth. Henry Fielding was in his person tall, and of a robust make with an originally strong consti- tution, qualities which, perhaps for that reason, he seems fond of attributing to his heroes. He was social, hospitable, fond of pleasure, and apt to be impatient under disappointment or ill usage. Though he might not be a \ ery faithful, he was a very affectionate husband, as well as a very fond father ; all tlie sympathies of a feeling heart were alive in him. By seeing much of tho vicious part of mankind, professionally in his latter years and by choice in his earlier, liis mind received a taint which spread itself in his works, but was powerfully counteracted by the better sensibilities of his nature. Notwithstanding his irregularities, he was not without a sense of re- ligion, and had collected materials for an An- FIELDlNa. x swerto Lord Boliugbroke's posthumous works, in which he would probably have been much out of liis depth. ]No portrait was taken of him during his life. Hogarth, with whom he had an intimate friendship, executed one after his death, partly from recollection and partly from a profile cut by a lady w-ith a pair of scissars. An engraving of it is prefixed to the edition of his works in ten vo- lumes, with his Life, published by Mr. Murphy. Joseph Andrews, the first of Fielding's novels in the order of publication, has been, and always must be, a most captivating perfomiance to those who have a taste for genuine humour. There is little or nothing in it of story, compared with the elaborate j)lan of his subsequent work ; nor so great a variety of characters : on which j account the performance is inferior; but it pos- ' sesses, in quite an equal degree, the comic spirit oLlhe author. He professes to have written it'** in the manner of Cervantes; and accordingly the style, where the author himself speaks, is in a kind of mock heroic, particularly in the intro- ductory flourishes, where he ushers in the inci- dents of a foot-race, or a boxing-match between two rustics, in the pompous and lofty phrase which might be used to describe one of Homer's battles. This manner he has preserved in his other novels : in all of them the author is con- stantly kept in sight, and the grave humour of the piece is heightened by his remarks. The plan of Richardson, on the contrary, which was to make his characters tell their own story in letters to each other, necessajily excludes the VOL. XVIII. b Xiv YIELDING, author : -each mode has its advantages, that of Richardson is perhaps the most difficult. The most striking figure in this piece is that of Par- .son Ada ms, an original and most diverting cha- racter, in which the lights and shades are so ad- mirably blended, and estimable qualities so mixed with foibles and eccentricities, that we love and Jbiugh at him at the same time. Adams is a country curate of great learning and integrity, very benevolent, and of such simplicity of heart that, to use the author's expression, " he , never sees further into men than they choose to I let him." In common with many deep scholars, ; he is subject to great absence of mind, which brings hini into many ludicrous difficulties; and he has a tincture of harmless vanity which leads him sometimes to assume more self-importance than belongs to his humble station. The author has shown great skill in making u3 laugh so heartily at a character, and yet keeping it above contempt. This could not have been done in the degrading scenes of low life to Avhich he is exposed, if he had not^ in addition to his higher qualities, given hirar great personal cou- rage and an athletic constitution so that in the scenes in which his poverty exposes him to in- sult, his Herculean strength and intrepidity make us feel, that though he may be played upon, he is not to be trampled on ; and the reader is M'ell pleased to see that he generally gets the better in the rough contests in which he is engaged. It has been sometimes objected to Fielding, that so good a man as Adams, a' clergyman and a scholar, should be held up to ridicule ; but ^ FIELDING. XV it sliould be considered that comic characters were what he sought, and what his genius led him to exhibit ; that such mixed characters do exist ; and that our feeUngs are properly excited in due proportion to the excellencies and eccen- tricities of this amusing personage. His learn- ing redeems his ignorance of tlie world nils"sim- plicity does not proceed from Avant of sense, but want of penetration, which ai'ises in great mea- scrre from his candour and singleness of heart ; his absence of mind harmonizes with his erudi- tion. A man of his stamp is not unlikely to for-\ get his horse at an inn, to wade through a brook \ instead of crossing a stile to find a dry path, and /'' to leave the sermons behind him which he came to London to print. It is asserted in Fielding's Life by Murphy, that a Mr. Young, a man of great learning and a friend of the author's, was the original of this picture. This gentleman was. a man of great benevolence, an excellent Grecian, and particularly fond of ^schylus, and very subject to fits of absence. It is related of him that, while he was chaplain to a regiment in Flanders, he took a solitary ramble one fine sum- mer's evening, and, falling into a deep reverie, walked on till he can^e to the enemy's camp, where he was with difficulty brought to his re- collection by the Qui va Id '^ The officer on duty, seeing he had strayed thither in the simplicity of his heart, poUtely gave him leave to pursue his meditations back again. Two other characters of clergymen appear in this work, those of Barnabas and TruUiber. Trul- Ijber feeding bis hogs and tyrannizing over hi a b2 xvi FIELDING, vvife is a truly Dutch piece, and worthy the pen- cil of a Teniers. it is possible a Trulliber might be found in a remote part of the country when the author wrote, but it is to be presumed the race is now extinct. Barnabas is a character of hypocrisy and selfishness, of which the world will always aflxjrd sijecimens. Joseph and Fanny* are sufficiently interesting : the latter is drawn -with ease and simplicity. Joseph is a hero in virtue, more so perhaps tlian might naturally have been expected from the free pen of the author, who seems to have been induced to give him this purity of character from a whimsical competition with the author of Pamela, against which work there are many sly strokes of satire. It is certain, however, that Joseph Jndrezcs is the most unexceptionable in point of morals of any of Fielding's novels. So far as a free exhi^ bition of vicious characters may be objected to on the score of delicacy, perhaps it is not free from blame, but in this it is for less exceptionable than those of Hmollet ; and there is between them this essential diilerence, that m. Joseph Jndrezcs the interest is constantly and uniformly thrown on the side of virtue. AVhen our affec- tions are drawn torth, it is in favour of the inno- cent and the good ; when we laugh, it is at folly, aflfectation, or absurdity ; when we feel detesta- tion, it is at hardness of heart, as in the beha viour of the passengers in the stage-coach to the wounded Joseph ; or it is at brutahty, hypocrisy, and deceit ; so that, if Fielding had Written onlv this work, there could have been no doubt of his being ranked among the friends of virtue. FIELDING. xvii In this panegyric must not however be included a very dull history of a Mr. Wilson, inserted ap- parently, as well as another story of Leonora, for the sake of filling up, though the work only con- sists of two volumes. The story has the worse effect, as, after having passed through every scene of vice and debauchery, Wilson is reward- ed with a virtuous wife : and by way of con- necting this episodical story with the body of the work, the author has made him the father of the virtuous and desemngjpseph. A number of other characters are touched with great truth and spirit. Mrs. SUpslop has become proverbial for her phraseology, which has been imitated by several no\el-writers.^/-^.* Lady Booby is the prototype of Lady Bellaston.^fl^ The discerning reader cannot overlook Peter Pounce tlie steward, nor the simplicity of Adams, who believes him in earnest when he pre- tends "not to be near so rich as people thought him," and the ndivett with which the latter tells him, " that he always said it was impossible he could have honestly amassed so much, particu- larly as he inherited no fortune," with the con- seijuent aiiger of Pounce, all which conveys a satire as just as it is lively. We are never better pleased than when, either in fiction or in real Hfe, a proud man receives a stroke of unintentional satire from one who has too much simplicity tO' feel tliat he has given it. But to particularize the strokes of nature and humour in this novel would be almost to transcribe the work; suffice it to mention one or two. W hen Joseph, having rescued his Fanny from b 3 Xviii FIELDING, the hands of her ravisher, expresses his impa-r tience to have her made indissolubly his own ; Adams rebukes him for his impetuosity, telling him that " the passions are to be greatly subdued if not totally eradicated, and that he ought not so to set his niitid upon any person or thing in this world, as that he cannot resign it quietly and contentedly, when taken from him in any manner by divine Providence." At this moment somebody coines in and tells him that his young- est son is drownetl ; and when Joseph attempts to comfort him, from some of the topics he had just insisted on, the good man rejects them in the bitterness of his heart, and cries out, " Child, child, do not attempt impossibilities; the loss of a child is one of those great trials in which our grief is allowed to be immoderate." Yet the exhortations of Adams are not common-place and hypocritical, like those of Barnabas when he prayed by Joseph; his inconsistency is only the weakness of human nature. The passage finely shows ho^v difficult it is to put ourselves in the place of others. It was impossible for Adams, with all his benevolence, to enter into the impatient feelings of the young lovers. He was ready to serve, but he could not sympathize with them. A younger man would have sympa- thized, and, if he wanted benevolence, knight not have served them. ^ The winding up of this novel is the only part in which there is any aim at intricacy; and it may perhaps be thought some disparjigjment to the invention of the author, that the plot of two of hia novels turns upon the discovery of foundling FIELDING. j^ix children. As Joseph Andrews is made the bro- ther of Pamela Andrews, and as both are stories in low life, Richardson complained heavily of fielding that he had followed up the mode of* writing which he had opened for him, and made it a vehicle for abusing him ; for, in fact, a good deal of ridicule is thrown upon Pamela, and of that its author might complain. But his man- ner and that of Fielding are so totally different, that each may be admired as an original writer without interference with the other, and different tastes will be attracted by diflferent talents. Jo- seph AndicKs may with more propriety be com- pared to the Pai/san Parvemi of Marivaux than to any work of Richardson's. Joseph Jndrews was followed by Tom Jones, a novel produced Avhen the author was in the meridian of his faculties, and after he had joined to his natural talents experience of the world, mature judgement, and practice in the art of writing. From these advantages a finished work may be expected ; and such, considered as a com- jwsition, Tom Jones undoubtedly is. There is perhaps no novel in the English language so art- fully conducted, or so rich in humour and cha- racter. Nor is it without scenes that interest the heart. The story of the highwayman, the di- stress of Mrs. Miller and her daughter in the af- fair with M ightingale, and many little incidents reJating to Jones in his childhood, are highly afTecting, and calculated to awaken our best feel- inijs. Touches of the pathetic thus starting out in a work of humour, do not lose, they rather- XX FIELDING, gain, from the contrast of sensations, and have a greater air of nature from being mixed with adventures drawn from common life. The con- duct of the piece is as masterly as the details are interesting. It contains a story involving a number of adventures and a variety of charac- ters, all of which are strictly connected with the main design, and tend to the development of the plot ; which yet is so artfully concealed, that it may be doubted whether it was ever antici- pated by the most practised and suspicious reader. The story contains all that we require in a regular epopea, or drama ; strict unity of design, a change of fortune, a discovery, pu- nishment and reward distributed according to poetical or rather moral justice. The clearing up the character of Jones to Alworthy, the dis- covery of his relationship to him, and his union with Sophia, are all brought about at the end of the piece, and all obscurities satisfactorily cleared up ; so that the reader can never doubt, as in some novels he may, whether the work should have ended a volume before, or have been car- ried on a volume after, the author's conclusion. The peculiar beauty of the plot consists in this ; that though tlie author's secret is impenetrable, the discovery is artfully prepared by a number of circiuTistances not attended to at the time, and by obscure hints thrown out, which, when tlie reader looks back upon them, are found to agree exactly with the concealed event. Of this nature is the cool unabashed behaviour of Jenny, the supposed delinquent, when she acknow- FIELDING. xxi ledges herself the mother of the cliild ; the flit- ting appearance from time to time of the attor- ney Dowiing ; and especially the behaviour of Mrs. Blifil to her son, which is wonderfully well managed in this respect, She appears at first to notice him only in compliance, and an un- gracious compliance too, with her brother's re- quest ; yet many touches of the mother are re- collected when the secret is known ; and the more open aliection she shows him afterwards, when a youth of eighteen, has a turn given it which effectually misleads the reader, if he is very sagacious, he may perhaps suspect some mystery from the frequent appearance of Dow- ling ; but he has no clue to find out what the mystery is, nor can he anticipate the very mo- ment of discovery. But intricacy of plot, admirable as this is, is still ofsecondary merit compared Avith the exhibi- tion of character, of which there is in this work a rich variety. Of the humorous ones, Squire Western and his sister are the most prominent. The}' are admirably contrasted. He, rough, blunt, and boorish ; a country squire of the last centu- ly; fond of his dogs and horses ; a bitter Jaco- bite, as almost all the country squires at that time were; and from both causes averse to lords, and London, and every circumstance belonging to a court. She, a staunch whig, a politician in petticoats, valuing herself upon coint breeding, tinesse, and management, and not disposed, as "V oung says in one of his satires, " to take her tea without a stratagem." Their opposite ^ough both wrong modes of managing Sophia, xxn FIELDING. their mutual quarrels, and the cordial contempt shown for female pretensions on the one side, and country ignorance on the other, are highly amusing. The character of Western is particu- larly well drawn : he is quite a worldly man, and strongly attached to money, notwithstand- ing an appearance of jollity and heartiness, which might seem to indicate a propensity to the so- cial feelings. His extreme fondness for Jones, and his total bUndness to the passion between him and his daughter, though he had thrown them continually in each other's way, are very natural, and what we see every day exemplified in real life, as well as the astonishment he ex- presses that a young lady of fortune should think of falling in love with a young fellow Avithout any. Many parents seem by their conduct to think this as impossible as if the two parties were beings of a different species, and they de- servedly suffer the consequences of their incau- tious folly. His fondness for Sophia too, like that of many parents, is very consistent with the most tyrannical behaviour to her in points essen- tial to her happiness. His leaving the pursuit of his daughter when he hears the cry of the hounds, in order to join a fox-chase, is very cha- racteristic and diverting. It must be admitted that the language and manners of Western have a coarseness which in the present day may be thought exaggerated; and it is to be hoped it would be difficult now to find a breed of country squires quite so un- polished. Perhaps the improvement may be partly owing to their not being so independent FIELDING. xxiii &s foitnerly. When they lived insulated, each in his own Uttle domain, and their estates suf- ficed them to reside among their tenants and de- pendants in rustic consequence, they supplied such characters as a Western, a Sir Francis' W ronghead, the Jacobite esquire in The Free-' holder; and, of the more amiable sort, a Sir Ro- ger de Coverley ; for the drama and the novel ; which are now nearly extinct, from the neces- sity the increasing demands of luxury have oc- casioned of seeking an increase of fortune in the busy and active scenes of life. Estates are pur- chased by moneyed men ; they bring down the habits of mercantile life from the brewery or the warehouse ; a library and a drawing-room take the place of the hall hung Avith stags' horns and brushes of foxes ; the hounds are sold ; the man- sion is deserted during half the year for London or a watering-place. It is probable there are moie of his majesty's subjects ,at this moment hunting the tiger or the wild boar in India, than there are hunting foxes at home. Partridge is the Sancho Pancha of the piece ; like him, he deals in proverbs and scraps of wis- dom ; like him, he is cowardly, and puts his master in mind of bodily necessities. The au- thor has taken occasion through this character to pay a delicate compliment to die acting of Garrick in tiie part of Hamlet. Jones himself, the hero of the piece, for whom, notwithstand- ing his faults, the reader cannot help being in- terested, is contrasted with Blifil, the legitimate son of his mother. The two youths arc brought up together under the same roof and the same xxiv FIELDING. discipline. Jones is a youth of true feeling, ho- nour and generosity ; open and affectionate in his disposition, but very accessible to the temp- tations of pleasure. Bhfil, with great apparent sobriety and decorum of manners, is a mean selfish hypocrite, possessing a mind of tho- rough baseness and depravity. In characters so contrasted, it is not doubtful to which of them the reader will, or ought to give the preference. To the faults of Bhfil the reader has no inclina- tion to be partial. They revolt the mind, par- ticularly the minds of youth. The case is not the same with those more pardonable deviations from morals which are incident to- youths of a warm temperament and an impressible heart: these are contagious in their very nature, and therefore the objections which have been made to the moral tendency of this novel are no doubt in some measure just. It is said to have been forbidden in Trance on its first publication. The faults of Jones are less than those of almost every other person who is brought upon the stage ; yCt they are of more dangerous example, because they are mixed with so many qualities which excite our affections. Still, his character is of a totally different stamp from the heroes of Smollet's novels. He has an excellent heart aiid a refined sensibility, though he has also pas- sions of a lower order. In every instance where he transgresses the rules of virtue, he is the se- duced, and not the seducer; his youth, his con- stitution, his unprotected situation after he left Alworthy's, paUiate his faults, and in honour- able love he is tender and constant. His refusal FIELDING. XXV of the young widow who makes him an ofier of her hand does him honour. In one instance only is he degraded, his affair with Lady Bel- laston. The character of Sophia was probably formed according to the author's ideas of female perfec- tion : she is very beautiful, very sweet-tempered, very fond and constant to her lover; but her behaviour will scarcely satisfy one who has con- ceived high ideas of the delicacy of the female character. A young woman just come from reading Clarissa must be strangely shocked at seeing the heroine of the tale riding about the country on post-horses after her lover ; and the incidents at Upton are highly indelicate. It is observable that Fielding uniformly keeps down the characters of his women, as much as Ri- chardson elevates his. A yielding easiness of disposition is what he seems to lay the greatest stress upon. Al worthy is made to tell Sophia, that what had chiefly charmed him in her beha- viour was the great deference he had observed in her for the opinions of men. Yet Sophia, me- thinks, had not been extraordinarily well situated for imbibing such reverence. Any portion of learning in women is constantly united in this author with something disagreeable. It is given to Jenny, the supposed mother of Jones. It is given in a higher degree to that very disgusting character Mrs. Bennet in Amelia ; Mrs. Wes- tern, too, is a woman of reading. A man of li- centious maimers, and such was Fielding, sel- dom respects the sex. Of the other characters, VOL. XVIII. c xxvi FIELDING. Lady Bellaston displays the ease, good-breeding, and impudence of a town-bred lady of fashion, who has laid aside her virtue. The scene where Jones meets Sophia at her house unexpectedly, the confusion of the lovers, and the civil, sly teasings of Lady Bellaston, are very diverting. Mrs, Miller is a specimen of a natural character given without any exaggeration. She is warm- hearted, overflowing with gratitude, sanguine, and very loquacious. The behaviour of Jones in the affair between Nightingale and her daugh- ter does him honour, and he manages the un- cle and the father with much finesse. All the characters concerned are well drawn. The fa- mily of Black George exhibits natural but coarse painting ; they would not be undeserving of a place in Mr. Crabb's parish register. The cha- racter of Alworthy is not a shining one ; he is imposed upon by every body : this may be con- sistent with goodness, but it is not consistent with that dignity in which an eminently vir- tuous character, meant to be exhibited as a pat- tern of excellence, ought to appear. But Field- ing could not draw such a character. Traits of humanity and kindness he is able to give in all their beauty; but a religious and strictly moral character was probably connected in his mind with a want of sagacity, which those who have been conversant with the vicious part of the world are very apt to. imagine must be the con- sequence of keeping aloof from it. Besides, it wa'S necessary for the plot that Alworthy should be imposed upon. The character of Alworthy, FIELDING. xxTii it is said, was meant for Mr. Allen of Prior-park, a friend and patron of the author's, characterized by Pope in these well-known lines, " Let humble Allen, with an awkward shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame." The discovery of Jones's birth, and his resto- ration to the favour of Alworthy, wind up the whole, and give an animation to the concluding part, which is apt to become flat in the works of common authors. It is some drawback, how'- ever, upon the satisfaction of the reader, that poetic justice cannot be done without giving the good Alworthy the pain of being acquainted with the shame of his sister. It is not natural, when he does know it, that he should needlessly pub- lish a circumstance of that kind, or consider Jones as having the same claims upon him as a legitimate child of his sister's ; yet this is what he is made to do. Upon the whole, Tom Jones is certainly for humour, wit, character, and plot, one of the most entertaining and perfect novels we possess. With regard to its moral tendency we must con- tent ourselves with more quahfied praise. A young man may imbibe from it sentiments of humanity, generosity, and all the more amiable virtues ; a detestation of meanness, hypocrisy, and treachery : but he is not likely to gain from it firmness to resist temptation, or to have his ideas of moral purity heightened or refined by the perusal. More men would be apt to imitate Jones than would copy Lovelace ; and it is to be feared there are few women who would not like c 2 xxviii FIELDING. him better than Sir Cliai'les Grandison. The greater refinement also and deUcacy of the pre- sent age, a sure test of national civilization, though a very equivocal one of national virtue, has almost proscribed much of that broad hu- mour vi^hich appears in the works of Fielding's times, and we should scarcely bear, in a new novel, the indelicate pictures which are occa- sionally presented to the imagination. The scenes at inns also are coarse, and too often re- peated. The introductory chapters ought not to be passed over; they have much wit and grave Cervantic humour, and occasionally display the author's familiarity with the classics. Fielding's vein was not yet exhausted; he produced a third novel called, Amelia. If this has less of the author's characteristic humour, it has more scenes of domestic tenderness. Con- trary to the usual practice of novel-writers, the story begins after the marriage of the principal personages. The hero, Mr. Booth, is intro- duced to us in a prison ; the distresses of the piece arise from the vicious indulgencics of the husband, combined with unfortunate circum- stances; and in the character of Booth, Fielding is generally supposed to have delineated his own. Amelia is such a wife as most men of that stamp would deem the model of female perfection, such a one as a man, conscious of a good many fraikies and vices, usually wishes for. Faithful, fond, and indulgent, the prospect of immediate ruin cannot draw from her one murmur against her husband, and she willingly sacrifices to him \ier jewels and every article in her possession. FIELDING. xxk Booth is represented as good-natured, thought- less, and extravagant ; passionately fond of his Avife, notwithstanding occasional breaches of fidelity to her ; and very ready to receive the sa- crifices she makes, even to the pawning of her clothes and moveables, for the discharge of his gaming debts. Amelia, indeed, is a heroine of affection and obedience, and the impression upon the reader is certainly that of her being a very amiable and interesting woman ; but her cha- racter exhibits a great degree of weakness, par- ticularly in her behaviour to the nobleman who is endeavouring to seduce her. What woman of any sense could suppose, that a gay nobleman would fi"equent her house for the sake of amus- ing himself with her little ones ? Her softness and tenderness form a happy contrast with the boldness and daring guilt of Miss Matthews, a character conceived with great strength and spi- rit. She is a woman handsome and genteelly educated, but leading a life of prolligacy, given lip to her passions, dangerous ; not frail only but wicked. She keeps Booth in unwilling bondage by her threats of disclosing his infidelity to his wife. The history she is made to give of herself is, however, a very dull one. The prison scenes are strongly drawn. Field- ing was well acquainted with rogues and rascals in his judicial, and probably not unfrequently in his private capacity. There is much merit in the deUneation of Captain James and his wife, a fashionable couple who are very complaisant Mathout caring for each other. It is an excellent stroke in the character of the lady, that, in tlie XXX FIELDING. midst of her anxiety for her husband, who is supposed to be killed in a duel, she recollects to countermand a rich brocade making up for her at the mantua-maker's. In touches of satire like these Fielding excelled. There is something very touching in the humble love of Atkins, which is only revealed when he thinks himself on his death-bed ; but the author has not used him very kindly in matching him with so dis- agreeable a personage as Mrs. Benuet, whose character throughout is thoroughly disgusting, and seems introduced purely to show the au- thor's dishke to learned women. Learning in women may be inimical to some parts of the feminine character, but certainly does not lead to the vices he has given Mrs. Bennet. Proba- bly the coterie of literary and accomplished la- dies that generally assembled at his rival's house had its share in fostering this aversion. Another character in this work is Colonel Bath, who hides great tenderness of heart under an appearance of fierceness and bluster. He warms his sister's gruel, and is ready to run any man through the body who catches him at the employment. His portrait approaches the cari- cature- A more important personage in tlie story is the good Dr. Harris ; a clergyman, active, friend- ly and benevolent, with a dash of the humour- ist. By his means the discovery is brought about that Amelia is entitled to a large estate, which extricates Booth from his difficulties, and brings the story to a happy conclusion. Though Fielding in his former works has introduced FIELDING. XXXI jftany clergymen who are held up to ridicule, it is not as clerical but as individual characters, tor he was no enemy either to the church or to re- ligion. We certainly cannot conceive of him as a religious man ; but he was not from system irreligious. In his characters of Thwackura and Square he has given pretty equal measure to the divine and the philosopher. There are many good moral maxims in Amelia, and much of grave dissertation, but less of humour than iu the author's former works. There are also many tender touches of conjugal affection and domes- tic feeling. There is no great merit, it is true, on Booth's side ia receiving graciously the en- dearments of a beautiful woman who is always in good humour with him, even when he is most faulty. He is pleased with her; he could not well be otherwise; but he denies himself nothing for her sake or his children's. Yet, faulty as he IS, the reader is glad when he is extricated from his distresses. That this should be done by th^ discovery of a forged will, betrays some poverty of invention, as nearly the same incident is made use of in the denouement of Tom Jones. Upon the whole, though Amelia must be ac- knowledged inferior to the author's other two works, it would establish the reputation of a common writer ; and the three together present an exhibition of wit, humour, and character, not easy to be paralleled before or since the time when they were published. Fielding's works are not greatly relished by foreigners ; his personages are so truly and cha- racteristically English, that it requires the know- xxxii FIELDING. ledge and early associations of a native fully to comprehend them. A Somersetshire esquire is a being as unknown to a Frenchman as a Limo- sin gentleman is to us. Humour, like some fruits of delicate taste, should be enjoyed on the spot where it is produced. It loses its flavour by being earned abroad. Indeed a foreigner often forms wrong ideas of the manners of a country when he takes them from works of wit and humour, where pecuUarities are necessarily dwelt upon and exaggerated ; and an English- man solicitous for the honour of his country,, would not wish that the ideas of its manners should be taken from the works of Fielding. To himself they are valuable in the same hght as the paintings of Hogarth, which are become curious from exhibiting the modes and dresses of the last century, along with the characteristic manners of the country, and the varied play of those pas- sions and feelings, to delineate which, with spi- rit and effect, belongs to tlie observer of human iiatme iu general. PREFACE. As it is possible the mere English reader may have a different idea of romance from the author of these lit- tle volumes* ; and may consequently expect a kind of entertainment not to be found, nor which was even intended, in the following pages ; it may not be improper to premise a few words concerning this kind of writing, which I do not remember to have seen hitherto attempted in our language. The Epic, as well as the Drama, is divided into tragedy and comedy. Homer, who was the father of ) this species of poetry, gave us a pattern of both these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost ; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to comedy, which his Iliad bears to tragedy. And perhaps, that we have no more instances of it among the writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its imitators equally with the other poems of this great original. And further, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will not scruple to say it may be likewise either in > verse or prose : for though it wants one particular, which the critic enumerates in the constituent parts * Joseph Andrews was originally published in two vo- lumes 13mo. VOL. XVIII, B 2 PRErACB. of an epic poem, namely metre ; yet, when any kind of writing contains all its other parts, such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and is de- ficient in metre only ; it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it to the epic ; at least as no critic hath thought proper to range it under another head, or to *1tesign it a particular name to itself. Thus the Teletaachus of the archbishop of Cam- bray appears to me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer ; indeed, it is much fairer and more reasonable to give it a name common with that jspecies from which it differs only in a single instance, than to confound it with those which it resembles in no other. Such as those voluminous works, com- toonly called romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astraea, Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innume- rable others, which contain, as I apprehend, \ety I little instruction or entertainment. [ Now a comic romance is a comic epic poem in I ^rose ; differing from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy : its action being more extended and comprehensive ; containing a much larger circle of incidents, and introducing a greater variety of cha- racters. It differs from the serious romance in its fa- ble and action,, in this , that as in the one these are grave and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous : it differs in its characters, by introducing persons of inferior rank, and consequently of inferior manners, whereas the grave romance sets the highest before us ; lastly, in its sentiments and diction, by PRSFACB. 3 preserving the ludicrous instead of the sublime. In the diction, I think, burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted ; of which many instances will occur in this work, as in the description of the battles, and some other places not necessary to be pointed out to the classical reader ; for whose entertainment those pa- rodies or burlesque imitations are chiefly calculated. But though we have sometimes admitted this in our diction, we have carefully excluded it from our senti- ments and characters : for there it is never properly introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque kind, which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two spe- cies of writing can differ more widely than the comic and the burlesque ; for as the latter is ever the exhi- bition of what is monstrous and unnatural, and where our delight, if we examine it, arises from the sur- prising absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of the highest to the lowest, or e converso ; so in the former we should ever confine ourselves strictly to nature, from the just imitation of which will flow all the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible reader. And, perhaps, there is one reason why a co- mic writer should of all others be the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always 60 easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable ; but life every where furnishes an ac- curate observer with the ridiculous. I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, be- cause I have often heard that name given to perform- ances which have been truly of the con^c kind, from s2 4? PREFACE. the author's having sometimes admitted it in his dic- tion only ; which, as it is the dress of poetry, dotli, like the dress of men, establish characters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man,) in vulgar opinion beyond any of their greater excel- lencies : but surely, a certain drollery in style, where characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where every thing else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the appel- lation of the true sublime. And I apprehend My Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, there is no such thing to be found in the writings of the ancients. But, perhaps, I have less abhorrence than he-professes for it : and that, not because I have had some little success on the stage this way ; but rather as it contributes more to exquisite mirth and laughter than any other; and these are probably more wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better to purge away spleen, melancholy, and ill af- fections, than is generally imagined. Nay, 1 will ap- peal to common observation, whether the same com- panies are not found more full of good humour and benevolence, after they have been sweetened for two or three hours with entertainments of this kind, than when soured by a tragedy or a grave lecture. But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, perhaps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly : let us examine the works of a PREFACE. 6 comic history painter, with those performances which the Italians call caricatura ; where we shall find the true excellence of the former to consist in the ex- actest copying of nature ; insomuch that a judicious eye instantly rejects any thing outre, any liberty which the painter hath taken with the features of that alma mater. Whereas in the caricatura we allow all license. Its aim 19 tP jexhibijt monsters, not men; and all distortions and exaggerations whatever are within its proper province. Now what caricatura is in painting, burlesque is jn waiting ; and in the same manner the comic writer and painter correlate to each other. And here I shall bserve, that, as in the former the painter seems to haye the advantage ; so it is in the latter infinitely ^ the ^ide of ithe writer ; for the monstrous is much fea&ier to paint than describe, and the ridiculous to describe than jiaint. And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either science so strongly affect and agitate the mus- cles as the other ; yet it will be owned, 1 believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to us from it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, would, in my opinion, do him very little honour ; for sure it is much easier, much less the subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or any other feature, of a preposterous size, or to expose him in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the affections of men on canvass. It hath been thought a vast commendation of a painter, b3 6 PREFACE. to say his figures seem to breathe ; but surely it is a much greater and nobler applause, that they appear to think. But to return. The ridiculous only, as I have be- fore said, falls within my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation of this word be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by wri- ters who have professed it ; for to what but such a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridi- cule the blackest villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dreadful calamities ? What could exceed the absurdity of an author, who should write the co- medy of Nero with the merry incident of ripping up his mother's belly ? or, what would give a greater shock to humanity, than an attempt to expose the miseries of poverty and distress to ridicule ? And yet the reader will not want much learning to sug- gest such instances to himself. Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the ridiculous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath re- marked that villany is not its object ; but he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath written a trea- tise on this subject, though he shows us many spe- cies of it, once trace it to its fountain. \ _V The only source of the true ridiculous (as it ap- ^^pears to me) is affectation. But though it arises from 5 PREFACE. 7 one spring only, when we consider the infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently cease to admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now affectation proceeds from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy ; for as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase ap- plause ; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid censure, by concealing our vices under an ap- pearance of their opposite virtues. And though these two causes are often confounded (for there is some difficulty in distinguishing them), yet, as they proceed from very different motives, so they are as clearly dis- tinct in their operations : for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other : as it hath not that violent repugnancy of na- ture to struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath. It may be likewise noted, that affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of those qualities which are affected : and therefore, though, when it proceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to de- ceit ; yet when it comes from vanity only, it par- takes of the nature of ostentation : for instance, the affectation of liberality in a vain man, differs visibly from the same affectation in the avaricious; for though the vain man is not what he would appear, or hath not the virtue he affects to the degree he would be thought to have it ; yet it sits less awkwardly on him than on the avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he would seem to be. From the discovery of this affectation arises the ri- > diculous ; which always strikes the reader with sur- 8 PjtppACP, pri^e m^ pleasure ; and that in a higher and stronger degree when the afFeetation arises from hypocrisy, I jlian when from vanity : for to discover any one to bje tlie exact reverse of what he affects, is more surpris- ing, and consequently more ridiculous, than to find hjiij 3 little deficient in the quality he desires the re- pntation of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who of all men understood the ridiculous the best, ^th chiefly used the hypocritical affectation. Now from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of hfe, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule. Surely lie hath a very ill-framed mind, who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or poverty, .a$ ridiculous in themselves : nor do I be? Ueve any man living, who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is strack with an idea of the ridiculous from it ; but if he should see tJje san^e j&gjure descend from his coach and six, or bolt from his Qhair with his hat under his arm, be would dien be- gi to Ijaugh, and with justice. In the s^me manner, were we to enter a poor bouse, and behold a wretched family shiyering with cold, and languishing witli hun- ger, it would not incline us to laughter (at least we must have very diabolical natures if it w.ould) : but should we "discover there a grate, instead of coals, adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on the sideboard,, or any other affectation of riches and finery, either on their persons or in their furniture, we might then indeed be excused for ridiculing so lantastical an appearance. Much less are natural im- perfections the object of derision: but when ugliness PREFACE. 9 aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness endea- vours to display agility, it is then that these unfortu-\ nate circumstances, which at first moved our com- ! passion, tend only to raise our mirth. The poet carries this very far : None are for being what they are in fanlt, But for not being what they would be thought. Where if the metre would suflPer the word ' ridicu- lous' to close the first line, the thought would be ra- ther more proper. Great vices are the proper ob- jects of our detestation, smaller faults of our pity ; but affectation appears to me the only true soprce. jof the ridiculous. But perhaps it may be objected to me, that I have against my own rules introduced vices, and of a very black kind, into this work. To which I shall answer : First, that it is very difficult to pursue a series of hu- man actions, and keep clear from them. Secondly, that the vices to be found here, are rather the acci- dental consequences of some human frailty or foible, than causes habitually existing in the mind. Thirdly, that they are never set forth as the objects of ridicule, but detestation. Fourthly, that they are never the principal figure at that time on the scene : and lastly, they never produce the intended evil. Having thus distinguished Joseph Andrews from the productions of romance writers on the one hand, and burlesque writers on the other, and given some few very short hints (for I intended no more) of this species of writing, which I have affirmed to be hither- 10 PREFACE. to unatteiKipted in our language ; I shall leave to my good-natured reader to apply my piece to my obser- vations, and will detain him no longer than with a word concerning the characters in this work. And here I solemnly protest, I have no intention to vilify or asperse any one ; for though every thing is copied from the book of nature, and scarce a cha- racter or action produced which I have not taken from my own observations and experience; yet I have used the utmost care to obscure the persions by .guch different circumstances, degrees, and colours, that it will be impossible to gues at them with any_ degree of certainty ; and if it ever happens other- wise, it is only where the failure characterized is so minute, that it is a foible only which the party himself may laugh at as well as any other. As to the character of Adams, as it is the most glaring in the whole, so I conceive it is not to be found in any book now extant. It is designed a character of perfect simplicity ; and as the goodness of his heart i will recommend him to the good-natured, so I hope . j it will excuse me to the gentlemen of his cloth ; for J whom, while they are worthy of their saqred order, / po man can possibly have a greater respect. They will therefore excuse me, notwithstanding the low- adventures in which he is engaged, that I have made him a clergyman ; since no other office could have given him so many opportunities of displaying his worthy inclinations. THU HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES JOSEPH ANDREWS, AND HIS FRIEND MR, ABRAHAM ADAMS. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. Of writing lives in general, and particularly ofPa- mela ,* xvith a word hy 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 in- spires our imitation in an irresistible manner. A good man therefore is a standing lesson to all his acquaint- ance, 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 further, and to present the amiable pictures to those who have not the happiness of knowing the originals ; and so, by communix^ating such valuable patterns to 12 JOSEPH ANDREWS. the world, he may perhaps do a more extensive ser- vice to mankind, than the person whose Hfe origin- ally afforded the pattern. In this light I have always regarded those bio- graphers 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 ge- nerally thought, unintellible languages, such as Plu- tarch, 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 com- prehended by persons of moderate capacity. Such as the history of John the Great, who, by nis 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 virgalus and Parthenia ; and, above all, the history of those se- ven worthy personages, the champions of Christen- dom. In all these delight is mixed with instruction, and the reader is almost as much improved as en- tertained. But I pass by these and many others, to mention two books lately published, which represent an ad- mirable 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 Gibber, and of Mrs. Pamela Andrews. How artfully doth the former, by insinuating that he escaped being promoted to the highest stations in church and state, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 15 teach us a contemptofwordly grandeur! how strong- ly doth he inculcate an absolute submission to our superiors ! Lastly, how completely doth he arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a passion as the fear of shame ! 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 subse- quent editions of that work, that it would be here a needless repetition. The authentic history with which I now present the public, is an instance of the great good that book is likely to do, and of the pre- valence of example which I have just observed ; since it will appear that it was by keeping the ex- cellent pattern of his sister's virtues before his eyes, that Mr. Joseph Andrews was chiefly enabled to preserve his purity in the midst of such great tempt- ations. I shall only add, that this character of male- chastity, though doubtless as desirable and be- coming in one part of the human species as in the other, is almost the only virtue which the great apologist hath not given himself for the sake of giving the example to his readers. CHAPTER II, Of Mr. Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, edu- cation, and great endoxioments ; ivith a luord 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 dili- li- JOSEPH ANDREWS. gence, but little success; being unable to trace thetn further than his great grandfather, who, as an elder- ly 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 to the opinion of our curious reader, finding nothing of sufficient certainty to rely on. However, we cannot omit inserting an epitaph which an in- genious 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 writ 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 wave therefore a circumstance, which, though mentioned in conformity to the exact rules of bio- graphy, is not greatly material ; I proceed to things of more consequence. Indeed it is sufficiently cer- tain, 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 , \frithin half the last century are buried in as great iftbscurity. But suppose, for argument sake, we should admit, that he had no ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the modern phrase, out 6if a dunghill, as the Athenians pretended fhey themselves did from the earth, would not this auto- Itopros * have been justly entitled to all the praise * In English, sprung from a dtinghill. JOSKPH ANDREWS. 15 arising from his own virtues ? Would it not be h^^rd, that a man who hath no ancestors, should therefore be rendered incapable of acquiring honour ; whei we see so many who have no virtues, enjoying the- honour of their forefathers ? At ten years old (by which time his education was advanced to writing and reading) he was bound an apprentice, according to the statute, to Sir Thomas Booby, an uncle of Mr. Booby's by the father's side. Sir Thomas having then an estate in his own hands, the young Andrews was at first employed in what in the country they call feeeping bi rds. His office was to perform the part of tTTe~ancients assigned to the god Priapus, M'hich deity the moderns call by the name of Jack o'Lent; but his voice being so extremely musical, that it. rather gUured the birds than terrified them, he was soon transplanted from the fields into th dog-kennel, where he was placed under the hunts-, niaiij and made what sportsmen term whipper-in. For this jjlace likewise the sweetness of his voice dis- qualified 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 con- stantly laid every fault the dogs were at to the ac- count of the poor boy, who was now transplanted to the stable. Here he soon gave proofs of strength aricl 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 with such 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 c2 16 JOSEPH ANDREWS. proportioned by the rider than by the horse him- self; 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 footboy. Joey was now preferred from the stable to attend on his lady, to go oil her 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 drink- ing a cup of ale in Sir Thomas's kitchen, to ask the young man several questions concerning religion ; with his answers to whichhewaswonderfully pleased. CHAPTER III. Of Mr. Abraham 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 lan- guages ; to which he added a great share of know- ledge in the Oriental tongues ; and could read and translate French, Italian, and Spanish. He had ap- plied 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, so he J never suspected such a design in others. He was ge-' JOSEPH ANDREWS. 17 Meroas, friendly, and brave, to an excess; but sim- plicity was his characteristic : he did no more than Mr, Gsiley Gibber apprehend any such passions as malice and envy to exist in mankind; which was in- deed less remarkable in a country parson, than in a gentleman who hath passed his life behind the scenes, aplace which hath bepn seldom thought the school of innocence, and vt^here a very little oijservatiojj would have conyinoed the great apologist that the^p ] passions have a real existence in the hunjan mind. His virtue, and his other qualifications, as th^y rendered him aqual to his office, so they made him an agreeable and valuable companion, and had so much endeared and well recommended him to a bi- shop, that at the age of fifty he was provided with ai, handsome income of twenty-three pounds a year; which, however, he could not make any great figure with, because he lived in a deaf country, and was a little encumbered with a wife and ix children. It was this gentleman, who, having, as I have said, observed the singular devotion of youag Andrews., had found means to question hiai concerning seve- ral particulars ; as, how many books there were ija the New Testament ? which were they ? how many chapters they contained? and such like; to alji which, Mr. Adams privately said, he answered muelji better than Sir Thomas, or two other neighbouring justices of the peace, could prooably have done. Mr. Adams was wonderfully solicitous to know at what time, and by what opportunity, the youtli became acquainted with these matters : Joey told him, that he had very early learned to read and write by the goodness of his father, who, though he hiid not interest enough to get him into a charity sdiool, because a cousin of his father's landlord diid not vote on the right side for a churchwarden in a borough towjx, yet had been himself at the expense c3 18 JOSEPH ANDREWS. of sixpence a week for his learning. He told him likewise, that ever since he was in Sir Thomas's fa- mily, he had employed all his hours of leisure in read- ing good books ; that he read the Bihje^ the Whole Duty of Man, and Thomas a Kempis; and that as of- ten as he could, without being perceived, he had stu- died 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 others than Baker's Chronicle. The curate, surprised to find such instances of in- dustry and application in a young man who had ne- ver met with the least encouragement, asked him, If he did not extremely regret the want of a liberal education, and the not having been born of parents who might have indulged his talents and desire of knowledge? To which he answered, He hoped he had profited somewhat better from the books he had read, than to lament his condition in this world. That, for his part, he was perfectly content with the state to which he was called; that he should endea- vour to improve his talent, which was all required of him ; but not repine at his own lot, nor envy those of hisbetters. 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 Sir Thomas or my lady, than through the waiting-gentlewoman; for Sir 1 Thomas was too apt to estimate men merely by their (dress, or fortune ; and my lady was a woman of gaie- ty, who had been blessed with a town-education, and never spoke of any of her country neighbours by JOSEPH ANDREWS. 19 any other appellation than that of the brutes. They both regarded the curate as a kinc( of domestic only, belonging to the parson of the parish, who was at this time at variance with the knight; for the parson had for many years lived in a constant state of civil war, or, which is perhaps as bad, of civil law, with Sir Thomas himself and the tenants of his manor. The foundation of this quarrel was a modus, by setting which aside an advantage of several shillings per annum would have accrued to the rector : but he had not yet been able to accomplish his purpose ; and hadreapedhitherto nothing better from the suits, than the pleasure (which he used indeed frequently to say was no small one) of reflecting that he had ut- terly undone many of the poor tenants, though he had at the same time greatly impoverished himself. Mrs. Slipslop the waiting-gentlewoman, being her- self the daughter of a curate, preserved some respect for Adams : she professed great regard for his learn- ing, 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 fre- quently at London, and knew more of the world than a country parson could pretend to. She had in these disputes a particular advantage over Adams ; for she was a mighty affecter of hard words, which she used in such a manner, that the parson, who durst not offend her by calling her words in question, was frequently at some loss to guess her meaning, and would have been much less puzzled by an Arabian manuscript. . A dams therefore tooli an opportunity one day, after a pretty long discourse with her on the essence (or, as she pleased to term it, the incense) of matter, to mention the case of young Andrews ; desiring her to recommend him to her lady as a youth very suscep- tible of learning, and one whose instruction in Latin he would himself undertake ; by which means he 20 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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. 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 concise- ly, and I am confidous would not leave Joey behind her on any account; for he is one of the genteelest young fellows you may see in a summer's day ; and I am confidous she would as soon think of parting with a pair of her grey mares, for she values her- self 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 gen- tleman? It is vfery proper that you clergymen must 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, arid Mr. i^dams was forced to re- tire; 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 intend- ed kindness, which he told him he never would for- get, and at the same time received from the good man many admonitions concerning the regulation of his future conduct, and his perseverance in inno- cence and industry. CHAPTER IV. What happened after their journey to London. No sooner was young Andrews arrived at London, thanhe began to scrape an acquaintance with his parti- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 21 Icoloured brethren, who endeavoured to make him de- spise his former course of life. His hair was cut after the newest fashion, and became his chief care ; he went abroad with it all the morning in papers, and dressed it out in the afternoon. They could not how- ever 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 great- ly improved himself; and became so perfect a con- noisseur in that art, that he led the opinion of all the other footmen at an opera, and they never condemn- ed or applauded a single song contrary to his appro- bation or dislike. He was a little too forward in riots at the playhouses and assemblies ; and when he at- tended his lady at church (which was but seldom) he behaved with less seeming devotion than formerly : however, if he was outwardly a pretty fellow, his morals remained entirely uncorrupted, though he was at the same time smarter and genteeler than any of the beaux 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 king- dom, 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. Aye, 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 the least sully of their virtue. 22 JO,SEPH ANDREWS. 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 you surprised? Why, is not that her 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 half- year. The consequence of this interview was a whisper through a hundred visits, which were sepa- rately performed by the two ladies* the same after- npon, and might have had a mischievous effect, had it not been stopt 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 of- fered 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 be- gan to conceive, and which the next chapter will open a little further, t It may seem an absurdity that Tattle should visit, as she actually did, to !*pread a known scandal : but tlie reader may reconcile this, by supposing, with me, that, notwithstanding what she says, this was her first acquaintance with it. JOSEfU ANDREWS. 23 CHAPTER V. The 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 acddent happened, which put a stop to those agreeable walks, which probably would have soon puffed up the cheeks of Fame, and caused her to bfow 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 con- fined 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 but Mrs., Slipslop, and three female friends, who made a party at cards; but on the seventh she ordered Joey, 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, and having acci- dentally laid her hand on his, she asked him, if he had ever been in love. Joseph answered, with some con- fusion, it was time enough for one so young as him- self 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 con- quest of you ? Joseph returned, that all the women he had ever seen, were equally indifferent to him. O then, said the lady, you are a general lover. ' In- who belonged to the law, answered. He 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 t* F 2 52 JOSEPH ANDREWS, some account for his murder. He therefore thought it advisable to save the peor creature's life for their own sakes, if possible; at least, if he died, to prevent the jury's finding that they fled for it. He was there- fore of opinion to take the man into the coach and carry him to the next inn. The lady insisted. That he should not come into the coach. That if they lifted him in, she would herself alight ; for she had rather stayin that place to all eternity, than ride with anaked 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 mischief happening to him- self, if the wretch was left behind in that condition, saying, no man could be too cautious in these mat- ters, 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 should 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 sensi- .ble effect on the coachman, who was well acquainted with the person who spoke them ; and the old gentle- iman above mentioned, thinking the naked man would jaffbrd 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 com- passion 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, he absolutely refused, miserable as he was, to enter, unless he was furnished with suf- ficient covering to prevent giving the least offence JOSEPH ANDREWS. 53 to decency, SO perfectly modest was this young man ; such mighty effects had the spotless example of the amiable Pamela, and the excellent sennons 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 com- plained they were cold and could not spare a rag ; ) the man of wit saying with a laugh that charity be- I gan at home ; and the coachman, who had two great- I coats spread under him, refused to lend either, lest they should be made bloody : the lady's foctman de- sired to be 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 postillion (a lad who hath been since transported for robbing a henroost) 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 suf- fer a fellow creature to lie in so miserable a condition.. Joseph, having put on the great-coat, was lifted into the coach, which now proceeded on its journey. He declared himself almost dead with the cold, which gave the man of wit an occasion to ask the lady, if she could not accommodate him with a dram. She 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 the robbery, when the coach stopped, and one of the ruffians, putting a pistol in, demanded their money of the passengers ; who readily gave it them ; \ and the lady, in her fright, delivered up a little sil- / , ver bottle, of about a half-pint size, which the rogue, E 3 54- JOSEPH ANDREWS. clapping it to his mouth, and drinking her health* declared, held some of the best Nante^ he had ever tasted : this the lady afterwards assured the com- pany was the mistake of her maid, for that she had ordered her to fill the bottle with Hungary- water. , As soon as the fellows were departed, the lawyer, who had, it seems, a case of pistols in the seat of the coach, informed the company, that if it had been . day-light, and he could have come at his pistols, he would not have submitted to the robbery : he like- wise set forth, that he had often met highwaymen when he travelled on horseback, but none ever durst attack him; concluding, that if he had not been more afraid for the lady than for himself, he should not have now parted with his money so easily. As wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty pockets, so the gentleman whose ingenuity we have above remarked, as soon as he had parted with his money, began to grow wonderfully face- tious. 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 conyeyance to her as his affairs were not fettered with any incumbrance ; he'd war- rant he soon suffered a recovery by writ of entry, I which was the proper way to create heirs in tail ; that I . for his own part, he would engage to make so firm a ' settlement in a coach, that there should be no danger of an ejectment; with an inundation of the like gib- berish, which he continued to vent till the coach ar- rived 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS, 55 and that he might have abed 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 belong- ing 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 leave of Joseph, hur- ried 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 ima- gined, 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 dress- ed, apprehending that the coach had been over- turned and some gentleman or lady hurt. As soon i as the wench had informed him at^his window that I 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 hills, .whilst ten millions of feathered song- sters, in jocund chorus, repeated odes a thousand times sweeter than those of our laureat, 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-a-day ! 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 ? S6 JOSEPH ANDREWS. Betty ! Yes, madam. Where's your master ? He's without, madam ; he hath sent me for a shirt to lend a poor naked man, who hath been robbed and murdered. Touch one, if you dare, you slut, said Mrs. 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 anything, I'll throw the cham- berpot 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 i Am I to buy shirts to lend to a set of scabby rascals? My dear, said Mr. Tow-wouse, 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 I of all he hath. -Well then, says she, where's his I money to pay his reckoning ? Why doth not such a fellow go to an alehouse ? I shall send him pack" ing as soon as I am up, I assure you. My dear, said he, common charity won't suffer you to do that. Common charity, a f t! says she, common charity teaches us to provide for ourselves, and our families ; and I and mine won't be ruined by your charity, I assure you. Well, says he, my dear, do as you will, when you are up ; you know I never contradict you, No, says she, if the devil was to contradict me, I would make the house too hot to hold him. With such like discourses they consumed near half an hour, whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler who 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, end JOSEPH ANDREWS. 57 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. Here'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, notwithstand- ing 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, My 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'll 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 the surgeon went to pay a visit to poor Joseph, and inquire into the circumstances of this melan^ choly affair. CHAPTER Xni. fVhat happened to Joseph during his sickness at the inn, with the curious discourse between him and Mr. Barnabas the parson 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 his surgeon, if he apprehended him to be in any danger: To which the surgeon very honestly answered, He feared he was ; for that his pulse was very exalted and feverish, and if his fever should prove more than 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 wiljbf done. 58 JOSEPH ANDREWS. The surgeon then advised him, if he had att^ worldly affairs to settle, that he would do it as soon as possible ; for though he hoped he might recover, yet he thought himself obliged to acquaint him he was in great danger ; and if the malign concoction of his humours should cause a suscitation of his fe- ver, he might soon grow delirious, and incapable to make his will. Joseph answered, That it was im- possible for any creature in the universe to be in a poorer condition than himself; for since the robbery, ne had not one thing of any kind whatever which he could call his own. I had, said he, a poor little Eiece of gold, which they took away, that would ave been a comfort to me in all my ufflictions ; 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 clergy- man 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._,^airnabas (for that was the clergyman's name) came as soonlts 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, re- turned to take the other sneaker ; which, when he had finished, he again crept softly up to the cham- ber door, and having opened it, heard the sick man talking to himself in the following manner : O most adorable Pamela ! most virtuous sister ! whose example could alone enable me to withstand all the temptations of riches and beauty, and to pre- serve my virtue pure and chaste, for the arms of my JOSEPH ANDREWS. 59 dear Fanny, if it had pleased Heaven that I should ever have come unto them. What riches,- or ho- nours, or pleasures, can make us amends for the loss of innocence ? Doth not that alone afford us more consolation than all worldly acquisitions ? What but innocence and virtue could give any comfort to iuch a miserable wretch as I am ? Yet these can 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 wo- man, these can teach me to resign myself to the divine will without repining. O, thou delightful' charming creature! 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 palaces, the dainties, or the riches of any man breathing. But I must leave thee, leave thee for ever, my dearest angel ! I must think of another world ; and I hear- tily pray thou may'st meet comfort in this. Bar- nabas 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 in a higher fever, as he said, than when he left him, though not delirious ; for notwithstanding Mr. Barnabas's Qpinion, he had not been once out of hfs senses since his arrival at the inn. Mr. Barnabas was again sent for, and with much difficulty prevailed on to make another visit. As suon 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, i- 60 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 i-egret of parting with a young woman, whom he loved as tenderly as he did his heartstrings. 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 affec- tions, 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 tor- menting, as the fear of what she would suffer, when she knew his misfortune. Barnabas said. That such fears argued a diffidence and despondence very cri- minal; 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 howhe 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 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 s&y, 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. Jo- seph replied, He forgave them as much as he could. 'Well, well, said Barnabas, that will do. He then JOSEPH ANDnEWSi 61 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. Barnabas saidj 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 lit- tle 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 good-natured Betty answered, he should have tea, if there was any in the land ; she accordingly went and bought 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. CHAPTER XIV. Being very full of adventures, 'which succeeded each other at the Inn. It was now the dusk of the evening, when a grave person rode into the inn, and committing his horse a 62 JOSEPH AKDUEWS. to the hostler, went directly into the kitchen, and having called for a pipe of tobacco, took his place by the fireside ; where several other persons were likewise assembled. The discourse ran altogether on the robbery which was committed the night before, and on the poor wretch who lay above, in the dreadful condition in which we have already seen him. Mrs. Tow-wouse said. She wondered what the devil Tom Whipwell meant, by bringing such guests to her house, when there were so many alehouses 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. Tow-wouse, I suppose that is all we are like to have for the reckoning. I desire no such gen- tlemen should ever call at the Dragon, (which it seems was the sign of the inn.) The gentleman, lately arrived, discovered a great deal of emotion at the distress of this poor creature, whom he observed to be fallen not into the most compassionate hands. And indeed, if Mrs. Tow- ygyg^ had given no utterance to the sweetness of neFttmper, nature had taken such pains in her Countenance, that Hogarth himself never gave more expression to a picture. *Her person was short, thin, and crooked. Her forehead projected in the middle, and thence de- scended in a declivity to the top of her nose, which was sharp and red, and would have hung over her lips, had not nature turned up the end of it. Her lips were two bits of skin, which, whenever she spoke she drew together in a purse. Her chin was JOSEPH ANDREWS. 63 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 com- passion for her unhappy guest. He inquired very earnestly of the surgeon, who was now come into the kitchen, whether he had any hopes of his re- covery ? He begged him to use all possible means towards it, telling nim. 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 de- fied all the surgeons in London to do him any good. Pray, sir, said the gentleman, what are his wounds ? Why, do you know any thing of wounds? says the surgeon (wmking upon Mrs. Tow-wouse.) Sir, I have a small smattering in surgery, answered the gentleman. A smattering, ho, ho, ho ! said the surgeon, 1 believe it is a smattering indeed. The company were all attentive, expecting to hear the doctor, who was what they call a dry fel- low, expose the gentleman. He began therefore with an air of triumph : I suppose, sir, you have travelled. No really, sir, said the gentleman. Ho ! then you have practised in the hospitals perhaps. No, sir. Hum! not that neither ? Whence, sir, then, if I may be so bold to inquire, have you got your knowledge in sur- gery ? Sir, answered the gentleman, I do not pre- tend to much ; but the little I know I have from books. Books! cries the doctor. What, I sup- pose you have ^you have read Galen and Hip- pocrates ! No, sir, said the gentleman How ! you understand surgery, answers the doctor, and g2 64 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 heart, and very sel- dom go without them both in my pocket. They are pretty large books, said the gentleman. Aye, said the doctor, I believe I know how large they are, better than you, (At which he fell a-winking, I and the whole company burst into a laugh.) The doctor pursuing his triumph, asked the gen- tleman. If he did not understand physic as well as surgery. Rather better, answered the gentleman. Aye, 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 I say it, within twelve miles of the place, that handle a fever better. Veniente accurite morbo : that is my me- thod. I suppose, brother, you understand Latin ? A little, says the gentleman. Aye, and Greek now I'll warrant you : Ton dapomibominos polu- Jlosboio thalasses. But I have almost forgot these things : I could have repeated Homer by heart once. Ifags ! 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, 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 65 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 deli- riuus, or delirious, as the vulgar express it. He was proceeding in this learned manner, when a mighty noise interrupted him. Some young fel- lows 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 in- nocence, the mob were very busy in searching him, and presently, among other things, pulled out the piece of gold just mentioned ; which Betty no sooner saw, than she laid violent hands on it, and conveyed it up to Joseph, who received it with raptures of joy, and, hugging it in his bosom, declared he could now die contented. Within a few minutes afterwards, came in some other fellows, with a bundle which they had found in a ditch, and which was indeed the clothes which had been stripped off from Joseph, and the other things they had taken from him. The gentleman no sooner saw thfe 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 acquaint- ed 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 J - -. 66 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 per- fect health of his Fanny, he was on his side very inquisitive into all the particulars which had pro- duced 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 neighbour- hood : so much delight do men take in contem- plating 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 apart- ments, 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 hus- band, 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 him, be- cause they were not found in his custody : to which Barnabas agreed, and added, that these were bona luaviata, 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 Bar- nabas. Then I deny it, says the surgeon': what can the lord of the manor have to do in the case ? Will any one attempt to persuade me that what a man finds is not his own ? I have heard, (says an old fel- low in the corner) justice Wiseone say, that if every JOSEPH ANDREWS. 67 man had his right, whatever is found belongs to the king of London. That may be true, says Barna- bas, in some sense ; for the law makes a difference between things stolen and things found; for a thing may be stolen that is never found ; and a thing may be found that never was stolen: Now goods that are both stolen and found are tvavlata : 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 be- gun by himself While the prisoner, by persisting in his innocence, had almost (as there was no evidence against him) brought over Barnabas, the surgeon, Tow-wouse, and several others to his side ; Betty informed them, that they had overlooked a little piece of gold, which she had carried up to the man in bed ; and which he offered to swear to amongst a millijon, aye, amongst ten thousand. This inmiediately 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. CHAPTER XV. Showing how Mrs. Totu-ivouse was a little mollified ; and how officious Mr. Barnabas and the surgeon were to prosecute the thief : with a dissertation ac- countingjbr their zeal, and that of many other -per- sons 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 fami- (0 JOSEPH ANDREWS. liarity between the gentleman and him ; and added, she was certain they were intimate acquaintance, if not relations. This somewhat abated the severity of Mrs. Tow- wouse's countenance. She said, God forbid she should not discharge the duty of a christian, since the poor gentleman was brought to her house. She had a natural antipathy to vagabonds; but could pity the misfortunes of a christian as soon as another. Tow-wouse saiH, 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 an- swered, Hold your simple tongue, and don't instruct me in my business. I am sure I am sorry for the gen- tleman's misfortune with all my heart ; and 1 hope the villain who hath used him so barbarously will be hanged. Betty, go see what he wants. God for- bid he should want any thing in my house. Barnabas and the surgeon went up to Joseph, to satisfy themselves concerning the piece of gold. Jo- seph was with difficulty prevailed upon to show it them ; but would by no entreaties be brought to de- liver it out of his own possession. He however at- tested this to be the same which had been taken from him ; and Betty was ready to swear to the find- ing it on the thief. The only difficulty that remained was, how to pro- duce this gold before the justice ; for as to carrying Joseph himself, it seemed impossible ; nor was there any great likelihood of obtaining it from him ; for he had ^stened 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 hinj, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 69 A dispute arose on this occasion concerning evi- dence, 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 pa- tient 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 Barna- bas 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 by two persons ; but though he imagined he should get a considerable sum of money on this occasion, which'^ his family were in urgent need of, he protested hei would not leave Joseph in his present condition: i finally, he told him. He had nine shillings and three- j pence halfpenny in his pocket, which he was wel- ) come 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 igno- rance, 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 ; he 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 70 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 be had not the least fever ; but advised him to a lighter diet for that evening. He accordingly ate either a rabbit or a fowl, I never could with any toler- able certainty discover which ; after this he was, by MrsTow-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 both 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 injury 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 71 on with great contempt on both sides, and had almost divided the parish; Mr. Tow-wouseandone half of the neighbours inclining to the surgeon, and Mrs. Tow-wouse with the other half to the parson. The surgeon drew his knowledge from those inestimable fountains, called The Attorney's Pocket-Companion, and Mr. Jacob's Law-Tables ; Barnabas trusred en* tirely to Wood's Institutes. It happened or. this oc- casion, as was pretty frequently the case, that these iwo learned men differed about the sufficiency of evidence; the doctor being of opinion, that the maid's oath would convict the prisoner without pro- ducing the gold ; the parson, e contra, totis vi> idus. 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. . J^ ^0 Vanity ! how little is thy force acknowledged, or thy operations discerned! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different disguises! Sometimes thou dost wear theface 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 ! whom priests have rallied 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 vilianies are daily practised to please thee; nor is the meanest thief below, or the greatest hero above, thy notice. Thy embraces are oflen the sole aim and sole reward, of the private robbery and the plundered province. It is to pamper up thee, thou ' harlot, that we attempt to withdraw from others what we do not want, or to withhold from them what they A?'/ 72 JOSEPH ANDREWS. do. All our passions are thy slaves. Avarice itself is often no more than thy handmaid, and even Lust thy pimp. ThebuUyFear, likeacoward, flies before thee, and joy and Grief hide their heads in thy presence. I know thou wilt think, that whilst 1 abuse 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 non- sense ; for know, to thy confusion, that I have intro- duced 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. Mr. Adams'^ disappointmeyit. The arrival oftvoo "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 be- fore the justice, were greatly concerned tofindasmaU. accident had happened, which somewhat disconcert- ed them ; and this was no other than the thief's escape, who had modestly withdrawn himseTTBy mghti declining all ostentation, and not choosing,j in imitation of some great men, to distinguish him- self 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 73 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 dan- ger, as the constable was well armed, and could be- sides easily summon him back to his assistance, if the prisoner made the least attempt to gain his liberty. The young fellow had not long left the room, be- fore it came into the constable's head, that the pri- soner might leap on him by surprise, and thereby preventing him of the use of his weapons, especially the Idng 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 un- derstood to affect the honour of making any such ^ discovery), very much resembles a game at chess ; y 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 un happily forgot the window. The thief, wHo^ay ed"ori the other slde^lib sooner perceived this opening, than he began to move that way ; and finding the passage easy, he took with hini the young fellow's hat, and without any ceremony stepped into the street and made the best of his way. The young fellow returning with a double mug of strong beer, was a little surprised to find the constable at the door; but much more so, when the door being VOL. xvrii. H 74? JOSEPH ANDREWS. opened, he perceived the prisoner had made his es cape, and which way. He 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 I prey ; being very unwilling to lose the reward which he had assured himself of. The constable hath not been discharged of suspi- cion 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 pre- tence for leaving the room was absurd ; that it was his constant maxim, that a wise man never refused money on any conditions ; that at every election he always had sold his vote to both parties, &c. / But notwithstanding these and many other such / allegations, I am sufficiently convinced of his inno- vcence, 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 Sas the escape was by night, the indictment would inot 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 iSuckbribe (which was the constable's name) ? ImS JOSEPH ANDREWS. 75 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, cham- berlain, where the devil are you all ? Have you no ears, or no consience, 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 break- fast. Yes, my 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 cyder-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 witlitHe 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 oblige him to return himself home together with Joseph, it mattered not much. He then sent for Tow-wouse, and taking him into another room, told him. He wanted jjjLliflrrow three ^uineas,,ibr which he would putample security into Ms hands. Tow-wouse, who expected a watch, a ring, or some- thing 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 njjie^olumesof manuscript sermons, as well worth a hundred pound as a shillmgwas worth twelve h2 76 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 rjepay- ment 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. j Tow-wouse,whowas a little surprised at thepawn, I said (and not without some truth), that he was no I 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 belifeve he had so much money in the house, and besides, he was to make up a sum. He was very confident the books were of much higher value, and heartily sorry it did /not suit him. He then cried out, Coming, sir! f though nobody called ; and ran down stairs without \ any fear of breaking his neck. Poor Adams was extremely dejected at this dis- appoitnment, nor knew he what further stratagem to try. He immediately applied_tohis pipe, his constant friend and comfort m his afflictions ; and, leaniiTg over "the rails, he devoted himself to medi- tation, assisted by the inspiring fumes of tobacco. He had on a nightcap drawn over his wig, and a short great coat, which half covered his cassock, ^ dress which, added to something comical enough in his countenance, composed a figure likely to at- trcat the eyes of those who were not overgiven tc observation. Whilst he was smoking his pipe in this posture, a coach andsiXiWith a numerous attendance, drove into JOSEPH ANDREWS. 77 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 for- mer by the hand ; and both, together with the dogs, were instantly conducted by Mr. Tow-wouse into an apartment ; whither as they passed, they enter- tained themselves with the following short facetious dialogue : You are a pretty fellow for a coachman, Jack ! says he from the coach ; you had almost overturned us just now. Pox take you ! says the coachman ; if I had only broke your neck, it would have been saving somebody else the trouble; but I should have been sorry for the pointers. Why, you son of a b , answered the other, if 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 bet- ter than ever you was peppered by Jenny Bouncer. Pepper your grandmother, says the other: Here's Tow-wouse will let you shoot at him for a shilling a time. I know his honour better, cries Tow- wouse; I never saw a surer shot at a partridge. Every man misses now and then ; but if I could shoot half as well as his honour, I would desire no better livelihood than I could get by ray gun. Pox on you, said the coachman, you demolish more game now than your head's worth. There's a bitch, Tow-wouse: by G she never blinked* a bird in her life. I have a puppy, not a year old, shall hunt with her for a hundred, cries the other gentleman. Done, says the coachman : but you will be poxed * To blink, is a term used to signify the dog't passing iiy a bird without pointiug at it. h3 78 JOSEPH ANDREWS. before you make the bet. If you have a mind for a bet, cries the coachman, I will match my spotted dog M'ith your white bitch for a hundred, play or pay. Done, says the other: and I'll run Baldface against Slouch with you for another. No, cries he from the box ; but I'll venture Miss Jenny against Baldface, or Hannibal either. Go to the devil, cries he from the coach : I will make every 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 ex- ciseman were smoking their pipes over some cyder- and ; and where the servants, who attended the two noble gentlemen we have just seen alight, were now arrived. Tom, cries one of the footmen, there's parson Adams smoking his pipe in the gallery. Yes, says Tom ; I pulled off my hat to him, and the parson spoke to me. Is the gentleman a clergyman then? says Barna- bas (for his cassock had been tied up when he first arrived). Yes, sir, answered the footman ; and one there be but few like. Aye, 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, dpctor, 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 invita- jtion, much civility passed between the two clergy- jmen, who both declared the great honour they had ifor the cloth. They had not been long together be- fore they entered into a discourse on small tithes. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 79 which continued a full hour, without the doctor or exciseman's having one opportunity to offer a word. It was then proposed to begin a general conver- sation, and the exciseman opened on foreign affairs;, but a word unluckily dropping from one of thera, introduced a dissertation on the hardships suffered by the inferior clergy; which, after a long duration, concluded with bringing the nine volumes of ser- mons on the carpet. Barnabas^reatly discouraged poor Adams; he said, the age was so wicked, that nobody read sermons: Would you think it, Mr. Adams (said he), I otice in- tended to print a volume of sermons myself, and they had the approbation of two or three bishops ; but what do you think a bookseller offered me? Twelve guineas, perhaps, cried Adams. Not twelve pence, I assure you, answered Barnabas : nay, the dog re- fused 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 after- wards given away 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 ex- {)ect ; for if sermons would have gone down, I be- ieve 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 book- seller told me, he believed five thousand volumes at least. Five thousand ! quoth 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 80 JOSEPH ANDREWS. . one of those sermons, he will go to heaven. Doc- tor, cried Barnabas, you have a profane way of 1 talking, for which I must reprove you. A man can \ I 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 com- parisons 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 my discourses, cries Adams, which the bishops would not think totally unworthy of being printed ; and I have been, J|i- formed, I nii^ht procure. a. very large slirri (indeed . air Tmrnense one) on them. I doubt that, answered _Barnabas : however, if you desire to make some money~of them, perhaps you may sell them by ad- vertising 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 an^ swered : He had but one, which he feared, would not serve his purpose, being sacred to the memory of a magistrate, who had exerted himself very sin- gularly in the preservation of the morality of his neighbours, insomuch that he had neither ale-house nor lewd woman in the parish where he lived. No, replied Barnabas : that will not do quite 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. 1 believe 1 must take a common sermon, and trust to my memory to in- troduce something handsome on him. To your in- vention rather, said the doctor : your memory will be apter to put you out ; for no man living remem- bers any thing good of him. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 81 With such kind of spiritual discourse, they emptied the bowl of punch, paid their reckoning, and sepa- rated : Adanis and the doctor went up to Joseph, parson Barnabas departed to celebrate the aforessiid deceased, and the exciseman descended into the cellar to gauge the vessels. Joseph was now ready to sit down to a loin of mut- ton, and waited for Mr. Adams, when he and the doctor came in. The doctor having felt his pulse, and examined his wounds, declared him much better, which he imputed to that sanative soporiferous draught, a medicine, whose virtues, he said, were never to be sufficiently extolled. And great indeed they must be, if Joseph was so much indebted to them as the doctor imagined ; since nothing more than those effluvia which escaped the cork could have con- tributed 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 remark- able happened as the swift progress of his recovery. As he had an excellent fcabit of body, his wounds were now almost healed; ana 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 con- ceived it, of Mr.Tow-wouse, and the envy (for such he thought it) of Mr. Barnabas, had great expecta- tions from his sermons : seeing therefore Joseph in so good a way, he told him he would agree to his setting out the next morning in the stage-coach, that he believed he should have sufficient, after the reck- oning 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 82 JOSEPH ANDREWS. waggon, especially as there was then to be a fair in the town whither the coach would carry him, to which numbers from his parish resorted And as to himself, he agreed to proceed to the great city. They were now walking in the inn yard, when a fat, fair, short person rode in, and alighting from his horse went directly up to Barnabas, who was smoking his pipe on a bench. The parson and the stranger shook one another very lovingly by the hand, and went into a room together. The evening now coming on, Joseph retired to his chamber, whither the good Adams accompanied him ; and took this opportunity to expatiate on the great mei'cies 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 their knees, and spent a considerabletirae in prayer and thanksgiving. They had just finished, when Betty came in and told Mr. Adams, Mr. Barnabas desired to speak to him on some business of consequence below stairs. Joseph desired, if it was likely to detain him long, he would let him know it, that he might go to bed; which Adams promised, and in that case they wished one another good-night. CHAPTER XVII. A pleasant discourse between the two parsons and the bookseller^ which was broke off" by an unlucky acci- dent happening in the inn, which produced a dia- logue between Mrs. Tow-wouse and her maid of no gentle kind. As soon as Adams came into the room, Mr. Barna- bas introduced him to the strjgjgfer, who was, hft JOSEPH ANDREWS. 83 told him, a bookseller, and would be as likely to deal witHTiim 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 bu- siness to the great city, and was heartily desirous of returning with the young man, who was just reco- vered of his misfortune. He then snapped his fin- gers (as was usual with him) and took two or three turns about the room in an ecstasy. And to induce the bookseller to be as expeditious as possible, as likewise to offer him a better price for his commo- dity, 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 al- most 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 indi- gent 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 be- gan in these words : Sir, I do not care absolutely to deny engaging in what my friend Mr. Barnabas re- commends ;/but sermons are mere drugs. . The trade is so vastly stocked with them, that really, unless they come out with the name of Whitefield or Wesley, or some other such great man, as a bishop, or those sort 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 page, Published at the ear- nest request of the congregation, or the inhabitants; but, truly, for a dry piece of sermons, I had rather be excused ; especially as my hands are so full at present. However, sir, as Mr. Barnabas mentioned them to me, I will, if you please, take the manu- 84- JOSEPH ANDREWS. script with me to town, and send you my opinion of it in a very short time. O ! said Adams, if you desire it, I will read two or three discourses as a specimen. This, Barnabas, who loved sermons no better than a grocer doth figs, immediately objected to, and advised Adams to let the bookseller have his sermons; telling him. If he gave him a direction, he might be certain of a speedy answer : adding, he need not scruple trusting them in his possession. No, said the bookseller, if it was a play that had been acted twenty nights together, I believe it .would be safe. Adams did not at all relish the last expression ; / he said, he was sorry to hear sermons compared to 1 plays. Not by me, I assure you, cried the book- seller, though I don't know whether the licensing act may not shortly bring them to the same footing; but I have formerly known a hundred guineas given for a play. More shame for those who gave it ! 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 man- kind ? said Adams : would not an honest mind ra- ther lose money by the one than gain it by the other? If you can find any such, I will not be their hin- drance, answered the bookseller ; but I think those persons who get by preaching sermons, are the pro- perest to lose by printing them : for my part, the copy that sells best, will be always the best copy in my opinion; J am no enemy to sermons, but be- cause 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 hanged, says Barnabas. Sir, said he, turning to Adams, this fellow's writings (I know not whether you have seen them) are levelled at the clergy. He JOSEPH ANDREWS. 85 would reduce us to the example of the primitive ages, forsooth ! and would insinuate to the people, that a clergyman ought to be always preaching and praying. He pretends to understand the Scripture literally; and would make mankind believe, that the poverty and low estate, which was recommended to the church in its infancy, and was only temporary doc- trine adapted to her under persecution, was to be pre- served in her flourishing and established state. Sir, the principles of Toland, Woolston, and all the free- thinkers, are not calculated to do half the mischief, as those professed by this fellow and his followers. Sir, answered Adams, if Mr. Whitefield had car- ried h is doctrine no further than you mention, I should have remained, as 1 once was, his well-wisher. I am, myself, as great an enemy to the luxury and splendour of the clergy, as he can be. 1 do not, more than he, by the flourishing estate of the church, understand the palaces, equipages, dress, furniture, rich dainties, and vast fortunes, of her ministers. Surely those things, which savour so strongly of this world, become not the servants of one who professed his kingdom was not of it ; but when he began to call nonsense 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 con- demn thee ? Or, on the other side, can any doctrine have a more pernicious influence on society, than a I SG JOSEPH ANDREWS, persuasion, that it will be a good plea for the villain, ut the last day; ' Lord, it is true, I never obeyed one 6f thy commandments, yet punish me not, for I be- lieve them all?' I suppose, sir, said the booksell^, 3'^our sermons are of a different kind? Aye, sir, said Adams ; the contrary, I thank Heaven, is inculcated in almost every page, or I should belie my own opi- nion, 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 backwardness in the trade to engage in a book which the clergy would be certain to cry down. God forbid, says Adams, any books jshould be propagated which the clergy would cry gth 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 tra- gedies, both in Hfe and on the stage. JOSEPH ANDIIEWS., 9& CHAPTER XVm. Tie history nf Betty the chamhermaid, and an account ofwihat occasioned the violent scene in the preceding chapter. Bettt, who was the occasion of all this hurry, had some good qualities. She had good-nature, genero- sity, and compassion ; but unfortunately her consti- tution was composed of those warm ingredients, which, though the purity of courts or nunneries might have happily controlled them, were by no means able to endure the ticklish situation of a cham- bermaid at an inn ; who is daily liable to the solicita-^ tions of lovers of all complexions ; to the dangerftus ' addresses of fine gentlemen of the army, who some- ' " times are obliged to reside with them a whole year to- gether ; and, above all, are exposed to the caresses of footmen, stage-coachmen, and drawers; all of whwn employ the whole artillery of kissing, flattering, bribing, and every other weapon which is to he 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 a-fire 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, i3 90 JOSEPH ANDREWS. at a neighbouring fair, the rhetoric of John the host- ler, with a new straw hat, and a pint of wine, made a second conquest over her. She did not, however, feel any of those flames on this occasion, which had been the consequence of her former amour; nor indeed those other ill effects, which prudent young women very justly apprehend, from too absolute an indulgence to the pressing en- dearments 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 lan- guishing eyes of affection on this young maiden. He had laid hold on every opportunity of saying tender things to her, squeezing her by the hand, and some- times kissing her lips : for as the violence of his pas- sion had considerably abated to Mrs. Tow-wouse; so 'like water, which is stopped from its usual current (in one place, it naturally sought a vent in another. Mrs. Tow-wouse is thought to have perceived this abatement, and probably it added very little to the natural sweetness of her temper ; for 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 it- self 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 per- fectly mastered both her modesty and her reason, that, after many fruitless hints and sly insinuation?, she at last threw down the warming pan, and, em- bracing him with great eagerness, swore he was the handsomest creature she had ever seen. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 91 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 re- cede, and grew so very indecent that Joseph was obliged, contrary to his inclination, to use some vio- lence to her ; and, taking her in his arms, he shut her out of the room, and locked the door. How ought man to rejoice, that his chastity is al- ways in his own power ; that if he hath sufficient strength of mind, he hath always a competent strength of body to defend himself, and cannot, like a poor weak woman, be ravished against his will ! Betty was in the most violent agitation at this dis- appointment. Kage 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 dis- tracted mind could resolve on none. In this per- turbation 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 hap- pened at that time to be engaged at his bureau. As soon as she saw him, she attempted to retire ; but he called her back, and, taking her by the hand, squeezed her so tenderly, at the same time whisper- ing so many soft things into her ears, and then pressed her so closely with his kisses, that the van- quished fair-one, whose passions were already raised, and which were not so whimsically capri- cious that one pian only could lay them, though, perhaps, she would have rather preferred that one ; the vanquished fair-one quietly submitted, I say, to 92 JOSEPH ANDREWS. her master's will, who had just attained the accom plishment of his bliss, when Mrs. Tow-wouse unex- pectedly entered the room nd caused all that con- fusion 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 from us, every reader of any speculation, or experience, though not married himself, may easily conjecture^ that it concluded with the discharge of Betty, the submission of Mr. Tow-wouse, with some things to be performed on his side by way of gratitude for his wife's goodness in being reconciled to him, with many hearty promises never to offend any more ia like manner ; and lastly, his quietly and contentedly bearing to be reminded of his transgressions, as a kind of penance, once or twice a-day, during th residue of his life. HISTORY OF THE ADVENTURES JOSEPH ANDREWS, AND HIS FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS. BOOK II. CHAPTER I. 0/ 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 ac- quainted 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 staytape in a tailor's bill, serv- ing only to make up the sum total, commonly found at the bottom of our first page, and of his last. 94' JOSEPH ANDREWS, But in reality the case is otherwise, and in this* as well as in all other instances, we consult the ad- vantage 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 maybe looked upon as an inn or resting-place where he may stop and take a glass, or any other refreshment as it pleases him. Nay, our fine readers will, perhaps, be scarce able to travel further than through one of them in a day. As to those vacant pages which are placed be- tween our books, they are to be regarded as those stages, where in long journeys, the traveller stays sometime to repose himself, and consider of what he hath seen in thepartshe hath already passed through: a consideration which I take the liberty to recom- mend 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, he may probably miss the seeing some curious productions of nature which will be observed by the slower and more accurate reader. A volume jwithout any such, places of rest, resembles theopeiimg orwiTds or^sas^., Avhich tires the eye and fatigues the spirit when en- tered upon. Secondly, what are the contents prefixed to every chapter, but so many inscriptions over the gates of inns (to continue the same metaphor) informing the reader what entertainment he is to expect, which if he like not, he may travel on to the next? for, ia biography, as we are not tied down to an exact con- catenation equally with other historians; so a chap- ter 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. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 95 There are, besides these more obvious benefits, several others which our readers enjoy from this art of dividing ; though perhaps most of them too mys- terious 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 spoihng 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 re- turn to their study, after half an hour's absence, t0 forget where they left off. These divisions have the sanction of great antiquity. Homer^not only divided his great work into twenty- four booksTTrTconiplimentperhai* 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 pubHshing by numbers; an art now brought to such perfection, that even dictionaries are divided and exhibited piecemeal to the public; nay one bookseller hath (to encourage learning and case the public) contrived to give them a dictionary in this divided 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 further than ten ; till being puffed up by the praise of his friends, he put himself on the same footing with the Roman poet. Ishallnot however enter so deep into this matteras some very learned critics have done ; who have, with infinite labour and acute discernment, discovered 3 96 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 obser- vation ; 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, havingindulgedmyself 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. Chapter ii. A surprisinor instance cf Mr. Adams's sKort memory, unth the unfortunate consequences ivhick it brought on Joseph. Mr. Adams and Joseph were now ready to depart different ways, when an accident determined the for- mer 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 mv good reader ! left behind ; what he had mis- talcen 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 pre- seoce 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 phi- losophers who can reduce all the matter of the world JOSEPH ANDREWS. 97 into a nutshell, seeing there was no room for them hi the bags, where the parson had said they were depo- sited, 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 thf t he had taken forth his last shirt, and the vehicle remained visibly empty. Sure, sir, says Joseph, there is nothing in the bags. Upon which Adams starting, and testifying some 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 jour- ney, 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 pe- regrination ? No, child, as this accident hath happen- ed, I am resolved to return back to my cure, together with you ; which indeed my inclination sufficiently leads me to. This disappointment may perhaps be intended for my good. He concludedwith averse out of Theocritus, which signifies no more than. That sometimes it rains, and sometimes the sun shines. Joseph bowed with obedience and thankfulness fdr the inclination which the parson expressed of return- ing 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 suf- ficient sum for so many days : that he may not be sur- Erised therefore, it cannot be unnecessary to acquaint im that he had borrowed a guinea of a servant be- longing to the coach and six, who had been formerly 98 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 I 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-tra- veller, 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 suf- fering 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 insist- ed on Joseph's beginning the journey on horseback, and Joseph had his foot in the stirrup, when the host- ler presented him a bill for the horse's board during his residence at the inn. Joseph said Mr. Adams had paid all ; but this matter, being referred to Mr. Tow-wouse, was by him decided in favour of the hostler, andindeedwith truth and justice; for this was a fresh instance of that shortness of memory which JOSEPH ANDREWS. 99 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 ex- tremely puzzled him. The sum due for horsemeat 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 A dams 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 was 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 bore in her bo- som 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. Tow- wouse'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 Avith it for a hundred times the riches which the greatest esquire in the country was worth. A pretty way 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 shillings as 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 you by some vile k2 100 JOSEPH ANDREWft. trollop, some miss or other; if it had been the pre- sent of a virtuous woman you would not have had such a value for it. My husband is a fool if he parts with 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 de- clared 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 pas- sage in i^schylus, 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 back- wards, 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 de- lay 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 foot path capable of conduct- ing 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 further, and JOSEPH ANDREWS. 101 if he did not shortly overtake him, to return back, he wished to find a house of pubHc 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 himdred yards forwards), he sat himself down on a stile, and pull- ed out his ^schylus. 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 be- ing of a morose temper, bade him follow his nose and be d ned. Adams told him he was a saucy jacka- napes ; upon which the fellow turned about angrily ; but perceiving Adams clench his fist, he thought proper to go on without taking any farther notice. A horseman following immediately after, and be- ing 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. CHAPTER III. The opinion oflvoo latoyers concerning the same gen- tleman, with Mr. Adams's inquiry into the religion of his host. He had just entered the house, had called for his pint, and seated himself, when two horsemen came to the door, and fastening their horses to the rails, alighted. They said there was a violent shower of rain coming on, which they intended to weather there, and went into a little room by themselves, aot perceiving Mr. Adams. k3 102 JOSEPH ANDREWS. One of these immediately asked the other, If he had seen a more comical adventure a great while ? Upon which the other said, He doubted whether, by law, the landlord could justify detaining the horse for his corn and hay. But the former answered. Undoubtedly he can ; it is an adjudged case, and I have known it tried. Adams, who though he was, as the reader may sus- fpect, a little inclined to forgetfulness, never wanted more than a hint to remind him, overhearing their aiscourse, 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 gentlemen ; who added, that the horse was likely to have more rest than food, unless he was paid for. The poor parson resolved to return presently to the inn, 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 good beer ; when Adams, who had observed a gentleman's house as he passed along the road, in- quired to whom it belonged : one of the horsemen had no sooner mentioned fhe 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 particu- lar facts. He said. He no more regarded a field of wheat when he was hunting, than he did the high- way ; 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 103 suffer a fanner to keep a gun, though he might jus- tify it by law ; and in his own family so cruel a mas- ter, 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 carry 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. A dams 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 had 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 am- ple 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, seve- ral persons would give a year's purchase more for an estate near him, than under the wings of any other great man. He had just finished his encomium, when his companion returned, and acquainted him the storm was over. Upon which they presently mounted their horses and departed. Adams, who was in the utmost anxiety at those differen^haracters of the same person, asked his host 104' JOSEPH ANDREWS. if he knew the gentleman ; for he began to imagine they had by mistake been speaking of two several gentlemen. No, no, master, answered the host (a shrewd cunning fellow) ; I know the gentleman very well of whom they have been speaking, as I do the gentleman who spoke of him. As for riding over other men's corn, to my knowledge he hath not been on horseback these two years. 1 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 nei- ther. Nor did I ever hear df his taking away any man's gun ; nay, I know several who have guns in their houses ; but as for killing game with them, no man is stricter ; and I believe he would ruin any who did. You heard one of the gentlemen say, he was the worst master in the world, and the other that he is the best ; but for my own part, I know all his ser- vants, and never heard from any of them, that he was either one or the other. Aye 1 aye ! say Adams ; and how doth he behave as a justice, pray ? 'Faith, friend, answered the host, I question whether he is in the commission; the only cause I have heard he hath decided a great while, was one between those very two persons who just went out of this house ; and I am sure he determined that justly, for I heard the whole matter. Which did he decide it in favour of? quoth Adams. I think I need not answer that ques- tion, cried the host, after the different characters you have heard of him. It is not my business to contra- dict gentlemen, while they are drinking in my house ; but I knew neither of them spoke a syllable of truth. God forbid ! said Adams, that men should arrive at such a pitch of wickedness to belie the character of their neighbour, from a little private affection, or, what is infinitely worse, a private spite. I rather be- lieve we have mistaken them, and they mean two other persons ; for there are many houses on the ro^d.- Why, pr'ythee, friend, cries the host, dost JOSEPH ANDREWS. 105 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 ; no, no, replied the host ; not malicious with a design to hang a man^ or bring him into trouble ; but surely, out of love to one's self, one must speak better of a friend than an y j enemy. Out of loielo yourself, you should confine j, ' j^ourselfjo tj;uth_,says Adams, for by doing otherwise. ; f you injure the noblest part of yourself, your immor- tal soul. I can hardly believe any man such an idiot \ to risque 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 believe another world ? To which the host answered, Yes; he was no atheist. And you believe you have an im- mortal soul? cries Adams. He answered, God for- bid he should not. And heaven and hell ? said the parson. The host then bid him, not to profane ; for those things were not to be mentioned nor thought of but in church. Adams asked him, why he 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 liear- est at church ? Most part of it, master, returned the host. And dost not thou then tremble, cries Adams, at the thought of eternal punishment? As for that, master, said he, 1 never once thought about it ; but what signifies talking about matters so far off? The mug is out, shall I draw another ? Whilst he 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 pas- i06 JOSEPH ANDREWS. sengers 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 3'^ou. Adams asked him, if he had not seen a young man on horseback on the road (describing Joseph). Aye, said the coachman, a ^gentlewomaji in my coach that is his acquaintance reHeemed 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 rap- ture ; nor could he delay walking out to satisfy him- self who this charitable woman was ; but what was his surprise when he saw his old acquaintancejaia- 4ara Slipslop ? Hers indeed was not so great, be^ cause 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. Shpslop asked for a cler- j^yman, and she had unhappily miitaken Adams for au-pjaraon travelling to a neighbouring falF 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 re- covered 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 107 same coach with herself; so it was at length agreed that Adams jhould 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 altera- tion indeed ! says Adams, as I gather from some hints which have dropped from Joseph. Aye, says she, I could never have believed it ; but the longer one lives in the world, the more one sees. So Joseph hath given you hints ? But of what nature will al- ways remain a perfect secret with me, cries the par- son : he forced me to promise, before he would com- municate any thing. I am indeed concerned to find her ladyship behave in so unbecoming a manner. I always thought her in the main a good lady, and should never have suspected her of thoughts so un- worthy a christian, and with a young lad her own servant. These things are no secrets to me, I assure you, cries Slipslop, and I beheve 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 con- stantly 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 all, often know nothing. Many things have been given away in our family, 1 do assure you, without her knowledge. 1 have heard you say in the pulpit we ought not to brag ; 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 108 JOSEPH ANDREWS. quiet life, lieavens 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 an- other 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 hath 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 some di- stance 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 own calamity. This was abundantly sufficient to awaken the curiosity of Mr. Adams, as indeed it did that of the whole company, who jointly solicited the lady to acquaint them with Leonora's history, since it seemed, by what she had said, to contain" some- thing remarkable. The lady, who was perfectly well bred, did not re- quire many entreaties, and having only wished their entertainment might make amends for the com- ,pany's attention, she began in the following manner. CHAPTER IV. The history of Leonora, or the urifortunatejUt. Leonora was the daughter of agentleman of fortune; she was tall and well shaped, with a sprightliness in her countenance, which often attracts beyond more 5 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 1()9 regular features joined with an insipid air : nor iis yi this kind of beauty less apt to deceive than allure ; /] the good-humour which it indicates being often mis- [ taken for good-nature, and the vivacity for true un- derstanding. 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 gaiety ; and very rarely jnissed a ball, or any other public assem- bly ; where she had frequent opportunities of satis- fying 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. Hora tio soon distin- guished himself in her eyes beyond all his competi- tors ; she danced with more than ordinary gaiety when he happened to be her partner : neither the fairness of the evening, nor the music of the night- ingale, 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 thelaw, and had been some few yeafs^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 rare- ly to l)e s&en. His temper was of the saturnine com- plexion, and without the least taint of moroseness. He had wit and humour, with an inclinatioirtasatire, which he indulged rather too mucTu This gentleman, who had contracted the most vio- lent passion for Leonora, was the last person who VOL. XVIII. L 110 JOSEPH ANDREWS, perceived the probability of its success. The whole town had made the match for him, before he him- self had drawn a confidence from her actions suffici- ent to mention his passion to her ; for it was his opi- nion (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 affec- tions, 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 con- ferred on a rival, and to see the little advances to- wards themselves through the other end of the per- spective ; it was impossible that Horatio's passion should so blind his discernment, as to prevent his conceiving hopes from the behaviour of Leonora, whose fondness for him was now as visible to an in- different 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 even- ing, when Horatio whispered Leonora, that he was desirous to take a turn or two with her in private ; for that he had something to communicate to her of great consequence. Are you sure it is of conse- quence ? 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 com- ing, would have deferred it till another time ; but Horatio, who had more than half conquered the dif- ficulty 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. JOSEPH ANDREWS. Ill They had retired far out of the sight of the com- pany, both maintaining a strict silence. At last Ho- ratio made afuU stop, and taking Leonora, who stood pale and trembling, gently by the hand, he fetched a deep sigh, and then, looking on her eyes with all the tenderness imaginable, he cried out in a faltering ac- cent: O Leonora! is it necessary for me to declare to you on what the future happiness of my life must be founded ! Must I say, there is something belong- ing to you which is a bar to my happiness, and which unless you will part with, I must be miserable ! What can that be ? replied Leonora. No wonder, said he, you are surprised that I should make an ob- jection to anything 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 ! Can Leonora, or rather will she doubt longer ? Let me then whisper it in her ears It is your name, madam. It is by parting with that, by your condescension to be for ever mine, which must at once prevent me from being the most miserable, and will render me the happiest of mankind. Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as angry a look as she could possibly put on, told him, that had she suspected what his declaration would have been, he should not have decoyed her from her com- pany; that he had so surprised and fi-ighted her, that she begged him to convey her back as quick as pos- sible ; which he, trembling very near as much as her*/ self, 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 apiece of her mind, when I had carried mat- ters so far. But Mrs. Graveairs desired the lady to 1.2 112 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 interviewjbefore Horatio and Leonora were what they call on a good footing together. All ceremonies ex- cept the last were now over ; the writings were now drawn, and every thing wasin 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 J. will giveyou no small idea oftheir passion on bothsides. [ Mrs. Graveairs objected to hearing these letters ; V but being put to the vote, it was carried against her by all the rest in the coach ; parson Adams contend- ing for it with the utmost vehemence. HORATIO TO LEONORA. " How vain, most adorable creature, is the pur- suit 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 con- demned to the society of men of wit and learning, which, however agreeable it might have formerly been to me, now only gave me a suspicion that they imputed my absence in conversation to the true cause. For which reason, when your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happiness of seeing you, I am always de- sirous to be alone ; since my sentiments for Leonora are so delicate, that 1 cannot bear the apprehension of another's prying into those delightful endearments with which the warm imagination of a lover will some- times indulge him, and which I suspect my eyes then betray. To fear this discovery of our thoughts, may perhaps appear too ludicrous a nicety to minds not sus- ceptible of all the tenderness of this delicate passion. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 113 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 de- fence, generous to her wants, compassionate to her afflictions, 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 view to the delicate modesty of your mind that I cultivate it so purely in my own : and it is that which will sufficiently sug- gest to you the uneasiness I bear from those liberties, which men, 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 blest day, when 1 shall experience the falsehood of a common assertion, that the greatest human happiness consists in hope ? a doctrine which no person had ever stronger reason to believe than myself at present, since none ever tasted such bliss as fires my bosom with the thoughts of spend- ing my future days with such a companion, and that every action of my life will have the glorious satisfaction of conducing to your happiness." LEONORA TO HORATIO.* " The refinement ofyour mind has been so evidently provedby every word and action ever since 1 had first the pleasure of knowing you, that I thought it im- possible my good opinion of Horatio could have been heightened to any additional proof of merit. This very thought was my amusement when I re- This letter was written by a young lady on reading the former. l3 lli JOSEPH ANDREWS. ceived your last letter, which when T opened, I confess I was surprised to find the delicate senti- ments expressed there so far exceeded what I thought could come even from you (although I know all the generous principles human nature is capable of are centred in your breast), that words cannot paint what I feel on the reflection that my hap- piness shall be the ultimate end of all your actions. " Oh, Horatio ! what a life must that be, where the meanest domestic cares are sweetened by the I pleasing consideration, that the man on earth who best deserves, and to whom you are most inclined to give your affections, is to reap either profit or , pleasure from all you do ! In such a case, toils I must be turned into diversions, and nothing but the I unavoidable inconveniences of life can make us re- i member that we are mortal. ^' "If the solitary turn of your thoughts, and the de- sire 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 con- demned by custom to the conversation of women, . whose natural curiosity leads them to pry into all my thoughts, and whose envy can never suffer Horatio s heart to be possessed by any one,without forcing them into malicious designs against the person who is so happy as to possess it ! But, indeed, if ever envy can possibly have any excuse, or even alleviation, it is in this case, where the good is so great, that it must be equally natural to all to wish for it for themselves; nor am I ashamed to own it: and to your merit, Ho- ratio, I am obliged ; that prevents my being in that most uneasy of all the situations I can figure in rny ima- gination, ofbeingledby inclination to love the person whom my own judgment forces me to condemn." Matters were in so great forwardness between this JOSEPH ANDREWS. 115 fond couple, that the day was fixed for their mar- riage, and was now within a fortnight, when the ses- sions 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 re- paired Horatio, who, as he hoped by his pro- fession 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 oppor- tunity 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, gen- teelest, prettiest equipage she ever saw; adding these remarkable words, O, 1 am in love with that equi- page ; which, though her friend Florella at that time did not greatly regard, she hath since remembered. In the evening an assembly was held, which Le- onora honoured with her company ; but intended to pay her Horatio the compliment of refusing to dance in his absence. O, why have not women as good resolution ta\ maintain their vows, as they have often good incli- nations in making them ! 1 16 JOSEPH ANDREWS, The gentleman who owned the coach and six came to the assembly. His clothes were as re- markably fine as his equipage could be. He soon attracted the eyes of the company ; all the smarts, all the silk waistcoats with silver and gold edgings were eclipsed in an instant. Madam, said Adams, if it be not impertinent, I should be glad to know how this gentleman was drest. Sir, answered the lady, 1 have been told he had on a cut velvet coat of a cinnamon colour, lined with 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 Bellarm ine (that was his name) was just arrived from Paris. This fine figure did not more entirely engage the eyes of every lady in the assembly, than Leonora did his. He had scarce beheld her, but he stood motionless, and fixed as a statue, or at least would have done so if good-breeding had permitted him. However, he carried it so far, before he had power to correct himself, that every person in the room easily discovered where his admiration was settled. The other ladies began to single out their former partners, all perceiving who would be Bellarmine's choice ; which they, however, endeavoured by all possible means to prevent : many of them saying to Leonora, O madam ! I suppose we sha'n'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 send- ing a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that so she might be obliged either to dance with him, or sit down ; but this schepie proved abortive. JOSF.PH ANDREWS. 117 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 agi- tated with a convulsive motion : she seemed as if she would speak to several of her acquaintance, but had nothing to say : for as she would not mention her present triumph, so she could not disengage her thoughts one moment from the contemplation of it. SheJiadJie3fer_tasted anythuig 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 jpy reserved for this blessed .moment As this vast profusion of ecstasy had con- founded her understanding, so there was nothing so foolish as her behaviour ; she played a thousand childish tricks, distorted her person into several shapes, and her face into several laughs, without any reason. In a word, her carriage was as absurd as her desires, which were to affect an insensibility of the stranger's admiration, and at the same time a triumph, from that admiration, over every wo-ian 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 curt'sy, immediately granted. She danced with him all night, and enjoyed perhaps the highest |)leasure that she was capable of feeling. At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, which frighted the ladies, who told him, they hoped he was not ill. He answered, he. groaned only-iht the folly of Leonora. Leonora retired (continued the lady) about six in the morning, but not to rest. She tumbled and tossed in her bed, with very short intervals of sleep, and those entirely filled with dreams of the equi- page and fine clothes she had seen, and tlie balls, operas, and ridottos, which had been the subject of their conversation. 118 JOSEPH ANDREWS. In the afternoon, Bellarmine, in the dear coach and six, came to wait on her. He was indeed charmed with her person, and was, on inquiry, so well'^^leased with the circumstances of her father (for he himself, notwithstanding all his finery, was not quite so rich as a Croesus or an Attains,) Attains, 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 weak 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 gaiety and gallantry pos- sessed himself of in an instant. In other words, what modesty had employed a full year in raising, impudence demolished in twenty-four hours. I Here Adams groaned a second time, but the ladies, who began to smoke him, took no notice. From the opening of the assembly till the end of Bellarmine'svisit,Leonorahad scarce once thought of Horatio ; but he now began, though an unwelcome guest, to enter into her mind. She wished she had seen the charming Bellarmine and his charming equi- page, before matters had gone so far. Yet why, says she, should I wish to have seen him before ; or what signifies it that I have seen him now? Is not Horatio my lover, almost my husband ? Is he not as hand- some, nay handsomer than Bellarmine ? Aye, but Bellarmine is the genteeler and the finer man ; yes, that he must be allowed. Yes, yes, he is that cer- tainly. But did not I, no longer ago than yesterday, love Horatio more than all thcM'orld? Aye, but yes- terday I had not seen Bellarmine. But doth not Ho- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 113 ratio dole on me, and may he not in despair break his heart if I abandon him ? Well, and hath not Bel- larmine a heart to break too ? Yes, but 1 promised Horatio first ; but that was poor Bellarmine's mis- fortune ; if I had seen him first, I should certainly have preferred him. Did not the dear creature pre- fer me to every woman in the assembly, when every she was laying out for him ! When was it in Ho- ratio's power to give me such an instance of affec- tion? 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 Bellar- mine's fortune ! If I marry Horatio, 1 shall triumph over no more than one rival ; but by marrying Bel- larmine, 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, Bel- larmine 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 in- formed of his passion for Leonora. He was no sooner withdrawn than the old lady began to advise her niece on this occasion. You see, child, says she, what fortune hath thrown in your way ; and I hope you will not withstand your own preferment. Leo- nora sighing, begged her not to mention any 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 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 120 V JOSEPH ANDREWS. drives six, and Horatio not even a pair. Yes, but, madam, what will the world say ? answered Leo- nora : 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 in- terest to any motive whatever. O! I know the world very well; and you show your ignorance, my dear, by your objection. O' my conscience ! the world is wiser. I have lived longer in it than you ; and I assure you there is not any thing worth our regard besides money ; nor did I ever know one person who married from other considerations, who did not afterwards heartily repent it. Besides, if we examine the two men, can you prefer a sneaking fellow, who 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. O ! leave that to me, says the aunt. 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 such an offer; but FU disengage you: leave me to give the fellow an answer. 1 warrant you shall have no further 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 at his return. The aunt retired soon after supper ; and the lovers being left together, Bellarmine began in the following manner : Yes, madam ; this coat, I assure you, was made at Paris, and I defy the best English tailor even to imitate it. There is not one of them cah cut, madam ; they can't cut. If you observe how this skirt is turned, and this sleeve ; a clumsy JOSEPH ANDREWS. 121 English t^cal can do nothing like it. Pray how do you like my liveries? Leonora answered, she thought them very pretty. All French, says he, I assure you, except the great coats ; I never trust any thing more than a great coat to an Englishman. You inow one must encourage our own people what one can, especially as before I had a place, I was in the country interest, he, he, he ! But for myself, I would see the dirty island at the bottom of the sea, rather than wear a single rag of English work about me ; and I am sure, after you have made one tour to Paris, you will be of the same opinion with regard to your own clothes. You can't conceive what an addition a French dress would be to your beauty ; I positively assure you, at the first opera I saw since I came over, I mistook the English ladies for chambermaids, he, he, he ! With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bel- larmine entertain his beloved Leonora, when the door opened on a sudden, and Horatio entered the room. Here *t is impossible to express the surprise of Leonora. Poor woman, says Mrs. Slipslop, what a terrible quandary she must be in ! Not at all, says Miss 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 famiHar 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, V22 JOSEPH ANDREWS. traversed the room in a minuet step, and hummed an opera tune ; while Horatio, advancing to Leonora, 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. Ho- ratio told her softly, it did not arise from jealousy.. Jealousy ! I assure you, it would be very strange in a common acquaintance to give himself any of those airs. These words a little surprised Horatio ; 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 have no business, said she, with the gentleman, nor any other, 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 intrusted with all our secrets. You'll know soon enough,criesLeonora; but I can't guess what secrets can ever pass between us of such mighty consequence. No, madam! cries Horatio; I'm sure you would not have me understand you in earnest. 'Tis indifferent to me, says she, how j'^ou understand me; but T 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. Sureyou are in a dream, says she, or would persuade me that I am in one. 1 know no pretensions a common ac- quaintance 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 be- JOSEPH ANDREWS, 125 tween us ! Passed between us ! Do you intend to affront me before this gentleman? D n me, affront the lady ? says Bellarniine, cocking his hat and strut- ting up to Horatio : does any man dare affront this lady before me, d n nae? Hearkee, sir, says Ho- ratio, 1 would advise you to lay aside that fierce air; for I am mightily deceived if this lady has not a vio- lent desire to get your worship a good drubbing. Sir,, said Bellarmine, 1 have the honour to be her protec- tor; and d n me, if I understand your meaning, iiir, answered Horatio, she is rather your protectress : but give yourself no more airs, for you see I am pre- pared for you (shaking his whip at him). Oh I servi- leur tres humble, says Bellarmine : Je vous entends parjititemcnt bien. At which time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's visit, entered the room, and sooa satisfied all his doubts. She convinced him that he was never more awake in his life^ and that nothing more extraordinai-y had happened in his three days" absence, thaa 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 bar- barous 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 witliout any great ceremony^ and departed, leaving the lady with his rival to con- sult for his safety, which Leonora feared her indis- cretion might have endangered ; but the aunt com- tbrted her with assurances, that Horatio would not venture his person against soaccoraplished 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 Bel- larmine to retire to his lodgings, having first settled all matters relating to the journey which he was to M 2 124? JOSEPH ANDREWS, undertake in the morning, and their preparations for the nuptials at his return. But alas ! as wise men have observed, the seat of valour is not the countenance ; and many a grave and plain man will, on a just provocation, betake himself to that mischievous metal, cold iron ; while men of a fiercer brow, and sometimes with that emblem of courage, a cockade, will more prudently decline it. Leonora was awaked in the morning, from a vi- sionary 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 news, found her. The good old lady applied her utmost art to comfort her niece. She told her, while there was life there was hope ; but that if he should die her affliction would be of no service to Bellarmine, and would only expose herself, which might probably keep her some time without any future offer ; that as matters had happened, her wisest way would be to think no more of Bellarmine, but to endeavour to regain the affec- tions of Horatio. Speak not to me, cried the discon- solate Leonora: is it not owing to me that poor Bel- larmine 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS, 125 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 I , j 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 addresses been backed by your persuasions, they never would have made any impression on me : 1 should have defied all the for- j tune and equipage in the world : but it was you, it ' was you, who got the better of my youth and simpli- city, 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 va- luable ones, had passed from Horatio to the old lady; but as true it is, that Bellarmine, when he break- > fasted 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 better 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 re- M 3 126 JOSEPH A'NDREWS. ceived from my rival, is not liketo 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 would do me an honour which I have scarce the hardiesse 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. ' BELLARMINE." As soon a Leonora perceived such hopes of Bel- larmine'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 forgive- ness than we generally meet with. Indeed, it is pos- sible 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 pre- vent your intended match, too forward a behaviour (with this lover may injure you in the eyes of others. Every woman, till she is married, ought to consider of, and provide against, the possibility of the affair's JOSEPH ANDREWS, 127 breaking off. Leonora said, she should be indiffer- ent 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 aban- don all thoughts of mankind. She therefore re- solved 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 dis- position. CHAPTER V. A dreadful quarrel which happened at the inn tvhere the company dined, with its bloody 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, how- ever, was of no great inconvenience to the parson, who was accustomed to it ; and, as his legs almost 128 JOSEPH ANDREWS. touched the ground when he bestrode the beast, had but a httle way to fall, and threw himself forward on such occasions with so much dexterity, that he never received any mischief; the horse and he fre- quently 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 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 hkewise entered. He was by no means of Mr. Tow-wouse's gentle dis- position; and was, indeed, perfect master of his house, and every thing in it, but his guests. This surly fellow, who always proportioned his re- spect to the appearance of a traveller, from God bless your honour, down to plain Coming presently, ob- serving 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 damned 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 129 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 lat- ter 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, A dams dealt him so sound a compliment over his face with his fist, that^the blood immediately gushed out of his nose in a stream. The host being unwilling to be outdone in courtesy, especially by a person of Adam's figure, re- turned the favourwith so much gratitude, that the par- son's nostrils began to look a little reddei* than usual. Upon which he again assailed his antagonist, and with another stroke laid him sprawling on the floor. The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a husband deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and stretched along, hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to revenge the blow, which, to all appear- ance, was the last he ever would receive ; when, lo ! a pan full of hog's blood, which unluckily stood on the^Tfesser, presented itself first to her hands. She seized it in her fury, and, without any reflection, dis- charged it into the parson's face; and with so good an aim, that much the greater part first saluted his coun- tenance, 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. Slip- slop, who entered the kitchen at that instant. This good gentlewoman, not being of a temper so ex- tremely cool and patient, as perhaps was required to ask many questions on this occasion, flew with great 130 JOSEPH ANDREWS. impetuosity at the hostess's cap, which together with some of her hair she plucked from her head in a mo- ment, 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 from his eyes, which had entirely blinded him ; and the landlord was but just begin- ning to stir ; whilst Mrs. Slipslop, holding down the landlady's face with herTeTttiahd, made so dexterous a use of her right, that the poor woman began to roar, iri'a key which alarmed all the^icrapany ui TligTtnr: There happened to be in the i nn, at this time, be- sides the ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two gentlemen who were presiit at Mr. Tow-wouse's wfiTeiT Joseph was detained for his horse's meat, and whorti we have before mentioned to have stopped at I 7 the alehouse with Adams. There was likewise a / gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy; all whom the horrid ourcry 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, theconquerorsbeing satisfied with the vengeance they had taken, and the conquered having no appetite to renew the fight. The principal figure, and which en- gaged the eyes of all, was Adams, who was all over covered with blood, which the whole company cTn- f eluded 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, land telling her, all would have been very well, if she ihad not intermeddled, like a b as she was; adding, he was very glad the gentlewoman had paid her. JOSEPH AKDREWS. 131 though not half what she deserved. The poor wo- man had indeed fared much the worst^TiavlngpBe- sides the unmerciful cuffs received, lost a quantity of hair^ which Mrs. Slipslop in triumph held in her left liand .^ The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs. Grave- airs, desired her not to be frightened ; for here had been only a little boxing, which he said to their dis- gracia the English were accustomata to : adding, it must be, however, a sight somewhat strange to him, who was just come from Italy; the Italians not being addicted to the cuffardo, but bastonza, says he. He then went up to Adams, and telling him he looked 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. He then returned to the lady and cried, I find the bloody gentleman is uno insipido del nnllo senso. Dammata di me, if I have seen such a spectnculo 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, He'd warrant he would recover. Recover ! master, said the host smiling : yes, yes, I am not afraid of dying with a blow or two neither; I am not such a chicken as that. Pugh ! said the gentleman, I mean you will recover damages in that action, which, undoubtedly, you intend to bring, as soon as a writ can be returned from London; for you look like a man of too much spirit and courage to suffer any one to beat you without bringing your action against him : he must be a scandalous fellow indeed, who would put up a drubbing, whilst the law is open to revenge it ; besides, he hath drawn blood from you, and spoiled your coat; and the jury will give damages for that too. An excellent new coat, upon my word. 132 JOSEPH ANDREWS. nd now not worth a shilling ! I don't care, con- tinued 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 yournostrils. You may take your own opinion ; but was I in your cir- cun\stances, every drop of my blood should convey lan ounce of gold into my pocket: remember I don't ; advise you to go to law ; but if your jury were chris- tians, 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 gaol. At which word he turned about and began to inquire again after his hog's 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. Adams, whom he advised to bring his action ira- ! mediately. He 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 disposi- tion 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 133 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 affront- ed both. At the word order, the gentleman star- ed (for he was too bloody to be of any modern or- der 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 con- gratulating 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, Je vol very well, que tuta e pace. So send up dinner, good Boniface. The 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, thatshe would not admit a footman into the coach ; for poor Joseph was too Jame 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, artd Mrs. Slipslop scolded ; but all to no purpose. She said, she would not demean herself to ride with a footman: that there were waggons 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 iised to stage-coaches ; I seldom travel in them. That may be,madam, replied Slipslop; very good peo- ple do ; and some people's betters, for aught i know. Miss Grayeairs said, Some folks might sometimes ]S4f JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 lier own command, than any paltry little gentlewoman in the kingdom. Miss Grave- airs cried. She believed her mistress would not en- courage 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. 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, O ! ^a, I am glad you have overtaken me. So am iTan^ swered he ; for one of our coaches is just at hand ; and there being room for you in it, you shall go no further 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, He was now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man ; but times are altered, master, said he; I remeinher wJienJhe was no better born than myself. Ay! ay! says Adams. My father drove the squire's coach, answered he, when that very man rode postillion ; but he is now his steward ; and a JOSEPH ANDREWS. 135 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 re- ception different from what he expected. The pru- dent gentlewoman, who despised the anger of Miss Graveairs, whilst she conceived her the daughter of a gentleman of small fortune ; now she heard her al- 1 liance 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 it- self to her mind ; and comforted her with such assu- rance, that she no longer apprehended any enemy with her mistress. Every thing being now adjusted, the company en- tered the coach ; which was just on its departure, when one lady recollected she had left her fan, a se- cond her gloves, a third a snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her ; to find all which occa- sioned some delay, and much swearing to the coach- man. As soon as the coach had left the inn, the women all together fell to the character of Miss G raveairs ; whom one of them declared she had suspected to be some low creature, from the beginning of their jour- ney ; and another affirmed, had not even the looks of a gentlewoman : a third warranted she was no better thairshe should be ; and turning to the lady who had related the story in the coach, said. Did you ever hear, madam, any thing so prudish as her remarks ? Well, deliver me from the censoriousness of such a prude ! The fourth added, O madam ! all these crea- tui'es are censorious ; but for ray part, I wonder where N 2 136 JOSEPH ANDREWS. the wretch was bred ; indeed, I must own I have sel- dom 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, cries Slipslop ; the woman must have no compulsion in her: I believe she is more of a Turk than a Christian;' I am certain if she had any christian woman'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 con- versation 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. Ay, 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. CHAPTER VI. ff Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt. I 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS, 137 longer, than his surgeon's : in a word, she became absolutely his nurse ; made his water-gruel, admi- nistered 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 dis- course at their tea-tables, and was very severely cen- sured by the most part ; especially by Lindamira^ a lady whose discreet and starch carriage, together with a constant attendance at _clmrch. three tim es a- da^, had utterly defeated many malicious attacks ori her own reputation ; for such was the envy that Lin- damira'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 bar- barously and unjustly calumniated. Not so unjustly neither, perhaps, says Slipslop j-jj^ for the clergy are men, as well as other folks. ** * The extreme delicacy of Lindamira's virtue was cruelly hurt by those freedoms whichLeonora allowed herself: she said. It was an affront to her sex ; that \y 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. m3 138 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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, notwith- standing his superior figure. You may take what measures you please on this occasion : I have per- formed 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 no- tice of it, after he had read it, till he saw Bellarmine. He was, to say the truth, one of those fathers who look on children as an unhappy consequence of their Jrouthful pleasures ; which as he would have been de- ighted not to have had attended them, so was he no less pleased with an opportunity to rid himself of the incumbrance. He passed, in the world's language, as an exceeding good father; being not only so rapa- cious as to rob and plunder all mankind to the utmost of his power, but even to deny himself the conve- niences, 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 ; j he heaped up money for its own sake only, and look- ed on his children as his rivals, who were to enjoy his ' beloved mistress when he was incapable of possess- ing her, and which he 'would have been much more 5 JOSEPH ANDREWS, 139^ charmed with the power of carrying along with him: or 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 i y for any one living to take the trouble ot writing one. ~ To this gentleman came Bellarmine, on the errand I have mentioned. His person, his equipage, his fa- mily, and his estate, seemed to the father to make him an advantageous match for his daughter : he therefore very readily accepted his proposals : but when Bellarmine imagined the principal affair con- cluded, 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 jsuch examples of undutifulness happen from the too early generosity of parents, that he had made avow never to part with a shilling whilst he lived. He commended the saying of Solomon, * Hethat spareth the rod, spoileth the child ;' but added, He might have likewise asserted. That he that spareth thepursj,.j^, 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 thatsub- ject, 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 he would any other whatever ; but that even his love to her made some regard to worldly matters neces- sary ; for it would be a most distracting sight for him to see her, when he had the honour to be her hus- band, in less than a coach and six. The old gentle- 140 JOSEPH ANDREWS. tleman answered, Four will do ; four will do ; and then took a turn from horses to extravagance, and from extravagance to liorses, till he came round to the equipage again ; whither he was no sooner ar- rived, 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 im- 1 possible 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 tnatch : that if he had an inclination, at present it was not in his power to advance a shilling : that he had great losses, and been at great expenses on projects ; which, though he had great expectation from them, had yet pro- duced him nothing: that he did not know what might happen hereafter, as on the birth of a son, or such ac- cident ; 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 persua- sion which he could invent, and finding them all in- effectual, 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 I 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 pre- sently dispatched a messenger with the following epistle to Leonora : ** Adorable and charmante, " I AM sorry to have the honour to tell you I ara rfot the heureux person destined for your divine arms. Your papa hath told me so with apolitesse not often JOSEPH ANDREVfS. 141 seen on this side Paris. You may perhaps guess his manner of refusing me. Ah, mon Dieu ! You will certainly believe me, madam, incapable myself of delivering this triste message, which I intend to try the French air to cure the consequences of. A ja- mais ! CceuT ! Ange ! Au diable ! If your papa obliges you to a marriage, I hope we shallsee you at Paris ; till when, the wind that flows from thence will be the warmest dans le monde, for it will con- sist almost entirely of my sighs. Adieu, ma prin- cesse ! Ah V amour ! " BELLARMINE." I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's condition, when she received this letter. It is a pic- ture 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 conver- sation and ridicule, and retired to that house_I show- ed^^u when I beganlEe storypwhefe she hath ever i since led a disconsolate life, and deserves, perhaps, pity for her misfortunes, more iTian our censure for a behaviour to which the artifices of her aunt very probably contributed, and to which very young wo- men are often rendered too liable by that blameable levity in the education of our sex. If I was inclined to pity her, said a young lady in the coach, it would be for the loss of Horatio ; for I cannot discern any misfortune in her missing such a husband as Bellarmine. Why, I must own, says Slipslop, the gentleman was a little false-hearted ; but howsumever, it was hard to have two lovers, and get never a husband at all. But pray, madam, what became of jOwraCLS^p ? He remains, said the lady, still unmarried, and hath appliedhimselfso strictly to hisbusiness, that he hath raised, I hear, a very considerable fortune. And what 142 JOSEPH ANDREWS. is remarkable, they say he never hears the name of Leonora without a sigh, nor hath ever uttered one syl- lable to charge her with her ill conduct towards hira. CHAPTER VII. A vert/ skofi chapter, in tvhich parson Adams tvent a great wat/. 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 wor^, and so he is, says Slipslop : and as sure us 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 crabstick, and had kept on before the coach, mending and slackening his pace occasionally ; so that he had never been much more 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. Aye, aye, catch me if you can ; till at length the coachman swore he would as soon attempt to drive after a greyhound ; and giving the parson two or three hearty curses, he 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 for- JOSEPH ANDREWS. HS wards, without once looking behind him; till having leflLthe-ceachfiilLthreeniiles ijajhiigrear, he came to dplace, where, by keeping his 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 back- wards, and perceiving no coach in sight, he sat him- .y self down on the turf, and pulling out his ^schylus, determined to wait here for its arrival. He had not sat long here, before a gun going off very near, a little startled him ; he looked up, and saw a gentleman within a hundred paces taking up a partridge, which he had just shot. Adams stood up, and presented a figure to the gentleman which would have moved laughter ia ^ many ; for his cassock had just again fallen down be^^ ^ . a low 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 gen- tleman'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 i^i JOSEPH ANDREWS, to conversation on his side, by saying, Sir, I suppose you are not one of these parts ? Adams immediately told him, No ; that he was a traveller, and invited by the beauty of the evening and the place to repose a little, and amuse himself with reading. I may as well repose myself too, said the sportsman, for 1 have been out this whole after- noon, and the devil a bird havelseentilll camehither. Perhaps then the game is not very plenty here- abouts? 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 1 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 I man who won't sacrifice his life for his country, de- I serves to be hanged, 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 f But Mr. Adams was not greatly subject to fear: he told him intrepidly, that / he very much approved his virtue, but disliked his \J 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 com- mune with him ; for though he was a clergyman he would himself be ready, if thereto called, to lay down his life for his country. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 145 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. CHAPTER VIII. ji notable dissertation by Mr. Abraham Adams; wherein that geritleman appears in a political light. I DO assure you, sir, (says he, taking the gentleman by the hand,) I am heartily glad to meet with a man of your kidney ; for though I am a poor parson, I will be bold to say I am an honest man, and would not do an ill thilig to be madeajbishop ; nay, though it hath not fallen in ray way to offer so noble a sacri- fice, I have not been without opportunities of suffer- ing 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 reph_eWjwho was a shopkeeper and an alderman of a corporation. He was a good lad, and was mider my care when a boy ; and 1 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 al- derman ; but others have thought so too, as mani- festly appeared by the rector, whose curate I for- merly 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 never heard tidings of till that instant. I told the rector I had no power over ray nephew's vote ; (God forgive me for such prevarication!) that 1 supposed he would give it according to his conscience ; that I would by VOL. xviii. o Ii6 JOSEPH ANDREWS. no means endeavour to influence him to give it other- wise. 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 an- swered boldly, If he thought I had given my pro- mise, 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 chosen chiefly through his means, and so I lost my curacy. Well, sir, but do you think the esquire ever men- tioned a word of the Church ? Ne verbum quidem ut ita dicam ; within two years he got a place, and hath ever since lived in London ; where, I have been in- formed (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. Ficiie got his place. Colonel Courtly stood again ; and who should make interest for him but Mr. Fickle himself! That very identical Mr. Fickle who had formerly told lii e 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 1 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. However, he was a worthy man, and the best friend I ever had ; for, by his interest with a bishop, he got Bne. replaced into, xny curacy, and gave me eight pounds out of his own pock^ to'buy me a gown and JOSEPH ANDREWS. J47 cassock, and furnish my house. He had our in- terest while he lived, which was not many years. Oa his death I had fresh applications made to me; for all the world knew the interest I had witli my good ne- phew, who now was a leading man in the corpora- tion : 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 could never persuade the parliament to be of his opi- nion. Non omnia possumus nmnes. 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, in- deed, I never heard till afterwards ; for my nephew, who died about a month before the incumbent, al- ways told me I might be assured of it. Since that time. Sir Thomas, poor man, had always so much bu- siness, 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 ta- ble. However, I must do him the justice to say he never was ungrateful ; and 1 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 conse- quence 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 re- o2 148 JOSEPH ANDREWS. quired. 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 honest gentlemen my neighbours, who have all pro- raised me these five years to procure an ordination for a son of mine, who is now near thirty, hath an in- finite stock of learning, and is, I thank Heaven, of an unexceptionable life ; though, as he was never at an 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 1 do not distrust him, for he is a good boy; and if Providence should 1 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. CHAPTER IX. In tvhich the gentleman descants on bravery and he- roic virtue^ till an unlucky accident puts an end to the disc turning to the prisoner, asked the meaning of those ciphers. Ciphers! answered Adams ; it is a manu- script of iEschylus. Who ? who ? said the justice. Adams repeated, ^schylus. That is an outlandish name, cried the clerk, A fictitious name rather, I believe, said the justice. One of the company de- clared it looked very much like Greek. Greek? said the justice ; why, 'tis all writing. No, says the other, I don't positively sayit 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 toge- ther, muttered some words to himself, and then pro- nounced aloud Ay, indeed, it is a Greek manuscript ; a very fine piece of antiquity. 1 make no doubt but it was stolen from the same clergyman from whom the rogue took the cassock. What did the rascal' lei* JOSEPH ANDREWS. mean by his ^schylus ? says the justice. Pooh ! answered the doctor, with a contemptuous grin, do you think that fellow knows any thing of this book iEschylus ! ho, ho ! I see now what it is a manu- script 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, Pollaki toi : What's your name ? Ay, what's your name ? says the justice to Adams : who answered, It is ^schylus, and I will maintain it. O! it is, says the justice ; make Mr. T^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, Q lsquire ! are you there ? 1 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 I addressing himself to the justice, he said. Sir, I assure you, Mr. Adams is a clergyman, as he appears, and a gentleman of a very good character. I wish you would inquire a little further into this affair ; for I am con- vinced of his innocence. Nay, says the justice, if he is a gentleman, and you are sure he is innocent, I don't desire to commit him, not 1 : 1 will commit the wo- man 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, 1 assure you she is as innocent as myself Perhaps, said the 'squire, there may be some mistake : pray let us hear Mr. Adams's relation. With all my heart, answered the justice ; and give the gentleman a glass to wet his whistle before he begins. I know how to behave myself to a gentleman as well as another. Nobody JOSEPH ANDREWS. 165 can say I have committed a gentleman since I have been in the commission. Adams then began the nar- rative, in which, though he was very prohx, 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 h^d finish- ed, the justice, who, on what the 'squire had said, believed every syllable of his story on his bare affir- mation, 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 as him- self. 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. They all promised to use their best endeavours to that purpose, and were dis- missed. 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 manu- script without saying a word ; nor would Adams, who plainly discerned his ignorance, expose it. As for Fanny, she was, at her own request, recom- mended to the care of a maid-servant of the house, who helped her to new dress and clean herself. The company in the parlour had not been long seated, before they were alarmed with a horrible up- roar from without, where the persons who had ap- prehended Adams and Fanny had been regaling, according to the custom of the house, with the jus- tice'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 166 JOSEPH ANDREWS. the dignity of his presence soon put an end to the fray. On his return into the parlour, he reported, /that the occasion of the quarrel, was no other than ; a dispute, to whom, if Adams had been convicted, / the greater share of the reward for apprehending him had belonged. All the company laughed at this, except Adams, who, taking his pipe from his mouth, fetched a deep groan, and said, He was con- , cerned to see so litigious a temper in men. That he remembered a story something like it in one of the parishes where his cure lay : There was, con- tinued he, a competition between three young fel- lows 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 establish- ed in his place, than a contention began between the two disappointed candidates concerning their excel- lence; each contending, on whom, had they two been the only competitors, my election would have fallen. This dispute frequently disturbed the congregation, and introduced a discord into the psalmody, till I was forced to silence them both. But alas! the liti- gious spirit could not be stifled; and being no lon- ger able to vent itself in singing, it now broke forth in fighting. It produced many battles (for they were very near a match), and I believe would have ended fatally, 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 the dispute, and en- jtirely reconciled the contending parties. Adams then proceeded to make some philosophical obser- vations 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 JOSEPH ANDltEWS. 167 cause which had lately been before him. He 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~thje~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 in- tend to set a magistrate and a divine together by the ears. CHAPTER Xn. A very delightful adventure, as tvell to the persons concerned as to the good-natured reader. Adams, 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 vio- lent storm of rain obliged them to take shelter in an inn, or rather alehouse ; where Adams immedi- ately procured himself a good fire,"^ 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 168 JOSEPH ANDREWS. the eyes of the host, his wife, the maid of the house, and the young fellow who was their guide ; they all conceived they had never seen any thing half so handsome ; and, indeed, reader, if thou art of an amorous hue, I advise thee to skip over the next paragraph ; which, to render our history perfect, we are obliged to set down, humbly hoping that we may escape the fate of Pygmalion ; for if it should hap- pen to us, or to thee, to be struck with this picture, we should be perhaps in as helpless a condition as Narcissus, and might say.to ourselves quod petis est nusquam. Or, if the finest features in it should set lady 's image before your eyes, we should be still in as bad a situation, and might say to our de- sires, Ccelum ipsuni petimus stultitia. Fanny was now in the nineteenth year of her age; she was tall and delicately shaped ; but not one of those slender young women, who seem rather in- tended 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 slipped above her elbow, or her hankerchief 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 mo- dern fashion. Her forehead was high, her eye-brows arched, and rather full than otherwise. Her eyes black and sparkling; her nose just inclining to the Roman ; her lips red and moist, and her unde? lip, according to the opinion of the ladies, too pouting. JOESPH ANDREWS. 169 Her teeth were white, but not exactly even. The small-pox had left one only mark on her chin, which was so large, it might have been mistaken for a dim- ple, 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 in- jured 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 ap- peared almost incredible ; and a sweetness, when- ever she smiled, beyond either imitation or descrip- tion. To conclude all, she had a natural gentility, superior to the acquisition of art, and which sur- prised 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 : THE SONG. Say, Chloe, where must the swain stray Who is by thy beauties undone ? To wash their remembrance away, To what distant Lethe mnst run ? The wretch who js sentenced to die l^ay escape, and leave justice behind ; From his country perhaps he may fly. Bat O can he fly from his mind ! O rapture untbought-of before ! To be thus of Chloe possest ; Nor she, nor no tyrant's hard power. Her image can tear from my breast, Bui felt not Narcissus more joy, Witli 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 woe? Can aught bear resercblance to thee Wh'cb grief and not joy can bestow ? Q \ 170 JOSEPH ANDREWS. This counterfeit snatch from my heart. Ye pow'rs, tbo' 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 (he 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. Advances like these made me bold, I whisper'd her, Love, we're alone. The rest let immortals unfold : No language can tell but (heir own. Ah Qblyie, 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 pas- sage in iEschylus, 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! Mr. Adams, says she; O Jesus! and fell backwards in her chair. Adams jumped up, flung his ^Eschylus into jthe fire, and fell a roaring to the people of the house for help. He soon summoned everyone into the room, and the songster among the rest ; but, O reader ! when this nightingale, who was no other than Joseph Andrews himself, saw his beloved Fanny in the si- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 171 tuation we have described her, canst thou^ conceive the agitations of his mind ? If thou canst not, waive that meditation to behold his happiness, when, clasp- ing her in his arms, he found life and blood return- ing into her cheeks ; when he saw her open her be- loved 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 sur- vey parson Adams dancing about the room in a rap- ture 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 dis- quisitions, as too deep for us, to those who are build- ing some favourite hypothesis, which they will refuse no metaphysical rubbi.> sion, and if they were to go one step further, a de- \ gradation. And now reader, I hope thou wilt pardon this long digression, which seemed to me necessary to vindi- cate the great character of Mrs. Slipslop, from what low people, who have never seen high people, iriight think an absurdity : but we who know them, must have daily found very high persons know us in one j 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 175 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 tlie table, imagining Mrs. Slipslop's memory had been much worse than it really was, followed her into the next room, crying out. Madam Slipslop, here is one of your old acquaintance ; do but see what a fine woman she is grown since she Igft lady Booby's service. I think 1 reflect something of her, answered she, with great dignity, but I can't remember all the inferior servants in our family. She then proceeded to satisfy Adams's curiosity, by telling him, when she arrived at the inn, she found a chaise ready for her; that her lady being expected very shortly in the country, she was obliged to make the utmost haste ; and in com- mensuratioii ofJo&eph's lameness, she had taken him with her; and lastly, that the excessive virulence ofthe otoRlEtfad-driventhem 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 meet- ing 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 reflexion on the character of Fanny. He protested. He believ- ed there was not a chaster damsel in the universQ. I heartily wish, I heartily wish, cried he (snapping his fingers), that all her betters were as good. He then proceeded to inform her ofthe accident of their meet- ing ; but when he came to mention the circumstance of delivering her from the rape, she said. She thought him proper er for the army than the clergy ; that it did not become a clergyman to lay violent hands on any Orie ; that he sliould have isather prayed that she might be strengthened. Adams said. He was very far from 176 JOSEVH ANDREWS. being ashamed of what he had done : she repHed, Want of shame was not the currycuristic of a clergy- man. 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 respected 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, ma- dam, for that right-reverend appellation, which I shall take all honest means to deserve. Very ho- nest means, returned she with a sneer, to bring peo- ple 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 without with his Fanny, and /would have had him gone with her ; but he peremp- I torily refused to leave Fanny behind ; which threw I the good woman into a violent rage. She said. She would inform her lady what doings were carrying on, 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 re- flexions on the clergy, not decent to repeat : at last, finding Joseph unmovable, she flung herself into the chaise, casting a look at Fanny as she went, not un- . (like that which Cleopatra gives Octavia in the play. I To say the truth, she was most disagreeably disap- ! pointed by the presence of Fanny : she had, from her , first seeing Joseph at the inn, conceived hopes of j something which might have been accomplished at an alehouse as well as a palace. Indeed it is pro- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 177 bable Mr. Adams had rescued more than Fanny from the danger of a rape that evening. When the chaise had carried off the enraged Slip- slop, 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 them- selves, during some hours, a happiness of which none of my readers who have never been in love are ca- pable 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 Ara- bian breeze, she whispered to his lips, which were then close to hers, O Joseph, you have won me ; I will be yours for ever. Joseph having thanked her on his knees, and embraced her with an eagerness which she now almost returned, leapt up in a rap- ture, and awakened the parson, earnestly begging him, that he would that instant join their hands to- gether. 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 christians ought to comply, and to the omission of which he attributed the many miseries 178 JOSEPH ANDREWS. which befel great folks in marriage; concluding, A many as are joined together otherwise than G ' word doth allow, are not joined together by G , neither is their matrimony lawful. Fanny agreed with the parson, saying to Joseph, with a blush, she assured him she would not consent to any such thing, and that she 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 how- ever he obtained the consent of Fanny, in the pre- sence of Adams, to put in at their arrival. The sun had been now risen some hours, when Joseph, finding his leg surprisingly recovered, pro- posed 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 amount- ed 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 proba- bility of paying it ; for the fellow who had taken poor Fanny's purse, had unluckily forgot to return it. So that the account stood thus : /. s. d. Mr. Adams and company, Dr. .070 In Mr. Adams's pocket 6^ In Mr. Joseph's In Mrs. Fanny's Balance . 6 5\ They stood silent some few minutes, staring at each other, when Adams whipt out on his toes, and asked the hostess, if there was' no clergyman in that parish? She answered, There was, Is he wealthy? repHed JOSEPH ANDREWS. 179 he; to which she Hkewise answered in the affirmative. Adams then snapping his fingers, returned overjoy- ed to his companions, crying out, Heureka, Heu- reka ; 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 wouldjuststeptohishouse and fetch the money, and return to them instantly. CHAPTER XIV. An interview between parson Adams and parson Trulliber. PARSQ.N Ailams came to the house of parson Trul- liijer, whom he found stript into his waistcoat, with an apron on, and a pail in his hand, just come from serving his hogs ; for Mr, Trulliber was a^arson on SundaySjJ)ut all the other six days might more pro- perly be called a farmer. He occupied a small piece of land of his own, besides which he rented a con- siderable 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 attend- ed 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, with- out stuffing. Add to this, that the r,otujidity of his belly was considerably increased by the shortness of Eis stature, his shadow ascending very neaF 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 180 JOSEPH ANDhEWS. had a stateliness in his gait, when he walked, not un- hke that of a goose, only he -stalked slower. Mr.Trulliber being informed that somebody want- ed to speak with him, immediately slipped oflF his apron, and clothed himself in an old night-gown, be- ing the dress in which he always saw his company ai home. His wife, who informed him of Mr. Adams's arrival, had made a small mistake ; for she had told her husband. She believed here was a man come for some of his hogs. O'his supposition made Mr. Trul- liber hasten with the utmost expedition to attend his guest. He no sooner saw Adams, than, not in the least doubting the cause of his errand to be what his wife had imagined, he told him, he was come-in very good time ; that he expected a dealer that very after- noon ; and added, they were all pure and fat, and upwards of twenty score a-piece. Adams answered. He believed he did not know him. Yes, yes, cried TruUiber, I have seen you often at fair ; why we have dealt before now, mun, I warrant you. Yes, yes, cried 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 ba- con 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 I gate, he pushed Adams into a pig-stye, insisting on it that he should handle them before he would talk one word with him. AdamSjwhose natural complacence 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 alongin the mire. Trulliber, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 181 instead of assisting him 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 complacence far enough, was no sooner on his legs than he escaped out of the reach of the animals, and cried out. Nil habeo cum porcis : 1 am a clergyman, sir, and am not come to buy hogs. Trulliber answered. He was sorry / for the mistake ; but that he must blame his wife ; abiding. She was a fool, and always committed blun-! ders. He then desired him to walk in and clean him- self; that he would only fasten up the stye and fol- low him. 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 husband bid her be quiet like a fool as she was, or she would commit more blunders, andthen directed Adams tothepump. While Adams was thus employed, Trulliber, conceiv- ing 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 draw a little of the worst ale. After a short silence, Adams said, I'?ancy, sir, you already perceive me to be a clergyman. Aye, aye, cries Trulliber, grinning, I perceive you have some cassock ; 1 will notventure to caale it a whole one. Adams answered. It was in- deed noneof the best; but he had the misfortune to\ tear it about ten years ago in passing over a stile. /. 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 VOL. XVIII. R i 182 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 TruUiber ; for I assure you I don't /love to see clergymen on foot ; it is not seemly, nor I suiting the dignity of the cloth. Here TruUiber made I "a long oration on the dignity of the cloth (or rather \ gown), not much worth relating, till his wife had spread the table, and set a mess of porridge on it for his breakfast. He then said to Adams, 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. TruUiber waiting behind her husband's chair, as was, itseems, hercus- j torn. TruUiber ate heartily, but scarce put any thing in his mouth without finding fault with his wife's cook- 4^ ery. All which the poor woman bore patiently. In- deed, 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 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 partlyby that whichhe receivedfromthe parish. She / had, in short, absolutely submitted, and now wor- shipped her husband, as Sarah did Abraham, calling I hira (not lord, but) master. Whilst they were at ta- ble, 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 183 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 1 caale vurst. As soon as their breakfast was ended, Adams be* gan 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 pari- shioners, towards my own cure ; we stopped at a house of hospitality in the parish, where they direct- ed 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 f could buy them both. Sir, cries Adams, I rejoice IhereBt. Now, sir, mybusiness is, that we are by various accidents stript of our mo- ney, 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, lam convinced you will joyfully embrace such an opportunity of laying up a treasure in a better place than any this world affords. Suppose a stranger, who entered the chambers of a lawyer, being imagined a client, when the lawyer was preparing his palm for the fee, should pull out a writ against him. Suppose an apothecary, at the door of a chariot containing some 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 ir , or Esq. with a goodbroom- 5^. r2 1.84< JOSEPH ANDREWS, 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. { 4;he supposition of waiting. In short, suppose what I you will, you never can nor will suppose any thing 1 equal to the astonishment which seized on TruUiberiy as soon as Adams had ended his speech. A while Ke rolled his eyes in silence;sometimes surveying A dams, 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 Jay 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 trea- sure ! what matters where a man's treasure is, whose heart is in the Scriptures? there is the treasure of a christian. At these words the water ran from Adams's eyes; and catching Trulliberby thehand ina rapture. Brother, sayshe, heavens bless the accidentby 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, 1 fan- cy, 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, O 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 hi* JOSEPH ANDREWS. 185 life? h e is a b eg gar, a ngr^plmr.g 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 e^dsted ? Is there in the world such a sceptic as to disbelieve the madness of Cardenio, the perfidy of Ferdinand, the impertinent curiosity of An- selmo, theweakness of Camilla, the irresolute friend- ship of Lothario; though perhaps, as to the time and place where those several persons lived, that good his- torian may be deplorably deficient. But the most known instance of this kind is in the true history of Gil Bias, where the inimitable biographer hath made a notorious blunder in the country of Dr. Sangrado, who used his patients as a vintner doth his wine-ves- sels, by letting out their blood, and filling them up with water. Doth not every one, who is the least versed in physical history, know that Spain was not the country in which this doctor 1 ived ? The same wri - T 2 208 JOSEPH ANDREWS. ter hath likewise erred in the country of his archbi- shop, 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 LePaisan Par- \ venu, 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 im- ^. mense romances, or the modern novel and Atalantis I' 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 other- wise, that perhaps they merit the highest ; for what can be nobler than to be as an example of the wonder- ful extent of human genius? One may apply to them , t what Balzac says of Aristotle, that theyare a second i nature (for they have no communication with the j first; by which authors of an inferior class, who I cannot stand alone, are obliged to support them- ^ selves, as with crutches): 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 Chao!> and old Night. But to return to the former class, who are con- tented 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 achieve- -^ mentsoftherenownedDonQuixote^ moreworthy the name of a history than evQn Mariana's: for where- \ JOSEPH ANDREWS. 209 as the Fatter is confined to a particular period of time, and to a particular nation : the former is the history of the world in general, at least that part which is polished by laws, arts, and sciences ; and of that from the time it was first polished to this day ; nay, and forwards as long as it shall so remain. I shall now proceed to apply these observations to the work before us ; for indeed I have set them down principally to obviate some constructions, which the good-nature of mankind, who are always forward to see their friends' virtues recorded, may put to particu- lar 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 frona ; life ? [To which I answer in the affirmative ; nay, I belFeve I might aver, that I havewriTlittle more than I have seen.j 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, j He hath not indeed confined himself to one profession, one re- ligion, or one country ; butwhen the first mean selfish creature appeared on the human stagey 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 en- deavours to mimic some little obscure fellow, because he happens to resemble him in one particular feature, T 3 4 210 JOSEPH ANDREWS. -- 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; hut to hold theglass to thousands in their closets, that fthey may contm4)[ate their d_efo.rmity, and endeavour \to reduce ft, and thus by suffering private mortificar tion may avoid public shame. This places the I boundary between, and distinguishes, the satiri^t^ I 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 consi- dered ; as the drapery of a picture, which though fa- shion varies at different times, the resemblance of the countenance is not by 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 thebaratan 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 under- standing, hath glimmered forth in a man, that man hath been no other than her sneaking husband. I shall detain my reader no longer thantogivehim one caution more of an opposite kind : for as in most of our^articular characters we mean not to lash indi- viduals, but all of the like sort; so in our general de- scriptions, we mean not univerSals, but would be un- derstood with many exceptions : for instance, in our JOSEPH ANDREWS. 211 description of high people, we cannot be intended to include such as, whilst they are an honour to their high rank, by a well-guided condescension make their sQperiority as easy as possible to those whom fortune chiefly hath placed below them. Of this number I could name a peer no less elevated by nature than by fortune; who, whilst he wears the noblest ensigns of honour on his person, bears the truest stamp of dignity on his mind, adorned with greatness, enriched with knowledge, and embel- lished 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 divesthimself of an inherent great- ness 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 from the life, and not in- tended to exceed it. By those high people there- fore whom I have described, I mean a set of wretches, who, while they 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 indigna- tion, than that of a fellow, 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. 212 JOSEPH ANDREWS. And now, reader, taking these hints along with you, you may, if you please, proceed to the sequel of this _gur true history. CHAPTER II. A night scene, iKliereiti several txionderful adventures bejel Adams and hisjelloto-travellers. It was so late when our travellers left the inn or ale- house (for it might be called either), that they had not travelled many miles before night overtook them, or met them, which you please. The reader must excuse me, if I am not particular as to the way they took ; for as we are now drawing near the seat of the /Boobies, and as that is a ticklish name, which mali- ( cious persons may apply, according to their evil in- ( clinations, to several worthy country 'squires, a race of men whom we look upon as entirely inoiFensive, \ and for whom we have an adequate regard, we shall \ end 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 could walk no further. Joseph immediately pre- vailed with Parson Adams, who was as hthk as a bee, to stop. He had no sooner seated himself, than he lamented the loss of his dear ^Eschylus ; f 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 visi- ble. This was a circumstance, however, very favour- able to Joseph ; for Fanny, not suspicious of being, overseen by Adams, gave a loose to her passion whichi she had never done before, and, reclining her head on j JOSEPH ANDREWS. 213 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 light ? Joseph answered, He had. And did you not mark how it vanished? returned he : though 1 am not afraid of ghosts, I do not absolutely disbelieve them. He then entered into a meditation on those un-l substantial 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 him- self to the care of Providence ; and poor Fanny, who likewise heard those terrible words, embraced Jo- seph 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 crab- stick, his only weapon, and coming up to Joseph, would have had him quit Fannj^, 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 214< JOSEPH ANDREWS. die in his arms. Joseph, .clasping her with inexpres- sible eagerness, whispered her, that he preferred death in hers to life out of them. Adams brandish- ing his crabstick, said, he despised death as much as any man, and then repeated aloud, Est hie, 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 would'st thou have ? He had no soon- er spoke than he heard one of the voices cry out, D n them, here they come ; and soon after heard several hearty blows, as if a number of men had been engaged at quarterstaff. He was just ad- vancing 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 over- taken, 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 them- selves on the descent of a very steep hill. Adams's foot slipping, he instantly disappeared, which great- ly 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 215 rolling down the hill ; which he did from top to bot- tom, without receiving any harm. He then halloed 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 Adams soon came to them. Learn hence, my fair countrywomen, to consider your own weakness, and the many occasions oii\ which the strength of a man maybe useful to you ;)j^ and duly weighing this, take care that you match not yourselves with the spindle-shanked beaux and petit-mattres of the age, who, instead of being able, like Joseph Andrews, to carry you in lusty arms through the rugged ways and downhill steeps of life, will rather want to support their feeble limbs with your strength and assistance. Our travellersnow moved forwards where the near- est light presented itself: and having crossed a com- mon field, they came to a meadow, where they seem- ed 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 or- chard, 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. 216 JOSEPH ANDREWS. Adams, who was foremost, performed this ceremo- ny ; 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 ap- prehensions, from 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 then ushered them into a very decent room, where his wife was sitting at a t^- ble : 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 re- fresh 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 Fan- ny. Whilst he was gone to fill a very large jug with this liquor, his wife told Fanny she seemed greatly fa- tigued, and desired her to take something stronger than ale ; but she 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 com- pany 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 neighbourhood ? 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 217 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 ; Fanny was more afraid of men ; and the good woman herself began to suspect her guests, and imagined those without were rogues be- longing to their gang. At length the master of the house returned, and, laughing, told Adams he ha(t\ discovered his apparition ; that the murderers were j sheep-stealers,andthe twelve persons murdered were / no other than twelve sheep ; adding, that the shep-- herds 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 surveyed his guests, and conceiving that the cassock, which having fallen down appeared under Adams's great-coat, and the shabby livery on Joseph Andrews did not well suit with 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 hor nest man was his footman. Sir, answered Adams, I am a clergyman, at your service ; but as to that young man, whom you have rightly termed honest, he is at present in 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 should be ashamed of my clotli, if I thought a poor VOL. XVIII. V 218 JOSEPH ANDREWS. / man, who is honest, below my notice or my familia- V rity. I know not how those who think otherwise can profess themselves followers and servants of him who made no distinction, unless peradventure by preferring the poor to the rich. Sir, said he, ad- dressing 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 some- thing singular enough in their history, but I have not now time to recount it. The master of the house, notwithstanding the simplicity which disco- vered 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 clergj^man 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 ! 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 lan- guage, 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 iEschylus ? an unlucky misfortune lately happened to mine. JEs- chylus 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, His ques- * tion would be properer. What kind of beauty was the I 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 applied to a great poet: He ought to comprehend alljpeifections. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 219 Homer did this in the most excellent degree : it is not without reason, therefore, that the philosopher, in the twenty-secondchapter of his Poetics, mentions him by no other appellation than that of the Poet. . He was the father of the drama, as well as of the epic:\ not of tragedy only, but of comedy also ; for his Mar- j gites, which is deplorably lost, bore, says Aristotle, / the same anology to comedy, as his Odyssey and Iliad to tragedy. To him, therefore, we owe Aris- tophanes, as well as Euripedes, Sophocles, and my poor i^schylus. 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 Odys- sey. First then, as to his subject, can any thing be more simple, and at the same time more noble ? He is rightly 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 com - prehend at one view. I have therefore often won- dered why so correct a writer as Horace should, in his epistle to Lollius, call him the Trojani Belli Scrip- torem. Secondly, his action, termed by Aristotle, Pragmaton Systasis; is it possible for the mind of man to conceive an idea of such perfect unity, and at the same time so replete with greatness ? And here I must observe, what I do not remember to have seen noticed by any, theHarmotton, that agreement of his action to his subject: for as the subject isangeri how agreeable is his action, which is war; from which every incident arises, and to which every episode im4*^ mediately relates. Thirdly, his manners, which Ari^ stotle 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 ad- mire the exactness of his judgement in the nice di- u2 220 JOSEPH ANDREWS. stinction, or theimmensity of his imagination in their variety. For, as to the former of these, how sccu- rately is the sedate, injured resentment of Achilles distinguished from the hot, insulting passion of Aga- memnon ! 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 reflexion and experience,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 scarcea 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 readerwhich he cannot raise." If he hath any superior excellence to the rest, I havebeen inclined to fancy it is in the pathetic. I am sure I never read with dry eyes the two episodes where Andromache is intro- duced ; 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 Adromache, which he hath put into the mouth of Tecmessa. 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, pro- priety ; and as to the latter, Aristotle, whom doubt- less 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 221 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 ascene like that in the 13th and l^th Iliads? where the reader sees at one view the prospect of Troy, 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 pas- sage, 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 rapped out a hundred Greek verses, and with such a voice, emphasis, and action, that he almost frightened 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 Ijishop in his house. He ran into the most extrava- gant 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 wo- man, 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 fire-side, he would sit up with the men, and tlie 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 that 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 u 3 222 JOSEPH ANDUEWS. all the preceding ! so that love itself was scarce able to keep her eyes open any longer. The offer there- fore being kindly accepted, the good woman produc- ed 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 i 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 Jo- seph, who would modestly have withdrawn, had not the gentleman insisted on the contrary, dreil^ roundthe fire-side, where Adams (to use his own words) reple- nished his pipe, and the gentleman produced a bottle of excellent beer, being the best liquor in his house. Themodestbehaviour of Joseph, with the grace- fulness of his person, the character which Adams gave of him, and the friendship he seemed to enter- tain for him, began to work on the gentleman's affec- tions, and raised in him a curiosity to know the sin- gularity which Adams had mentioned in his history. This curiosity Adams was no sooner informed of, than, with Joseph's consent, he agreed to gratify it ; , and accordingly related all he knew, with as much tenderness as was possible for the character of Lady Booby; and concluded with the long, faithful, and mutual passion between him and Fanny, not concealing the meanness of her birth and education. These latter circumstances entirely cured a jealousy which had lately risen in the gentleman's mind, that Fanny was the daughter of some person of fashion, and that Joseph had run away with her, and Adams was concerned in the plot. He was now enamour- ed of his guests, drank their healths with great cheerfulness, and returned many thanks to Adams, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 223 who had spent much breath, for he was a circum- stantial teller of a story. Adams told him it was now in his power to return that favour ; for this extraordinary goodness, as well as that fund of literature he was master of,* which he did not expect to find under such a roof, had raised in him more curiosity than he had ever known. Therefore, said he, if it be not too 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 m. In luhich the gentleman relates the history of his life. Sir, I am descended of a good family, and wasborn a gentleman. My education was liberal, and at a pub- lic school, in which I proceeded so far as to become master of the Latin, and to be tolerably versed in the Greek language. My father died when I was sixteen, and left me master of myself. He bequeathed me a * The author bath 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 haih shown none, unless his approbation of Mr. Adams be such: but surely it would be preposterous in him to call it so. 1 have, however, notwithstanding this criticism, which I am told came from the mouth of a great orator in a public coffee- house, 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 ob- t^ervatioD which M. Dacier makes in iier preface to her Aris- tophanes : Je tiens pour une maxime constante qu'une beauts mediocre plait plus generaletnent qu'une beauts sans defaut. Mr. Cnngreve bath made such anoiher blunder in his Love for Love, where Tattle tells Mrs. Prue, She should admire him as much for the beauty he commends in her as if he him- ^elf was possessed of it. f ; 224) JOSEPH ANDREWS. * moderate fortune, which he intended I should not re- ceive 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 ob- gcurely worded in his will that the lawyers advised me to contest my point with my trustees, I own I paid so little regard to the inclinations of my dead father, which were sufficiently certain to nie, 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 nttle 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 be- \ sides the obvious mischiefs which attend this, there , ' is one which hath not been so generally observed : I 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 es- tablish your future reputation ? A little under seventeen I left my school, and went to London, with no more than six pounds in my poc- ket : a great sum, as I then conceived ; and which I was afterwards surprised to find so soon consumed. The character I was ambitious of attaining was that of a fine gentleman ; the first requisites to which, I apprehended, were to be supplied by a tailor, a peri- wig-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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. a 225 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 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 andjtime, I com- forted myself, with regard to dancing, that I had learned a little in my youth, and could walk a minuet genteely enough; as to fencing, I thought my good- humour would preserve me from the dangerofaquar- , rel; as to the horse, I hoped it would not be thought I of; and for music, I imagined I could easily acquire ' the reputation of it ; for J had heard some of my scoolfellows pretend to knowledge in operas, without being able to sing or play on the fiddle. Knowledge of the town seemed another ingredi- ent ; this I thought I should arrive at by frequenting public places. Accordingly I paid constant attend- ance to them all ; by which means I was soon mas- ter 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 s 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 ! Not so wicked as you imagine, continued the gen- tleman ; for I assure you, they were all Vestal vir- gins for any thing which I knew to thecontrary. The reputationjrfiqtji^ing with them all I sought,. 226 JOSEPH ANDREWS. and was what I arrived at : and perhaps I only flattered myself even in that; for very probably the persons to whom I showed their billets knew as well as I that they were counterfeits, and that I had written them to myself. Write letters to yourself! saidAdams,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 employ ed,to traduce the character of women of distinction. When another had spoken in raptures of any one, I have answered D n her, she! We shall have her at H d's very soon. When he hath replied. He thought her vir- tuous, I have answered, Ay, thou wilt always think a woman virtuous, till she is in the streets; 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, cry- ing at the same time, By Gad I was once fond of her. Proceed if you please, but do not swear 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 serve, I believe, as well for any other during the whole time. I will endeavour to repeat it to you. In the morning I arose, took my great stick, and walked out in my green frock, with my hair in papers (a groan from Adams), and sauntered about till ten. Went to the auction ; told lady she had a dirty face ; laughed heartily at something captain said, 1 can't remember what, for 1 did not very well JOSEPH ANDREWS. 227 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, drest myself. A groan. 4 to 6, dined. A groan. 6 to 8, coffee-house. 8 to 9, Drury-Lane playhouse. 9 to 10, Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 10 to 12, Drawing-room. A great groan. \ At all which places nothing happened worth re^/ mark, / . At which Adams said, with some vehemence, Sir, / this is below the life of an animal hardly above vege- tation ; and I am surprised what could lead a man of \ your sense into it. What leads us into more follies than youimagine,doctor, answered the gentleman, vanity; for as contemptible a creature as I was, and I assure you yourself cannot have more contempt for such a wretch than I now have, I then admired my-* self, and should have despised a person of your present i appearance (you will pardon me) with all your learn-/ ing, and those excellent qualities which I have remark-" edinyou. Adamsbowed, andbeggedhimtoproceed. 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 1 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. Af- ter this I observed a strange coldness in all my ac- quaintance; 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, 228 JOSEPH ANDREWS. as if I had been in a desert. An honest elderly man, with a great hat and long sword, at last told me, he had a compassion for my youth, and therefore advised me to show the world 1 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 chari- table 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 conse- quences on both sides as fairly as I could. On the one, I sawtherisk of this alternative, either losing my own life, or having on my hands the blood of a man with whom I was notin the least angry. I soon deter- mined, 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, where I took chambers. Here I soon got a fresh set of ac- quahitance, who knewnothing of whathad happened to me. Indeed they were not greatly to my approba- tion; for the beaux of the Temple are only the sha- dows of the others. They are the affectation of affec- tation. The vanity of these is still more ridiculous, if possible, than of the others. Here I met with smart fellows who drank with lords they did not know, and intrigued with women they never saw. Covent-Gar- j den was now the furthest stretch of my ambition ; where! shone forth in the balconies of the playhouses, 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 further conversation with beaux and smarts of every kind, and to avoid, if possible, any occasion of returning to this place of confinement, I think, JOSEPH ANDKEWS. 229 said Adams, the advice of a month's retirement and reflexion was very proper ; but I should rather have expected it from a divine than a surgeon. The gen- tleman smiled at Adams's simplicity, and withoutN explaining himself further on such an odious subject, went on thus : I was no sooner perfectly restored in health, than I found my passion for women, which I was afraid to satisfy as I had done, made me very un- easy ; I determined therefore to keep a mistress. Nor was I long before I fixed my choice on a young wo- man, who had before been kept by two gentlemen, 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, be- fore quarter-day, I found her at my chambers in too familiar conversation with a young fellowj who was drestlike an officer, but was indeed a city apprentice. Instead of excusing her inconstancy, she rapped out half a dozen oaths, and snapping her fingers at me, swore she scorned to confine herself to the best man inEngland. 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 beau- tiful young girl, the daughter of a gentleman, who, after having been forty years in the army, and in all the campaigns under the Duke of Marlborough, died a lieutenant on half-pay ; and had left a widow with this only child, 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 j for shehadgreatexcellenceat herneedle. Thisgirlwas, 230 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 motherwas greatly pleased with this match, as indeed she had sufficient reason. However, I soon prevented it. I represented him in so Iowa 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 pre- vailed 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 j across the room, and then replaced himself in the i chair.) You are not more affected with this part of my story than myself: I assure you it will never be sufficientlyrepentedof inmy own opinion: but if you already detest it, how much more will your indigna- tion be raised, when you hear the fatal consequences of this barbarous, this villainous action ? If you please, j therefore, I will here desist. By no means, cries 1 Adams ; go on, I beseech you ; and Heaven grant ' you may sincerely repent ofthis and many other things you have related. I was now, continued the gentle- man, as happy as the possession of a fine young crea- ture, 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 notcontinue always; and though I still preserved great affection for her, 1 began more and more to want the relief of other 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 introdu ced her into the acquaintance of some other kept mis tresses, with whom she used to play at cards, and fre- 3 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 231 quent plays and other diversions. She had not lived long in this intimacy, before I perceived a visible alte- ration in her behaviour ; all her modesty and inno- cence vanished by degrees, till her mind became tho- roughly 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 1 demurred to any of her demands, oaths, tears, and fits were the im- mediate consequences. As the first raptures of fond-, ness were long since over, this behaviour soon es- , tranged my affections from her ; I began to reflect 1 with pleasure that she was not my wife, and to con- i ceive 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 according- ly departed herself, having first broken open the es- critoire, and taken with her all she could find, to the amount of about 200/, In the first heat of my re- sentment, I resolved to pursue her with all the ven- geance of the law : but as she had the good luck to escape me Viuring 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 j that the poor old woman her mother had broke her heart onher daughter's elopement from her,I conclud-- ing m}'?elf her murderer, (as you very well might, cries Adams, with a groan ;) was pleased that God Al- mighty 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 abandoned profligate, and, after being some years a common prostitute, at last ended her miserable life in Newgate. Here the gentlemaa x2 232 JOSEPH ANDREWS. ^etched a deep sigh, which Mr. Adams echoed very 'oudly ; and both continued silent, looking on each other for some minutes. At last the gentleman pro- ceeded thus : I had been perfectly constant to this girl during the whole time I kept her : but she had scarcely departed, before I discovered more marks of her infidelity to me than theloss 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 did not compen- sate the pain, and railed at the beautiful creatures in as gross language as Juvenal himself formerly reviled them in. 1 looked on all the town harlots with a de- testation not easy to be conceived ; their persons ap- peared 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 rea- sons 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>Sap{)liira, whi ch having once entered upon, made a violent progress in my heart. Sapphira was wife to amanoffashionand 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 rtcAeree. Pray, sir, says Adams, what is a coquette ? I have met with the word in French authors, but never could assign any idea to it. I believe it is the same with une sotte, Anglice, a fool. Sir, 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 ofcreationaccordingto their 5 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 233 usefulness, I know few animals that would not take place of a coquette : nor indeed hath this creature much pretence to any tiling beyond instinct ; for though sometimes we might imagine it was animated Ixy the passion of vanity, yet far the greater part of its actions fall beneath even tliat low motive; for in- stance, several absurd gestures and tricks, infinitely more foolish that what can be observed in the most i 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 i 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, ill-breeding, 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 judgement of them is, that they are never what they seem. If it was possible for a coquette to love (as it is not, for if ever it attains this passion the coquette ceases instantly), it would wear the face of indifference, if not of hatred, to the beloved object ; you may therefore be assured, when they endeavour to persuade you of their liking, that they are indiffe- rent 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 x3 234; JOSEPH ANDREWS. played at whist with her, she would look earnestly at j me, aftd at the same time lose deal or revoke ; then I burst into a ridiculous laugh, and cry. La ! I can't imagine what I was thinking of. To detain you no longer, after I had gone through a suflScient 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 im- mediately 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 resent- ment than by never seeing, or at least speaking to her more. I was not contented with this answer; I still I pursued her ; but to no purpose ; and was at length convinced that her husband had the sole possession of I her person, and that neither he nor any other had made any impression on her heart. I was taken off from following this igiiis Jatuus 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 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 con- trary, they instantly produced her an eager and desir- ing 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 under- stood one another; and as the pleasures we sought lay JOSEPH ANDREWS. 235 in a mutual gratification, we soon found and enjoyed them, I thought myself at first greatly happjt^in the possession of this newmistress, whose fondness would have quickly surfeited a more sickly appetite; but it had a different effect on mine : she carried my pas- sion higher by it than youth or beauty had been able. But my happiness could not long continue uninter- rupted. The apprehensions we lay under from the \ jealousy of her husband gave us great uneasiness. Poor wretch ! I pity him, cried Adams. He did in- deed 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 appre- hensions 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 reco- vered 3000^. 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 trou- blesome. At length death rid me of an inconveni- ence, which the consideration of my having been the author of her misfortunes, would never suffer me toTalce'miy 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 ofasetof jolly companions, who slept all day, and drank all night; fellows who might rather be said to consume time than to live. Their best conversation was nothing but noise ; singing, holloing, wrangling, drinking, toasting, sp wing, smoking, were the chief ingredients of our entertain- ment. And yet, bad as they were, they were more tolerable than our graver scenes, which were either excessive, tedious narratives of dull common matters of fact, or hot disputes about trifling matters, which 236 JOSEJPH ANDREWS. commonly endedin a wager. Thisway of life the first serious reflexion put a period to ; and I became mem- ber to a club frequented by young men of great abili- ties. The bottle was now only called in to the assis- tance of our conversation, which rolled on the deep- est points of philosophy. These gentlemen were en- gaged in a search after truth, in the pursuit of which they threw aside all the prejudices of education, and governed themselves only by the infallible 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 cer- I tain rule of right, by adhering to which they all ar- \ rived at the utmost purity of morals. Reflexion 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 more charmed with this rule of right, as I really found in my own nature nothing repugnant to it. I held in utter con- tempt all persons who wanted any other inducement to virtue, besides her intrinsic beauty and excel- lence ;j^nd 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 de- lightful dream, two or three accidents happened successively, which at first much surprised me ; for, j one of ourgreatest philosophers, or rule-of-right men, withdrew himself from us, taking with him the wife ofone 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 Tasked him to repay it, absolutely denied the loan. These several practices, so inconsistent with our golden rule, made me begin to suspect its infalli- JOSEPH ANDUEWS. 237 bility ; but when I communicated my thoughts to one of the club, he said, There was nothing abso- ^ lutely good or evil in itself; that actions were deno- - minated 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 good in- clinations, 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 himself; 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 fre- quenter 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 engage- ments at the taverns. Some of the players were like- wise of our parties. At these meetings we were ge- nerally 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 ciril 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 con- cluded that the general obvervatioH, that wits are most inclined to vanity, is not true. Men are equally vain of riches, strength, beauty, honours, &c. But these appear of themselves to the eyes of the be- holders, whereas the poor wit is obliged to produce his performance to shew you his perfection ; and on his readiness to do this, that vulgar opinion I have be- 238 JOSEPH ANDREWS. fore 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 self-denial, labour, or even villainy, by a title or a ribband, sacrifice as r . muchto vanity as the poorwitwho 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 selfish- ness is much more general than we please to allow it; \ 60 it is natural to hate and envy those who stand be- tween us and the good we desire. Now, in lust 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, ren- ders 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 gen- /\ tleman asking him what he was searching for ? he said he searched after a sermon, which he thought I j his masterpiece, against vanity. Fie upon it, fie upon lit, cries he, why do I ever leave that sermon out of Imy pocket? 1 wish it was within five miles, I would Willingly fetch it, to read it 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 y//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 1 easily passed to that of the gamesters, where nothing remarkable happened but the finish- ing my fortune, which those gentlemen soon helped me to the end of. This opened scenes of life hitherto unknown ; poverty and distress, with their horrid train of duns, attorneys, baihffs, haunted me day JOSEPH ANDREWS. 239 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 Lhad 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 pro- duced 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 resolv- ing to follow a precedent which was so well suited to my present circumstances, I immediately pro- vided myself with a large number of Uttle papers. Happy indeed would be the state of poetry, would these tickets pass current at the bakehouse, the ale- house, and the chandler's-shop : but, alas ! far other- wise ; no tailor will take them in payment for buck- ram, canvas, stay-tape ; nor no* bailiff for civility- money. They are, indeed, no more than a passport to beg with ; a certificate that the owner wants five shillings, which induces well-disposed christians to i charity. I now experienced what is worse than po- ' verty, or rather what is the worst consequence of poverty, I mean attendance and dependence on the great. Many a morning have I waited 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 cometimes told, on sending in my name, that my lord could not possibly see me this morning ; a suf- ficient assurance that I should never more get en- trance into that house. Sometimes 1 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 au- 240 JOSEPH ANDREWS. thors for the best works, was so very small, that cer- tain men of birth and fortune some years ago, who were the patrons of wit and learning, thought fit to encourage them further, 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 so easy a method of getting money, that many of the lowest scribblers of the times ventured to pub- lish 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 from 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 i they subscribed ; which many have done, and many more have pretended to have done, in order to silence all solicitation. 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 encouragement of men of merit, ought to be tied up in reality. Well, sir, says the gentleman, to return to my story. Sometimes 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 pur- chased too with as much time spent in attendance, as, if it had been spent in honest industry, might have 1 Jbrought me more profit with infinitely more satisfac- ! jtion. After about two months spent m this disagree- able way, with the utmost mortification, when I was JOSEPH ANDREWS, 24i pluming my hopes on the prospect of a plentiful har- vest 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 would take it and revise it against the next.theywouldbeglad to seeit again. Isnatched it from him with great indignation, and retired to my room, where I threw myself on the bed in a fit of de- spair. 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 with- out 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 lawye'rs ; for which I was well qualified, being an excellent penman. This purpose I resolved on, and immediately put it into 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 laugh- ed 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 from others, I found that Platohimself did nothold poets in 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, which, when not,/ weeded out, or at least covered by a good education Y ^^42 JOSEPH ANDREWS. /and politeness, delights in making another uneasy or dissatisfied with himself. This abundantlyappears in all assemblies, except those which are filled by people I of fashion, and especially among the younger people i of both sexes, whose birth and fortunes place them I just without the polite circles; I mean the lower cjgiss of the gentry, and the higher of the mercantile world, jwho are, in reality, the worst bred part of mankind. Well, sir, whilst I continued in this miserable state, with scarce sufficient business to keep me from starv- ing, the reputation of a poet being my bane, I acci- dentally became acquainted with a bookseller, who told me, It was a pity a man of my learning and ge- nius 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 pro- vide 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 half- worked 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 j me amends for the injuries she had done me at the I gaming-tab^je. This purchase being made, left me JOSEPH ANDREWS. 24S almost pennyless ; when, as if I had not been suffi- ciently miserable, a bailiff in woman's clothes got admittance to my chamber, whither he was directed by the bookseller. He 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 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 yom* circumstances would not permit you to pay him. Oh, sir, answered the gentleman, he knew that before he arrested me ; nay, he knew that no- thing but incapacity could prevent me 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 assuances 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 imme- diately, or find security, I must lie in jail, and ex-^ pect 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 ! 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. y2 244? JOSEPH ANDREWS. He ceased, and the gentleman proceeded. While I wasinthisdeplorable situation, aformeracquaintance, to whom I had communicated my lottery-ticket, 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 SOOO/. Adams snapped his fingers at these words in an ecstasy of joy ; which, however, did not continue long, for the gentleman thus proceeded : Alas ! 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 unfortunate sale, he began to re- vile me, and remind me of all the ill conduct and mis- carriages 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 weak- ness 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 dis- posed of my ticket. I urged the plea of necessity ; but he made no answer to that, and began again tore- vile me, till I could bear it no longer, and desired him to finish his business. I soon exchanged the bailiff's house for a prison; where, as I had not money suffi- cient to procure me a separate apartment,! was crowd- ed in with a great number of miserable wretches, in common with whom I was destitute of every conve- nience 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 as- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 245 slstance; but in vain. An excuse, instead of a denial, was the gentlest answer I received. Whilst I lan- guished 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 in- quiring me out, delivered me the following letter : "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. 1 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 de-: sire your acceptance of the enclosed, and am " Your humble servant, " HARRIET HEARTY." And what do you think was enclosed ? I don't know, cries Adams; not less than a guinea, I hope. Sir, it was a bank-note for 200/. 2001. says Adams, in a rapture. No less, I assure you, answered the gentleman ; a sum I was not half so delighted with, as with the dear name of the generous girl that sent it me : and who was not only the best, but the hand- somest creature in the universe ; and for whom I had long had a passion, which 1 never durst disclose to her. I kissed her name a thousand times, my eyes overflowing with tenderness and gratitude ; I repeated But not to detain you with these raptures, I imme- diately 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 y3 24-6 JOSEPH ANDHEWS, reflection, pleased me ; for by that means I bad 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 acknow- ledgements ; which she rejected with an unfeigned greatness, 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 acci- dent 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 service- able 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 reflexions than poverty, distress, and prisons united, had been able to make me feel ; for, sir, these acts and profes- , sions of kindness, which were sufficient to have raised I in a good heart the most violent passion of friendship I to one of the same, or to age and ugUness 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 ra- ther 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 ! O Mr. Adams, in that moment I lost myself, andforgetting our differentsituations,nor considering what return I was making to her goodness, by desir- ing 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 24-7 lifting up my swimming eyes, I saw her faceandneck 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 trem- bling; her eyes cast on the ground, and mine stead- fastly fixed on her. Good G d, what was then the condition of my soul! burning with love, desire, ad- miration, 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 from me, asking me, with some show of anger, if she had any reason to expect this treatment from me. I then fell pro- strate 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 ray guilt. I detest the reflexion that I would have sacrificed your happiness to mine. Believe me, I sincerely repent my ingratitude; yet, believe me too, it was ray passion, my unbounded passion for you, which hurried me so far : 1 have loved you long and tenderly; and the goodness you have shown me hath innocently weighed down a wretch undone before. Acquit rae of all mean, mercenary views, and before I take ray leave of you for ever, which I am resolved instantly to do, believe me, that Fortune could have raised rae to no height to which I could not have gladly lifted you. O, cursed be Fortune ! Do not, says she, interrupting rae 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 rae, if you iraagine, as you seem, my happiness is in the power of Fortune now. You have obliged rae too much alrea- dy ; if I have any wish, it is for some blessed accident. 248 JOSEPH ANDREWS. by which I may contribute with my Hfe to the least augmentation of your felicity. As for 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 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, notwith- standing 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 atmyheart,rushedtumultuously through everyvein. 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. O, sir! can I describe her look ? She remained silent, and almost motionless, several minutes. At last, re- covering 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 relatingthe particulars of the formerinterview. ^ I So far otherwise, says Adams, licking his lips, that I f could willingly hear it over again. Well, sir, conti- nued 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 pre- sently at leisure enough to do), Ifoundit 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 249 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 decHning way, and my trade decreasing by little and little; for my wines, which I never adul- terated 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 gained double the profit by a less price. I soon began to despair of improving our for- tune by these means; nor was I at all easy at the vi- sits and familiarity of many who had been my ac- quaintance in my prosperity, but denied and shun- ned me in my adversity, and now very forwardly re- newed their acquaintance with me. In short, 1 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 busi- ness, from envy in getting it. My happiness consisted entirely in my wife, whom I loved with an inexpressi- ble 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 under three thousand pounds, into money, with part ofwhich 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, and love. We have here lived almost twenty years, with little other conver-*j sation 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 250 JOSEPH ANDREWS 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 Authqr 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 ten- derness 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, I 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 ! j sir, he was stolen away from my door, by .sorae_ wicked travelling people, whom they call Gipsies ;^ . nor could I ever with the most diligent search reco- ver him. Poor child! he had the sweetest look the exact picture of his mother ; at which some tears unwittingly dropped from his eyes, as did likewise from those of Adams, who always sympathized 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 IV. A description of Mr. Wilsoii's txiay^qf living. The tragical adventure of the dog, mid 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 gen- tleman inquired into his meaning ; he answered. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 251 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 you in that capacity. The gentleman answered, he should know him amongst ten thousand, for he had a mark on his left breast of a strawberry, which his motheir had given him by longing for that fruit. That beautiful young lady, the Morning, now rose from her bfed, and with a countenance blooming with fresh youth and sprightliness, like miss *, with soft dews hanging on her pouting lips, began to take her early walk over the eastern hills ; and presently af- ter, that gallant person, the Sun, stole softly from his wife's chamber to pay his addresses to her; when the gentlefnan asked his guest if he would walk forth and survey his little garden ; which he readily agreed to ; and Joseph at the same time awaking from a sleep, in which he had been two hours buried, went with them. No parterres, no fountains, no statues, embellished this little garden. Its only ornament was a short walk, shaded on each side by a filbert-hedge, with a small alcove at one end, whither in hot weather the gentleman aad his wife used to retire and divert themselves with their children, who played in the walk ^fore them. But though vanity had no votary in this little spot, ^ here was a variety of fruit, and every thing useful \ for the kitchen; which was abundantly suffici- ent 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 : what- ever you see^ere is the work solely of my own hands* Whoever the reader pleases. 252 JOSEPH ANDREWS. "Whilst I am providing necessaries for my table, I like- wiseprocure myself an appetite for them. In fair sea- sons, I seldom pass less than six hours in 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 pre- pares our breakfast; afterwhich we are seldom asun- der during the residue of the day ; for when the wea- ther willnot permit them to accompany me here, lam 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 infe- riority of understanding which the levity of rakes, the dullness 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 faithfuUer or braver friend. And sure, as thisfriendshipis sweetened withmoredelicacy and tenderness, so is it confirmed by dearer pledges than can attend the closest 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 can- not conceive the delight I have in my little ones. Would youiaot despise me, if you saw me stretched on the grouna, 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 on my own posteriors. And as to what you say concerning women, I have often lamented my own wife did not understand Greek. The gentleman JOSEPH ANDREWS, 253 emiled, and answered,- he would not be apprehended to insinuate that his own had an 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 cookeryorcon- fectionary 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 1 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 shallf 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 a retired life, might fall to their lot ; for I have expe- rienced, 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 hira blessing. They were shy to the strangers ; but the eldest acquainted her father, that her mother and the young gentlewoman were up, and that break- fast was ready. They all went in, where the gentle- man was surprised at the beauty of Fanny, who had now recovered herself from her fatiguAland was en- tirely clean dressed ; for the rogues wb had taken away her piu-se had left her her bundle. But if he was so much amazed at the beauty of this young crea- ture, 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 thesetotheirpa- rents These instances pleased the well disposed mind VOL. xvni. z Soi JOSEPH ANDREWS. of Adams, equally with the readiness which they ex* pressed to oblige their guests, and their forwardness to offer them the best of every thing in their house ; and what delighted him still more, was an instance or I two of their charity ; for whilst they were at break- I fast, the good woman was called 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; for they had no- thing which those who wanted it were not welcome to. These good people were in the utmost cheerful- ness, when they heard the report of a gun, and im- mediately 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 in- formed them, that the young 'squire, the son of the lord of the monor, 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 ex- pressed great agony at his loss; and the other children began to cry for their sister's misfortune ; nor could Fanny herself refrain. W hilst the father and mother attempted tojconifort her<^Adams grasped his crab- i stick, and Wciuld have sallied out after the 'squire, had not Joseph withheld him.*";* He could not, how- ever, 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, la- menting and carrying the dead favourite in her arms, out of the room ; when the gentleman said, this was JOSEPH ANDREWS. 255 the second time the 'squire had endeavoured to kill the little wretch, and had wounded him smartly once before ; adding, he could have no motive but ill-na- ture, 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. He said he had done nothing to deserve this usage ; but his father had too great a fortune to contend with : I that he was as absolute as any tyrant in the universe, and 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 gar- dens, with no more regard than if they were the high- way. I wish I could catch him in my garden, said Adams ; though I would rather forgive him riding through my house, thansuch anill-naturedactasthis. The cheerfulness of the conversation being inter- rupted 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 im- portuned them much to stay dinner ; but when he found their eagerness to depart, he summoned his wife ; and accordingly, having performed all the usual ceremonies of bows and curt'sies, 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. z2 256 JOSEPH ANDREWS. CHAPTER V. A disputation on schools, held on the road, between Mr. Abraham Adams and Joseph ; and a discovery not uwwelcome to them both. Our travellers having well refreshed themselves at the gentleman's house, Joseph and Fanny with sieep, and Mr. Abraham Adams with ale and tobacco, re- newed their journey with great alacrity ; and, pur- suing the road in which they were directed, travelled many miles before they met with any adventure worth relating. In this interval, we shall present our readers with a very curious discourse, as we appre- hend it, concerning public schools, which passed be- tween Mr. Joseph Andrewsand Mr. Abraham Adams. They had not gone far, before Adams, calling to Joseph, asked him, If he had attended to the gentle- man's story ; he answered. To all the former part. And don't you think, says he, he was a very unhappy man in his youth ? A very unhappy man, indeed, answered the other. Joseph, cries Adams, screwing up his mouth, I have found it ; 1 have discovered the 1 cause of all the misfortunes which befelhim: apubhc I school, Joseph, was the cause of all the calamities which he afterwards suffered. Public jBchoots are the nurseries of all vice and imnTBranty. 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 woiild never have preserved your virtue .as you have. The first care I always take, is of a boy's morals ; J had rather he should be a blockhead than an atheist or a presbyterian. What is all the learning of the JOSEPH ANDREWS. 257 world compared to his immortal soul ? What shall a man take in exchange for his soul ? But the mas- ters of great schools trouble themselves about no such thing. 1 have known a lad of eighteen at the university, who hath not been able to say his cate- chism ; but for my own part, I always scourged a lad sooner for missing that than any other lesson. Bb- \^ lieve me, child, all that gentleman's misfortunes / arose from his being educated at a public school. It doth not become me, answered Joseph, to dis- pute 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 ourj county. Yes, that, says Adams, I believe, is grant-| f ed me ; that I may without much vanity pretend to nay, I believe I may go to the next county too but gloriari non est meum. However, sir, as you are pleased to bid me speak, says Joseph, you know my late master. Sir Thomas Booby, was bred at a public school, and^he was the finest gentleman in all the neighbourhood. And 1 have often heard him say, if he had a hundred boys he would breed them all at the same place. It was his opinion, and I have often heard him deliver it, that a boy tiken from a public school, and carried into the world, will learn more in one year there, than one of a private education will infive. Heused to say, the school itself initiated him a great way (I remember that washis very expression), for great schools are little societies, where a boy of any observation may see in epitome what he will after- wards findin the worldatlarge. Hinc ilUelachrtfmce: for that very reason, quoth Adams, I prefer a pri- vate school, where boys may be kep^t in innocence and ignorance ; for, according to ttiat fine passage in the play of Gato, the only English tragedy I ever read, If knowledge of llie world must make men villains'. May Jubaever live in ignorance. Z3 2^/8 Joseph andreWs* Who would notratherpreserve thepurity of his child* than wish him to attain the whole circle of arts and sciences ? which, by the bye, he may learn in the classes of a private school ; for I would not be vain, but I esteem myself tobesecondtonone, nidlisecun- dum, 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 Jiature, 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 disci- plinarian ? I do presume to confer on 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 hnan ; remember I say nothing ; but if Sir Thomas Ihimself 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 rnust institute him in the knowledge of the world. Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. Joseph seeing JOSEPH ANDREWS* ^59 him run on in this manner, asked pardon many times, assuring him he had no intention to offend. / 1 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 ; nei- ther 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 most beautiful spots of ground in the universe. It was a kind of a natural amphitheatre formed by the winding of a small rivulet, which was planted with thick woods ; and the trees rose gra- dually 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 dis- posed 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 have raised romantic ideas in elder minds than those of Joseph and Fanny, without the assistance of love. Here they arrived about noon, and Joseph pro- posed to Adams that they should rest awhile in this delightful place, and refresh themselves with spme provisions which the good nature of Mrs. Wilson had provided them with. Adams made no objec- tion to the proposal ; so down they sat, and pulling out a cold fowl, and a bottle of wine, they made a repast with a cheerfulness which might have at- tracted 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 260 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 Ithe conveniency which it brought them, as for the Isake of thedoer, whoserewardwould be great in hea- jven. He likewise comforted himself with a reflection 'that he should shortly have an opportunity of return- ing it 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 immate- rial 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 Adamses miraculous escape. I HAVEoftenwondered,sir, said Joseph, to observe so few instances of charity among mankind ; for though the goodness of 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 261 expense, but an ambition to be respected more than other people ? Now, would not one great act of cha- rity, oneinstanceof redeeming a poor family from all the miseries of poverty, restoring an unfortunate tradesman by a sum of money to the means of pro- curing a livelihood by his industry, discharging an undone debtor from his debts or a gaol, or any such,, like example of goodness, create a man more honour. and respect than he could acquire by the finest house, furniture, pictures, orclothes, that we re ever beheld? Fornot 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 pos- sessor of all those other things ; which, when we so admire, we rather praise the builder, the workman, the painter, the lacemaker, the tailor, and the rest, by whose ingenuity they are produced, than the person who 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 J have never once thought of their owTrier, 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, orHogarthi, which I suppose were the names of the painters ; but if it was asked, Who redeemed suchanoneoutof prison? Who lent such a ruined tradesman money to set up? Who clothed that famil)'^ of poor small children ? -It is very plain what must be the answer. And besides, these great folks are mistaken, if th'ey 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 262 JOSEPH ANDREWS. ithe same in their families ; but I defy the wisest man jin the world to turn a true good action into ridicule. fl defy him to do it. He who should endeavour it, would be laughed at himself instead of makingothers 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 atwiclcedness, 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, an- swered Joseph. Some gentlemen of our cloth report charitable actions done by their lords and masters ; and I have heard' Squire Po^, the great poet, at my lady's table, tell stories ofa 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 gen- tleman hath built up a stately house too, which the 'squire likes very well ; but his charity is seen further than his house, though it stands on a hiH, ay, and brings him more honour too. It was his charity that put him in the book, where the *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 Mr. Joseph Andrew'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 I'arson Adams, especially as so man)?^ occasions offered themselves to exert his curio- sity 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 263 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 in one attitude, with his head reclining on one side, and his eyes cast on the ground, no sooner perceived, on looking up, the position of Adams, who was stretched on his back, and snored louder than the usual braying of the animal with long ears, than he turned towards Fanny, and taking her by the hand,^ began a dalliance, which, though consistent with thej purest innocence and decency, neither he would ihave 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 shcre, than it seated itself on its hinder legs and listened to the sound of the pursuers. Fanny was wonder- fully pleased with the little wretch, and eagerly longed to have it in her arms, that she might pre- serve 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 be- i held her, fled from the friend who would have pro- | tected it, and, traversing the meadows again, passed ' the little rivulet on the opposite side. It was, how- ever, so spent and weak, that it fell down twice or thrice in its way. This affected the tender heart of Fanny, who exclaimed, with tears in her eyes, against the barbarity of worrying a poor innocent defenceless animal out of its life, and putting it to the extremest torture for diversion. She had not much time to make reflections of this kind; for on 264 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 foot- steps 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, pro- ceeded after their sport, and left their friends and riders to invoke the assistance of Fortune, or eni- .^ploy 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 with- out staying to thank their kind assister, ran dripping across the meadow, calling to their brother sports- men to stop their horses ; but they heard them not. The hounds were now very little behind their poor reeling, staggering prey, which, fainting almost at every step, crawled through the wood, and had al- most 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 him- , self a sportsman in his youth, to attempt any thing 1 contrary to the laws of hunting in favour of the hare, 'which lie 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 JOSEPH ANDKEWS. 265 time applying their teeth to his wig, which he had with a handkerchief fastened to his head, began to pull him about ; and had not the motion of his body had more effect on him than seemed to be wrought by the noise, they must certainly have tasted his flesh, which delicious flavour might have been fatal to him ; but being roused by these tuggings, he in- stantly awaked, and with a jerk delivering his head from his wig, he with most admirable dexterity re- covered his legs, which now seemed the only mem- bers he could entrust his safety to. Having, there- fore, escaped likewise from at least a third part of his cassock, which be willingly left as his exuvice 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 he 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 man 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 unacquainted 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 and the entertainment of their ene- mies. But if persons of such heroic disposition are a little offended at the behaviourof 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 sports- men call it, come in, when Adams set out as we have before mentioned. This gentleman was generally 2 A h; 266 JOSEPH ANDREWS. said to be a greater lover of humour; but, not to mince the matter, especially as we are upon this sub- ject, 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 hooping as if a conquered foe was flying before him; in which he was imitated by those two or three couple of human or rather two-legged curs on horse- back which we have mentioned before. Now thou, whoever thou art, whether. a muse, or by what other name soever thou choosest tobe 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 immor- tal Gulliver;Xvho hast carefully guided the j udgemen t, whilst thou nast exalted the nervous manly style of thy Mallet j thou who hadst no hand in that dedi- cation and preface, or tke translations, which thou would'st 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 dis- tress 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 grand- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 267 father, 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 beaux 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 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. Nct^soQiier bad 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 skirt of his cassock, which being torn, hung to the ground. Reader, we would make a simile on this occasion, but for two reasons : the first is, it would interrupt the descrip- tion, 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 wc could find no simile adequate to 2 a2 268 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 Jo;;- seph Tindrev^'s; Let those therefore that describe lioirs"'anfr" tigers, and heroes fiercer than both, raise their poems or plays with the simile of Joseph An- drews, who is himself above the reach of any simile. Now llockwood had laid fast hold on the parson's skirts, and stopt his flight ; which Joseph no sooner j>erceived, than he levelled his cudgel at his head and laid him sprawling. Jowler and Hingwood then fell on his great coat, and had undoubtedly brought him to the ground, had not Joseph, collecting all his force, given Jowler such a rap on the back, that, quitting his hold, he ran howling over the plain. A harder fate remained for thee, O Ringwood ! Ringwood, the best hound that ever pursued a hare, who never threw his tongUe but where the scent was undoubt- edly true; good at trailing, and sure in a highway; no babbler, no overrunner ; 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 miles for a present, ran fiercely at Joseph and bit him by the leg : no dog was ever fiercer than she, being de- scended 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 I mentioned before, had not Diana (the reader nnay I beUeve or not if he pleases) in that instant inter- j posed, and, in the shape of the huntsman, snatched ' her favourite up in her arms. The parson now faced about, and with his crab- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 269 Stick felled many to the earth, and scattered others, till he was attacked by Caesar and pulled to the ground. Then Joseph flew to his rescue, and with sucih might fell on the victor, that, O eternal blot to his name ! Caesar ran yelping away. The battle now raged with the most dreadful vio- lence, when, lo ! the huntsman, a man of years and dignity, lifted his voice, and called his hounds from the fight ; telling them, in ec language they under- stood, 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 re- lated this prodigious battle, a battlej we apprehend, never equalled by any poet, romance or life-writer whatever^ and, having brought it to a conclusion, she ceased ; we shall therefore proceed in our ordinary style with the continuation of this history. The 'squire and his companions, whom the figure of Adams and the gallantry of Joseph had at first thrown into a vio- lent fit of laughter, and who had hitherto beheld the engagement with more delight than any chace, shoot- ing-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 safety of his person, rode manfully up to the combatants, and summoning all the terror he was master of into his countenance, demanded with an authoritative voice of Joseph, What he meant by assaulting his dogs in that manner ? Joseph answered with great intrepi- dity, That they had first fallen on his friend ; and if they had belonged to the greatest man in the king- dom, he would have treated them in the same way; for whilst his veins contained a single drop of blood, he would not stand idle by and see that gentleman (pointing to Adams) abused either by man or beast; 2 A 3 270 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 re- venge the cause of their four-footed allies. At this instant Fanny, whom the apprehension of Joseph's danger had alarmed so much that, forget- ting 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 e)'^es 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 endeavour- ing 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 gentleman, and won- I dered 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 stickingtoahare. The 'squire being informed of the little mischief that had been done, and perhaps having more mis- chief df 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, and desired the young woman might come with him. Adams refused a long while; but the invitation was repeated with so much ear- nestness and courtesy, that at length he was forced JOSEPH ANDREWS. 271 to acCe'pt 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 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 commending his standing at bay, which they said he had done as well as any badger; with sucn like merriment, which though it would ill become the dignity of this history, afforded much laughter and diversion to the 'squire and his facetious com- ' panions. - .^___ CHAPTER VII. A scene of roasting verj^ nicely adapted to the pre- sent 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 ser- vants were ordered to make him drunk ; a favour which was likewise intended for x\dams ; which de- sign being executed the 'squire thought he should easily accomplish what he had, when he fii'St saw her, intended to perpetrate with Fanny. 272 JOSEPH ANDREWS. It may not be improper, before we proceed fur- ther, 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 ex- pression) 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 ingra- tiate himself with his young pupil, who would, he knew, be able handsomely to provide for him, be- came his companion, not only at these exercises, but likewise over a bottle, which the young 'squire had a very early relish foi. 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 learnt at a public school or university, this is what they commonly call travelling ; which, with the help of the tutor, who was fixt 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 lany savour of the plain spirit and honesty of our an- icestors. His mother greatly applauded herself at his return. And now being master of his own for- tune, 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 273 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 de- gree with them, were most his favourites. If he ever found a man who either had not, or endea- voured 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 cha- j racters ; but if they failed in their search, they were j to turn even virtue and wisdom themselves into ri- ' dicule, for the diversion of their master and feeder. The gentlemen of curlike 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. 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 entertainmenl^/^ of the whole company. The second joke was per- formed by the poet, who sat next him on the other side, and took an opportunity while poor Adams was respectfully drinking to the master of the 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- 274? JOSEPH ANDREWS. men, who had been ordered to convey a quantity of gin into Mr. Adams's ale, which he declaring to be theJbest liquor he ever drank, but rather too rich of th^malt, contributed again to their laughter. Mr. jVaams, from whom we had most of this relation, /ould not recollect all the jests of this kind practised ron him, which the inoifensive disposition of his own heart made him slow in discovering; and indeed, had it not been for the information which we re- ceived from a servant of the family, this part of our history, which we take to be none of the least cu- rious, 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 smeU more like to that than rusty bacon*: But would it not make any mortal btare, To see this paison taken for a hare? Could Phoelus 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 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. * All hounds that will bunt fox or other vermin, will hunt a piece of rusty bacon trailed on the ground. , JOSEPH ANDREWS. 275 He repeated many scraps of wit out of plays, reflect- ing on the whole body of the clergy, which were re- ceived 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 hesuppose byhiswalk,dathehad 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 cas- sock 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 outdanced 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 hisfist,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 pru- dently retired out of its reach, and stood aloof, mi- | micking Adams, whose eyes were fixed on him, not i 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 upinreality, 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 the posture of one who intended to make a speech. They all cried out, Hear him, 276 JOSEPH ANDREWS. hear him ; and he then spoke in the following man- / ner ; Sir, 1 am sorry to see one to whom Providence hath been so bountiful in bestowing his favours, make so ill and ungrateful return for them; for though you have not insulted me yourself, it is visible you have delighted in those that do it, nor have once discou- raged 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. One gentleman hath thought proper to produce some po- etry upon me, of which I shall only say, that I had rather be the subject than the composer. He hath pleased to treat me with disrespect as a parson. I ap- prehend my order is not the object of scorn, nor that I can become so, unless by being a disgrace to it, which I hope poverty will never be called. Ano- ther gentleman, indeed, hath repeated some sen- tences, where the order itself is mentioned with con- tempt. He says, they are taken from plays. I am sure such plays are a scandal to the government which permits them, and cursed vAW be the nation where they are represented. How others have treat- ed me, I need not observe; they themselves, when they reflect, must allow the behaviour to be as im- proper 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 a hundred miles to travel, we had sufficient to bear our expenses in anoble 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 277 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 de- sign ; nor could I, certainly, so far be guilty as to de- serve 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 1 heartily pray that the sin may be averted from yours. He thus finished, and received a general clap from the whole company. Then the gentleman of the house told him. 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 an- swer 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 pu- nish him that way; but for the person whom he had accused, I am a witness, says he, of his innocence ; for 1 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 an- swered 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 mis- take 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 youwas not a parson, I would not take these words ; butybnr gown protects you. If any man who wears a sword had said so much, I had pulled him by the nose before this. Adams re- plied, If he attempted any rudeness to his person, he 2b 278 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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, and 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 for- giveness of what had passed to Adams; who imme- diately answered, That every thing was forgiven; and in the warmth of his goodness he filled a bumper of Strong beer (a liquor he preferred to wine), and drank a health to the whole company, shaking the captain and the poet heartily by the hand, and addressing him- self 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 declaimedagainst all levity of conversation, and what is usually called mirth. He said, There were amusements fitted for persons of all ages and degrees, from the rattle to the discussing a point of philosophy ; and that men discovered them- selves in nothing more than in the choice of their I amusements : for, says he, as it must greatly raise our expectation of the future conduct in life of boys whom in their tender years we perceive, instead of taw or balls, or other childish playthings, to choose, at their leisure hours, to exercise their genius in contentions of wit, learning, and such like ; so must it inspire one JOSEPH ANDREWS. 279 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. He had often wondered at some passages in ancient authors, where Scipio, Laelius, and other great men, were represented to have passed many hours in amuse- ments of the most trifling kind. The doctor replied, He had by him an old Greek manuscript where a fa- vourite 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 further 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 at- tendants ranged on both sides ; to them was intro- duced 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, in- deed, a diversion 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 cere- mony this very evening. To which the doctor ob- jected, as no one was prepared with a speech, unless, 2 B 2 280 JOSEPH ANDREWS. said he (turning to Adams with a gravity of counte- nance 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 a 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 wa- ter provided, on each side of which were 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 ambas- sador was introduced, between the poet and the doc- tor; who, having read his sermon, to the great en- tertainment of all present, was led up to his place, and seated between their majesties. They imme- diately rose up, when the blanket wanting its sup- ports 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 ought, Adams caught hold of yhim before he descended from his throne, and pulled \him in with him, to the entire secret satisfaction of ithewhole company. Adams, after duckingthe 'squire twice or thrice, leaped out of the tub, and looked sharp for the doctor, whom he would certainly have con- veyed to the same place of honour; but he had wisely withdrawn : he then searched for his crab-stick, and having found that, as well as his fellow-travellers, he declared he would not stay a moment longer in such a house. He then departed, without tak- ing leave of his host ; whom he had exacted a more JOSEPH ANDREWS. 281 severe revenge on than he intended ; forashe 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 toill think too shorty 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 proceedingto violence, in their power to detain them. They walked as fast as they could, not so much from any apprehension of being pursued, as that Mr. 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 dispatched 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 be- gan their journey; however, they made such expe- dition, that they soon arrived at an inn which was at seven miles distance. Here they unanimously con- sented to pass the evening, Mr. Adams being now as dry as he was before he 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 2b3 282 JOSEPH ANDREWS. very comfortable meal ; for hunger is better than a French cook. They had no sooner supped, than Adams, retutning thanks to the Almighty for his food, declared he had ate his homely commons with much greater satisfac- jtion than his splendid dinner; and expressed great : contemptforthe folly of mankind, who sacrificed their hopes of heaven to the acquisition of vast wealth, since so much comfort was tobefound in the humblest state and the lowest provision. 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 J in their power; for what, indeed, truly desirable, can .' they bestow on us? Can they give beauty to the de- 5 formed, 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 solitude 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 other- wise, that the sloth, the luxury, the care which at- tend them shorten the lives of millions, and bring /them with pain and misery to .in untimely grave. i Where then is their value, if they can neither em- 1 bellish nor strengthen our forms, sweeten nor pro- long 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 283 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 (in- deed he was a priest of the church of Rome ; but those who ninderstarid 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 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 meta- physically, but, if 1 may so say, mathematically de- monstrable ; and which I have been always so per- fectly convinced of, that -I have a contempt for no- thing so much as for gold. Adams now began a long discourse ; but as most which he said occurs among many authors who have treated this subject, I shall omit inserting it. During its continuance Joseph and Fanny retired to rest, and the host like- wise 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 desirmg Adams to lend him eighteen-pence to pay his reckoning; promising, i he never paid him, he might be assured of his pray- ers. The good man answered, that eighteen-pence would b6 too little to cari'y him any long journey; 284 JOSEPH ANDREWS. that he had half a guinea in his pockety which he would divide with him. He then fell to searching his pockets, 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 I had picked his pocket of all that treasure which he had so ostentatiously produced. Bless me, cries 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, answer- I ed the priest smiling, you need make no excuses : if iyou are not willing to lend me the money, I am con- ' tented. 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 dis- tress. I am more vexed at my loss on your account than my own. Was ever any thing so unlucky ? because I have no money in my pocket, I shall be suspected to be no christian. I am more unlucky, quoth the other, if you are as generous as you say ; for really a crown would have made me happy, and conveyed me in plenty to the place I am going, which is not above twenty miles off, and where 1 can ar- rive by to-morrow night. I assure you I am not ac- customed to travel pennyless. I am but just arrived in England; and we were forced by a storm in our passage to throw all we had overboard. I don't sus- pect but this fellow will take my word for the trifle 1 owe him ; but I hate to appear so mean as to con- fess myself without a shilling to such people: for these, and indeed too many others, know little dif- ference in their estimation between a beggar and a thief. However, he thought he should deal better with the host that evening than the next morn- ing j he therefore resolved to set out immediately, notwithstanding the darkness ; and accordingly, as JOSEPH ANDREWS. 285 soon as the host returned, he communicated to him the situation of his affairs; upon which 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 1 had rather always have ready money if I could; but, noarry, you look like so ho- nest 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 he could, not without confusion, and perhaps ^ with some distrust of Adams's sincerity, departed. He was no sooner gone than the host fell ashaking his head, and declared. If he had suspected the fel- low 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 con- founded 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, i health and fatigue gave them a sweeter repose than 1$ \ often in the power of velvet and down to bestow. CHAPTER IX. Containing rr, JOSEPH ANDREWS. serve it, says the lady. Why dost thou mention such wretches to me? O dear madam! answered Slip- slop, is it not a pity such a graceless young man should die a virulent death ? 1 hope the judge will take commensuration on his youth. As for Fanny, I donTthink it signifies much what becomes of her ; and if poor Joseph hath done any thing, I could ven- ture to swear she traduced him to it : few men ever / come to fragrant punishment, but by those nasty C^ 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 wish- ed Fanny far enough, she did not desire the removal of Joseph, especially with her. She was puzzled how to act, or what to say on this occasion, when a coach and six drove into the court, and a servant ac- quainted her with the arrival of_hjer_nepjiew JBogby^ and-bisladyj She ordered them to be conducted into a drawing-room, whither she presently repaired, hav- ing 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 resolu- tions she might take, for which she saw herself pro- vided with an excellent instrument in Scout. The Lady Booby apprehended her servant had piade a mistake, when he mentioned Mr. Booby's la- dy; for she had never heard of his marriage; but how great was her surprise, when, at her enter- ing 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 inconsis- tent with good-breeding. They passed some little time in ordinary discourse, when a servant came and whispered Mr. Booby, who presently told the JOSEPH ANDREWS. 325 ladies he must desert them a little on some business of consequence ; and as their discourse during his absence would afford little improvement or enter- tainment to the reader, we will leave them for a while, to attend Mr. Booby. CHAPTER V. Containing justice business ; curious precedents of de- positions, and other matters necessary to be perused by all justices of the peace and their clerks. The 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 happen- ed, with which they hastily acquainted their master, who took an immediate resolution to go himself, and endeavour to restore his Pamela her brother, be- fore she even ^knew she had lost him. Xlie^UiStice before whom the criminals were car- ried, and who lived within a short mile of the lady's house, was luckily Mr, Booby's acquairitaxice, by liis having an estate in his neighbourhood. Ordering therefore his horses to his coach, he set out for the judgement-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 VOL. XVIII. 2 F ^26 JOSEPH ANDREWS. '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, an't please your honour, said Scout. Ay, says the justice, a kind of felonious larcenous thing. I be- lieve 1 must order them a little correction too, a little stripping and whipping. (Poor Fanny, who had hitherto supported all with the thoughts of Jo- seph'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 jus- tice, showing him a deposition which, in the absence of his clerk, he had writ himself, of which we have with great difficulty procured an authentic copy; and here it follows verbatim et literatim : The depusition of James Scout, layer, and Thomas Trotter, yeoman, taken before me, one of his mages- ty s justasses of the piece for Zumersetshire. "These deponants saith, and first Thomas Trot- ter for himself saith, that on the of this instant October, being Sabbath-day, between the ours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon, he zeed Joseph Andrews and Francis Goodwill walk akross a certane felde belung- ing 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 half-pence, or thereabouts ; and he saith that the said Francis Goodwill was likewise walking on the grass out of the said path in the said felde, and did receive and carry in her hand the said twig, and so was comfarting, eading, and abat- ing to the said Joseph therein. And the said James JOSEPH ANDREWS. S27 Scout for himself says, that he verily believes the said twig to be his own proper twig, &c." Jesu ! said the 'squire, would you commit two per- sons 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. Harl:ee, 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 pro- mise you, Joseph here shall never be any incum- brance on her. I shall be obliged to you, there- fore, ifj instead of Bridewell, you will commit them to my cu stody. O ! to be sure, sir, if you desire it, answered the justice : and without more ado, Jo- seph and Fanny were delivered over to 'Squirdi Booby, whom Joseph very well knew, but little'' guessed how nearly he was related to him. The jus- tice 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, or- dering 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 knowing the cause of all this civility, excused his accepting such a favour em 2 F 2 328 JOSEPH ANDREWS, long as decently he could. Whilst Joseph was dress- ing, the'squire repaired to the justice, whom he found talking with Fanny ; for during the examination she had flopped her hat over her eyes, which were also bathed in tears, and had by that means concealed from liis worship, what might perhaps have rendered the J arrival of Mr. Booby unnecessary, at least for herself. f The j ustice no sooner saw her countenance cleared up, 1 and her bright eyes shining through her tears, than he I 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 mi- nutes, 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 promisedher 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 oflPer, which he would certainly be glad to accept ; for that Lady Booby was angry with them both; though she did not know either had done any thing to of- fend her ; but imputed it to Madam Shpslop, who had always been her enemy. The 'squire now returned,and prevented any further continuance of this conversation ; and the justice, out of a pretended respect to his guest, but in reality from an apprehension of a rival (for he knew nothing of his marriage), ordered Fanny into the 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 were able, which JOSEPH ANDREWS. 329 indeed I am not, to relate the conversation between these two gentlemen, which roiled, 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 , 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, callingfor Fanny, made her and Joseph, against their wills, get into the coach with him, which he then ordered to drive to Lady Booby's. It had 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, O sir, it is Parson Adams! O 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, best-natured 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, holloed 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 2f3 330 JOSEPH ANDREWS. kept up with it: but he was atlength over-prevailed on . The 'squire now acquainted Joseph with his marriage ; but he might have spared himself that labour; for his servant, whilst Joseph was dressing, had performed that office before. He continued to express the vast happiness heenjoyedinhissister,andthe valuehehad for all who belonged to her. Joseph made many bows, and expressed as manyacknowledgements : and Parson Adams, who now firstperceived 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 therefore infinitely obliged to all mine, who will do the same. It is true, her brother hath been your servant, but he is now become my brother; and I have one happiness, that neither his charac- ter, his behaviour, or appearance, give me any rea- son to be ashamed of calling him so. In short, he i is now below, dressed like a gentleman, in which I light I intend he shall hereafter be seen; and you j will oblige me beyond expression, if you will admit I him to be of our party ; for I know it will give great ' pleasure to my wife, though she will not mention it. This wasastroke of fortune beyond the Lady Boo- by's hopes or expectation; she answered him eagerly, Nephew, you know howeasily lam prevailed on to do any thing which Joseph Andrews desires Phoo, I mean which you desire me; and as he is now your re- lation, I cannot refuse to entertain him as such. The 'squire told her, He knew his obligation to her for her compliance ; and going three steps, returned and told JOSEPH ANDREWS. 331 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 Ne- phew, 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 conde- scension 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 sha'ii'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; but could not prevail as yet for Fanny. Joseph begged that he might see his sister alone, and then be with his Fanny ; but the 'squire, know- ing 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 Fan- ny, whilst he was assured of her safety; adding, he hoped he could not so easily quit a sister whom he had not seen so long, and who so tenderly loved him Joseph immediately complied; for indeed no brother could love a sister more ; and recom- mending 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 re- paired with the parson X*^ his house, where she thought herself secure of a kind' reception. 332 JOSEPH ANDREWS. CHAPTER VI. Of which you are desired to read no more than you like. The meeting between Joseph and Pamela was not without tears of joy on both sides; and their embraces were full of tenderness and affection. They were however regarded with much more pleasure by the nephew than by the aunt, to whose flame they were fuel only; and being assisted by the addition of dress, which was indeed not wanted to set oflF 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 jeal- I ous 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 looking-glasses; and Lady Booby replied, That men were, in general, very ill judges of beauty ; and then, whilst both con- templated 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 de- ferred as long as decently she could, she informed Joseph (whom for the future we shall call Mr. Jo- seph, he having as good a title to that appellation as many others; I mean that incontested one of JOSEPH ANDREWS. 333 good clothes) that she had ordered a bed to be pro- vided 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 complacence to Mr. Adams's %nily, who had sat up two hours out of re- spect 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 uaeasiness; of which, however, she could not assigni any other cause than merely that of being absentl 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 ^pm 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's permission, for their marriage, Mr. Joseph returned, according to his promise, to breakfast at the Lady Booby's, with whose behaviour since the evening we shall now acquaint the reader. She was no sooner retired to her chamber, than she asked Slipslop, What she thought of this wonderful creature her nephew had married ? Madam ! said Slipslop, not yet sufficiently understanding what an- swer 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 defacediier,that it would have been impossible for any one to have known the person. The lady gave her all the assist- SSt JOSEPH ANDREWS. ance she could, and ended with saying, I think, Slip- slop, you have done her justice; but yet, bad as she 1 is, she is an angel compared to this Fanny. Slipslop I then fell on Fanny, whom she hacked and hewed in the like barbarous manner, concluding with an ob- servation, that there was always something in those ' lowlife creatures which must eternally extinguish them from their betters. Really, said the lady, I think there is one exception to your rule; I am cer- tain you may guess who I meart. Not I, upon my word, madam, said Slipslop. I mean a young fel- low; sure you are the dullest wretch, said the lady. O la! I am indeed. Yes, truly, madam, he is an jaccession, answered Slipslop. Ay, is he not, Slip- slop ? 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 sta- tion a condescension in every thing to his superiors, yet unattended by that mean servility which is called good-behaviour in such persons. Every thing he doth hath no mark of the base motive of fear, but visibly shows some respect and gratitude, and car- ries with it tlie persuasion of love. And then for his virtues; such piety to his parents, such tender affec- tion 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. 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 sus- pected of thinking of him; yes, I shovdd 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 .)OSEPH ANDREWS. 335 an idle worthless rake, or little puisny beau of qua^ lity ? 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 ; fpr wp ppoplg- nf fa- shion are the sla ves of custom. Marry come up ! said Slipslop, who now well knew which party to take, if I was a woman of your ladysjiip'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 imagine No, ma'am, to be sure, cries Slipslop. No! 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 if 1 should reflect, I should run mad. My future ease must depend upon forgetful ness. 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 la- dyship may talk of custom, if you please ; but I am confidous there is no more comparison between young Mr.Andrews,andmost of theyoung 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 j people say, whilst 1 am happy in the arms of him / I love. Some folks rail against other folks, be-| . cause other folks have what some folks would be' glad of. Andso, answered the lady, if you wasa wo- man of condition, you would really marry Mr. An- ,836 JOSEPH ANDREWS. drews ? Yes,I assure your ladyship, replied Slipslop; if he would have me. Fool, idiot! cries the lady; if he would have awoman of fashion ! is that a question? No, truly, madam, said Slipslop, 1 believe it would be none if Fanny was out of the way; and I am con- fidousjif I was in your ladyship's place, and liked Mr. Joseph Andrews, 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 redj 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 r>a thing! I thinkyou dare not, answered the lady; I -Vv"' believe my conduct may defy malice itself to assert so V*:Ours6d a slander. If I had ever discovered any wan- ' tonness, any lightness in my behaviour: if I had fol- lowed 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 again alive, (then she produced tears,) could not upbraid me with any one act of ten- derness or passion. No, Slipslop, all the time I co- habited 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 ar- raigned? to be accused, not only of a passion which I have always despised, but of fixing it on such an ob- JOSEPH ANDREWS. 337 ject, a creature so much beneath my notice ! Upon my word, ma'am, says SHpslop, I do not understand your ladyship ; nor know 1 any thing of the matter. I beheve 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 werealmostof as high an order as her lady's, I have no more to do with Common Garden than other folks. Really, your ladyship talks of ser- vants, as if they were not born of the christian_spe- Qious. Servants have flesh and blood as well as qua- lity ; 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 peo- ple's ; and I am sure, if Mr. Andrews was a dear of mine, Ishouldnotbeashamed of himin company with gentlemen ; for whoever hath seen him in his neW clothes must confess he looks as much like a gentle- man as any body. 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 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. Isackins ! if I was Mrs. An- drews, 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 * Meaning perhaps ideas. 2 G 338 JOSEPH ANDREWS. lady for his sake. I believe when I had made a gentle- man ofhim, he'd behave so that nobody should depre- cate what I had done ; and I fancy few would venture to tell him he was no gentleman to his face, nor to mine neither. At which words, taking up the candles, she asked her mistress, who had been some time in her bed, If she had any further commands? who mildly answered, She had none ; and telling her she was a comical creature, bid her good night. CHAPTER VII. Philosophical reflections, the like not to be found in any light French romance. Mr. Booby' s grave ad' vice 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 prac- tisers of deceit, who, from having long deceived their I acquaintance, gain at last a power of deceiving them- I selves, and acquire that very opinion (however false) of their own abilities, excellencies, and virtues, into which they have foryearsperhapsendeavoured to be- i tray their neighbours. Now, reader, to apply this ob- servation to my present purpose, thou must know, that as the passion generally called love exercises most of the talents of the female or fair world; so in this they now and then discover a small inclination to deceit ; for which thou wilt not be angry with the beautiful creatures, when thou hast considered, that at the age of seven, or something earlier, miss is instructed by JOSEPH ANDREWS. 339 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 affec- tion towards him ; for, if she should, all her friends in petticoats would esteem her a traitress, point at her, and hunt her out of their society. These impressions being first received, arefurther and deeper inculcated by theirschool-mistressesand companions; so that by the age often they have contracted such a dread and abhorrence of the above-named monster, that, when-\ ever 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 further, and, from almost daily falling in master's way, to apprehend the great diffi- culty 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 no- tice of them till at this age), they then begin to think of their danger; and as they perceive they cannot ea- sily 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 ge- nerally succeed so well, that his eyes, by frequent lan- guishingjsoon lessen their idea of his fierceness, and so 2 g2 340 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 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 appre- hensions vanish in a moment; and now (it being usu- al with the human mind to skip from one extreme to its opposite, as easily, and almost as suddenly, as a bird from one bough to another) love instantly suc- ceeds to fear: but as it happens to persons who have in their infancy been thoroughly frightened with cer- tain 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, can- not so entirely shake off all that hath been instilled into them ; they still entertain the idea of that cen- sure, which was so strongly imprinted on their ten- der 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 J the same aversion to the monster ; and the more V they love him, the more ardently they counterfeit the antipathy; by the continual and constant prac- tice 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 Boo- by, 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 gentle- man, begun to conceive secretly a design which love had concealed from herself, till a dream be- trayed it to her. She had no sooner risen, than she sent for her ne- phew. When he came to her, after many compliments on his choice, she told him, He might perceive in he- JOSEPH ANDREWS. Ml condescension to admit her own servant to her table, that she looked on the family of Andrews as his rela- tions, and indeed hers ; that as he had married into such a family, it became him to endeavour by all me- thods 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 1 relation to meanness and poverty; concluding, that j by a commission in the army, or some other genteel ^ employment, he might soon put young Mr. Andrews on the footing of a gentleman ; and that being once done, his accomplishments might quickly gain him an alliance which would not be to their discredit. Her nephew heartily embraced this proposal; and finding Mr. Joseph with his wife, at his return to her chamber, he immediately began thus: My love to my dear Pamela, brother, will extend to all her relations; nor shall I show them less respect than if I had mar- mied 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 there- fore, 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 further with a girl who is, as you are a relation of mine, so much beneath you. I know there may be aty first some difficulty in your compliance, but that will daily diminish ; and you will in the end sin- cerely thank me for my advice. I own indeed, the girl is handsome ; but beauty alone is a poor ingre- dient, and will make but an uncomfortable marri- age. 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 2g3 342 JOSEPH ANDREWSi a slender judge of them ; but if she had never so many, you will find her equal in these among her su- periors 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 1 ob- liged to sacrifice my happiness to their whim or am- bition ii' besides, I shall be very sorry to. see that the unexpected advancement of my sister should so sud- denly inspire them with this wicked pride, and make them despise their equals^>I am resolved on no ac- count 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 my- self, said Booby, are greatly obliged to you for the comparison : but, sir, she is not worthy to be com- pared in beauty to my Pamela ; nor hath she half her merit. And besides, sir, as you civilly throw my marriage with your sister in my teeth, I must teach you the wide difference between us : my fortune en- abled 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 my- self 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 con- tent. 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS, 343 hath raised it. It would become you better, brother, to pray for the assistance of grace against such a pas- sion, 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 pur- pose. They were now summoned to breakfast, and thus ended their discourse for the present, very lit- tle to the satisfaction of any of the parties. Fanny was now walking in an avenue at some di- stance 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 Par- son 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, in- deed, he well knew ; but had framed the question for no other reason than to make her look up, and discover if her face was equal to the delicacy of her shape. He no sooner saw it, than he was struck with amazement. He stopped his horse, and swore, She was the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. Then instantly alighting, and delivering his horse to a servant, he rapped out half a dozen oaths that he would kiss her; to which she at first submitted, beg- ging he would not be rude ; but he was not satisfied with the civility of a salute, nor even with the rudest attack he could make on her lips, but caught her in his arms, and endeavoured to kiss her breasts, which with all her strength she resisted, and, as our spark was not of the Herculean race, with some difficulty prevented. The young gentleman, being soon out of breath in the struggle,quitted her, and, remounting 344 JOSEPH ANDREWS, 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 withTiTs '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, I 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 mas- ter 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 bo- som 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 ex- erted. 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 as- sistance. He no sooner came within sight, and per- ceived her struggling with a man, than like a can- non ball, or like lightning, or any thing that is swifter, if any thing 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 be- come with the utmost propriety, that the fellow staggered backwards, and perceiving he had to do JOSEPH ANDREWS. 345 with something rougher than the little, tender, trem- bling hand of Fanny, he quitted her, and, turning about, saw his rival, with fire flashing from his eyes, again ready to assail him : and indeed, before he could well defend himself, 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 oc- casion for ; but the ravisher lifting up his hand, drove the blow upwards to his mouth, whence it dislodged three of his l^th ; and now not conceiving any ex- traordinary affection for the beauty of Joseph's per- son, 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, how- ever, long under this affliction, before Joseph, hav- ing 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 S46 JOSEPH ANDREWS. him from being injured in attempting it. She offered with her handlcerchief 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. Fanny now begged Joseph to return with her to Parson Adams, and to promise that he would leave her no more. These were proposition^ 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 she 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, be- fore 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, JOSEPH ANDREWS. 347 in surveying which he had felt the greatest delight which the organs of sight were capable of convey- ing to his soul; so great was his fear of oft'ending her, and so truly did his passion for her deserve the noble name of love. Fanny, being recovered from her confusion, which was almost equalled by what Joseph had felt from observing it, again mentioned her request : this was instantly and gladly complied with ; and together they crossed two or three fields, which brought them to the habitation of Mr. Adams. CHAPTER VIII. A discourse ixihich happened betvoeen Mr." Adams, Mrs. AdamSf Joseph, and Fanny ; tvith some be- haviour of Mr. Adams, which mil be called by some Jeixs readers very low, absurd, and unnatural. The parson and his wife had just ended a long dis- pute when the lovers came to the door. Indeed this young couple had been the subject of the dispute; for Mrs. Adams was one of those prudent people who never do any thing to injure their families, or per- haps one of those good mothers who would even stretch their conscience to serve their children. She had long entertained hopes of seeing her eldest daughter succeed Mrs. Slipslop, and of making her second son an exciseman by Lady Boody'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 be- hoved 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; 348 JOSEPH ANDREWS. that he had always preached up submission to su- periors, 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 ex- cellent 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 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 accu- rate speculation might have observed, but escaped her present guests ; i ndeed, 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 gnaw- ing, being the only remains of his provision, and then ran nimbly to the tap, and produced a mug of small i)eer, which he called ale ; however, it was the best in his h ouse . Joseph, addressing himself to the parson , told him the discourse which had passed between JOSEPH ANDREWS. 34-9 '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 tof'etch a license, saying. He could easily borrow the money. The parson answered. That he had already given his sentiments concerning a license, 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 they indulgence of carnal appetites, you are guilty of a very/ heinous sin. Marriage was ordained for nobler pur- poses, as you will learn when you hear the service pro- vided on 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 looketh 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 ho- nour. To marry with a view of gratifying those incti-i nations, is a prostitution of that holy ceremony, and must entail a curse on all whoso lightly undertake it. If, therefore, this haste arises from impatience, you are to correct, andnotgiveway to it. Now, as to the second head which I proposed to speak to, namely, fear : it argues a diffidence highly criminal of that 2 H 350 JOSEPH ANDUIiWS. ' I Power in which alone we should put our trust, seeing 1 we may be well assured that he is able, not only to f defeat the designs of our enemies, but even to turn their hearts. Instead of taking, therefore, any unjus- tifiable or desperate means to rid ourselves of fear, we should resort to prayer only on these occasions ; and we m^y be then certain of obtaining what is best for ,_ us . If^'hen 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 much on nothing here that we can- not quitit 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 'i their excess ; and even love itself^ifit is not subservient to our duty, may render us blind to it. Had Abraham so loved his son Isaac as to refuse the sacrifice requir- ed, 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 cure, 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 \l G required her at your hands, I fear you would reluctantly part with her. Now, believe me, no chris- tian 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 maybe 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. He stood silent a moment, and soon began /T to stamp about the room and deplore his loss with the ~ bitterest agony. Joseph, who was overwhelmed with concern likewise, recovered himself sufficiently to en- deavour to comfort the parson ; in which attempt he 5 / JOSEPH ANDREWS. 351 ^ used many arguments, that he had at several times \ remembered out of his own discourses, both in pri- / vate and public (for he was a great enem)'^ to the pas- J sions, and preached nothing more than the conquest of them by reason and grace), but he was not at lei- ^ sure now to hearken to his advice, Child, child, said he, do not go about impossibilities. Had it been any other of my children, 1 could have borne it with ____patince ; but my little prattler, the darling and com- fort of my old age, the little wretch, to be snatched out of life just at his entrance into it; the sweetest, best-tempered boy, who never did a thing to offend me. It was but this morning I gave him his first lesson in Quae Genus. This was the very book he learnt: poor child! 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. M y po or Jacky, shall I never see thee more ? cries the parson. Yes surely, "Tsays Joseph, and in a better place, you will meet again, never to part more. I believe the par- son did not hear these words, for he paid little re- gard 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, ta his great surprise and joy, in which I hope the reader will sympathize, he met his son, in a wet condition indeed, but alive, and running to- wards 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 runningto his assistance, directly ran to ac- quaint his father of a fate which he had concluded to be inevitable, but whence the child was relieved by 2 H 2 352 JOSEPH ANDREWS. the same poor pedlar who had relieved his father be- /fore from a less distress. Xhe parson's joy was now as extravagant as his grief had been before ; he kiss- ed and embraced his son a thousand times, and danc- ed about the room like one frantic : but as soon as he discovered the face of his old friend the pedlar, aiid 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 wick- ed purposes; not those with whichaworthlessyoung- er brother wishes his elder joy of a son, or a man con- gratulates his rival on his obtaining amistress,aplaee, I or an honour. No, reader, he felt the ebullition, : the overflowings of a full, honest, open heart, to^ X'^ , wards the person who had conferred a real obliga- tion, and of which if thou canst not conceive an idea . -, [within, I will not vainly endeavour to assist thee, / t When these tumults were over, the parsOn, taking "^ Joseph aside, proceeded thus No, Joseph, do not give too much way to thy passions inhou dost ex- j pect happiness. The patience of Joseph, nor per- ^ j haps oTJob, could bear no longer ; he interrupted the parson, saying, It was easier to give adviqe 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. Bo^rer plied Adams, raising his voice, it doth jiot become green heads-to advise gray hairs. Thou^rt igno- I rant 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^fie\'(B me equally. Yes, but /. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 353 such love is foolishness, and wrong in itself, and ought to be cpnqaeTed, answered Adams ; it savouis too muchof tKe^flesh. ^Sure, sir, says Joseph, it is not sinful to love my >^ife, 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. 1 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 listen- ed to the latter part of their conversation, you talk more foolishly 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 bum it ; and I declare, if 1 had not been convinced you had loved me as well as you could, I can answer for myself, 1 should have hated and despised you. Marry come up ! Fine doctrine, indeed ! 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 com- fort her, and to cherish her, and all that ? I am sure I remember it all, as well as if I had repeated it over I but yesterday, and shall never forget it. Besides, I 1 am certain you do not preach as you practise ; for ! you have been a loving and a cherishing husband to me, that's the truth on't, and why you should endea- vour 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,^nd 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. 2 H 3 354 JOSEPH ANDREWS. CHAPTER IX. A visit tvhich 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 meetinga wonderful beauty near her house, and perceived the raptures with which he ; spoke of her, than immediately concluding it must be I Fanny, she began to meditate a design of bringing them better acquainted, and to entertain hopes that the fine clothes, presents, and promises of this youth would prevail on her to abandon Joseph: she there- fore proposed to her company a walk in the fields be- fore dinner, when she led them towards Mr. Adams's house ; and, as she approached it, told them, If they pleased she would divert them with one of the most ridiculous sights they had ever seen, which was an old foolish parson, who, she said laughing, kept a wife and six brats on a salary of about twenty pounds a year: adding, that there was not such another ragged family in the parish. They all readily agreed flo this visit, and arrived whilst Mrs. Adams was declaiming, as in the last chapter. Beau Didapper, which was the name of the young gentleman wehave seen riding 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 childi-en, Joseph, Fanny, and the pedlar, were all thrown into confusion by this knoqk; but Adams went directly to the door, which being opened, the Lady Booby and her company walked in, and were received by the par- son with about two hundred bows, and by his wife with as many curt'sies; 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 JOSEPH ANDREWS. 355 her in a better manner. The parson made no apo- logies, though he was in his half cassock, and a flan- nel night-cap. He said, They were heartily welcome to his poor cottage, and, turning to Mr, Didapper, cried out, Non mea 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 shoul- deTs, and no calf; and his gait might more properly be called hopping than walking. The qual ifications of his mind were well adapted to his person. We shall handle them first negatively. He was not en- tirely 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 women ; for he always dangled after them ; yet so little subject to lust, that he had, among those who knew him best, the character of great moderation in his pleasures. No drinker of wine ; nor so addicted to passion, but that a hot word or two from an adversary made him immediately cool. Now, to give him only a dash or two on the affirma- tive side: though he was born to an immense fortune, he chose, for the pitiful and dirty consideration of a place of little consequence, to depend entirely on the will of a fellow, whom they call a great man ; who; treated him with the utmost disrespect,and exacted ofj him a plenary obedience to his commands ; which he' S56 JOSEPH ANDREWS. implicitly submitted to, at the expense of his con- science, 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 owji person and parts, so he was very apt to ridicule and Jaugh at any imperfection in another. Such was the little person, or rather thing, that hopped after Lady Booby into Mr. Adams's kitchen. The parson and his company retreated from the chimney-side, where they had been seated, to give room to the lady and hers. Instead of returning any of the curt'sies or extraordinary civility of Mrs. Adams, the lady, turning to Mr. Booby, cried out, Quelle bete ! Quel animal ! And presently after dis- covering Fanny (for she did not need the circum- stance of her standing by Joseph to assure the iden- tity 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 was always my aversion. I would never mention aver- sion, answered the beau, with that face * ; dear Lady Booby, wash your face before you mention aversion, 1 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 ac- cident 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 '*^ Lest this should appear nnnatural to some readers, ne think proper to arqiiaini them, that it is taken vei batim from very polite conversation. JOSEPH ANDREWS. 357 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 Ciulow UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. JUN 1 5 ^^^^ n UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 069 924 9 3 1158 00940 2636 ,S' ^'- r